Reiner Braun who pays special attention to your tits when he helps you put on sunscreen
Shivers run up your spine as you stand around your chilly hotel room, waiting for Reiner to emerge from the bathroom so he can help you put on your sunscreen before the beach.
Your legs, arms, stomach, and chest are already coated in a thin layer, your back at risk of sunburn due to you being unable to reach behind you and apply an even amount.
Reiner comes out of the bathroom, his own sunscreen bottle in hand. "Alright, I'm here. Just your back?"
You nod, pulling your hair to the side to give Reiner full access to your back. He squirts some sunscreen onto his hands, steady touch rubbing it in circles all over your upper and lower back.
"Almost feels like a massage," you comment, closing your eyes as if it truly was one. When Reiner removes his hands from your back, you almost think he's done.
But you knew him better than that.
Reiner spins you to face him, ogling the sight of your full tits in your tiny little bikini top, the pale blue color of the fabric beautiful on your skin.
He squirts more sunscreen into his hand, a devilish smirk tugging at his lips as his hands find your breasts. "Just gotta make sure your chest doesn't burn, sweetheart," he chuckles, though his true intents are painfully obvious.
You laugh in response, going along with his playfulness as he hands dip under the triangle fabric, calloused fingers rolling over your hard nipples. He cocks a brow, yet his hands don't stop.
"It's because it's cold in here, dumbass." You roll your eyes, but there isn't any anger behind your tone or your actions. After a few more unnecessary minutes of kneading your flesh, Reiner lets go.
"You ready?" He asks, grabbing the beach bag he had packed earlier this morning, simultaneously watching you readjust your bikini top with a proud grin.
Nodding, you reach for your bikini cover up, holding it safe in your arms. "As ready as ever. Let's go before I start to get hot."
"You are hot," Reiner says, earning himself another eye roll. "Don't forget, I'm going to have to help you reapply later at the beach."
𝜗𝜚 You’ve never really questioned where Megumi gets the money for his nice apartment from as a simple veterinary student. Until you’re scrolling through a camboy website late at night and realise- huh, isn’t that your name he’s whimpering under his breath? And, what would he sound like saying it in real life?
content: smut, camboy!Megumi, friends to lovers, closeted perv Megumi, male masturbation (a lot), female masturbation, edging, WHIMPERING, moaning, rambling, gooner!Megs lowk, pillow humping, overstimulation, dirty talk, teasing, humilation (a little), messy makeouts, dry humping, fingers in mouths, nippleplay, NURSING HANDJOBS, multiple orgasms, happy trails, praise, pet names (good boy, baby, etc), missionary, creampies, oral (f receiving), he eats his cum out of you, choking him w your thighs, crying, aftercare, happy endings
wc: 4.5k
a/n: eek! this is my treat to you all for 9k <33 I really cannot thank you all enough <33!!
more like this
Your day so far has been terrible. Worse than terrible, like you burnt down a village in the eleventh century and now you’re being forced to reap the consequences in painful modernity. Firstly, your lecture was so boring you actively fell asleep at your seat and a girl had to nervously poke you awake with a pencil before you tripped over your own feet in a bid to get out as quickly as possible; then, a car drove through a puddle and splashed you with muddy water, and finally your shoes rubbed through your socks and now you have a fresh blister. It's rubbing against the heel of your shoe with every painful step, and you grimace as it stings.
All you want to do is go back to your dorm, slather yourself in bubbly bodywash, moisturise and pass out in your cosy bed. Unfortunately, you’re pre-booked into a movie night with your best friend, but you’re sure he wouldn’t mind if you cancelled, right? Megumi’s always been understanding, after all.
“Hi Megs!” You say into your phone- he picked up on the third ring, how punctual of him- “I’m super sorry about this, but I’ve just had an awful day and I can’t come over. I’m sorry!”
“It’s fine.” He says back, voice crackling over the speaker. “Don’t worry. I’ll see you soon instead, yeah?”
“Yeah,” you smile, “thanks!”
On the other side of campus, Megumi Fushiguro is annoyed. Significantly. Because now you aren’t coming over, how is he supposed to indulge in those little squeaky gasps you let out at a scare and wrap his arms around you when you jump into them?
Not that he’s perverted, or anything, though.
Okay, maybe he is a little perverted, but that’s between him and… well, his tens of thousands of nightly viewers that pay to watch him fist his cock stupid.
Yes, tens of thousands- the view count climbing as he goes stupider and stupider, his eyes twitching closed above the field the camera offers to the strangers watching him get off. Sometimes they send in donations, begging for him to edge himself just a little longer or pinch his nipples. He’s surprised you didn’t think he had a side gig going, considering how many little trinkets and gifts he buys for you.
And he’s worked up enough already over your recent post; god, he tries so so hard not to look because he feels awful, but when he catches a glimpse of your thighs in a bikini on his feed he’s so gone he can’t help but mewl into his palm as the other slicks his cock. This week, you’ve posted a cutely curated set of your recent outings- and Megumi finds himself scrolling through the snaps of stray cats, foamy coffees, and study sessions to a selfie.
In the picture, you’re wearing a cute little tank top- and all Megumi can think about is how soft the sliver of your tits the photo affords him looks; how he wants to stuff his face between them and drool (he’s doing that already, saliva pooling in his mouth) while you pet his hair from above.
And so he finds himself setting up his camera to face the chair he’s slumped on, cock straining and leaking impatiently against his boxers as he wrangles his sweats to the floor; all it takes is a few taps of his keyboard, and he’s live.
His hand palms over the bulge in his underwear, watching the way pre dampens the cotton as the first donations already start flowing in. But he doesn’t care about that, not right now, as he has your post pulled up on his monitor and zoomed in pervertedly to the dip of cleavage in your tank top.
If Megumi was happy to let you stay at your dorm, you’re practically thrilled. Honestly, getting yourself off wasn’t part of your intended plan, but the seam of your underwear caught just right as you slipped into bed and now your fingers are carding messily through your own slick.
Your other hand, the one not circling your clit, is scrolling lazily on your phone through a live camboy website of all things. You can’t even find it within yourself to be ashamed, not when you’re being offered such a glorious array of whining men jerking into their hands.
“Nope,” you breathe, flicking past somebody in too-clear, pristine, professional lighting. “No…” you grimace again, ignoring the advert at the bottom of your screen telling you to ‘meet hot singles now!’
God, is there anything good on here?
Actually, you think surprisedly, landing on a slightly gritty livestream of somebody cracking out breathy moans through the occasional whine, maybe there is. It's like audio porn, but even better, because you know he's actually getting himself off, thick globules of pre snaking over his clenched knuckles while his other hand runs teasingly over his chest and pectorals.
Your index finger presses down onto your clit, applying enough pressure to make your hips lift a little off the bed as your thighs twitch restlessly. “Oh,” you moan to yourself, “mhm-“
On screen, the faceless camboy is repeatedly drawing his hand away from his poor, sensitive tip to watch the way his cock spurts out pre and soaks the messy happy trail crawling across his abs. “Hah, fuck-“ he whimpers, hips fucking into the air, “fuuccckk, feels good, hck-“
Oh, you think hazily, two fingers fucking into yourself, he’s gone totally stupid.
Nice!
He keeps rambling, the microphone picking it up. “Ohhhhmygod,” he slurs, “miss you. You’re so pretty, miss you s’bad…”
You pause, fingers buried knuckle-deep into your own cunt. Hold on- you recognise that voice. It sounds eerily similar. Your brows pinch in concentration as you rake through the people you know; nobody from your lectures, nobody you’ve spoken to in passing, nobody. You’ve been through everybody- well, not everybody.
Megumi.
“Oh my god,” you whisper to yourself, grabbing your phone and sitting upright, “no fucking way.”
The camboy has a catalogue of previous livestreams pinned on his profile, ranging in length from hours-long edging sessions to quick bursts of videos he must’ve spontaneously recorded in a bathroom or another public space that you really shouldn’t be camboying from.
The phone is obviously slung in his hand, his other set of fingers stroking across his abs before pinching the tip of his cock. The noise he lets out hits the microphone sexily, so sexily it makes your thighs snap together.
The first full video you click on is a landscape view. The bedroom is dark and fuzzy, grainy footage showing his whole, naked body (but not his face) as he spreads himself out rather prettily on top of his sheets. The man’s back is arched slightly as he humps into a pillow, his eyes no doubt rolling back in his skull if you go by the noises he’s making.
“Hnngh-“ he whimpers, cock buried within the plush cotton of the pillowcase, “oh fuck, it still smells like y-you-“ he’s rambling, “smells so good, so gooood, fuck, feel so bad-“ your cheeks are hot. That’s definitely Megumi’s bedroom, you’d recognise that neat pile of veterinary textbooks on the shelf anywhere; but, that isn’t his pillow.
It’s yours.
“Can’t help myself, feels too good-“ he pants, mouth muffled against the bed as he desperately grinds his pelvis down. “Wish it was you,” he moans as he cums, hips stuttering against the soft material.
It’s definitely yours, the one you accidentally left at his dorm a few weeks ago after you slept on his couch with freshly-washed hair and the smell of your shampoo seeped into the pillow. “Holy shit.” You mutter to yourself, entranced with the way Megumi’s moaning stupidly about how good it smells on camera to thousands of strangers.
Thousands of horny strangers, as evidenced by the comments.
> Oh my god his whines
> I’m so wet rnnnn ughhghgh
> THE RAMBLING FUCKKKK
You know it’s him, definitely- but you can never have enough proof. At least, that’s the excuse you use to justify why you’re salivating over a lewd video of him wrapping his shaky fingers around his base and tugging. “I wish it was you-“ he breathes, “wish you were here.”
Surely he isn’t talking about you, is he? At least, that’s what you’re trying to tell yourself as you turn up your volume and your brightness simultaneously. “Fuck, you looked so good earlier,” he rambles to himself, occasionally cutting off his own train of thought as his fingers pull harshly. “I wanted you to fuck me so badly it hurt.”
He moans loudly, cracking at the end. “So badly, ngh-“
You’re shocked, honestly, sitting in bed as your best friend whimpers himself to an orgasm. You don’t realise he’s cumming until you hear him whine and his back practically arches away from the chair he’s in, shoving his slick tip towards the camera, and oh, he looks so pretty. His abs get a firm splattering, dripping messily across the sweaty skin, before he shakily drags a hand through the white. Then, the video ends, and you’re left to stunned silence and your own soaked gusset. And, of course, the comments.
> WHOOO is he talking about
> He’s so messy
> nghh his happy trail is sosoooso hot
You can barely face speaking to him the next day, nervously curled up on the opposite side of his couch and anxiously worrying your lip between your teeth. Lest you blurt out something along the lines of “I saw the video of you whimpering and humping my pillow and I had to take a cold shower afterwards”, you take a shaky sip of your water instead.
Now you’re back at Megumi’s place, you’re really registering how much money he must make from camboying. There’s nothing broken, not even little things like the window latches that, at your dorm, have a nasty habit of getting stuck closed in summer. And his clothes are nice too, in a subtle way- casual, but definitely made from a comfy blend of materials that polyester is nowhere near.
Your one saving grace is, dizzingly, that now you know he wants you too- and it’s maybe that (or the lack of sleep) that carries your next words out of your mouth.
“You know you can speak to me about anything, right, Megs?”
“Yeah?” He side eyes you, running a pale hand through his spiky hair. You squint. “Like, anything.”
He nods slowly. “Uh, yeah?”
“Oh, okay,” you say, “so when were you gonna tell me you make your money from being a camboy?”
Megumi freezes. His whole body tenses up on the couch and he looks rather nauseous.
“What?”
You shift into your hands and knees in front of him on the couch, slowly crawling towards his stilled body. “Don’t pretend,” you say, voice dropping into something a little breathy and very evil. Your fingers lightly drift across his thigh, and Megumi jolts. “I saw. That was my pillow, wasn’t it?”
His cheeks go redder than you think you’ve ever seen them- but he’s still silent, processing the fact that you know he fucks his hand every night on camera while whimpering your name. “I’m sorry,” he manages finally, voice thick, “I’m so, so sorry, I just- fuck-“
He dares a glance up, and almost chokes on his own spit. You look sorry for him, a little sad at how panicked he is; your eyes are big and round and, most of all, trusting, and it makes him feel hot. Mortification washes over him when he feels the blood previously flooding his face rush southwards, his sweats filling out the longer you pity him.
Honestly, he thinks he just wants you to take care of him. Maybe that’s why he’s spent so long begging on livestreams, cock buried in your scent or the fingers he wishes were yours.
“Admit it,” you whisper suddenly with a fresh burst of confidence at his blushing, your mouth hovering dangerously close to his. “You like this. Me pitying you.”
Megumi’s breath shudders loudly, his eyes screwed up as he gulps. Say it, Megumi! Something hisses at himself, you know you do. “Yeah. I really do.”
The initial press of your mouth against his is curved upwards as you smile into his tongue. You were expecting him to be just as tentative, but instead Megumi is messy- like he needs you to breathe, gripping you through your clothes with grabby hands.
“Mmpfh!” You squeak against his lips when he nips down- hard- on your bottom lip. He’s breathing heavily now, eyes shut lucidly as he leans into the gentle touch of your palms on his face. The kiss is sloppy; you keep pulling away for air, glossy strings of spit clashing in midair, only for Megumi to gasp and pull your mouth back closer.
It’s not close enough, though.
His hands are fisting in the shirt at your back, clinging to your waist to drag you atop his lap. Megumi doesn’t even realise what he’s done until you gasp, pulling back just long enough to gaze down at his face. All flustered and dazed, lips kiss bitten as he instinctually chases after your lips- how pretty.
You feel bad for the viewers, the ones on his livestreams who don’t get to see the face he makes when he’s all worked up. Your lap is splayed across his bulge, and when your hips lift up to awkwardly wriggle out of your jeans Megumi drops his forehead to your collarbone and whines at the loss.
And it’s that thought about those livestreams that brings your hand down his chest, feeling the fluttering beat of his heart, before playing with his waistband. He physically lurches when your hand, so soft and warm and loving, gently coaxes his cock out.
It slaps obscenely against his stomach, tip a pretty pink and dripping big beads of shining pre. There’s a significant vein striping down the side of the pale skin, curving around the length as it twitches hopelessly in the air under your watchful gaze. Megumi’s fingers are curling into the couch on either side, digging hollow dents into the throw pillows like he isn’t ready to allow himself to touch you.
Your other hand travels up his body towards his face, tilting his chin up towards you so you can take in his blown pupils and the haze already seeping over them like ink. His mouth is clamped shut, lips drawn into a thin line to keep his needy noises locked behind his teeth; so, logically, you have to open him up.
Two of your fingers slide tentatively into the warm, small space of his mouth, and Megumi accepts them like a ship going to the sea, waves battering at his sides. He feels a little like he's drowning inside his own head, being so vulnerable and pathetic under you, but the feeling of your digits gently probing at his tongue keeps him steady.
You’re still across his lap, scooted backwards to allow his cock to rest in the heated space between you as you gently take it in your hand. He moans immediately and his hips buck up. “Sorry.” He apologises thickly around your fingers as you ease them out, warm face dropping against your clothed chest. And yet, his hips don’t stop.
They splatter your hand with pre, almost erratically bucking up into your awaiting fist as you curl it into a tighter hole for him to thrust his length through. You use your other hand to pull at his hair just hard enough for him to turn and look at you, his cheek still pressed up hard against the outline of your tits visible through your shirt. You grin.
“Do you want me to take it off?” Your fingers are already curling into the hem. When you take your hand from his cock to wriggle out of the fabric, Megumi chokes on his own whine and desperately lurches forwards- but while your edging was cruel, the sight of your tits in front of him makes it worth it.
“Wait, slow down-“ You’re only just fumbling with the clasp and giggling when Megumi decides that it’s been long enough and he needs his mouth on you now. He trails sloppy, open-mouthed kisses from your throat to your sternum and soaks the lace of your bra with his spit before you rip the garment away and he connects his lips to your nipple.
At the same time as you gasp softly and arch further into his mouth, your fingers reconnect with his aching cock and resume their prior movements, only this time Megumi’s whimpers are muffled around your chest.
“Never want to think again,” he slurs suddenly against you, glossy spit trickling down the valley between your breasts as he pops back long enough to shove his tongue greedily into your mouth again. “Just… just- fuck, I’m so needy,” he cracks out, your lips parting loudly to welcome his own.
“You are,” you agree, gently bringing his face away from yours so you can look at him. His eyes are heavy and glassy, his mouth hanging open slightly as though their purpose is to await the next lick of your tongue between them. “But that’s okay,” you continue, stroking his head as his mouth attaches itself to your chest again. “You’re allowed to be needy.”
Your hand feels warmer, suddenly, as Megumi cums from your allowance. Maybe he’s been waiting for it, secretly, the permission from you to let go; his release drips hot and sticky across your knuckles, and there’s just so much of it. His cock is still spurting when you push him back against the couch, still messing the sliver of happy trail on his stomach you want to mouth at and ruining his shirt that’s covering the rest of the hair.
He has a forearm thrown across his eyes as his hips continue bucking, little whines and gasps hidden behind the skin. Your fingers trace the hem of his shirt and he shivers. “Off?” You question quietly. When he nods jerkily, you peel it away and oh, it’s even better than the livestream.
You always knew Megumi went to the gym and ate reasonably well, but the refined ridges of his abdomen, splattered with a trail of hair from his navel downwards, makes your mouth salivate. He’s embarrassed by you looking, you can tell, but it really isn’t your fault!
“I see why you have so many viewers now.” You giggle, standing up to unhook your panties and toss them to the side. Megumi watches in nothing less than total awe as your bare body is revealed to him in his living room. It’s an invitation, the way you look at him, he knows that, but he can’t figure out what he wants to do with it.
Bend you over the glass coffee table? He wouldn’t be able to see your tits. Doggy? Same problem as the coffee table, and he doesn't think he could handle seeing your ass move. If you got on top he thinks he’d cum embarrassingly quickly and then pass out, too much for your first time together, really-
He settles on missionary.
Which was probably a gigantic fucking mistake, he thinks as soon as you’re lying beneath him, because his brain immediately blanks when faced with you spread out like this. He’s kneeling in front of you, cock still dripping, but he’s unable to move from shock. “Fuck,” he swallows eventually, shaky hands landing on your soft, bare thighs.
“You’re… so pretty.” Instinctually, you blush; your cheeks are pinker at his sweet little praise than they were when you’d laid back on the carpet, rug cushioning the feeling of your bare spine and sinking comfily into your feet as you drew your knees up. “You too.”
It sort of just slipped out, a casual response to what Megumi said, but it makes him freeze. A slow, slightly malicious smile paints its way across your face as you sit up on your elbows, unintentionally pushing your chest towards him as your legs fall open. “You’re just sooo pretty, Megumi, the prettiest boy I’ve ever seen, it just makes me want to-“
A palm clasps itself over your mouth and you make a muffled, indignant sound of protest. “Stop.” Megumi’s head is hung low as his chest reverberates outwards in his plea, his other hand tightly squeezing his cock; he must be sensitive if this is what a teeny bit of praise does to him, you think, letting your thighs spread further for him to shuffle between.
Your hand reaches up to peel his palm away from your lips. “Megumi,” you whisper, “you can fuck me. You’re allowed to.” His next breath escapes shakily, as his eyes fixate on the way his tip is lined up glimmeringly with the entrance to your pussy.
Somehow, the overwhelming need to bury himself inside you overrides the sense of terror within his bloodstream, and Megumi finds himself slowly pushing himself into you. “Oh,” you moan, hands coming up to splay across his shoulders, “fuck, Megs. That's so good, baby.”
The nickname unlocks something new in him, the feeling of your walls stretching out for him (and only ever him from now on, he decides hazily) while you gasp his name quietly makes his thrusts turn harder, seeking a new level of release he fears- no, knows- he’ll now only be able to reach from this.
The stretch is mean at first, his flushed length scraping past your sweet spots like he’s teasing them for later. Your chest heaves as you breathe through it and let him in, legs wrapping loosely around his lean waist while your hands come up to cup his cheeks and drag him down into another sloppy kiss.
This kiss is messy beyond comparison, spit and teeth and tongue more than lips as the pace of Megumi’s cock thrusting into you picks up. There’s a rushing of blood in your ears when your hand drifts down to rub your clit wonkily, a noise that subsides quick enough and lets you listen to Megumi instead.
And oh, what a thing to listen to!
“Fuck,” he’s moaning, voice cracking on the syllables, “you’re so warm, so tight, wanna- hnngh- stay here forever, god-“
He’s whining and crying, sobbing uncontrollably about how good you feel, how warm and wet you are wrapped tightly around him, and it sends a fresh wave of slick from you that decorates and splashes against his pelvis.
As hard as he tries to hold back and be a goody boy for you, Megumi cums first. The feeling of him spilling into you, thick and wet, makes you gasp brokenly as your nails dig into his shoulders. “Sorry-“ he heaves, pulling out, “I’ll make it up to you-“
He presses himself flat between your thighs, and you’re too dazed and throbbing to do anything but watch the way he’s staring pussydrunkenly at the sight between your legs. It’s almost nasty, just how much is dripping from your cunt down to the floor, in one thick droplet he’s lurching forwards and licking up with his mouth.
“Oh my god-“ you mewl, back arching up as he eats his own cum out of your pussy. Your hands reach down to grip at his spiky hair, more as an anchor than anything else- you don’t need to guide him, he’s good enough, although you don’t think Megumi would pull away if you wanted him to.
He’s completely lost in it, groaning and whining into your pussy with his eyes half-closed while his big hands wrap around your thighs and dig into the flesh until it dimples beneath his touch. You’re whimpering by the time he pushes you into an orgasm, lips suctioned tightly over your sensitive clit, but he doesn’t stop.
“Hah- wanted to do this f’so long,” he’s mumbling against your cunt, shoving his mouth open to lick a flat stripe across the full space you offer him. “So good, so good…”
Your pussy flutters needily around his tongue, his tastebuds coated and lacquered with your slick and his own cum. The concept should be off-putting to him, he knows that, but he can't be ashamed when your hits jerk into his face and he raises his hands to grip onto your plush thighs even more. Megumi barely realises what he's doing before you call him out on it.
"You- you want me to clamp them?" You gasp, watching the way he's smothering himself with your skin. Megumi moans in agreement, in admission. And you oblige.
Your thighs tighten around his head harshly, applying the maximum amount of pressure you can manage; his dark hair gets messed even more, his skull compressed, and yet Megumi thinks this feels like heaven.
Eventually, what little coherence he had left devolves into something close to devotion. He can’t do anything but lie there and gently grind his overstimulated cock into the soft carpet, his mouth smushed against your cunt as he unintentionally drags you into a second orgasm and you sob.
In fact, you’re both sobbing a little. There’s tears brimming in his eyes, saline drops threatening to streak Megumi’s already bright cheeks, while the water collecting at your waterline has already begun slipping down your temples. “S’too much.” You hear yourself slurring. Your voice sounds underwater, like it’s a recording of yourself you’re listening to.
As shaky and weak as you are, your hand manages to fist in Megumi’s hair and pull him back. His long eyelashes flutter a segment open, like he’s checking you’re real and here, before he draws himself up blindly to collapse beside you on the rug as you catch your breath.
A little like a tired puppy, Megumi drops his forehead against your shoulder and buries his face into the damp skin. Your arm curls around his back loosely, heat prickling your skin, and you clear your hoarse throat to speak coherently for the first time since he pushed himself inside you.
“You did really good.” You mumble, eyes closed and head tilted back. “So good.”
If a fresh sheen of tears starts to leak out onto your skin where Megumi is buried, you don’t comment on it. He wouldn’t say it out loud to you, not in a million years, but he feels safe. In an odd way, considering he’s naked and spent next to you in his living room with your taste still coating his tongue.
“Maybe…” you giggle, eyes still lazily shut as your fingers trace shapes across his bare back. “You should livestream it next time.”
He groans and tightens his arms around you. “Absolutely not.”
masterlist
a/n: thank you all so, so, so much again!! + this post was mainly inspired by @lipstainedgemini ‘s lovely posts about camboy megumi! <33
In his memory, Choso is roughly thirteen years old and being forced to play 'house' with his little brother, as is a rite of passage for many. Yuji sits cross-legged from him on the carpet, little pink eyebrows furrowed in concentration as he completes the most important task he's faced in his five years on earth- delegating roles to his toys.
“Dad.” Yuji points to a small stuffed tiger, setting it aside from the bunches of animals.
“Uncle.” He says to a spiky green dinosaur, “because he has patterns like Uncle Kuna.” Choso doesn’t bother explaining to his five year old brother that they’re scales, not tattoos, because Yuji would just ignore him anyway.
Yuji goes on and on, casting his toys as grandparents, sisters, cousins and aunties; Choso feels rather rejected, sitting there patiently like a young upstart waiting for the casting list at their first theatre.
“Brother,” he says to a patchwork bear. Choso stares in affront, then sighs, expecting to finally be the second, older brother. But instead:
“Cho, you can be the house’s dog, okay?”
Choso feels genuinely offended. “But-“
Yuji ignores him, already grabbing his tiger in two chubby hands and speaking to it. Choso groans and assumes the position, hands and knees digging into the floor as he gives into his teenage pride and does whatever his little brother wants to be happy.
“Yayyy, good puppy!” Yuji cheers, rosy cheeks stretching out as he giggles into his tiger plush, his two recently lost teeth gapping his cute smile. Choso grimaces.
Now, Choso is over a decade older, and listening to those same words again- but they aren’t coming from his brother. They’re coming from his girlfriend, and he doesn’t think he’s ever felt more pathetically turned on.
“Goooood puppy, Choso.” You purr, digging your nails into his scalp as his mouth swallows up your dripping cunt whole like its all he's good for. “So good f’me.”
Choso chokes on his own gasping breath, tongue twisting shallowly inside you and searching for the pretty noises he knows you can make for him. Your hand pats his head condescendingly when he latches onto your clit and suckles, his fingers dug into your hips to smother himself with the taste of you like he never wants to let go of the supple flesh he finds there.
The humiliation burns across his face, hot and glaringly obvious; redness rests high on his cheekbones, creeping across to his bare back, snaking onto his neck. There’s no real need for him to be shirtless other than the fact you like to ogle him when he eats you out; you like lying there as he uses his mouth to make you cum while you stare hazily at the dreamy sight of his back and shoulders rolling.
You like to grin lazily down at your boyfriend and see the way his biceps flex to pin your rocking hips to his greedy tongue, the way his back muscles ripple when he humps into the mattress. You wouldn’t mind if he was fully naked, but Choso’s the one who insists on keeping his underwear on.
Every time, he’ll mumble something about the cold or a half-baked excuse about how he’s embarrassed about you seeing his ass when he gets up, but really?
He just likes the way you humiliate him.
Choso is deeply, pathetically into the way you laugh in his blushing face after he inevitably cums in his boxers. Like, reallyyy into it, to the point that the thought consumes him when he's looking online for a few new pairs of underwear- where would a damp patch be more obvious? The black or the grey?
The grey, obviously. Which is why he's wearing them right now.
He’ll crawl up on shaky arms to allow you to tease the waistband and the trail of hair above it, whimpering when you palm the damp patch over his cock and grin. “Awwwhh, Cho…” you say meanly, thumbing the tip through the fabric as it scratches the sensitive head, “you came that easily? Gosh, you’re so pathetic.”
And he’ll nod vehemently, face flaming as you bully him, strong arms resting either side of your much smaller frame as he lets you keep talking. Much like you are now.
“Pathetic.” You breathe out, voice tinged with something disgustingly close to sappy lovesickness as you brush brunette locks from his sweaty forehead. “All for me, hm?”
He moans in agreement, eyes fluttering closed when you grip his head to stuff him between your soft thighs harder. “I didn’t hear you, Cho.” You sulk. “I thought good puppies used their words.”
"It's all for you." He groans, kitten-licking your clit. "Nobody else could ever make me like this, baby. Just need you-" He dives back in, eager as ever, but your nails dig hard into his head to rip him away. "Ah-ah," you say sweetly, in love with the way his eyes dilate as he gazes at your soaked cunt, "and what are you, puppy?"
His voice cracks when he pulls away from your weeping pussy, still keeping his thumb rotating on your buzzing clit to work you up to an eventual orgasm. “I…” he whispers, eyes brimming with tears. “I’m pathetic.”
You’d feel awful if he didn’t ask you to be like this with him.
“I’m so pathetic.” He sobs out, tongue licking a flat stripe across your cunt. “So, so pathetic, can’t h-help myself-“
His voice is stuttering now, tears flowing freely down his cheeks as you gently coax him into stuffing you with his fingers again. When he does, your head tips back against the pillows and you gasp softly. The noise makes Choso’s cock twitch in his underwear.
He’s rutting pathetically into the mattress, like… well, like a dog.
Briefly, Choso imagines how it would feel to take it further and actually act like a dog; he crawls to you enough already, begs to eat your pussy on his knees, so surely buying a pretty little collar (with your name engraved for proof of ownership, of course!) isn’t too far?
And then, he thinks dreamily, wouldn’t you need a lead to go with the collar? You could drag him around on it, tugging when he whimpers about his hands hurting and slapping him to stop his whining. Maybe you’d scold him when he misbehaved and praise him when he gazes up at you with that big, brown, puppy-eyed stare you adore so much on him.
Choso’s so lost in the fantasy he doesn’t notice the way you’ve started trembling around him as he licks you through your second? third? orgasm and into the point of overstimulation.
“Ch-Choso-“ you cry, tugging at his soft locks, “s’too much, oh-“
He keens into your cunt as he keeps licking, more for himself than you as he grinds his thickening cock down into the mattress and ruins his underwear. When he finishes cumming after what feels like forever, he rests his fucked-out face on your inner thigh and lets his cheek smush against the skin.
“Good boy.” You slur, hand resting shakily on his face. Choso whimpers and closes his eyes, but quickly draws himself up to lie beside you and snuggle his face firmly into your neck. "Hm?" You giggle, eyes drifting down to the tent in his underwear. "Did you cum in your boxers again, Cho?" You tut, and the sound makes the soaked patch resting atop the outline of his twitching cock only grow more.
"Sorry..." he whimpers, clearly not sorry at all when you feel something moving against your naked hip. He's humping you, messy and unfocused as his eyes flutter shut and he clutches your body for support.
“Cho…”
“Hnngh- just- please, I’ll be good for you, just let me…” his thoughts melt when you start kissing him, mouth mixing spit with his tongue as his breath hitches.
“Such a good puppy, Cho.” You purr, pressing soft kisses to his face to help him through it as he grinds against your skin. “Always so good for me.”
And then, his undoing. “I love you, Cho.” You breathe into his mouth, “so much.”
“E-even if I’m…” he pants embarrassedly, “if I’m pathetic?”
You smile and brush hair from his teary eyes. “Especially then.”
ೃ࿔*:･
masterlist
a/n: for @f33bs, my favourite Choso puppyplay truther ever
You’re not… a pervert, exactly. Sure, you’ve imagined your boyfriend being stuffed from behind by his (equally sexy) best friend, but it’s not like you’d ever act on it! Well, that is until Gojo shows up gleefully at your shared apartment with a few new types of alcohol ‘to try’ and your mouth speaks before you can think about it.
“Toru, did you ever fuck Suguru in university?”
Gojo freezes, glass halfway to his pretty mouth. Initially, you’re mortified and think he’s probably considering breaking up with you right there- instead, the flush dusting across his cheeks tells you the answer to your question.
“Hm.” You smile knowingly, slow and coy, then cross your legs over each other. “Would… would you do it again?”
That’s how, a week later, you find yourself perched cosily in the chair that sits in the corner of your bedroom as you watch your usually strong, cocky boyfriend get reduced to a babbling mess on his best friend’s cock.
“Oh fuck, fuck, Sugu-“ Gojo gasps, hand reaching out blindly for the tangled sheets in front of him, his broad shoulders shaking with the effort of holding himself up on his corded forearms. Geto’s expansive back muscles roll as he rocks his hips forwards into your boyfriend, a few pieces of silky hair plastered to his face already.
“Come on, Satoru.” Geto purrs, snapping his hips once to hear the strangled noise that chokes out of your boyfriend’s throat, “don’t tell me you can’t take it anymore? You used to do it so well.” His hand entwines in Gojo’s hair and pulls, simultaneously bringing his body down to shove his tongue against his.
The mere sight of it is enough for you to gasp beneath your breath, electricity bubbling between your thighs as you watch Geto devour Gojo’s face. Soft white hair is crumpled beneath his fingers as Gojo moans desperately into the other man’s mouth, rutting backwards as he seeks the compatibility of their hips smacking together.
To be honest, you’d expected Gojo to be the top at first. Maybe it was because you were projecting the way he’d relentlessly pummel into you sometimes, how his big hand would wrap around your throat and clench enough for you to squeal beneath him. Or maybe you just wanted to see how beautiful Geto’s hair would look against your pillows.
But when Geto had walked into the bedroom, hair loosely undone as he yanked his shirt over his tanned shoulders, it wasn’t just you who drooled- Gojo had looked at him nervously, then you, kissed your forehead softly and murmured a little. Geto comfortingly rubbed your lower back and moved away. Even if he was about to fuck your boyfriend in front of you, he was still nice about it.
“Are you sure you want me to do this?” He’d said nervously, thumb running over your knuckles. “It’s… Suguru could be a lot, baby.”
Your eyes had drifted over to the man then, already spread out lazily on the edge of your bed as he waited for your conversation to be over. Geto was leaning back on his haunches, thighs resting apart as though he was waiting for Gojo to drop to his knees between them. Strangely, the thought didn’t peak jealousy in you but a thick, sticky desire to see it.
Turning your attention back to your boyfriend, “yes, Satoru.” Whispered against his mouth, “I trust you. And I want to watch.”
Geto smirked behind you and you met his eyes; you weren’t that close with him, really, but at least you had something to bond over now.
Fucking Satoru Gojo.
Which is what he’s doing now- exceptionally well, in fact. Geto has Gojo facing you, his bright blue eyes cloudy and dropped to the floor as he’s pistoned back and forth by the cock rummaging around in his insides. He can see your socked feet, one thigh pressed over the other.
“Don’t tell me you can’t take it.” Geto says again, voice pattered with the occasional groan as Gojo clenches around him. “Not even for her?”
Gojo gasps as a strong hand digs into the roots of his hair and yanks him up to face you, blue and dilated eyes rolling in his skull at the pain before he trembles them to face your face. He’s expecting you to look a little horrified, shocked and mortified at how pathetic he can get- but, to his surprise (dulled by the feeling of Geto’s cock prodding inside him) you… don’t.
Your lips are parted in a little disbelieving ‘o’ shape, panties soaked through- not that he can see that part- your thighs switching between squeezing together and parting as the sensation gets too much. “Look at him.” Geto laughs, “so pretty for us, isn’t he?”
You nod, biting your lip as your boyfriend hangs his head again. “So pretty for us, toru.” You agree softly.
His cock, pale but flushed angrily at the tip as Geto uses his hands to grip his hips instead, hangs untouched between his muscled thighs and twitches pre onto the sheets. You’d feel sorry for him if he didn’t look so utterly gorgeous getting destroyed in front of your face like this.
Gojo’s arms finally give up as Geto’s tip bumps rigidly across his sweet spot, elbows collapsing onto the sheet along with his face as it smushes down. Gojo’s spine curves in a way you’ve never thought it could- his hips gripped up by Geto, shoulders flat as a hand splays them out. He looks wrecked.
You slip from the chair to the floor, knees on the carpet, ignoring the way Geto moans to focus on your boyfriend as he struggles to keep his eyes open at the sudden wave of pleasure when his ass is yanked backwards again; his cheeks are sweaty when you instinctively reach out for him, instinctively seeking to comfort, and he leans into your touch just as naturally.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck-“ he whimpers, panicking at the stimulation and his snowy lashes batting across his cheek. “C-can’t-“
“You can, Satoru.” You whisper to him, lifting his head and thumbing away a few shaky tears threatening to brim at his waterline. “You’re being so, so good, sweetheart.”
He gasps out your name weakly and arches further when he shoves his mouth against yours blindly. The kiss is soft, a contrary to the way Geto is ruining him; your hands gently brush away white hair from his eyes, your touch loving.
“I’m close.” Geto breathes, his hand still pressing down between Gojo’s shoulders. You, still breathless from the kiss and the vision of your boyfriend, raise a surprised eyebrow at Gojo’s moan and you realise just how long he’s gone without real direct stimulation.
“It’s okay, baby.” You soothe him as you move from his field of vision to kneel beside him on the bed, ignoring the constant smacking of skin on skin while your hand snakes between his thighs to wrap around his cock.
“Ah-“ he sobs, “fu-ck-“
Geto makes the mistake of looking down at you, at the way your eyes are all glossy and your hand is coated in shiny pre while you work your boyfriend up to his orgasm. Something about it, about being allowed into this space where his control is only a mimicry of yours, makes Geto’s abdomen clench.
He gasps, the sound punched in on itself, as his head tips backwards and he jutters his hips deep enough to make Gojo choke while he spills inside him. At the same time, your thumb presses down on your boyfriend’s sensitive slit and he cums across your knuckles. It’s thick and there’s ropes of it, dripping messily onto the bed.
“Shh, you did so good for us.” You murmur to Gojo as Geto pulls out, presses a polite kiss to your cheek, then sets about to gather his things as he lets you sweet talk your boyfriend.
“Yeah?” Gojo laughs weakly, a little embarrassed now he’s coming down from the sex. “You weren’t… you liked it?”
“I did.” You giggle, wrapping your arms around his awkwardly long limbs while you gently smile at Geto. “Bye, Suguru.”
He laughs, tying his hair back up after tucking his cock away and pulling his clothes on. “Bye. And bye, Satoru.”
Gojo flushes embarrassingly bright against you. “Bye.”
“So…” you say quietly, combing your nails through his white hair. “Should I join in next time? It looked fun.”
𝜗𝜚 Surely Yuki was totally lying about how hot the local underground band was, right? Well, she wasn’t. Now, you know Suguru Geto plays bass, every chord from C minor to F sharp major; maybe you should test how good he knows G.
content: smut, plot, Yuki/Shoko cameo, alcohol, mentions of birth control, jjk men in a band, bassist Suguru, tension, cigarettes, oral (f. recieving), tongue piercings, fingering, panties as a cockring, dick piercings, riding, car sex, manhandling, hickies, making out, creampies, happy endings
wc: 4.4k
a/n: this is a (super delayed) treat for 8k <33 ily all so so much!!
more like this
ೃ࿔*:･
The cafe smells of coffee and sugar, students crammed into booths or perched on stools as they procrastinate essays and sip iced, overpriced drinks. You’re sat comfortably on a corner table, bag resting limply on the floor beside you while a barista walks past you to wipe a countertop.
“Ugh, they’re just so good!” Yuki swoons in her seat, the cafe bustling around your little trio. “I mean, their lyrics are one thing, but their fans are super dedicated too-“
Beside you, Shoko rolls her eyes. “I’m surprised you can hear them over all the girls screaming.” Her teacup clatters against the saucer as she sets it down, blackened coffee grounds sloshing around within the ceramic.
“Yeah, since when were you into trending underground bands?” You ask, thrumming your nails on the table. Yuki shrugs. “You’d scream too if you saw them up close. Seriously, they’re everybody’s type.” She sighs wistfully and gazes off into the distance, and you finish your drink in two sips. So much for affordable portions, you suppose glumly.
“Well, when are they playing? I could use a night out.” Yuki perks up as you speak, eyes bright and her smile wide as Shoko digs around in her bag for her packet of cigarettes and a lighter.
Undeterred by Shoko’s obvious indifference, Yuki keeps talking. “You’re in luck! This Saturday, they’re on locally- and free- I’ve been to the bar before. It’s gonna be soooo fun!”
The rest of the week passes normally, assignments and emails floating in and out of your periphery, but you’re admittedly intrigued by Saturday and Yuki’s promise. Which is why you find yourself coating your lashes in mascara an hour before you’re supposed to meet your friends, lightly thumbing glitter along your eyelids.
Shoko rests on your bed, cross legged, squinting as she pours the remnants of something into her flask. Yuki rolls her eyes. “You’re so old fashioned.”
“Practical.” Shoko shrugs.
“Hey, guys-“ you say suddenly, sitting up, “I can take birth control if I drink, right?”
Yuki nods sagely, cracking open the ringpull on the can in her manicured hand. “As long as you don’t puke it up.”
“Okay, great.” You say, happily turning back to your mirror and brushing the wand across your eyelashes a final time.
According to Yuki, there’s no common set aesthetic between the attendees at their gigs. “Everybody just dresses sexy. That’s about it.” She’d shrugged on Friday morning over another overpriced coffee, “so wear something sexy.”
Do you look sexy? Probably- your skirt isn’t too short, but your shirt hugs your tits so well it’s almost embarrassing to go out in daylight wearing it. As such, you end up dragging on a jacket to avoid flashing the unsuspecting public- but, as it turns out, there was probably no need at all.
“Oh my god, I’m sweating already.” Shoko says. Her shirt is just as low cut as yours, which makes you feel a little better- plus, there’s probably more skin on show than there is fabric in the bar.
If you can even call it that.
It's more of a club with a bar attached than what you were expecting. Condensation drips down the walls, gathering moisture and slicking the surface. Lights bounce off people’s hair, faces, pupils dilating then shrinking back down as the strobe comes into contact with their eyes; you feel like you’ve stepped into a kaleidoscope and somebody is vigorously shaking it as you slosh around in the beads.
A particularly vicious strip of green laser stabs at your vision and you wince, eyes still adjusting to the atmosphere. But when they do, you realise you shouldn’t have been concerned about the neckline of your shirt at all.
Yuki was right- everybody in this room seems overwhelmingly sexy. Gazes track along bodies that curve for attention, strangers disappearing into tucked-away bathrooms together with their cheap drinks lying sticky and spilt on the floor.
“Yuki, what the fuck? It’s huge in here!” You yell over the music thumping through the speakers. Actually, the room isn’t too huge- but there’s so many people. Crammed wall to wall, body to body, people stagger past you to puke outside and there’s a couple in the corner making out.
It’s not just that corner, or the occasional bathroom stall, you realise- everywhere you look, there’s skin pressed to clammy skin and glitter smeared across fingertips; couples are pressed up against the exposed bricks, clothes snagging on railings. You whirl around to Yuki accusatorially as Shoko inconspicuously sips from the flask tucked into her purse. Not that there's any need- about half of the people in here are drunk already.
“Is this a sex club?” Shoko groans. Yuki laughs and takes the flask from her hand, smiling at you both. “No, obviously not- people just get kinda rowdy sometimes.“ Your own swig of alcohol warms your stomach and throat, a comforting buzz humming below your skin, and suddenly the venue doesn’t seem too bad at all.
Somehow, you end up pressed against the flimsy barricade separating the crowd of thrashing bodies from the stage. Above you, there’s two men singing into the same microphone with a woman perched behind a keyboard and you furrow your brow. “Yu, is this them?”
Shoko laughs. “Wow, anticlimax much?”
Yuki giggles a little drunkenly, unscrewing a can of something bright and sweet from her bag. “Daiquiri.” She explains when you squint at the label, pulling you a spare, “and no, this isn’t them- trust me, you’ll know when they’re on- oh my god, oh my god, it’s them!”
The venue practically erupts. People scream behind you, Yuki excitedly grabbing Shoko before turning to you and shouting something incoherent, her voice drowned out easily by the sheer volume of everybody else.
The crowd surges forwards, breath knocked a little out of your lungs as your canned cocktail sloshes in the can crumpling under your fingers. There’s a sudden burst of light from above as the spotlights fan out across the crowd, and you screw your eyes shut instinctually at the sudden explosion of white- but your ears are still open, and you can hear the amount of swooning female voices drowning out everything else.
The band can’t be everybody’s type, can they?
Your question is answered immediately when you manage to get a good look at them.
And holy shit.
“I know, right?!” Yuki yells into your ear, blonde hair tickling your neck as she leans in towards the stage to laugh at the dumbstruck look on your face. “They’re hot!”
More than hot. You aren’t quite sure where to look first, totally overwhelmed and spoilt with choice; you start at the front, to the white-haired, sunglasses wearing, grinning frontman who’s lapping up the attention.
“Is everybody having a good time?”
He only has to greet the crowd once before they’re all yelling and vying for his attention again, to which he just laughs and scrapes his hair back. “Thought so. Lemme introduce you to the band!”
You stare, slack jawed and flustered, while Gojo- as he introduces himself while grinning, much to the delight of apparently everybody- does exactly as he said between adjusting his mic stand.
Choso Kamo on the guitar, dark bangs falling softly into eyes smeared with dark makeup as his fingers slip along the fretboard; girls drunkenly squeal his name over and over, but unlike Gojo he looks almost embarrassed- a cute flush working onto his face. Gojo also mentions he’s the stand-in keyboardist, to which he blushes even harder and focuses on the chords.
Ryomen Sukuna sits behind the set of drums at the back, twirling the drumsticks between his fingers. When Gojo calls his name into the mic, he grins widely and flexes his tattooed biceps to encourage the desperate crowd’s attention; cymbals crash and vibrate when he lowers his hands, mouth barking out a laugh when Gojo pulls a face at him.
But then, finally:
“And now, my best friend and our resident bassist- come into the light, let the ladies see you!” Gojo teases; the people behind you only make more noise as he turns to face forward, beckoning his laughing friend closer, and you see why immediately.
Suguru Geto, as Gojo announces over the screams, is the kind of hot that steals your breath away and makes you want to suffocate if it means you’ll get to keep staring at him. You’re so close you can see the thin strips of eyeliner framing his eyes.
“I told you they were everybody’s type.” Yuki says into your ear, grinning knowingly as you gape up at the men- or, more specifically, man- in front of you.
“Yeah.” You nod dazedly, only half registering the words coming out of her mouth as your eyes zero in on the way his tongue darts out to wet his lips. Something metallic and shiny glints under the lights as he does so: a tiny piercing, a little silver star on the pink muscle.
You’re struck by how effortless he makes it look. Bass thrums through the amps, the floor, travelling up through your starstruck body in cloying waves that make your brain vibrate within your fragile skull.
Your mouth dries, then immediately waters again when Geto throws his head backwards briefly mid-song while his polished nails work the strings. Hair spills across his shoulders, strands falling messily from where they’ve been loosely tied back.
Try as you might, you physically can’t pull yourself away from staring at him. Not even through Choso’s abashed guitar solo, not even when Sukuna flings his drumsticks about and flashes a sliver of (tattooed, obviously) tanned abdomen to the crowd.
It’s their final song now, and you’re feeling pre-withdrawals from Geto’s presence. Suddenly, rather embarrassingly, you understand exactly why so many people in here come back again and again. You would too, just for a glimpse of him.
You need a drink.
The abandoned and lukewarm can in your hand will have to suffice, sweetened alcohol swilling about in your mouth and dripping down the side of not just the can itself, but your forearm. Without breaking the stare you’ve been holding on Geto’s gorgeous face since the very first song, you stick your wettened tongue out and drag it across your skin.
Cocktail collects on your tastebuds as you go, still gazing in entrancement up at the bassist. You’re so deep in analysing his face, the studded eyebrow piercing, the thin wisps of hair plastered to his forehead from sweat, the gauges decorating his earlobes, that you don’t realise that he’s staring back, too.
You freeze, tongue now flattened against your wrist and its rapid pulse as his eyes lock onto yours- and god help you, he smirks. A lazy, devastatingly slow facial expression as he gazes with heavy eyes directly into the face in front of him.
It’s about as cliche as it gets, you know- but for a few seconds, as Geto’s lips curl upwards and his fingers keep plucking, as the alcohol pools on your tongue and sticky skin, everything seems to blur. Muting and slowing, the sounds and smells around you stop their assault on your senses and the room narrows down to just you and the bassist who’s very blatantly ogling you.
And then, like a building wave crashing back to shore, everything quickens back up as Gojo finishes the final lyric and tosses his pick into the pit of swarming fans. A little plastic triangle, thrown to people who practically dive over each other to grab the keepsake.
“Thank you for coming!” Gojo yells into the mic, “and-“
Whatever else he says is drowned out, a rush of blood in your ears when you realise Geto’s turning to leave the stage, bass propped up against the amplifier and his eyes tugging away from yours. Your chest almost pangs.
The pavement outside, almost an hour later, is damp and gritty. You’re muttering curses to yourself as you try to ignore the man vomiting around the corner; as if that wasn’t bad enough, you’re looking for Yuki- who was looking for Shoko. So now, you’re ultimately alone while the vague smell of cigarette curls around you and embeds itself in your clothes.
“I can’t believe this.” You mumble to yourself. The alcohol has mostly lost its hold on you now, fading down to a background buzz that would be pleasant if you weren’t in such a dismal mood.
“Hey.”
You look up begrudgingly, monotone expression slapped across your face, before you see who’s speaking and almost scream. “Uh, hi!”
Beside you, cigarette in hand, stands Suguru Geto of all people. The ash burns and drops to the floor where it sizzles out, probably landing on your shoe with how close he’s standing, but you don’t care.
He smiles down at you and stubs out his cigarette. God, he’s even prettier up close. “Suguru.”
You already know. He knows you know. He knows everybody else here knows- it’s just a formality to get your name. And he does, obviously.
His lips curve again, something dangerous flickering behind his eyes when they drift down just a little to the dip in your top. “Did you enjoy the show?”
He’s murmuring at a normal volume, but it may as well be that he’s just shouted it into your eardrum with the way you jolt. “Yeah, I did.” Frowning, “but I think everybody else did too.”
Geto tilts his head, a gleaming wave of hair washing across his shoulder. “Honestly, gorgeous? I don’t think I even noticed anybody else. Not with you staring up at me all prettily, you made it hard to focus on the set.”
Avoiding his eye contact for fear you’d probably squeal, “you made it hard to focus on the rest of the band, too.”
He straightens up finally, tucking a lock of hair behind his gauges; you’re disappointed to say the least- were you too boring? Too forward? Your fingers fiddle with the hem of your skirt nervously, and Geto notices. Or, more precisely, he notices the way your thighs look in the skirt.
Not that you notice.
What you do notice, however, is the way he clears his throat and you snap your head up to look at him.
“My car’s parked around the back. Everybody else left.”
Your breath catches in your throat. It’s a thinly veiled invitation, you know that; Shoko and Yuki can handle themselves, can’t they? And you’re not sure if it’s the heat Geto’s presence brings to your face or the way the alcohol is still coursing happily through your veins, but somehow you find yourself placing your fingers with his ringed ones and following him towards the car.
Initially, you weren’t quite sure what to expect from his car, but it’s actually quite nice- air freshener hung tidily, boxes of instruments and equipment stacked in the boot. All of your curiosity, however, is brushed away like dust to the wind when Geto opens the door- and encourages you to cosy up in the backseat.
Your head thunks lightly against the glass, nervy hands automatically wrestling the steadily rising hem of your skirt back down; Geto stops you, fingers gently curling around yours and pushing the material back up your thighs until he has a clear shot down to your underwear.
He breathes out, self-satisfied and hungry, his thumb reaching forwards to tenderly glissade down the soaked fabric. Your hips twitch instinctually towards the touch; embarrassment isn’t even in your periphery anymore, too worked up to care as he keeps lightly teasing your pussy.
“Lie back for me, pretty.”
You do- god help you- and warmth pools between your legs at the sight. Geto’s crammed below, chest almost flattened to the seats, silver jewellery cool against the heated skin of your thighs when he props your legs over his shoulders and leans in.
He lets his breath fan across you at first, before swiftly pulling your panties to the side and grinning at what he finds. You can’t see between your legs, too busy craning to get a glimpse of Geto’s face, but whatever you’re viewing doesn’t matter- because as soon as he closes his plush lips around your clit your brain blanks.
Geto presses another tender kiss to your sensitive skin again before drawing back and lining an obscenely slow, teasing lick through your wetness. It’s more for him than you, undoubtedly; he can’t find it in himself to feel selfish or guilty, not when you taste so good.
You jolt, hands flying to the crown of his glossy head and gasp. “What- why are you c-cold?”
Geto smiles against your cunt, chastely kissing your inner thigh before slowly unfurling his tongue and- oh, how did you forget? His pretty little piercing, nestled right in the middle, glimmering with traces of your slick.
Words fail you, a breathless curse slipping from your mouth when your head falls back again.
“Fuck,” he moans into you, tongue flicking across your clit, “sooo good for me.”
Two fingers work themselves around you, cold rings pressing against your clit and you muffle a whimper into your palm. Geto looks displeased, to say the least. “Don’t do that. Let me hear you, pretty.”
To punctuate his point, Geto’s pulling away to hear the way you gasp indignantly as your orgasm gets ripped from you. “You can’t do that-“ you say, voice cracking, “you’re cruel.”
He just smiles, piercings glinting, as he lifts his fingers to his mouth and sucks. Your breath hitches and your chest rises below your top at the sight, so lewd and unrefined compared to everything he showed onstage earlier.
He laughs at your expression and sits back in the seat, undoing his belt without breaking eye contact. “Take your panties off for me, pretty.” You startle, halfway crawling across the seats towards him, before quizzically removing the soaked piece of fabric from where it’s all tangled at your thighs.
“Now, hand them to me.”
You do. You’re expecting him to maybe gag you with them- or himself, he doesn’t seem above that- but what he does instead makes your nails dig into the seat. Geto takes the ruined, messy fabric of your underwear and wraps it around his base.
“Fuck.” His hips stutter as he does, panties clinging to his sensitive skin as he loops them. He smiles. “There.”
You stare. Unabashedly- because what else are you supposed to do when the bassist you’re fucking in the back of his car uses your panties as a cockring?
And your gaze isn’t averted from his cock itself either; adorned with a few zigzagging veins- and a tiny sliver orb nestled at the tip. It’s identical to the one on his tongue, you notice with amusement. You wonder briefly if he has any earrings the same, but the gauges glint back at you and answer your question.
“Okay, up you go.” Geto settles back in the seat and grins as you swing your legs determinedly over his lap, your soft thighs bracketing his toned hips- but all your bravado disappears the moment your greedy hands wrap around his dick and realise just how thick he is.
The fabric at his base swallows up only what seems to be a tiny portion of his cock, slippery fabric splayed across tan skin that fades into the prettiest pink at the tip. Pre leaks down, soaking into your panties further and you tremble in trepidation.
“C’mon, gorgeous.” Geto coos, rings cold against your hips. “I’ll help you out…”
He does, guiding your slick cunt to the tip and letting gravity do the work. As you swallow him up you shudder, that teeny little piercing nudging at all your soft spots and coaxing even more wetness from you. “Ohh, fuck.” You breathe, forehead dropping to his shoulder.
He laughs and caresses your spine as you finally bottom out, lace scratching your skin just a little. “I told you I’d help you out, hm?”
You moan in response, hands curling into fists at his skin for leverage as you begin to lift and drop your hips. Geto’s head tips to the side, eyes half shut as he stares unashamedly at where you’re conjoined together.
He watches and feels the way your cunt squeezes around him as he slides out, only for you to squeak into his ear when Geto slips back in to the base and notches deep.
Your thighs are burning already, legs trembling as you fight for purchase on the smoothness of the car’s backseat. “Slowing down already?” You huff, hair sticking to your temples.
“S’not my fault you’re so…” you trail off, cheeks bright as Geto jostles inside you again. “No, go on.” He says, smirking against your throat as his tongue piercing licks a filthy stripe up the salty skin. “What am I?”
“You’re-“ you heave, “you’re… big.”
Oh, he smiles at that, piercings shimmering as he grins wickedly up at you. You don’t even realise he’s looped his hands around your waist, that he’s spread his thick thighs just a little further, until Geto’s using the excess leverage to yank you down onto his cock like a doll and you sob.
“Fuck, fuck, Geto-“ you gasp, nails cutting marks into his shoulders as you try and cling on.
“I think we’re much past the formalities by now, pretty.” He pants, tugging you closer to dig his teeth into your flesh and balm the ache with his tongue’s cooling metal ball. “Suguru works just fine.”
You try to say Suguru, you really do, but he chooses somewhere between the second and third syllable to slam his tip into your cunt and you blank. What you end up with instead, is a wanton cry of:
“Sugu-!”
He groans. “F-fuck, yeah, gorgeous.”
The underwear tangled around his base is sodden beyond repair by now, a mix of pre and slick infiltrating the fibres of the fabric and soaking it completely through until it’s barely recognisable as your panties anymore. “Sugu, Sugu, Sugu-“ it’s like your own personal mantra.
Your hand, shaky as it is, latches onto your clit and rubs frantic little circles over the nerves. It’s messy and uncoordinated but it feels so good you gasp, the noise dripping like sugar into Geto’s awaiting ears as his pace pushes you to continue.
Geto groans out small susurrations against your collarbone and chest, sucking purple marks into the soft skin. Your head tips back and your pussy pulses dramatically around him- and Geto grins.
“You close, pretty?”
“Yes, fuck, so close-“ you hear yourself whining, mascara smudged beneath your eyes. Geto’s makeup isn’t faring better- eyeliner streaks darkly across his temples as you grab his face to bring him forwards.
The kiss is nothing short of nasty- more spit and breath than lips, your tongue searching for the piercings studded across his lips and the extra sensation they add to the kiss. Geto moans lowly, a cracked little noise that echoes from his throat and into your mouth. When your fingers stutter, it’s Geto’s hand that comes down to cover you and rub harder.
You clamp down tightly around him when you cum, the orgasm overtaking all five senses until everything you feel is coated in a numbing mixture of bliss and overpowering pleasure. Geto fucks you through it, welcoming the extra tightness as his teeth dig into his lip.
When Geto finally cums, it’s messy, hot and thick- white streaks viscously down your inner thighs as you overspill, coating the ruined panties wrapped around his dick even more. His hair spills over his shoulders like water, curtaining you both as he smushes his mouth to yours again.
“Hck-“ you squeal against his tongue when he brings you in, your arms wrapping around his neck as his hands drag you closer by your hair and back. Spit drips down your lips and Geto eagerly licks it all back up.
Utterly fucked-out and ruined, you slump against his chest while Geto reaches into the pocket of his jeans, fingers curling around a plastic lighter and a packet of cigarettes. He nudges the window down just enough to let the sex-sticky humidity fade out into the night, and clicks his lighter.
The slow puff of his cigarette seems to revitalise him, eyes turning up as he smiles. You don’t even smoke, but when he wordlessly holds it out to you between two fingers you find yourself leaning forwards and chasing whatever he offers.
“My friends are probably waiting.” Your voice is embarrassingly hoarse, makeup probably obscenely ruined. And you don’t have any panties to wear, either.
“I, uh… I can’t walk back.”
Geto laughs. “Wow. It was that good?” You flush.
“Not like that-“ although, your legs are shaking. “You stole my underwear. I’m not walking back without any panties-“
Geto brushes a piece of hair from your face as you ramble. “You can stay over at mine, if you want. I’ll drive you back tomorrow.”
You should say no- but you’re tired, your legs are shaking, and he’s still buried inside you, so you find yourself agreeing.
Yuki <3
You good?
Me and Sho couldn’t find you, she said you walked off with somebody
Hope you had fun!!
If the string of drunken winking emojis is enough to go by, they aren’t exactly worried out of their minds about you and you huff. By now, you’re slumped in the passenger seat as Geto kicks the car into drive, and you snap a quick photo of his head and torso as he reverses, attaching it to the message you send Yuki.
You
Lots of fun
Be back tomorrow!
Your phone buzzes repeatedly, vibrating against your hand as the city lights blur past you, reflecting from shopfronts and puddles of water.
“Hey,” Geto says, one hand on the steering wheel and the other brushing across your thigh, “we’re playing again in two weeks. If you wanna come.”
“Wow, I have to wait a whole two weeks to see you again?” You joke, voice still strained and tired from all your previous moaning.
Geto grins, piercings shining. “Now, I didn’t say that, did I?”
ೃ࿔*:･
masterlist
a/n: his hair is gorgeous- and thank you all again!
𝜗𝜚 Summer is fading- and so is your hangover. Unfortunately, you forgot to make sure you had money to pay Choso Kamo when he arrived at the door with your order; how else could you make sure he goes home satisfied?
content: smut, p in v, riding, crying (Choso), slapping, flashing, creampies, end of the series </3
wc: 2.6k
series masterlist
part seven | final part | epilogue...
Heat oozes into the house like honey, sticking to the walls and pressing down on your chest until you’re sweating. It’s been like this all day, unusually hot, your thinnest tank and shorts clinging to you like sap; even as your parents left the house it still wasn’t cool, their shouted goodbyes echoing up the stairs to where you were slumped by the sink and splashing water onto your face.
The hangover has dissipated, mostly, dizziness and nausea fading into a weary fatigue that settles casually in your bones and refuses to leave. You don’t feel sick anymore, instead you feel stifled, skin clammy as you scrape your hair back.
The fridge offers refuge, a slight chill dancing around you when you wrap your hand around the handle and pull. Typically, you don’t realise how hungry you are until there’s no food left to satiate it.
“Ugh.” You groan, peering at the shelves. “Nothing.”
The fridge is bare, save for a few jars and a singular, saddened punnet of strawberries that look long past their prime. You grimace as you shove them to the side, searching for literally anything else edible. “Seriously, nothing?” you mutter to yourself indignantly.
You swing the fridge closed and tap your foot agitatedly against the floor. There’s barely any ingredients left in your fridge, let alone something to make a meal with. Your eyes drift tiredly around the kitchen, squinting as the last remnants of evening sun trickle in through the glass, before they settle on the little brochure stacked beside the sink.
“Huh.” You say to yourself, turning the glossy paper over in your hands. Pizza doesn’t sound too bad, you guess, staring at the pictures of food plastered underneath the font happily displaying the number to call should you ever want to.
The guy on the other end of the phone is nice enough, if monotone, as you place your order. He notifies you bluntly there’ll be a twenty minute wait time, and you thank him before ending the conversation and flopping backwards onto the couch.
Heat drifts over you in waves as you breathe in the summer warmth, the evening overtaking the last needles of golden sunset while you wait patiently for the food. When the doorbell finally does ring, you open the door to somebody who you’d mistake for the lead singer of a band if it wasn’t for the cheery nametag.
“Hi.” He says bluntly, blinking slowly as you stare at him.
And yes, you are staring. How could you not? Soft, dark hair falls messily over eyes framed by streaks of black makeup, and his arms flex below the boring fabric of his company polo as he holds up the box containing your food.
“Hi.” You say, a little more breathily than you would’ve liked. “Um, how much?”
“I don’t know…” he mumbles, “don’t they tell you over the phone?”
You giggle nervously, suddenly awkwardly aware of how thin your shorts actually are as you almost soak them through just looking at the way his eyes focus on you. “Oh, yeah. They did. Let me just-“
You freeze. There should be a neat little few notes crumpled up as emergency change on the table next to you, beside the ceramic key bowl, but there’s nothing. Your parents must’ve taken it, you curse yourself- how could you have missed it?
Incredibly mortified, you turn slowly to face- what was his name again? Oh yeah, Choso, according to his plastic nametag- and almost pass out with nerves. “There’s, uh… I don’t have any money.”
He raises one pierced eyebrow, and your gaze is instinctively drawn to the way the little silver studs glimmer. And then back to his eyes. His slightly reddened, slightly heavy eyes…
“Hey…” you say, squinting, “aren’t you supposed to be, I don’t know, sober to deliver food?”
Without missing a beat, although his cheeks pinken just a little, Choso replies. “Aren’t you supposed to be wearing a bra to collect it?”
It floors you initially, makes you bristle in annoyance as you open your mouth to retort- but he’s right, probably. The air has turned cool enough to pebble your nipples, your tank top doing nothing to hide it- in fact, it probably makes them stand out more in the dim porch light.
But, if he’s noticed… then he’s looking.
“Do you…” you say slowly, folding your arms across your cold chest. You catch the way Choso’s eyes widen just a tad at the sight of your newly-pushed up cleavage, and almost lick your lips in anticipation. “Do you take other forms of payment?”
God, you almost cringe at yourself- seriously, how stereotypically slutty can you be? Fortunately, Choso doesn’t cringe; he doesn’t even flinch, just furrows his brows a little confusedly. “Um… I don’t think we have a card reader, but-“
You sigh. Now or never, you suppose, and if you get charged for public indecency then so be it. Raising your hands, your fingers curl dextrously into the fabric of your top before snagging it down.
Choso’s face goes bright red and his jaw drops. “I- you- fuck-“
His hand- the one not balancing the forgotten cardboard box- twitches at his side like he’s trying very, very hard not to reach out and touch your revealed tits, bare in front of him. When you tug the fabric back up, he actually whimpers a little at the loss.
“Get it now?”
Choso straightens up like he’s been slapped across the face, and he nods like a well trained puppy. “I- yeah.” He swallows down another whimper threatening to crawl up inside his throat when you wrap your fingers into his belt loops and tug him inside, his heel automatically slamming the door shut.
The box is set somewhere on the coffee table as you drag him down, pressing his spine to the rug as it swallows him up. Choso’s large hands fly instantly to your hips, a gentle tremor wracking through the touch when you straddle his hips and grind down enough to hear him choke on his own breath.
“You’re really pretty.” He says suddenly, then flushes like he regrets it instantly. “Sorry, I mean- I just-“ he moans shakily, eyeing the way you peel your tank off. “Yeah… no, I meant pretty.”
Choso’s mouth dries when you lift his hands to the softness of your tits, his thumbs stroking over the skin while your thighs bracket the obvious bulge pressing up insistently against your clothed cunt.
With his hands occupied, you’re free to do what you like- unzipping his jeans and drifting two fingers near his waistband, but not enough to yank it down yet. Instead, you push up the fabric of his shirt until he regretfully pulls his hands from your chest and lifts his arms up.
“Shit.” You curse, tossing the fabric of his shirt to the side. His abdomen is defined and lean, a pretty smattering of freckles littering the skin. They’re lost eventually as your eyes travel down, to the dark trail of hair dipping into his underwear- the underwear he’s begging you to take off.
“C’mon, please-“ he struggles beneath you, “I’ll-“
“You’ll what, Choso?” You question sternly, wriggling out of your shorts and granting him the most precious view of your soaked panties before you plant your body back low on his hips.
“I’ll be good-“ he breathes, a keen cracking at the back of his mouth. “Please?”
You smile, sliding your panties to the side and gently pulling him out of his underwear. Choso gasps the moment your hand wraps around him, warm skin on warm skin- but when you notch him at your entrance, he’s already a mess.
His hips buck upwards when you sink down, enveloping his length with your body’s slick- his spine curves when you dig your nails into his shoulders for balance, leaning forwards to press your tits against his chest. “Does that feel nice, Cho?”
Your cooing makes him groan, eyes heavier than they were before. “Y-yes, it does, hnngh-“
You smile. “Good.”
It’s supposed to be condescending- and it is, it sends a bolt of embarrassment right through Choso to his leaky cock- but it might be slightly more intimidating if it weren’t for the way your voice wobbles into a high moan at the end.
His hands land on the soft globes of your ass, fingers pulling you apart in an attempt to gain any form of control while you slide up and down. He really wasn’t too high when he knocked on your door, mostly a residual haze of smoke curling around his lungs, but now-
Choso feels like he’s floating, the gratifying squeeze of your pussy around his cock makes his head loll back against the carpet while tiny, hot puffs of breath expel themselves from between his lips.
Lips you’re capturing with yours swiftly, eagerly running your tongue inside his mouth to tangle with his. Choso’s hands never leave your ass, palming desperately at the skin and leaving greedy handprints.
Between the strings of sheeny saliva stretching between your lips, Choso heaves out something that doesn’t quite resemble words, but is a little more coherent than a whimper. “Hm, Cho?”
He chases after your mouth instinctually, before pulling back and gazing up at you with flushed cheeks. “I want you to…”
You frown. “I can’t hear you, baby.”
He swallows down the lump in his throat and focuses his swimming vision on your face. “Can you just…” his hand trails to one of yours planted on his shoulder, gently unfurling the fist you’ve curled it into and tentatively presses the palm flat onto his cheek. Your breath hitches. “You want me to hit you?”
He nods eagerly, “please, just a few times, need it so bad-“
Nervously, you raise your hand and he almost sobs in anticipation for the sting. When it lands, the sound is so sharp you gasp and immediately run to thumb over the glowing mark- or at least, you try, because Choso’s suddenly rutting hips knock you off balance.
“Again-“ he groans, bouncing you up and down on his cock as pre puddles at his base. He pays it no mind, entirely too focused on the way your wobbly hand cracks across his face.
“Oh, fuck-“ Choso babbles, “keep- baby, fuck, keep going-!” The incoherent nonsense flowing from his mouth seems endless, expletives plaiting with cutoff moans and gasps. “Keep going, please-“
And you do, slowly gaining more confidence as sweat pearls out on his forehead and you land another fresh hit; he’s still somehow managing to maintain a steady pace, gripping at your thighs, waist, any skin he can hold to shakily guide you up and down.
Eventually, your hand starts to prickle from the amount of hits you’ve landed onto his face. You can only imagine how much he’s hurting, but he seems to be getting off on it. You wince as you shake the sting out of your palm, before firmly resting it back on his chest to move quicker.
“Why’d you stop?” He gasps, tears welling in his eyes and picking up the stray remnants of eyeliner decorating his waterline. Thumbing gently, the drops of water dissipate and smear the charcoal-coloured makeup across his skin. Surprised, you blink down at him. “I-“
Choso grabs your wrist. “One more.” He’s pleading now, puppy eyes glossy and dark. “Just one, s’all I need, I promise-“
You oblige, flinching just a little as the slap lands heavy and splayed on his cheek. His body seizes as you bring it down- hard- gazing at the way his eyes roll back in his skull. “Fuck!”
His mouth gapes open dumbly, cock spurting stickily inside your cunt as he trembles. You grind back on him, pressing your clit to his pelvis, and the slight bolt of friction is all you need.
Your face falls forwards, planting yourself firmly on his cock to the base and jittering through your orgasm. Choso isn’t spared by it, overstimulation thrumming meanly in his veins as you throb around him. He buries his face into you, dark hair tickling your warm skin as he cracks out a few pathetic sobs.
Your breath comes heavy as you sit up just enough to peer down at his wrecked face. “Sooo…” you say hoarsely, “does that cover the pizza?”
Choso looks at you like you’ve just started speaking a different language. “H-huh?”
You gently move off him- still totally naked, thighs sticky as he whimpers at the loss- and grab the box with clammy fingers. “The pizza. That you delivered.“
“Oh.” He says, propping himself up on his elbows, gloriously unaware of how good he looks. “Yeah.”
“Hungry?” You question suddenly, feeling rather bad for kicking him out immediately after an orgasm. “We can share it.”
Choso’s already blindly nodding, reaching for the cold slices he can see in the cardboard. You freeze halfway to grabbing yours. “Wait, stay there. Don’t eat it!”
Choso looks at you, bemused, as you run upstairs- to your room, where you’re seizing the camera thrown casually on your bed besides a pair of scissors, excess polaroids, a gluestick and some pens- before running back down to the living room.
“What’re you doing?” Choso asks through a mouthful.
You don’t reply, too focused on slinging the camera towards the open pizza box and snapping a picture. Choso decides not to comment, munching on the food instead while he brings himself to his feet and redresses.
“Thanks.” He mumbles, cheeks still flushed and streaked faintly with eyeliner. “I’ll… I’ll go now.” Choso mutters something about family stuff as he stumbles out- his shirt on backwards, you can tell by the nametag clinging to his shoulder blade- and the door closes over.
You dust your hands from crumbs before following his lead and weakly pulling yourself to stand on slightly shaky legs. The temperature has officially dipped by now, a faint breeze drifting through the cracked window of your bathroom when you slump against the shower wall.
University is ready to welcome you back soon, you think, gently scrubbing away at your arms. Soon enough, you’ll be cooped back up in your dorm with your laptop and a pile of assignments as your lamp spills light across the room.
It’s nothing like your hometown. Your friends are still there, sure, but it’s an entirely new roster of faces compared to padding along the sun-streaked pavements that exist just on your doorstep. And there’s definitely a severe lack of beaches.
Shampoo is next, a ritualistic rhythm of pouring it into your palms and emulsifying to bubbles before massaging the product into your scalp. As you wash, the water carrying the shampoo down your back is just cooling enough to feel revitalising. The same goes for conditioner, twirling glossily around your hair before joining the fray in the basin of the shower.
You sigh as the water drips to a close, soap swirling and collecting at your feet to bubble away into the drain. Wiping the steam off the bathroom mirror, you peer at your reflection and smile, self-satisfied as you stand in your fluffy towel and water beads from the ends of your hair.
The last polaroid fills the blank page, the scrapbook now thick and heavy with memories captured on glossy film. Some funny, some picturesque, some blurry or pretty. Your hands smooth over the cover, flicking the pages absently while you think.
Whatever anybody would think about how you spent your summer, however you’ll look back on it in five, ten, fifteen years, one thing is for certain-
You didn’t waste it.
And your photo album is finally full.
series masterlist | check out the photo album! | regular masterlist
a/n: thank you so, so much if you read all 8 parts (or even just this one!) I had soooo much fun writing the plot of this little series, and even though it's raining where I am quite frequently these chapters always put me in a summer mood! Please comment here (or on the epilogue) and let me know your opinions! again, I'm so so thankful for you all <33
if we were SpongeBob and Patrick and we were slowly bring dehydrated to dust under a sun lamp to be sold in a gift shop as sundries our last tears would form a heart
a/n: happy pride to all my fellow sapphics (and everybody in-between <33)
more like this
Glass clinks against your nails as you absentmindedly wrap your hand around the stem of the bottle. Your apartment feels cosier like this, the world outside blocked out by your wine haze and the gauzy curtains, Shoko’s voice murmuring across to you as she happily sips her drink.
You sigh dreamily as the wine slips down your throat smoothly. “God, I’ve missed you, Sho.”
She laughs in response. “I missed you too, pretty. Blame Gojo for getting injured and making me stay late.” You roll your eyes theatrically, setting your glass down to softly trace the soft skin of her palm. “I still can’t believe you can just… do that with your hands. It’s amazing, Sho.”
She raises an eyebrow as her head tilts, shiny brown hair waterfalling over her shoulder, the skin exposed beyond her tank top. Her work clothes have long since been discarded into the wash, lab coat hung up inside the cupboard. “Oh? Tell me more.”
You know she’s only half serious, but the infliction in her tone makes you shiver. “Mmm…” your fingers keep tracing the lines on her hand. “And I love the way you don’t brag about it too much, either, you just do it. You’re so dedicated. And…”
Your reverence continues as your hands trail from her hands to her waist, Shoko’s glass of wine long forgotten beside yours as she lets the world go a little fuzzy around the edges. But not you, not as you crawl up on top of her and press your mouth to hers.
You’re loosely straddling her, thighs parted around her lap as gravity takes it’s course to allow you to slip your tongue into her mouth. She’s pleasantly surprised, and the moan she lets out is enough to tell you; soft puffs of breath get caught between thirsty nips of your teeth.
Shoko kisses back, lips plump and a little stained from the wine as she sits up and looks at you expectantly. You lie one last kiss to her beauty mark then adjust yourself how she wants- how you know she wants, after so many reruns of this same routine. And yet, you never get bored.
You couldn’t get bored- it’d be impossible, when she lifts up her thigh between your spreads legs and grabs your hips to drag you forwards. A gasp slips out instantly as your clit presses to her smooth skin beneath the loungewear she’s sporting, floaty shorts that are probably yours anyway.
“You can do it.” She murmurs against your earlobe, trailing her hand from your hip to pull your bottom lip down. You’re already dazed as she touches you, messily rocking your cunt back and forth.
“That’s…” you breathe, head tipping forwards into her neck, “that feels nice.”
She laughs and the breath ruffles your skin, goosebumps springing up. “Mmm, I can tell.”
It doesn’t take a genius to know she’s referring to the damp spot on your panties, slick pooling frustratedly in the gusset as you fight for friction on her leg. It’s a good thing too, because you’re already dizzy from the wine and her touch isn’t helping.
Your girlfriend’s hands slide from your hips- they’re moving on their own now, bucking desperately- to pull your shirt away and toss it to the side. She grins, eyes heavy but no less reverent, as she lowers her mouth to kiss across the newly exposed flesh.
Your tits are spilling prettily from the bra cupping them, chest heaving as your hips stutter along her thigh. “Oh, fuck, Sho-“ you mewl, gripping her scalp when she wraps her lips around your nipple and tugs down the undergarment.
Maybe it’s her teeth on your skin or the way she lifts her thigh up to rub against your soaked skin. Maybe it’s the wine simmering in your bloodstream and the fuzziness of your eyesight. Maybe it’s the fact you’ve been worked up since she uncorked the bottle with dexterous fingers and your mind drifted to them inside you.
“Ohmygod-“
Whatever it is, it makes your back curl outwards and shove your tits closer into her chest as the seam of your underwear catches justttt right and you cum on her thigh, legs shaking and your cheeks brightened.
“There you go.” She says lowly, proudly, pressing a final kiss to your marked-up tits and collarbone before drawing back to gently thumb your face; the action draws you back into consciousness, control of your own body, and you lean forwards to connect your tongue with hers.
It’s messy, to say the least. You’re still shaky and uncoordinated from your orgasm, aftershocks buzzing through you when she pinches at your nipple briefly; your whole body shudders, but her mouth coaxes you back to reality as you pull apart for air and gaze at her.
She’s so pretty. Her lashes are dark around her honeyed eyes, dusted with desire and adoration as her hands hold you. Shoko’s hair is mussed from your fingers, soft brown tangling around your palms as you gently lift her shirt away, too.
You giggle against her mouth. “Lie back.”
Her lips curl against yours. “Why should I?” She’s joking- her elbows are already turning, lowering her back against the comfy couch cushions as your fingers twist into the waistband of her shorts and gently shimmy them down her slender legs.
A trail of kisses is planted along her skin first, adoration bottled up in every slide of your mouth against her; her calves, thighs, hips- nowhere is exempt, and you can tell it’s working her up by the way she sighs and tangles her fingers in your hair.
“Don’t tease.” She mutters, although her voice is already strained. You smile, press one final kiss to her inner thigh, and clamp your mouth between her thighs. She moans breathily, and the sound makes you gasp into her in a cycle that only serves to make Shoko tremble above you.
Usually, she’s quiet anyway. But then it’s calculated silence, more like she’s deciding if the speech is worth her time or not- however, what you do to her is beyond the words she wouldn’t be able to choke out if she tried.
“Shit.” She breathes, rubbing soothing little circles on your scalp with her nails as you lick through the dampness flooding her skin. You’re enjoying this, having her collapse above you when your lips enclose around her clit and suck just a little on the right side of harsh.
“Sho…” you moan, pulling back enough to slide in two of your fingers, “you’re so pretty right now.”
Her hips buck upwards involuntarily, searching for the beautiful friction of your fingerpads against her insides; you twist and crook them in the way you know she likes, tongue carding across her clit, and the noise she makes is rewarding- to say the least.
It’s high and shattered, choked out between moans breathier than any others you’ve heard so far, mixed somehow with a little whisper of your name as you gaze up into her eyes.
You pull back, lips glossy with her until you swipe it away with your tongue. You’re as dazed as she is, body soft and naked above her as Shoko grips you up to rest on her skin. “Love you.” She murmurs quietly, legs tangling with yours on the couch as cushions fall ignored to the floor.
“Mm.” You agree lazily, kissing absentmindedly across her face. “Love you too, Sho. Have for a while.”
She laughs, tracing the curve of your back. “You didn’t finish your wine.”
You’re sitting back on your haunches to grab the bottle and refill your glass when you realise Shoko’s still staring at you. Her eyes are tracing the nakedness of your body, over the way your tits are marked up and your panties are nowhere to be seen- but she isn’t exactly doing it lustfully.
Of course, that makes up a little part of her obvious reverence- but it’s more the fact it’s you. That you’re both here like this, comfortable enough to fuck each other to orgasm and then go back to drinking wine, naked- like nothing happened.
She reaches for her glass and smiles around the rim.
