⇢ ˗ˏˋkyo࿐ྂ

[seaemberthesecond]

Unfortunately, a lot of people's idea of feminism does not hinge on women are autonomous beings who deserve equal rights and opportunities, but instead on women are beautiful and precious objects that should be treated well which is not actually the same thing. At all.

[hellomwah]

young ho’s titty bounce doomscroll on 5 apps at once and read x reader fanfiction instead of eating nutritional meals going outside and sleeping

we are young ho

[gorgynei]

im joining the war on gross disgusting pornographic content on the side of gross disgusting pornographic content

[candiedchoso]

HEAVY METAL LOVER (SG)

Synopsis: You're childhood best friends with Satoru Gojo, who you've been avoiding ever since he got into a motorcycle accident. When your mutual friends force you to go to his birthday party, feelings arise, and clothes come off!

Pairing: Gojo x Reader

Content (MDNI): Biker!gojo, Scar!jo, childhood friends to lovers, gojo did almost die in a motorcycle accident, physical rehab, reader mentions being afraid to see gojo's lifeless body, but he's not dead, gojo is battered up (scar!jo), pwp if you squint for the first five hundred words, body worship, they're both pervs hk, p worshiping, p slapping, slight marathon if you also squint, idiots in love, filthy and i mean filthy dirty talk, fingering, creampies, man-handling...i think that's it

Word count: 10.2k...i got carried away. sue me.

A/N: I haven't published fan fiction in YEARS, mind you, but this one TikTok that talked about Scar!Jo being Biker!Jo, after an accident, and i just had to write it.

It was rare for you to hate anything. It was even rarer for you to hate anything related to your friends.  You strongly disliked the way Toji would kick his feet up on your coffee table whenever he was over. You were agitated by how nitpicky Geto was whenever everyone went out to eat. You were irritated by the loud scream Yuji and Choso let out after they splashed you with water at Nanami’s last summer party. 

You hated Gojo’s motorcycle. You downright despised the unnecessarily loud, clunky, piece of metal death machine that Gojo so happened to still proudly (stupidly) love. Your dislike for that motorcycle really started when he first showed up to your place at nine at night to pick you up for Shoko’s thirtieth birthday party. You walked for fifteen minutes out of the neighborhood before Gojo finally convinced you to get on, and you absolutely despised it. You especially detested the way your legs wobbled, both feeling so unsteady because of the motorcycle, and also from having to grip Gojo so hard that his cologne still hadn’t fully detached from your mind.

However, the biggest reason you hated that motorcycle was that it almost cost you your best friend. It’s been months since you got that call from Geto telling you Gojo was in the hospital because of a motorcycle accident. Apparently, it was pretty bad; he had been unconscious from the amount of blood he lost. Surgery was inevitable if he survived, and by Shoko’s words, it was a miracle that he did. Now every time you see a motorcycle, a pit of disgust builds inside of you, and it takes every part of your rational mind not to bash the thing apart outside of a random store. So, as is normally the case, you silently seethe throughout the day until it’s been so long you just get over it, though a motorcycle wasn’t always necessary for that to happen.

“So are we going to talk about it?” Shoko’s words confuse the hell out of you. It must be obvious the way she sighs, and Geto laughs without looking up from his phone, probably texting another girl. “Are you going to continue to sit there and pretend like you don’t know what I’m talking about?”

“So, I actually have no idea what you’re talking about?” Another bold-faced lie to two of the people you care about the most.

“Oh, c’mon, Y/N. Next week, not ringing any bells for you?” You retrace the days until you’re hit with an upcoming December 7th. Now Suguru's smugness makes sense. Instead of admitting that you know what they’re talking about, you slump back into the couch and pick the next best option— playing dumb.

“Hmmm, nope. Nothing’s coming up.” That finally pulls Geto away from his phone, and Shoko puts her unlit cigarette down, to just deadpan. Their stares linger long enough for you to finally give in with a sigh. You couldn’t ignore his existence forever. “Yeah, I know.”

“We’re throwing something for him. You should be there.” That uncomfortable pit in your stomach opened up again. It had been months since you last saw Gojo. You didn’t even see him when he was in the hospital; you couldn’t bring yourself to. Seeing him all managed up, tubes sticking out of him, face uncharacteristically unresponsive to you made you nauseous, but not seeing him all that time made seeing him now harder.

“I don’t think either of us wants to see each other, or else we would have by now.”

“You don’t want to see him for some reason, but he wants to see you.” Suguru’s words hit the dead center of your armor, stinging you a little.

“He asks about you all the time,” Shoko adds, another stinging sensation.

“It’s honestly starting to get annoying.” You can’t help but laugh at Geto’s words. If anyone was being forced to put up with Satoru, it’s Suguru. They’d been best friends for what felt like a lifetime. You’d know, you and Satoru had been friends for an actual lifetime. You remember when Suguru Geto first became friends with Satoru, after all, Satoru practically forced you two to get along. You’d be lying if you said you hadn’t missed your shared obnoxious best friend. 

You’d actually be doing more than lying, whatever is worse than lying. That's what you’d be doing if you said there wasn’t a Satoru-sized hole in your life. 

Anyone in their right mind would miss their childhood best friend. Especially if they beat the odds against dying, but that feeling of seeing Gojo— stupidly walking around, talking, and somehow taking all the space when doing so, laughing loudly with no regard for volume—felt wrong. All you could imagine is his lifeless body on the operating table, and a bunch of words you wished you had said hanging on your lips. If you’re being honest, that’s the reason you won’t see him. You were too much of a coward to admit you were madly in love with your best friend, and after surviving, you don’t think you could hide it from him anymore.

If he didn’t feel the same, it might kill you on the spot. To know that the person you loved more than anything got the chance to live again, and you can’t be there because of something as potentially one-sided as feelings, was too much. The lump in your throat builds, and you’re blinking back tears, realizing the two other people in the room were watching you struggle.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea. He’s probably mad that I haven’t seen him, and I don’t blame him. Why would he even want me there?” Shoko sighs and turns around with a simple "whatever," but Suguru keeps his eyes on you, unmoved by your words.

“This is his first birthday after almost dying, and all he wants is to see you. I’m not saying you have to stay long, but…” His phone vibrates in his lap, a loud buzz filling the room and cutting him off, “…give the guy a proper goodbye if you’re set on not seeing him anymore. He deserves it.” With that, he hops up off the couch and answers whoever is on the other side of the phone.

You hate Suguru Geto so much. You hate how good he is at reading people and getting under their skin without all the information. However, you’re sure that he knows that you’re head over heels for his best friend. Which makes you standing inside of Satoru’s house dressed up, and almost about to pass out, even more sinister on his part. Shoko had warned you it was a surprise party, but you didn’t think sitting in Satoru’s place without him would make you feel so nauseated.

 It was almost the same. The same art that you put up on his living walls still held in place, the couches you fell asleep on way too many times to count, even the busted KitchenAid mixer that Toji had gotten (stolen) from his ex (situationship) still sat on the polished marble counter—a perfect capsule of time, unmoved by the months of change in Satoru’s life.

You wondered if he had stayed the same?

“Nanami just texted me! Everyone in position!” 

For those few minutes of you hiding alongside Suguru and Shoko, you felt the anxiety at its peak. Palms sweating profusely, heart about to break your ribcage, breathing rapid enough that it makes Shoko pull you towards her. Calming you down slightly enough to force a smile on your face when the lights come back on and scream surprise. For a moment, you forgot that you hadn’t seen your best friend in months until your eyes looked past his familiar white hair. His ghostly pale skin is covered in deep beige scars. They litter his body, one after the other, past his black top, and you assume the rest of his body.

That accident was written all over him. Seeing him didn’t make you as sad as you expected. It made you angry, angry at yourself for making him go through this change by himself. That anger almost completely takes you over before your eyes bounce to his— the same blue eyes that always make your breath catch. Gojo could never hide what he was thinking. The look of utter shock caught in his eyes pointed directly at you. He looked like he saw a ghost, and just as you were getting ready to say something, Haibara moved forward with his specially decorated birthday hat.

The party moved on as normal, or as normal as a party could while you’re actively dodging the host. Especially, after he stared you down whenever the group sang Happy Birthday. You managed to avoid the birthday boy at his own party. The getaway plan was even better. You’d go to the garage to grab another case of beers for everyone before saying goodbye. Fortunately for you, no one was nearby to see you sneak into the dark room. Clumsily, you look around trying to find the switch, praying you don’t accidentally open the garage door, before finding it.

Instead of your sweet ticket out of the party, you’re met with a motorcycle. Satoru’s motorcycle, specifically. In absolute pristine perfect condition. Something about seeing the motorcycle made you livid. Why the hell would he keep something like that around?

“If you were planning on never speaking to me again, I highly recommend not coming to my birthday party at my house.”

The words immediately freeze your anger into fear. Your heart drops to your feet when you turn to be met with a clearly very pissed-off Gojo. Arms crossed his broad chest, making him only look wider. Unlike most other people, Satoru's eyes get brighter when he’s angry, pissed, or irritated. Right now, two piercings, cold blue eyes stared down at you, locking you in place. You scramble for words to say, looking around for anything that could help you before you see it again, and your anger comes back.

“You still have the motorcycle?” The words come out with more bite than you mean, but right now, you really want to scream at him for being so reckless. He scoffs before laughing, almost maniacally.

“Are you kidding right now? You avoid me for months, and the first thing you have to say is some smart remark about the motorcycle? Seriously Y/N? No, how are you? No, are you okay? No, I’m sorry that I ghosted my childhood best friend during the hardest part of his life?!”

He’s right. You know he’s right. Anyone in their right mind would’ve cussed out. Screamed in your face, kicked you out of their home, and told you never to see them again. Yeah, that stupid motorcycle pissed you off, but he’s more right now.

“Gojo…”

“No! I’m not done.” He closes the door behind him. The music of the party muffled, leaving only you two truly in the moment. “You didn’t call. You didn’t text me. You didn’t let me know if you were okay. I’ve been up for months trying to get as much information about you as possible without crossing the random wall you put between us, Y/N.” He was beyond angry; he was livid. 

“Gojo-“

“Do you know how awful it feels to have to learn how to walk again, all while worrying if the most important person in your life is okay? For the first person you think of when you wake up from almost dying, to not want anything to do with you?”  His bright eyes start to redden with tears. Satoru was always sensitive, something you’ve always loved about him. “Every day, part of me hoped you would come through that hospital door, and every day you didn’t. My first friend, the last person I’d expect not to show up, did!”

“Gojo.”

“Why are you here now?! Why, after all this time, did you show up here? Especially if you were going to leave before I could say anything to you. If you were going to leave, haunt my fucking house and me, then you should’ve never come.” His voice cracks at the end, and that’s when he finally looks away from you. He’s right, you should’ve never come to his house or this party. You should’ve been a better friend. You should not have fallen in love with him. He was so upset with you in a way he had never been before; it felt like it was eating you alive. He shouldn’t be crying on his birthday. He should be laughing, making others laugh, annoying everyone in his general vicinity, being the Satoru Gojo you had the opportunity to fall in love with over the years. 

You hadn’t even noticed your own tears building before they dropped. Throat tightening, you struggle with what to say. So you settle for the easiest option.

“I’ll leave.” 

“No.” His head whips around, as if the two words startled him. “Not until you tell me why you disappeared?”

“Gojo.”

“I deserve to know why my best friend of almost three decades decided to stop talking to me for no apparent reason.” The misty-eyed stare between you is strong. Neither of you is backing down in silence for what feels like an eternity. Somewhere in between his anger and frustration, a pleading look flashes across his face. He needed the truth, and you were too scared to admit it. The words taste like bile just thinking about them. “Y/N please. You don’t have to stay. We don’t ever have to speak again. Please tell me.” The words come out so sweet, sweeter than you deserve, and it finally makes you snap.

“I couldn’t- I couldn’t look at you like that. I didn’t know how I could ever look at you as lifeless. No one wants to see the person they’re in love with barely grasping onto life. I didn’t have the courage to face you, and I couldn’t see you again without telling you that I’m in love with you. I couldn’t take it knowing I’d lose you after you got a second chance, because I can’t help but love you, Satoru. I know I’m a coward, and you deserve a much better best friend, but if you want an answer. I’m scared that knowing how I feel will make you not want to be around me, and I just can’t take that.” 

You’re a mess. The makeup you had on definitely was ruined. The anxiety of the confession burns through your body, followed by the lightheadedness of the relief. If you don’t get out of here soon, you’re definitely going to pass out.

“You’re in love with me?” All you can do is nod.

“I’m so sorry-” Satoru cuts you off. More specifically, his lips are what cut you off, and it takes you a full second to register that Satoru Gojo was kissing you. When the second did register, you’re quick to follow through. Hands finding his chest, and slowly up to his hair. His lips taste like whatever fruity seltzer he’d been drinking before, but they were as soft as they always looked. Slowly, but surely, the anxious and timid kiss grew needy and feverish. Somehow, your back is pressed against the fridge, and you’re clawing at both his shirt and hair. Satoru’s no better; his hands are focused on keeping you close, but his foot kicks your legs apart enough to slot his thigh right against you. Lips locking slower and messier each time, both of you practically out of your mind.

A loud thud is what pulls you away from the rather starving man in front of you. You don’t realize how desperate you were for air until you see how heavy you’re breathing. Satoru just kissed you. You two just made out. He has you pressed against his fridge because you two were making out. Sixteen-year-old you is probably somewhere losing her mind right now.

Before you can question what that noise was, Toru is pulling your face back towards him. He’s holding himself a few inches away, close enough that if you could lean and close the gap, you would, but far enough for Satoru to keep you back.

“You love me?” The question barely comes out above a whisper. You attempt to nod, but his hand keeps your head from moving. “Uh uh. I need you to say it.” His words are quick, but soft, like he’s afraid to break the moment with his need to hear you say the four simple words, so you do.

“I love you, Satoru.” His brows scrunch together like the words almost hurt him. “Are you okay with that?”

“What do I have to do to keep you here?” Maybe it’s the blood coming back to his head, but his question catches you off guard. 

“Huh?”

“What do I have to do?”  he repeats, “to make sure you don’t stop loving me, Y/N?” You can’t help but laugh at how ridiculous he sounds.

“I could never stop loving you, Satoru.” His eyes finally open to meet yours. He obviously was both amused and upset by your answer.

“Just tell me anything. I need you not to leave again. It’ll kill me.”

“Gojo. That’s not funny.” You try to move back to emphasize your seriousness, but the now warm stainless steel presses back against you.

“I’m not joking. I can’t have you leave again. I’ve been waiting since the day I met you for you to tell me you feel the same. If you leave me now, I don’t think my body can withstand that. So please.” Your eyes widened. 

Gojo loves you back.

He’s been waiting on you this whole time, as you had. Two idiots dancing around the fact that you both were hopelessly in love with the other. You’re so happy you could cry, and the tears do start to come, but Satoru squeezes your jaw, pulling your attention back to him.

“Tell me what I need to do to make sure you don’t leave me again.” You try to think of anything, but you keep drawing a blank, until that stupid hunk of metal shines over Satoru’s shoulder. Your entire body freezes up, and you feel that irrational anger coming back.

“Get rid of the bike. That thing almost took you from me.” He looks behind him briefly before snapping back to you.

“Deal.” Before he can open his mouth to say another word, you’re putting your lips back on his, dragging him back to you. Just like a perfect match, it feels like second nature to kiss Satoru. He knows just where to put his hand without getting into deep water. Just a row of deep, slow kisses, until you go to pull him closer and he does the same. Leaving you to grind harder than expected on his thighs, a pathetic moan tumbling out of you. Satoru breaks the kiss, bright blue eyes peering down at you in shock. 

“Sorr-” His hands drag your bunched-up dress across his thigh again, forcing another breathy moan out of you. 

“You sound better than I could’ve ever imagined, and I’ve imagined a lot.” He does it again, this time flexing this strong muscle, making you fall forward in a shudder.

“Tell me what you’ve imagined?”

“Oh, my god.” The heat between your thighs builds as you gleam under Satoru’s gaze and shamelessly ride his thigh. “This. Turning you on. Making out. Making you feel good.” The way his soft lips lightly trail down your neck, kissing between the confessions. It’s dirty and pulls another moan from you. Grinding down on his thigh shamelessly harder this time. “Making you cum for me, and just for me. Over and over, just like how I’m going to now.” 

It’s pathetic how much you’re chasing your own orgasm, but the high of the confession is lighting every nerve in your body on fire. He smells good, he tastes good, he feels good, and he’s all yours. As if he reads your mind, he presses his thigh into you, practically lifting against the fridge. 

“Tell me you love me.”

“I love you, Satoru.” You pant, eyes rolling back in your head, at a particularly rough drag. “I’m so close. Oh my-”

He snaps his thigh from you, and it practically hurts. You chase the feeling of the rough denim material, only for him to press your hips into the fridge. Pulling you into a sloppy kiss, tongues lazily meeting, almost your dying protest. You try to get his attention even though you could barely focus, by pulling his hair, but it just makes him moan unashamedly, hands squeezing at your waist. When he finally pulls away, his eyes are so low you’d think he was high if it wasn't for the obvious blush across his face or the swollen, spit-covered lips. He stares at your eyes, slowly bouncing between your lips and your eyes, questioning something.

“I was so close.”

“I know. I heard.” You’re sure your blush is now matching his. His chest shudders with anticipation. “Can I ask you a big favor?” At this point, you’re convinced you’d do anything for this man.

“Yeah.”

“I’ll get rid of the bike if you get on it.” Scratch that. You’d do anything but get on Satoru’s once highway ticket to death. 

“No.”

“Y/N-”

“No! I’m not letting you take me out on a ride. I hate that stupid bike.”

“We’re not going out. I just-” His eyes avert from yours, looking up at that garage ceiling. Are his ears turning red? “-I just want you to get off on it.” A beat of silence passed, and then another. By the time the fourth passes, Satoru closes his eyes and swallows in obvious embarrassment.

“What?” How the hell does one get off on a motorcycle? Let alone one that tried to kill your best friend?

“It would be in park! You wouldn’t have to go anywhere, but here. It’s a thing I’ve had for a while, and I dunno...” He rambles on and on before he finally looks back at you with an absolutely hopeless look in his eye. Past the point of pleading, this is his entire ego on the line. 

“Is it something you really want?” He nods before the sentence ends. You think long and hard about it before looking in his eyes and sighing. You’re just as hopeless as he is. “Fine, but don’t be hurt when this doesn’t end up working.” His entire body lights up with a new vigor, arms wrapping around you and lifting you easily over the bike. You knew Satoru was strong, but he lifted you like it was nothing, which shouldn’t be possible after all his body had gone through.

You’re pressed against the metal head of the bike, thanking your earlier judgment that you wore a skirt. Satoru looks like he’s about to explode from just staring at you sitting on the damn thing. He swallows hard again—it’s kinda cute. His eyes are locked on where your panty-clad cunt is meeting the cold black metal.

“Satoru?” You squirm at the intensity of his stare.

“Right, m‘sorry. You have no idea how long I’ve thought about this. I thought it would never happen.” His eyes finally look at yours, softening when he sees the worry in your eyes. “If you don’t want to do this, you don’t have to.” You mull it over for a second before letting the fear creep in. 

“No. I want to do this for you.”

“Jesus, don’t say that.”

“But I do. I want to recreate every little fantasy you have about me locked away.” Satoru shuts his eyes and drags a hand down his face, bringing a cocky grin to your face. You’ve always liked teasing Toru. He shakes his head in some form of restraint before narrowing in on the start.

“If you’re uncomfortable at any point or want it to be over, you tell me, and I’ll toss the thing to the curb faster than you can blink.” He’s serious, and it is sweet enough to warm your heart and ease your nerves, but you can’t help but giggle at him. “You ready?” You give him a small nod, and the engine revs, filling up the garage. 

Your question about how one gets off on a motorcycle gets answered as soon as the metal rattles against your swollen clit. Immediately, your body slumps forward.

“Oh my god-” The vibrations are so strong, you know your entire body is shaking with the bike. It feels so good. It feels even better when you lift your eyes to see Satoru staring down at you like you just set off his world. Another strong vibration has you loudly moaning. There’s no way you’re not going to cum fast. “Satoru, it's so good.” 

“Yeah?” You nod, unable to say anything that’s not an incoherent mess. How you two can hear each other over the loud ass engine is a miracle you’re not going to question. This stupid motorcycle is pushing closer to an orgasm than you’ve been able to bring yourself to in months. The harsh shift of the metal against your clit is too much; you’re too sensitive, forcing you back searching for some reprieve, but Satoru is quicker. “Nuh uh. Don’t run from it, baby.” 

Oh, he’s an evil son of a bitch. Hands forcing your hips to grind hard into the rapidly shaking metal, leaving you with no escape. You reach out to grab his wrist, hoping it would alleviate the pressure, but it doesn’t. 

“Want you to cover it, baby. Need you soaked so I can lick you clean and give you another one. So I can get you wet all again when I sink into that pretty pussy, and make you cum all over again.”

“Wan-ahh to fuck me, Toru? Oh fuck!” He smiles and wipes the thin line of drool you have yet to notice.

“Yes. More than anything. I think I can cum from just thinking about it. I’ve gotten off more times than I can count.” If you were in a better state of mind, you’d probably ask him why, but instead all you can say is—

“I’ve gotten off you, too, Toru.” It’s rushed, and there was definitely some kind of curse word thrown in there, but it works. Satoru’s ears are burning red, and his mouth is gaped open, hands slowing their motion to a teasing rhythm. “Ngh- All the time.”

“Tell me more.” His words are just as quick as yours. “Y/N, please tell me more.” You’re trying so hard to focus on him and his words, but the way Satoru keeps pushing you into the vibrations is making you want to tip your head back and ride out the feeling that’s starting to cool in you. One of his hands holds your face, forcing you to look at him.

“I- I think about you touching me, Toru.” It’s all you can manage.

“Like how I am now?” You nod, or nod as best as you can in Satoru’s grip.

“Think about how good your hands feel when you touch me. H-oh, how- they’d feel better in me.”

“Want to know what I think about when I’ve gotten off to you?” You’re quick and eager to nod. “When we were sixteen, the first time I ever saw you in a real swimsuit, I wanted to lay you on my bed and eat you out until you were begging me to stop. I think I fucked my hand raw to the thought of it.” Your eyes widen at the confession. You’re sure there’s a huge sopping mark on the metal, from how wet you were.

“I still had braces-”

“And they were cute. You’ve never not been beautiful. There’s never been a moment when I haven’t thought you were beautiful.” What? The rush of emotions fills you, almost over-taking the lust-hazed brain you had. The tears in your eyes are becoming more out of the random sincerity, than the overwhelming pleasure between your legs. 

“You think I’m beautiful?”

“Yes.” He’s quick with it. Mouth dropping right on your pulse point, and dragging his way to your ear. “Always will. Thought you were beautiful the first time I met you. I thought you were beautiful when you gave me that pity dance at prom. I thought you were beautiful at graduation. I think you’re beautiful now, riding my motorcycle in an inch of your life, and I know you’ll be beautiful when I take you upstairs and fuck you full.”

Everything is too much. His cologne, the sweetness of his words, the filth rolling off his tongue, the battering of the shaking metal against your clit. It’s no surprise when your vision starts to go white.

“S-Satoru. I’m gonna-”

“Yeah? You want that?” You’re nodding dumbly, as to be expected by now. “Baby, you’re dripping off the bike.” Were you? Oh well. “Gonna let me clean you up with my tongue before I take you inside and show you everything I’ve wanted to do to you for years?”

“Oh my god, Satoru.” Your hand flies on the bike onto one of Satoru’s forearms for leverage. Nails digging into his skin so hard that it would surely leave marks.

“I know, baby. Just say yes for me. You can do that, c’mon.”

“Yes-fuck. Yes! Please.” His face lifts from your ear, blue eyes focused on your face in just enough time to watch you fall over the edge. Eyes rolling back, mouth hanging open, surely nothing but obscenities and Satoru’s name coming out. You don’t know if you’ve ever cum this hard in your life, but it just won't stop. It’s probably embarrassing how pathetic you look on Satoru’s bike, the same bike that you hated for so long. That now you probably hate just a little bit less.

By the time you’re coming down, the motorcycle is off, and Satoru is peppering sweet kisses up the side of your neck. The sweetest of words leave him that are barely being comprehended. His face finally comes into view again, albeit a little hazy.

“You did great, baby.” That signature Satoru smile was there again, pointed at you. It felt great, almost better than that insanely strong orgasm you just had. You hadn’t realized just how desperately you needed a Satoru Gojo smile aimed at you until you finally got it again. The music inside the house cuts through the moment.

“Satoru, the party-” His hands leave your face, swinging your body towards him before he drops to his knees. 

“It can wait.”

“Satoru-”

“I distinctly remember someone telling me I have a mess to attend to, and from the looks of it, I got a lot to clean up.” Curse Satoru and his height. There’s no way any normal man could get on his knees and still be taller than his bike, but Satoru Gojo has never been normal. His slow kisses up your still quivering thighs make you also want to forget the party. Hell, if you could make everyone in this house disappear right now, you would.

“Everyone is inside.” He leans in closer, with another sloppy kiss.

“I’m aware.” His breath tickles the inside of your sensitive thighs.

“Everyone wants to celebrate you.”

“They’ll want to celebrate me later.”

“Satoru, it's your birthday.” You hate the way your voice wavers.

“I’ll have other birthdays, but since it’s my birthday, why don’t you let me have my gift?”

“Be serious.” Satoru’s eyes flicker up to yours, a look so stern it snatches the air out of you. He is being serious.

“If you don’t want to do this, I will walk away right now, happily. I’d never make you do something or do something to you that you don’t want, but I’m not leaving unless you and you alone don’t want me.” The intensity in his voice makes a shiver go down your spine. “Because right now, Y/N, I couldn’t care less about this damn birthday party.” 

That throb in your heart gets mistranslated somewhere down in the pussy, because you’re practically inching your lower half closer to Satoru’s face, forcing him to be face to face with your soaked panties. 

“Fuck, you’re soaked.” Satoru’s eyes glistened over as he'd just seen something amazing. Before you can say anything, he pulls your legs closer and further apart before slotting his face right against your core and taking a deep inhale. Only to let out the most pathetic moan ever. “And you smell so good. Wonder if you taste just as good?”

You practically jolt at the long drag of Satoru’s tongue against your covered pussy. The sensation was almost too much; you’re still so sensitive from your orgasm from just a few minutes prior. Here he was eating you out through your panties like a madman.

“T-Toru!” Your body tenses at the unabashed groan he lets out, against you. When his mouth latches against your clit, sucking the sensitive bud, you damn near scream his name out. Your hands find their way into his messy white locks, tugging harder than you meant to.

“Haa— do it again.” Oh, Satoru was overly freaked out. His sharp nose catches your clit perfectly, long tongue stuffing itself into your core through the cloth, sure enough, your hands are pulling Satoru’s pale hair again, earning yourself a pathetic moan from him. 

“T-Toru, are you, shit- gonna take them off?” Without a word, he yanks them down like he’s crazy. The fanning of hot breath against your core makes you twitch. He pulls away slightly enough before dragging two fingers through you; the loud pop of your wetness is almost deafening against the muffled music. You watch him gather your sex all down his fingers, watching your previous orgasm damn near run down his wrist before he drags his eyes to yours, and puts the fingers in his mouth.

Your jaw unhinges at the sight. Satoru Gojo is lapping at his fingers, greedily sucking and making out with them. Pale skin flushed, eyes so hazed over they could be mistaken for black, moaning like a porn star over the taste of your pussy. His other free hand comes down to palm himself over the jeans that seem way too tight for him, eyes rolling back. It was almost like he was alone, but it was you he was tasting. It was downright pornographic and depraved, and it was severely turning you on. Your body is turning into a furnace from how hot the scene made you. 

This would be an image that would stick with you forever.

“Fuck you taste perfect. You are perfect.” Is he…pussy drunk?

“Satoru…are you okay?”

“Yes.” He pops the digits out of his mouth. “Gonna be better after I eat this pussy, and get her all ready and stretched for me.” Satoru’s mouth is back on you before you can do anything. If his hands hadn’t already locked your legs back into place, you surely would’ve fallen off the bike.

Satoru was starved. Lewd slurps fill the air enough to make your ears hot in embarrassment and pleasure. Satoru could’ve sworn he was in heaven.

That he ever actually got out of that hospital bed, and died right there on the table, but the very real sounds of your pretty moans, the feeling of your twitching legs around his head, the addictive taste of your wet cunt, it was all too real to be fake. So much better than all the filthy fantasies he had stored in his head for years. If the perfect rough drag of his scarred lips right before they latch to your clif again didn’t get you, then the feeling of his fingers pressing against your opening will.

“Toru, I’m s-so sensitive.” If he heard you, he didn’t say anything, instead letting out a high-pitched, muffled moan against your core that has you shutting your eyes. When those pretty fingers you’d always wished were in you instead of yours were, it takes everything in you not to ride them, as the work past the ring of muscle, stretching you so good.

Satoru is so close to cumming his pants. You’re just as fucking warm and wet as he knew you’d be, and it’s driving him insane. Well, he’d already gone insane when he watched you cum on his bike, eyes rolling back with his name on your swollen lips. If he were any less of a man, he would’ve gotten it on camera and watched it over and over again, have it etched into every part of his body until his wrist snapped in half, every fleshlight he owned was battered, and his dick fell off.

Squelch.

Squelch.

Squelch.

You had the nosiest fucking pussy, and it was making him weaker with every push of his fingers that you cunt greedily swallowed.

“Satoru, you eat it so good.” Had you even meant to say that? No, but Satoru was both so happy and angry when you said that. Happy because you couldn’t keep yourself together enough to keep those inside thoughts inside. He was eating it good; he had been practicing for this day since he found a stray thong you accidentally left at his dorm years ago. He put it on a Fleshlight and taught himself how to eat your pussy. Making his jaw ache until he knew that he’d have you crying out for him to stop because it was too good. Almost cumming in his pants the first fifteen times. 

Now that’s why Satoru’s angry. All those fantasies don’t live up to the real thing. He could only imagine what you would say to him in those moments, but you’re here in real life, saying all the dirtiest words he could’ve prayed for. He knew how not to cum in his pants when practicing, but the real thing, oh, it was too much. Which is why he practically sobs into your soaked core, mouth, and fingers, desperately picking up speed to hide the way his hips pathetically fucked up into the tip of dangling foot for any kind of pressure like some ravaged animal.

“Hnng-ah fuck! Are you b-breathing?” Satoru Gojo couldn’t care less about air. He could go back on a ventilator for all he cares. He needs to make you come as soon as possible. His tongue circled your clit, desperate to hear those tantalizing sounds leave you. You were practically dripping down his wrist. When his long fingers graze that sweet spot, that’s when it unravels. “Satoru, I’m gonna-” You try to pull him away, tugging at his hair only for him to smack your hand away and push even further into you. 

He needed to make you cum more than anything right now, and he’ll be damned if you don’t cum on his face after he worked so hard.

“So good, so good, so good, I’m- cumming. Satoru, I’m gonna-” Right over the edge you went again. This time, with so much intensity, you think you actually do black out. Satoru doesn’t dare let up, his eyes roll to the back of his skull, watching the thin line of drool hang from your lips as your head tilts back. Wet patch in pants growing as stream after stream of cum leaves his weeping cock right as your foot presses down in uncontrolled pleasure. Obscenely loud, moans escaping you both like you’re getting ready to fuck on camera. 

It takes you, silently begging, and both of your hands to get Satoru to come off your poor, battered pussy. Neither of you says a word, just desperately staring at one another, breathing heavily. Satoru’s face is almost completely red except for the beige scars that almost look pink against his skin. Eyes low like eating, you put him in a daze. The entire lower half of his face is soaked, soft lips puffy and glistening, just begging to be kissed. Though you’re not fully down, after waves of your orgasm are still hitting you, you can’t help but lick your lips.

“Don’t.” Satoru’s voice is hoarser and deeper than it was when you two first walked in here. Something about him was laced with lust and want. It sent sparks down your body. He sounded so fuckable.

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t lick your lips like that. Don’t look at me like you’re starving for me. I can’t-” He takes in a shuddering breath like he’s barely holding on before he pops up. One hand pulling you by your throat for a kiss, making you taste yourself on him, and damn, do you both taste good. Satoru’s hands are the only reason why your wobbly legs haven’t given out from underneath you.

Sloppy kisses that end with loud smacks, an inappropriate amount of whining, and the need to touch everything you could. The scene was enough to make someone look away in embarrassment. You two are stuck on each other, obsessed even. You pull away when the air supply runs out, shivers going down your body. 

Have you ever been this turned on? The answer is obviously no. Even fantasizing about Satoru wasn’t enough to get you like this. Satoru has that effect on you.

“I can't resist you.” Seems you have the same effect on him. He can’t help but get a couple more small kisses in before trailing down your face again. “Are you okay?” Satoru’s voice is soft; it's almost sickening.

“I can barely feel my legs.” He laughs, eyes crinkling at the end. He’s still your Satoru.

“That’s a problem.”

“I know, how am I going to walk back in there without looking stupid?” Without so much as a grunt (or a warning), you’re being lifted off your feet, body held bridal style with no ease.

“Nah, I mean you shouldn’t be able to walk at all. Guess I got to fuck that mobility out of you?” Your hand swats his chest like an impulse. Cheeks feel as if they could turn red. He makes quick steps to get inside, but before he can open the door, you stop him. 

“Everyone is still inside.”

“Then they’ll get out.” He says it like it's obvious.

“Satoru.”

“I’m serious. They’ll either get out, or they’ll hear us. I don’t care about them right now.” He’s insane. That accident took all the common sense out of his head.

“Sat-” It’s too late, the garage door flies open, and you close your eyes, hoping the dark lights hide your ruined makeup, disheveled dress, and loose ponytail. The music doesn’t stop, neither does Satoru, but he does laugh.

“You can open your eyes; no one is here.” What?

You do open your eyes only to be met with the fact that a single soul is in the house. Not even any on the balcony like they were before.

“Wait, does that mean-”

“Now we really don’t have to be quiet.” Satoru doesn’t even pay attention to the empty room, circling the apartment to find his bedroom. He doesn’t even bother closing the door behind him, making quick strides with you in his arms before he gently tosses you on the bed. He’s almost immediately taking his clothes off, blue eyes almost glowing in the darkness of the room. Satoru practically rips his black shirt off his body before he goes for the belt.

“Wait.” His eyes widened in fear, halting immediately. “Can I take them off?” You think the question might’ve killed him because he stares at you in shock before nodding his head like an idiot. He’s rushing over to the side of the bed, and he has to hold his smile back when he watches you struggle to balance your weight on your knees.

Yeah, he needs one more round.

The moment you get your hands on the belt, it’s over. Heat zaps down Satoru’s spine. As crude as it sounds, he’s never had you this close to his dick before. He doesn’t know just how long he’d last if you were even to stare at it long enough. Before he can bring himself to tell you to stop, you’re already pulling his pants down, damp boxers on display.

“Did you-”

“Yes.” He answers embarrassingly too fast. 

“You got off eating me out?” That blush creeps up Satoru’s neck all the way up to his ears.

“Yeah, I’ve gotten off from your perfume lingering in my bed.” He hadn’t meant to say that, but it makes your jaw unhinged enough to flash another sinful image through Satoru Gojo’s head. Making him visibly twitch.

“You’re such a perv, Toru.” The words are meant to be mean, but in all actuality, you’re not any better. The number of times you’ve gotten off to his cologne being stuck in your passenger side seat belt is one too many for you to admit. You shift closer, planting a kiss on his tip through his boxer, making his hips buck into your mouth.

“Don’t.”

“You can get a taste of me, but I can’t get a taste of you?” You drag your tongue across his print and the damp patch, watching his mouth drop slightly, a coy hum on your lips. “That’s unfair, don’t you think?” Toru nods dumbly, body unconsciously leaning into you. “Can I go down on you, Toru? I’ve thought about it so much.”

“Yes. Fuck yes, please.” Satoru knows this is a bad idea. He cannot cum again before he has sex with you, but as he made clear earlier, he can’t say no to you. So when you pull down his boxers only for his dick to smack right against his stomach pulling a weak moan from him, he just prays he has it in him to pull you off before he comes down your throat.

“Toru-” You’re in utter shock. Satoru’s dick is big. Not just big, it’s humongous, he’s fucking hung. No wonder he was so arrogant all the time; he had the size to back it up. “You’re so big.” There’s enough lubricant from his previous orgasm for you to stroke him comfortably.

“Fuck, you can’t say that.” He twitches in your hand as you let the spit from your mouth dribble down his oh so sensitive, bright red tip. He was so cute under your hand, slightly bucking up into your hand unknowingly. 

“But you are, and it’s so pretty.” Satoru Gojo loved to be praised. Any person with working eyes could tell you that. “Need to taste it.” You don’t let him say anything before you kiss the tip, earning a soft whimper from him. 

So he does whimper? Good to know.

One torturous, slow lick after the other has him clenching his fist by his side until they look like they’re going to pop. When you finally take him in your mouth, every thread in him snaps. Hands find purchase around the back of your head. He was right, you guys don’t have to worry about being quiet anymore. He’s practically moaning like a bitch in heat at every bob of your head. You’re not much better, loud slurps filling the room if it’s not your own pathetic moans around him. 

“Shit! I’m- you feel so good-ahh. Hnng- please don’t stop.” Like you would ever, Satoru Gojo has you wrapped around his finger just as much as he’s wrapped around yours. You’re practically dripping all over his sheets at every thrust, gagging a moan every time he tip hits the back of your throat. Spit spilling at the corners of your lips like the Satoru only slut you are. Watching his eyes roll to the back of his head, his chest rise at a sharp breath, the way your name rolled off his tongue. It was breathtaking being the one to make Satoru Gojo fall apart like this.

Just a little more, and he’ll cum down your throat just the way you wanted. Your hand that was absent mindedly drawing rough circles on your clit, moves to cup his spit-covered balls, fondling them gently. The change made Satoru stop with a particularly rough thrust to your throat and rather loud broken whine. One hand gripping your hair with a tight lock, and the other holding your throat in place. His tilted head comes back down, his chest erratically heaving as he gives you an almost pained look.

“Don’t do that.” It’s quick, and thought it didn’t sound as assertive as it was meant to be you pause befoe pushing your luck, moving your hand again, which makes Gojo thrust forward again, a loud gag coming from you, your hand constricting your throat. His other hand knocked yours away. He looks almost lost, torn as he works your throat over him. “I’m not cumming anywhere that’s not inside of you. If you do that, I’ll cum all over your face and waste all of it. We wouldn’t want that now?”

Satoru was so close to coming that the corner of his vision started to turn fuzzy. If he hadn’t stopped when he did this night might’ve taken a different turn. Mouth still full of his cock you shake your head no, eyes hazed over in your own lust. He painfully removes himself from your mouth, cussing himself out internally the entire time. It’s taking everything in him not to pull your warm, wet, hot mouth back over here and fuck it raw. 

“Take the dress off.” You scramble to pull the dress over you, moving to the middle of the bed and tossing it somewhere into the abyss. “You’re so good for me, baby. I love it.”

“Yeah?” Oh yeah, you’re gone. Who wouldn’t be looking at Satoru’s perfect body, even if all scared up, he’s still undeniably sexy. “You’re so good for me, Toru.” His weight shifts the mattress as he makes his way over to you. 

“I always want to be good for my girl.” His hands grab your ankles, pulling you. towards him. “Need to fuck you good.” That fucked out look on his face is all you see before he’s pushing your hands into the mattress for another sloppy makeout. You could kiss Satoru forever. His tongue knows just what way to lock with yours in the most lewd way, like he was made to kiss you. He pulls back, grabbing the base of his dick, which his hand could barely fit around.

He slowly glides his jerky cock through your wetness, making you both twitch. Saying nothing but watching it slip through and gather more lubricants, the tip hitting your abused clit so sinfully it made your jaw drop.

“She’s so messy.” You couldn’t care less what he was babbling about right now. You just needed him to put it in already.

“Stop teasing Toruuu.” You whine only to get a cocky grin from him. He was letting up, picking up the pace, to watch you squirm. 

“You want it that bad-oh.” All that squirming managed to slip the tip in, stopping you both. The smile is wiped clean off his face. Instead, one of awe replaces it as he watches himself fuck the same inch into you, sensitive head trapped between your warm, gummy, wet walls. “You- you- feel so-”

“Yeah, bet it would be better if you actually fucked me.” His eyes meet yours with a hard glare. 

“Count.”

“What- oh my god.” Your mouth forms a ‘o’ as he sinks more into you.

“Count. C’mon, my smart girl can tell me how. How many inches are in her right?”

“T-Two.” 

“There we go.” He pushes in more, holding back on his bodily urges that are telling him to quit with all the teasing, but he can’t.

Three follows with four, five with six, and by the time you’re at the last two inches, you’re practically shaking. There’s a line of drool hanging from Satoru’s mouth like he’s gone completely brain dead, eyes not disconnecting from where you two meet, like he’s hypnotized.

He is hypnotized.

“Just two more, baby.”

“Eight-ngh Satoru, please. I can’t!” Your body burned at the stretch. No one’s been as big as Toru.

“No. You can.”  You let out a high-pitched whine when he finally bottoms out.

“Nine! Fuck Satoru, I’m so full.” Those words bounce off deaf ears. Satoru is falling off this plane of existence; the only thing keeping him grounded is the clench of your core around him, sending shivers down his spine. When he doesn’t move, you call his name, only to hear a muffled moan into your neck. It takes pulling him out of your neck to see what’s happening, finally.

He’s so fucked out he’s not comprehending right. His blue eyes are crossed in pleasure, line of spit rolling down to his thick neck, shaking body completely flushed red.

“Pussy so good. It’s gonna kill me.”

“Toru, I need you to move.”

“I can’t. Need a second. It’s too good.”

“Toru, please, I want you to fuck me. Need you to fill me up.” It’s those words that put Satoru out of his daze, or at least his body out of its daze. His hips roll into yours with a sinfully quick pace. His hands roam your body, trying to find something to feel. 

“Want me to cum inside?” He grumbles in your ear with another fast snap of his hips. “Want me to fuck you full?” You nod as best as you can, mouth hanging open with pathetic noises coming from you, and another lewd squelch comes from you. “I think this pretty pussy wants that too. Just listen to her.” 

Nothing but the nasty wet smacks filling the room makes your ears burn. 

Plap, Plap, Plap.

“She’s practically begging me to pump her full of my cum. She’s so good. She’s so fucking addictive. So much better than anything I’ve used.” You’re half paying attention to him. More focused on how deep his dick is in you. Every thrust feels like the air is getting snatched from you in the best way. Besides, you’re not too far behind him in sounding incoherent.

“Toru, it’s so deep-ngh. I-hic” Were you crying? “Fuck don’t stop. Please don’t, don’t, don’t.”

“Wouldn’t fucking dream of it. Your pussy is so good to me, you’re so good to me.” One of his hands comes down, forcing your legs to wrap around his shoulders. “I need to fill you. Need to fuck you good. Need it. Need it. Fuck I need it.” The new angle, the stretch, the pressure, it has you seeing stars, and when Satoru hits that one spot, your entire body tenses. 

Something’s different.

“Oh my god, Satoru!”

“Right there?” He whines out, head reeling back every time he hits that spongy spot inside. You nod, fat tears rolling down your body, it’s almost too much, but before you can even think about Toru’s already pinning your hips. “Don’t you dare think about running from me. Waited too long for this, for you.” Each bed shaking brutal smack brings you closer, but something is different. 

More intense, it’s deeper. It makes your entire body tremble. 

“Sssatoru I- something feels-” 

“Nuh-uh. That’s not my name.” Fuck he’s hitting it so good you may not be able to tell him. Your back is starting to arch in, tasting your release, which makes your vision come in and out.

“Baby! Something’s different! I’m-” Your cut off entirely by the smack of Satoru’s fingers against your clit, making you jolt in pleasure. You’re so close.

“Don’t call me that. That’s not what you call me. You want to cum, you want me to fill you up so good you’ll be dripping me for days? Then you call me by- FUCK-” Your cunt clenches around him, making his head pop from your ear to the air, making him look at you. He’s just like you—unfocused eyes, pathetic moaning, completely fucked out and pussydrunk to your dickmatized. “You-you call me by my name.”

“T-t-t-” You’re right there.

“C’mon, be good for me and say it.”

“Toru! I’m gonna cum. I’m gonna-” His fingers come down in a harsh rub of your throbbing clit, and you’re gone. Your warning is a faded memory of the past, as the tremors of your orgasm take over. Vision completely gone, ears ringing, in what is the strongest orgasm of your life, given to you by none other than your childhood best friend.

“Oh, my god.” Satoru watches you spray the entirety of the sheets beneath you, his hand, lower stomach, and most importantly, his cock. Never in his wildest dreams did he think watching the girl he loves the most squirt all over would happen, but when it does, it hits him like a bag of bricks. Making him cum so hard he slumps forward, letting out the most pornographic cries, eyes almost shut as he watches his seed mix in with your cum, and it sends lightning down his spine. “It won’t stop.” He doesn’t know who he’s talking about, but you still haven’t stopped. He fucks you through it, almost losing his fucking mind doing so, house full of sounds that would surely get him a noise complaint.

When you both come down from the mutual orgasms, neither of you dares to move an inch. Both of you are still shaking too hard to be fully conscious. It’s only when that tear hits your stomach that you start to come back. Satoru’s head is down, in shoulder trembling just like you.

“Toru?”

“Don’t move. I can’t- don’t move, please.” He sounded so weak, it damn near made your heart clench. “Listen, baby.” You almost yelp at the overstimulation when Satoru gives a few weak, shallow thrusts. A popping squelch rings through the room. “Sounds so beautiful.” 

“Satoru, come here.” He doesn’t hesitate, meeting your lips one more time, with the shakiest and sweetest kisses of the night. He gently pulls out, and you groan at the big loss. Missing the fill now that it’s gone. How were you ever going to get anything done now that you know what sex with the love of your life feels like? His head falls to your shoulder, making sure to keep his weight off you. It’s silent for a little while, you two bathe in the post-sex afterglow, until the question in the air rings too loud in your mind. “So what does this mean for us?”

“Don’t ask such dumb questions.”

“I’m serious-”

“I am too. You’re not going anywhere, Y/N. Whether that's you being my girlfriend or, preferably, my wife, you’re here to stay. I’m here to stay. We’ve spent too much time avoiding the obvious to be picky about what we are now. We’re in love. Simple.” His arms sling around you, pulling you closer. The warmth of his body felt grounding.

“I love you, Toru.” You declare for the umpteenth time.

“I love you, Y/N.”

It’s your phone that wakes you up from your deep sleep with your boyfriend(?) at what had to be noon. 

“Satoru.” You grumble against his chest, refusing to open your eyes.

“Ignore it.” He makes no effort to move. The ringtone faded for all of three seconds before it blares up again, making you sigh.

“I got it.” He pulls you against him again, weakly trying to hold you back. “Toru.”

“Fine.” He rolls over, allowing you to crawl over him to grab the blaring phone, but not before smacking your ass as you bend to do so. You shoot him a dirty look, and he shrugs. “What? It’s great ass, and it’s mine.”

“Yours?”

“Yeah, baby, that’s my ass, that's my pussy, that’s my heart, you’re my girl.” You have to bite back a smile at his words. The thought of finally being Satoru’s girl makes your chest all fuzzy.

“So does that mean that’s my dick and my heart?”

“You know it. Now I highly suggest you answer that phone, or else I’ll show you what else your dick can do.” You scoff, but it’s clear by the way your nipples perk up that you’re turned on. Satoru pulls you on top of him, pressing his half-hard dick against your bare cunt. Disregarding who can hear you two, as he kisses down your bare body. You press the accept button before you have half the mind to ride him and show him what his pussy can do.

“Hello?”

“Oh. My. God.” Geto and Shoko’s voices flood the other side of the phone. “This was better than we could’ve imagined.”

“What are you two going on about?” Satoru looks up at you through his pretty lashes, a confused look on his face.

“We called Satoru, not you.”

Oh.

Oh.

“Please tell me you two have finally sorted things out. I was plastered by the time Geto was kicking everyone out of the house.”

“I think they did more than just sort it out. I’m never touching that motorcycle again.” Your jaw drops in horror before Satoru grabs the phone from your hands.

“You two really need to get a life.” You make out the words “dumbass” on the other end of the phone. “Uh-huh. Anyway, I got some time to make up for. I'll talk to guys later.” He tosses the phone to the other side of the bed, pulling you closer to him. “Good afternoon, baby.” You giggle at his antics, heart swelling with joy. Everything feels perfect.

“Good afternoon, Toru.”

A/N: I wrote this over the cycle of two ovulation cycles...no regrets! I'm hella rusty too, this might be a mess potench. Also, this wasn't proofread... so my bad!

Plagiarism is NOT allowed.

[hellomwah]

oh i was hungry as fuck

[oscarjamesleigh]

Tumblr is a fate driven website. You can't find posts through the search function, you see them when you're meant to.

[c1nnam0roll-08]

⋆˙⟡ RUDE! ๋࣭ ⭑

⟢Pairing: Choso Kamo x fem!reader

⟢Synopsis: You’re mean—plain and simple. But that never scared Choso away. He’s put up with your baseless bullying for years, all because一well, he’s got a crush on you. Now, in university, once you’re paired for a group project, you start to realize that you have some not-so-negative feelings of your own.

⟢Content Warnings: mentions of bullying, mean!reader, smoking, slight angst, hidden feelings, masturbation, somnophilia (if you squint), oral (m rec), vaginal fingering, vaginal sex, creampie, choso lowkey gentle parenting reader, soft choso, also kind of mean choso, begging for it, dominant choso (unheard of)

⟢Word Count: 6.7k (heh nice)

⟢A/N: I wrote this kind of in a backwards way, so idk how this reads, apologies in advance. Also I had so much writers block and I’m still unsure if I’m happy with this fic :/

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　 　˚　　　

You groan when you walk into your first ever university lecture—your excitement being immediately crushed by the sight of your long-time pest sitting in the back row. His mere presence ruins your mood, along with your once calm heart rate. 

Choso offers you a polite smile when you lock eyes—you being the first familiar face he’d seen since settling into his dorm. He doesn’t seem to care that you’d been his childhood bully. 

You and Choso had been classmates for as long as you could remember—since elementary school, at least. For reasons you never quite understood, he always managed to get under your skin. Maybe it was how smart he was, or how unwaveringly kind, or the way his eyes looked coated in dark makeup. Whatever it was, it annoyed you. A lot.

So you made sure he knew it.

You’d pick on him with your friends, always something about his alternative style, his study habits, maybe how low of a voice he had for his age. Every snide comment, every eye roll, every bit of irritation—you never held back. And yet, no matter how mean you were, Choso never retaliated. He stayed unfailingly civil.

Which only made things worse.

Because somehow, despite all your efforts to crush him, he had this frustrating ability to make your heart race—and you hated it.

And now, against all odds, you ended up at the same university, too. He clung to you like the dirt beneath your perfectly manicured nails. No matter where you went, there he was. Quiet. Unassuming. Constant. 

You only give him a glare in return, before swiftly realizing that the only empty seat was right in front of him. 

Shit.

You walk over slowly, each step feeling like you’re stepping on shards of glass. You begrudgingly sit down, trying to ignore his presence to the best of your ability. 

“Hey, how’s your first day been?” he asks quietly, his aggravatingly deep voice already making your eye twitch. 

“Don’t talk to me.” your voice cutting, trying to send the message that your opinion of him hasn’t changed since high school graduation. 

“Sorry, just haven’t seen anyone I know, besides you-“ he apologizes like a dog that’d just been reprimanded. 

“Yeah- because you don’t have any friends.” you mutter, rolling your eyes.

“I thought that maybe-“ he trails off, opting to be silent when you don’t even turn around to look at him. 

The professor begins the class shortly after your brief exchange—announcing that everyone should remain in the same seats for the entire semester, so they can learn students’ names more efficiently. 

You hate this class already.

Thankfully, Choso doesn’t try to talk to you for the rest of the lecture. You’re satisfied that he’d heeded your warning, you’d like to keep him where you can’t see or hear him—if only to spare yourself from sweaty palms and flushed ears. 

It’s only when you stand up to leave that Choso pushes his luck. 

“Hey, uhm-“ he starts, you freeze, your shoulders tensing and spine straightening. “if you ever need help with the course, we can share notes and whatnot-“ 

“Choso-“ you whip your head around, face red with anger. “How many times is it going to take for you to understand that I don’t like you.” you bite back, fists clenched at your sides. 

Your eyes lock in a tense, lingering stare. Choso’s expression holds a faint, uncertain smile—while his wide brown eyes scan your face, searching for any trace of sarcasm, any sign that your words weren’t meant the way they sounded.

“Right.” his hopeful expression fading, replaced by a coldness that makes your stomach drop. He collects his stuff before calmly leaving the lecture hall. 

You’d seen Choso a few times in the hallways since, you had hoped he’d return to routine smiles and nods of acknowledgement—just so you could sneer and roll your eyes. But he doesn’t even spare you a glance. Not one. The dynamic you’d accidentally curated over the years was gone in the blink of an eye. 

The sweet and patient Choso seems to have reached his limit—and something about it makes you feel empty. You should be ecstatic that he’d finally fucked off, but you don’t feel any semblance of a victory. 

You walk into the lecture hall as per routine, halting when you don’t see Choso in his seat. Your eyes scour the rest of the room, only to find it lacking his maddening presence. Your shoulders go slack, almost in…disappointment? 

You scowl, walking over to take your seat as you curse yourself for being upset that the bane of your existence is absent. You have no reason to be—in theory you should be jumping for joy. 

The lecture goes as expected—clock ticking and low murmurs of other students, until the professor drops a bomb—a group project. 

You hold your breath as names are called—each pair being randomized. You just pray that you’re paired with someone who’s not an ambitionless piece of shit. You’d hate to have to do the whole project by yourself—in an ideal world, you’ll get someone who will show up and do their half. 

Oh.

Your jaw nearly drops when you and Choso’s names are being shouted in the same breath. 

Logistically speaking, this is ideal—you know how good of a student he is. But you also know that currently, Choso isn’t amenable to working with you (not that you are either). Not to mention, he isn’t even here. Which means you’ll have to notify him yourself.

Why couldn’t that loser just go to a different university—or hell, even major in something else?

You spend what feels like hours combing through every corner of campus, hoping to track down your project partner—but he’s nowhere to be found. Agitation builds with every step. A big portion of your grade rides on this assignment, and this is when he decides to leave you alone? Figures.

Defeated, you finally head back to your dorm. And of course—because why not—there he is. Sitting casually on a picnic table outside the building, cigarette in hand. 

You storm up to him, face pulled into a grimace—he doesn’t look at you, too preoccupied with trying to ignore you, nursing his nicotine addiction. 

“Choso-“ you start, catching his attention. “We’ve been paired for a project.” your voice tinged with annoyance, he’d inconvenienced you after all.

He’s still ignoring you, breathing in a deep puff of smoke before blowing it away. 

“Y’know what-“ you huff, snatching the burning cigarette from between his fingers, and stomping on it with your once pristine Mary Janes. “Stop smoking that shit and tell me you’ll do your half of the assignment, dickhead!” you nearly yell, your frustration palpable. 

He doesn’t shout back—just gives you a worn, bored look. You can’t tell if it’s because of your behavior or because he’s out of a cigarette. He says nothing. Just watches, gaze occasionally sweeping around.

You stand there, knees weak as you take him in—his hair is free from those ridiculous twin buns, a simple band tee hugging the biceps you didn’t know he had, and his pale skin glistening with sweat from the beating sun. He looked (beautiful) different. 

Your face burns, your chest rises and falls too fast, but that doesn’t justify the way he’s looking at you—calm, patient, almost unsettling. Like a parent waiting out a child’s tantrum.

“I thought you didn’t want me to talk to you.” he finally responds, raising a brow, crossing his arms and leaning forwards against the table. 

“You think I want to talk to you?” you laugh, bending down and planting your hands on the wood surface he’s leaning on—you crowd his space, face not far from his. 

“All I need, is for you to work hard for a couple weeks, and then you can do whatever the fuck else it is that you do.” your voice drops to a low whisper, words mocking.

Choso scoffs, looking you up and down with a level of disappointment you’ve never seen before. It doesn’t feel right. It feels like you’re being scolded. 

You hate it. 

You don’t like admitting it, but Choso’s constant gentle attention used to be the best part of your days at school. It made you feel warm, your heart racing, your tummy fluttering. You looked forward to seeing him every day—even if it was just to tease him and watch how he always took it in stride.

Something about the way he’s looking at you now makes it feel as though you’ve made a mistake. 

“You are far too old to be this rude, y’know-“ he says calmly. “I’ll do the project when you find the maturity to be nice for a change.” he grunts when he stands up, flicking your forehead with a small frown on his face, then walks away. 

You snort. If anything, he was the one being immature! Refusing to participate in a project worth a large amount of your grade just because you upset him is ridiculous—right? 

You swear you can feel steam blowing out of your ears. Who does he think he is? Why can’t he just go back to listening to your every whim—take your remarks lying down?

For the rest of the week, the two of you steer clear of each other, each pretending the project’s looming deadline isn’t creeping closer by the hour. You try to do it on your own, but a spiteful part of you keeps getting in the way—you refuse to let Choso benefit from your hard work. 

It isn’t until a specific lecture that the professor checks in on everyone’s progress—most of the class claims they’re nearly finished or already done. As a result, the deadline gets pushed up so the class can move ahead. 

You only have two days.

Your heart drops to your ass, your problematic situation is starting to feel a lot more real. You’re bouncing your knee, fidgeting with your pens, buzzing with anxiety for the remainder of the lesson—how the hell are you going to finish this on time? 

Will you seriously have to grovel and beg the emo loser behind you for forgiveness? 

No, that would be far too embarrassing. 

“Are you seriously going to take an F because you can’t get over yourself?” 

You flinch, that low baritone you know oh so well startling you. You feel the familiar heat rush to your cheeks, butterflies dancing in your stomach. 

“Maybe if you’d just agreed to helping me out last week, we wouldn’t be in this situation.” you mutter, back still turned to him. 

You hear Choso’s chair let out a creak as he stands, the sound cutting through the mostly empty room. You follow him with your eyes as he moves down the row toward the staircase—until your chest tightens. Instead of stepping up, he steps down… then turns, heading straight toward your seat.

“What’s your problem with me?” he asks from beside you, leaning back on the tables behind him. 

What is your problem? 

You stay silent, instead opting to stuff the rest of your shit inside of your tote bag as quickly as possible—avoiding the question that you don’t have an answer to.

“From what I recall, I haven’t done anything to you-“ he says cautiously, as to not provoke you. “So why?” he finishes, referring to your relentless cruel treatment. 

You stand, growing increasingly uncomfortable as you’re being interrogated. You sling your bag over your shoulder, trying to scoot around him but he stops you—Choso’s no longer scrawny build blocks your path. The smell of cigarette smoke and woody cologne fills your senses the longer he stands in front of you. 

“Fucking- move.” you huff, looking over his shoulder at the exit. You keep your gaze fixed on the door, unwilling to let him catch the flush spreading across your face. 

“Got an assignment to finish or something?” he laughs—a real, genuine laugh. 

You finally meet his eyes, blowing air into your cheeks as you watch him giggle at you. The Choso you know isn’t one for joking around—you being shocked isn’t far from the truth. 

“I do, actually.” you flash him a mocking smile, stomping on his foot—he grunts in pain, budging just enough for you to sneak past him.

“And it’d be great if you could be useful and send over your half.” you sing-song over your shoulder in an attempt to act like you weren’t flustered by his earlier boldness. 

“You have yet to be nice, so it’s not happening!” Choso shouts as you near the exit, eyes trained on your short skirt riding up your ass just the smallest bit. 

You slam your door behind you, thankful that you don’t have a roommate to piss you off even further. You groan into your hands, kicking off your heels before face planting into your twin-sized bed. 

Every muscle in your body is pulled taut, strung tight with tension like a bowstring. The stress of this past week is taking its toll—between Choso being particularly frustrating and the upcoming deadline of your shared project, you’re not sure you’ll ever relax. 

Choso’s irritating question bounces around your skull as you reach for your laptop.

“What’s your problem with me?”

To be honest, you don’t have a clear cut answer. Sure, he has traits that are easy to be picked apart by the general public—he’s not very social, he’s super nerdy, and he has an unconventional way of self-expression, but he’s not mean like you are. He’s actually incredibly kindhearted, not that that’s new information to you…

You drop your train of thought once you remember what you’re supposed to be doing—the assignment. After about an hour of staring at a blank document, your brain starts thinking of ways to…unwind.

You cave, reaching into your bedside drawer and snatching your vibrator. You hike your skirt up your hips, pulling your panties down your legs—a sticky string of arousal clinging to them. 

What’s got you so worked up?

You lay down, dragging the little bullet up the inside of your thighs to tease yourself. Bringing the instrument up to your oddly wet pussy, you let out a sigh of relief when the low buzz comes into contact with your clit. 

Your legs twitch and your belly feels warm—every little vibration grants you relief from your stress. You close your eyes, letting your head fall back onto the pillows. You tweak your nipples through your shirt tentatively, still a little on edge about taking a break from your project. 

Speaking of projects, your head flashes you images of a certain someone.

Your mind betrays you—all you can think of is him. Every breathy moan pulled from your lips is due to his tired eyes, his low voice, his newfound backbone…

He's on top of you, cock buried deep inside. He’s whispering in your ear, putting you in your place—light nibbles on your earlobe, all the way down to your throat-

The thought of him fucking the attitude out of you-

It doesn’t take you long to fall apart, cunt clamping down around nothing and back arching, finishing with a shy whisper of his name. 

You let out a petulant whine, chucking your vibrator across the room with a little too much force. You wipe the bead of sweat from your forehead, breaths uneven—what the hell did you just get off to?

“What’s your problem with me?”

Suddenly your warm cheeks and increased heart rate made a lot more sense. If you thought you hated him before, then this new revelation might make you take him out back and shoot him for real.

Your problem is that you have a damn crush on him. 

With just one day left, your anxiety is through the roof. You hadn’t managed to get anything done last night, due to an…indulgence of certain activities. 

You’re late for your lecture, hurrying through the halls in a desperate attempt to make up for lost time—you’re keeping your eyes ahead, never glancing elsewhere. But some unspoken rule about not “running in the hallways” makes itself known when someone emerges from a small corridor to your left—slamming into your side. 

“Shit- sorry about that.” strong arms steady you, grabbing a stray sheet of paper from the ground and handing it over. 

Choso.

You freeze. Your pulse thunders in your ears, heat spreading throughout your entire body—you’re suddenly all too aware of last night’s discovery. You hesitantly take the paper from his outstretched hand, stuffing it into your bag. 

“Are you okay?” he asks, pulling your fallen tank-top strap back on your bare shoulder. 

He touched you.

You just look at him, unable to turn away. All your brain can manage is conjuring dirty thoughts—warmth and slick pooling in your panties. 

“I- uhm—I should get to class,” you murmur, your once bold and sharp demeanor neutralized by recently uncovered feelings. 

“So you can turn in the project you don’t have?” he teases, his tongue fiddling with his lip piercings. 

His mouth.

“Y’know, if you just say something nice to me right now-“ he pauses, bringing a hand up to push some of his hair back—veins popping.

His hands.

“We can go to the library or one of our dorms and finish the project before midnight-“ he takes a deep breath. “I promise.” 

“Are you serious?” you ask, eyebrow raised and lips twitching into a frown.

“C’mon, you can do it.” he urges, tone slightly teasing.

He said something similar in your dirty musings last night-

You just stare for what you imagine is over thirty seconds, contemplating his offer. Choso is willing to wait for your verdict it seems—considerate as ever. But there’s something humiliating in the way he treats you. 

Why is he so patient with you? 

Especially after all you’ve done to him, you find it hard to believe that all he wants is a kind word—like it’ll right all your wrongs. 

“I- uhm-“ you cringe, the words foreign on your tongue. “I like your jewelry.” you swear you can feel your eye twitch, face flushed no doubt. 

You get the widest grin in return, like he’d won a bet you didn’t know existed. 

“Wasn’t so hard, right?” 

“Shut up, dickhead.” 

“Anddd she’s back.” Choso laughs, you have to seal your lips tight to avoid joining him. 

“Library? My dorm, yours?” he asks, shifting on his feet, hands stuffed into his front pockets. 

Is he nervous?

“Library. I don’t want you near my dorm.” your snappy attitude coming back, annoyed by his satisfaction at your…compliment.

“Alright.” his smile dropping just a smidge, starting to walk in front of you towards the library. 

You follow, dragging your feet—the trip across campus feeling like forever and a day. At some point, you had matched Choso’s pace, walking silently beside him like a certain pull had pinned you there. It’s not that you wanted to share his space, but he’s undeniably magnetic.

Damn crush.

He doesn’t comment on it, but you swear you can see his lips tugged up in a knowing smirk. 

Once the two of you reach your destination, you shuffle over to an empty table and take a seat. You had hoped Choso would take the seat across from you, but he plants his ass right next to you. 

“Choso-“ you huff, taking your laptop from your bag and nearly slamming it on the table. “Can’t you sit over there?” you complain, gesturing to the empty chairs in front of you.

“You need to learn how to be in the same vicinity as people you don’t get along with, sweetheart.” he deadpans, the pet name no doubt a contradiction of your personality—a jab.

What he’s not aware of though, is that you don’t want him close to you for another reason—one you won’t say out loud. 

You and Choso work as efficiently as possible—splitting tasks between each other. You’d read sources and take notes, then he’d put them into the slides and proofread everything. The both of you put aside any grudges to get the highest grade possible in the short time available. 

It was weirdly intimate—in a way.

Only short exchanges of words, minimal hand brushing, no insults. Just a willingness to work together. 

When Choso gets up to get the two of you coffee, you instinctively grab his wrist.

“Two sugars-“ you pause, his patient gaze sets on you as he waits for you to release his hand. “…please?” you can feel his pulse spike under your hand, his eyes widening.

“Yea-“ he nods, nibbling on his lower lip. “Of course.” 

You slowly let go, shoulders slacking from the lack of contact. You can hear the keychains hanging from his belt jingle as he walks out the library—your eyes following him the whole way. 

You let out a sigh of relief when you hear the door close, turning back towards your open laptop and drowning in your thoughts—unable to continue working after what you did.

There’s a heat growing in your lower belly that you can’t ignore. It’s uncomfortable. You clench your thighs—the result from your prolonged closeness with Choso remains sticky in the gusset of your panties. 

You would have preferred to stay oblivious of your feelings, but your awful brain just had to let you know via your masturbation session the other night. 

Why did he have to get so damn hot—still maintaining that agitatingly unbothered persona that you enjoy pushing the limits of? 

Is there even a possibility that he feels the same?

There must be, considering all he needed to help you out was a single compliment. But then again, he could just be doing this to save his own grades. 

That’s not like him, though.

You jolt when a large hand gently nudges your shoulder—waking you from your stupor.

“You alright?” 

Your coffee is placed on the table to your right, Choso sits back down, body facing yours. 

“I’m fine.” you respond, taking a sip of your drink—pleased to find he followed through with your request.

“Are you sure?” his eyes wander over the expanse of your face. “You look kind of flushed.” 

Shit.

“I’m fine.” you snap, heart beating slightly faster at the possibility of him figuring you out. 

“Okay…well the library closes in an hour so we might have to wrap this up at the dorms.” 

You just nod, trying to ignore the terrifying prospect of being completely alone with him within the next hour. 

For the remainder of your available time, you work as diligently as possible—although it proved to be difficult with the occasional foot nudge and low voice asking you annoying questions. 

By the time the library is closing, you still have a decent amount of work to do. The both of you stand up in a comfortable silence, collecting your things; in agreement that you’ll return to his dorm. 

You just follow Choso the whole way there, eyelids drooping and the occasional yawn. Neither of you speak, only a mutual understanding of each other’s moods. 

Choso unlocks his door, gesturing you to walk inside first like the gentleman he is. You swat his hand away when he tries to set your bag down for you, a sigh of frustration leaving his lips when you prove to be as difficult as ever. 

His dorm is small—what dorm isn’t, to be fair. He’s got a small L-shaped desk beside his twin bed and a narrow dresser by the door. There’s not a lot of seating options so you take the initiative to sit on his office chair, leaving him his bed. 

The entire room reeks of smoke and his heady cologne—a scent that you’ve become accustomed to throughout the day, although still making your tummy flutter. 

“Making yourself at home?” he asks, referring to the bold action of taking his chair. 

“Let’s just finish this so I can sleep.” you tiredly mumble, laying your stuff out on his desk with zero finesse. 

“Coffee didn’t help?” he questions, moving over to stand next to where you’re sitting. “Are you sure you’re not sick or something?” 

Choso, much to your dismay, spins the chair around until you’re facing him—he looks at your red face, the bead of sweat dripping down your neck, your crossed legs. He reaches a hand up to your forehead, feeling for a fever but there isn’t one. 

Are you..?

“Fuck off-“ you groan, swatting his hand away out of embarrassment. “Just finish the slides already.” you order, turning the chair back around and crossing your legs even tighter before getting to work. 

“Yeah, of course.” 

As Choso finishes the final slide, soft snores reach his ears—you’d fallen asleep, face first on his desk. The relentless grind of the day had no doubt worn you down. He checks the time-

It’s just before midnight; the two of you had done it. 

Choso turns the project in, gently closing his laptop and standing up to close yours. He can’t help the smile that falls across his face as he watches you drool on the hardwood surface. 

He much prefers you like this—no cruel remarks, no complaints, just peaceful snores. 

“Cho-“ 

Huh?

It’s quiet, he almost doesn’t catch it—almost.

Is the girl he’s had a pathetic crush on since elementary moaning his name—in her sleep? 

The same one who’d make fun of him in front of her friends? The same one who’d roll her eyes at him in the halls? The same one who’d made his heart warm with every prolonged glare? 

He feels his dick stiffen in his jeans, heat pooling in his stomach. 

Had you been flushed earlier because you were…horny? Because of him? 

No, that can’t be right-

“Fuck, Cho-“ 

He can’t breathe. 

Every single fiber of his being wants to reach out and touch you, but he knows he shouldn’t. 

Choso also knows he can jerk off later, but…

He unbuckles his studded belt, unzips his pants and palms his cock through his boxers—guilt lingered with every squeeze, but your bare thighs and breathy moans are too enticing to ignore. 

Boldly, Choso reaches out, brushing a stray piece of hair away to get a better view of your pretty face. You don’t stir, granting him the security to free his dick from his underwear and jerk off properly. 

Your cheeks are still red, your face contorted in a pout—your thighs shift against each other every so often, followed by a quiet whimper. 

He pumps his cock faster, his eyebrows furrowing while trying to hold in whimpers of his own. But only when he fails to keep one contained is when your eyes finally flutter.

“Shit-“ he huffs, turning from you and stuffing himself back inside his pants—still painfully hard. 

“Choso?” you call, voice hushed. 

You groan as you blink the sleep from your eyes, your back strained. Cringing, you uncross your legs, a wet trail leaking from your panties down to your mid thigh. 

Once your vision is finally cleared, you see Choso standing next to you, hands suspiciously placed over his groin—his pants are barely zipped, his belt is undone, and a large unconcealable tent makes itself known. 

Was he..?

The two of you just stare at each other, both feeling as if you’d been caught in the act—which, you had. 

“I-“

“I-“

You both start at the same time, followed by more silence. 

You move first, rolling the office chair forwards. You put your hands over his, pulling them away from his crotch—he lets you, a little bit confused, but willing nonetheless. 

“What are you-“ 

“Shut up.” 

You free his huge cock, just holding it in your fist for a moment, purely stunned. 

Choso groans impatiently, hand finding its way into your hair and tugging you forward—gently, but still a tug. 

You lock eyes with him as you take his swollen dick into your mouth with a loud hum. Your lips stretch around his sheer girth, you take him as deep as you can before you’re gagging—whatever your mouth doesn’t reach, you pump with your manicured hand. 

“Oh- fuck-“ 

Choso whines. 

A sound so dirty it makes your already uncomfortably wet cunt gush even more fluid down the insides of your thighs. 

“Who- ngh- knew your mouth could be so- fuck- nice, sweetheart.” he teases, his hand in your hair guiding your head at an increasingly fast pace. 

You smack his thigh, hard—not impressed with his snide comment. You’d complain aloud if you could, but your throat is…preoccupied. 

“What?” he chokes on another moan before continuing. “Can’t handle a taste of your own- mfm- medicine?” his deep voice sends shivers down your spine. 

You’re not sure where he got this boldness, but then again, you’re pretty sure he was jerking off to you while you were asleep. 

All you know is that his rough handling is exactly what you dreamed of. 

Choso’s face is twisted with a victory when you don’t attempt to answer him in any way—you stay focused on choking him down. 

Disgusting sounds of gagging, and wet slurping fill the room as he reminisces on all the times he’d imagined this. 

Your pretty face looking up at him, all your bitchy comments and petty insults silenced by your victim’s thick cock.

He didn’t want to hurt you, not at all—he just wanted you to grow a little. Learn that not everybody is beneath you, rather, that it wouldn’t hurt you to be beneath him—literally. 

Every time you hollow your cheeks around him, tears gathering in your eyes, Choso gets closer. 

“Fuck- so pretty like this.” 

You feel your pussy flutter at his praise, you double your efforts in a need to hear more—you swirl your tongue along the vein running from the base to the tip on the underside of his cock. 

“Oh- gonna cum-“ he groans, his free hand reaching down to caress your strained jaw. 

With just a few more rough thrusts to the back of your throat, he spills his milky seed deep inside. 

Choso’s hips still, eyes clenched tight—he holds your nose flush to his pelvis as he lets out one final whimper. You claw for purchase at his thighs, your air supply dire. 

He finally pulls out, giving your head a few rewarding pets. You gasp for air, some residue of his cum remains on your tongue—what didn’t go straight down your esophagus, that is. 

“Swallow, sweetheart.” he coos, bending down to your level to watch you. 

You gulp down the rest of his salty drizzle, flashing him your tongue once you’re sure it’s all gone. 

“I knew you had the capacity to be a good girl.” he taunts, his cock already hardening again from your surprising obedience.

Choso lowers himself on his knees for comfort, height now equal to yours—he grabs the back of your head and kisses you. 

You yelp into his mouth, letting him slide his tongue against yours. Your fists grab his shirt, pulling him closer once the initial shock dissipates. 

Choso spreads your legs, creating a space for him—your cunt is now flush to his covered abs. You grind against them, leaving a wet spot on his tee. Choso can almost smell your arousal. 

His hands slide up your thighs, reaching underneath your skirt until he reaches your sorry excuse for panties. He hooks his fingers onto the gusset and pulls them aside, exposing your pussy to the cold air. 

“Touch me, Cho-“ you murmur against his lips.

You grab one of his hands, trying to move it towards your neglected heat—but his hand stays put. He’s far stronger than you, evidently. 

“I asked you a question the other day-“ he starts, pulling away from your mouth. “Are you ready to answer it, sweetheart?” 

Your eyebrows furrow in confusion, a small pout on your face as you’re trying to decipher what he’s referring to.

“What’s your problem with me?”

“I-“ you pause, contemplating your words. 

You’d rather keep it to yourself—it’s humiliating, and completely outside your comfort zone. Apologies aren’t your thing, let alone trying to explain yourself. But the thought of him walking away, leaving you hot and bothered, is starting to chip away at your pride.

“I didn’t know, for a while at least-“ you start, your words hesitant—watching his face for any negative reaction, but there isn’t any, so you continue. 

“You made me really angry-“

“Why?” he coaxes, rubbing small circles on your hips with his thumb.

“You make me-“ you stop again, fighting to get the words out. “I guess I had a crush on you, and I-“ you cringe, hiding your face in your hands. 

“And I didn’t know how to deal with it, so I took it out on you instead.” you finally confess, never uncovering your face. 

Your heart hammers against your ribs, heat rising to your face. The humiliation is suffocating. And what stings most is that you had to lower yourself like that in front of someone you hadn’t even respected until he put in the effort for your project. 

You feel so damn guilty—and you know why. Your reasoning feels immature, almost childish, and you can’t ignore that. He didn’t deserve any of it—nothing you said or did. Especially given how patient he’s always been.

“Do you still have a crush on me?” he asks, a small laugh escaping despite trying to be serious. 

“You already know the answer to that.” you groan, head tilting back into the chair. 

“Yeah, I do-“ Choso laughs again, collecting slick from between your folds making you flinch. “I just wanted to hear you say it.” he brings his fingers up to his mouth, sucking the juices from them and groans. 

“Why don’t you apologize…and then I’ll make you feel good, sweetheart.” he leans forwards, prying your hands from your face to place a peck on your pouty lips. 

“I’m sorry.” you say, not sincerely enough for Choso’s liking.

“Try again.” 

“I’m so sorry, Cho-“ you whine quietly, holding his hands in your own. “Please, touch me.” 

Choso easily scoops you up into his arms, plopping you down onto his small mattress. He crowds you, leaving wet smooches down your neck, occasionally biting down to make you hiss. 

His large hands sneak under your tank-top, cupping your tits and squeezing. 

Choso pulls your skirt and panties down together in a single hard tug, groaning when he gets a glimpse of your absolutely ruined cunt. 

“Tell me what you want, sweetheart.” he urges, running his fingers up and down your slit with a feather-light pressure. 

Your hips buck, asking for more. You grab his hand and push it further against you. 

“Use your words.” 

You huff, spreading your legs wider before speaking.

“Need you inside-“ 

“Ask nicely.”

“Please fuck me, Cho.” you whine, reaching for his twitching dick—he snatches your hands and pins them to your chest. 

“Oh- fuck!” you cry out when Choso sinks two fingers inside of you, curling them up into that spongy spot inside of you. 

“Relax for me, pretty-“ he leans down again, peppering kisses on your face while he shrugs his pants off his hips. “Need to get you ready first.” 

He fingers your pussy open slowly, scissoring his digits carefully—thumb rubbing your clit. Your moans are breathy, slowly relaxing and enjoying the pleasure you’re being given. 

You pull Choso in for a needy kiss, fingers digging into the back of his scalp in a way that makes him whine. It’s slow, it’s intimate—both of your hearts beating out your chests as years of pent up frustration is finally resolved. 

“Gonna fuck you now, yeah?” he murmurs against your open mouth, warning you before he pulls his hand from your cunt.

You just nod, whining a little at the loss of his fingers. 

Choso sits back on his heels, stripping himself of his shirt and pants completely. You shamelessly ogle his bare chest, nearly drooling at the taper of his abs down to his v-line. Then he’s grabbing you by the ankle and pulling one of your legs up, up, up until it’s resting on his built shoulder—spreading you nice and wide. 

You will your eyes to look at his face, slightly unnerved when you see an idea pop into his head—a sly grin crawling its way on his face. 

“Wanna hear you say sorry more, baby.” 

He wants to humiliate you. Again. 

Choso pushes the first inch inside of you, you hiss at the delicious stretch. You grip his forearms from their place on your hips, preparing for him to sink himself deeper—but he doesn’t. 

He looks at you, expectantly. 

“Shit- m’sorry, Cho-“ 

Another inch.

“So so sorry-“ 

A couple more.

He's barely more than half way, but you’re already struggling to accommodate him. You huff, throwing your head back into his pillows—breathing in his scent. 

“I’m sorry-“ you yelp as he forces the rest of himself inside, bottoming out with a whimper. 

You feel like you're being split open—although it’s the least you deserve for your behavior, you suppose. 

The rough sting lulls into a dull, pleasurable throb the longer Choso remains fully sheathed. The constant pressure on your cervix has you clamping down on him, hips wriggling in his hold. He waits for you to adjust, rubbing tight circles on your clit to loosen you up. 

“You’re forgiven, sweetheart.” a drunken smile on his lips, placing a wet kiss on your ankle. 

He watches your eyes roll back into your skull with intent as he starts thrusting with a slow roll of his hips. 

You're speechless. Just as he wanted.

“Barely even started- ngh- and you’re already gone, pretty?” his pace picks up, biting back groans as your pussy swallows him inside of you with a death grip. 

“Maybe all you needed to act right, was my dick inside you, huh?” he taunts, getting his lick back for all the times you teased him. 

You can’t even respond verbally—the harsh pounds to your deepest spots only leaves you whining, hands smacking the mattress. You’re simply overwhelmed—between Choso’s dirty musings and your cunt spread wide, you can only focus on the fast tightening of your lower tummy. 

“Do you like- damn- being underneath me, sweetheart?” his hips slightly stuttering when your pussy flutters around him. 

You’re close? Already?

“Mhmmm!” you nod frantically, your far daintier fingers reach down to flick your clit. 

Choso lets you, simply because he wants to feel you fall apart around him. His hips slam into yours with a new fervor, chasing down your orgasm. 

Your back arches, jaw unhinging in a silent cry, your pace on your clit turning to sticky slaps—you’re reaching for him, desperate to have him close. 

Choso leans down, pushing your knee to your chest along with him. He bites down on your lower lip as you squeeze his cock hard—the coil in your belly snapping. 

“Fuck- Cho!” you cry, shaking violently against him. 

“Sooo good for me, sweetheart.” he coos, hips never letting up—constant slaps of skin resonate throughout the small room. 

After a few more harsh thrusts you’re trying to push him away, the aftershocks of your orgasm verging into overstimulation. 

“Can’t-“ you manage a weak protest, clawing at Choso’s shoulders. 

“Shhh- gonna cum, don’t- ngh- worry-“ his breath hitching, whining into the crook of your neck. 

With a few more deep nudges against your cervix, he stills—Choso fills you up with a barely concealed whine. He stays buried inside of you for a few moments, the both of you catching your breaths.

“You okay?” he asks, leaving a smooch on your cheek.

“Yeah-“ 

He pulls out, the both of you biting back groans at the loss. He holds you, watching his hot load drip out of your pulsing cunt. He didn’t know he could cum that much. 

Choso reaches between your bodies, spreading your folds to take in the sight. 

“God damn-“

“Hey, Cho?” you ask suddenly, scratching the base of his scalp.

“What’s up, baby?” 

“Did you turn in the assignment on time?” 

Choso chuckles, pecking your lips before making his way down to your cunt. 

“Of course, I did-“ he pauses, licking a filthy stripe from the crevice of your ass all the way to your clit—cleaning up the mess he made. “Now, think you can be good again and let me make you cum another time?” 

(c1nnm0roll-08 / 2026)　 　　　 　　 　　　

[hellomwah]

mean reader trope is soooo yummy

[seoyue]

˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ ࣪  ౨ৎ˚₊ ─── it’s bulking season and ur boyfriend ryomen sukuna comes home from the gym looking thicc

mdni | warnings: smut, fem reader, massive size kink, post-gym sukuna, muscle/bulk worship, couch sex, mating press, praise-degradation mix, creampie, exhausted but feral sukuna

The door SLAMS and the whole apartment feels it.

Sukuna doesn’t even kick his shoes off. He’s wrecked after three brutal hours of squats, deadlifts, and whatever else he’s been forcing down his throat to feed this insane bulk. He just drops onto the couch like a goddamn mountain giving up. The frame creaks loud under all that new mass. Tank top soaked black with sweat and clinging to every thick slab of his chest. Sweat dripping down the column of his neck. Those gray sweats stretched in an obscene way over thighs that have doubled in size, heavy and veined and still pumped from the session. Shoulders so wide they swallow half the damn couch. Traps eating his neck. Quads bulging so thick the cushions sink deep beneath him.

He throws his head back, eyes half-lidded, chest heaving.

“Fuck… long day, brat. Don’t start with the attitude.”

But you’re already staring, eyes glued to him like you physically can’t look away. Your mouth goes dry. Heat coils tight and insistent low in your belly.

God, when did he get this big?

The thought hits you like a slap. You’ve seen him every day, felt him every night, but somehow you never really clocked it—the way the bulk has crept up on him over the last few months, slow and relentless. Every extra pound of muscle he’s shoved down his throat has turned him into this solid, immovable wall of a man. And now, sprawled out like this, exhausted and heavy, chest still rising and falling in deep pulls, radiating that sharp, clean post-gym heat… it’s like seeing him for the first time. The sheer size of him hits different. Shoulders swallowing half the couch. Thighs spread so wide they force space around him. Everything about him feels bigger, denser, more.

It short circuits your brain completely.

You move before the thought even finishes forming.

You slide between his spread thighs, knees sinking into the carpet, hands gliding up the thick, sweat-hot muscle under the gray fabric. The density under your palms makes your breath hitch. Solid, unyielding, like touching warm stone carved into the shape of a man.

Sukuna’s eyes crack open slowly, heavy-lidded. One dark brow lifts.

“Brat?”

“I want it,” you breathe against his thigh, fingers already hooking into the waistband of his sweats and tugging downward. “Please… let me suck you off. You look so fucking big right now”

Sukuna lets out a low, rough sound, half laugh, half groan, the exhaustion in it doing nothing to dull the filthy edge. “Look at you,” he mutters, voice gravelly and wrecked. “So fucking greedy you can’t even let me breathe first.”

His fingers slide into your hair, not pulling yet, just holding, grounding, while you yank the fabric down far enough. His cock springs free—thick, heavy, flushed dark, already half-hard and twitching from the lingering pump. You make a soft, desperate noise in your throat and lean in, lips parting wide to take the head, tongue swirling slow and wet.

Even if the gym didn’t change this part of him, the sheer size of everything else, the wide shoulders, the dense slabs of muscle, the way those tree-trunk thighs tense under your palms, makes it feel like too much. You push forward anyway, choking yourself on him, spit slicking your chin as you bob, hollowing your cheeks, taking him deeper until your nose brushes the soft skin above the base.

Those massive quads flex hard under your hands, still hot and twitching from the workout, pure bulk and power radiating through the fabric you haven’t even fully pulled down.

“Fuck,” Sukuna rasps, head tipping back against the couch, hips giving the tiniest involuntary roll. “That’s it. Suck your man while he’s still pumped and filthy from the gym. Good little thing.”

You lose yourself in it. Messy, eager, throat working around him, drool dripping, the wet sounds loud in the quiet room. Until his grip tightens in your hair and his patience finally cracks.

Two big hands grip your ass and haul you up in one smooth motion.

Right there on the same couch he just sank into, he flips you onto your back, folds you in half so fast your knees press tight to your shoulders in a deep, ruthless mating press. The cushions dip hard under the combined weight, your hips right on the edge, legs splayed wide, pussy completely bare and dripping for him.

He lines up and pushes in slow. One long, unrelenting slide that doesn’t stop until he’s buried balls-deep.

The stretch feels different now, heavier, fuller. All that new bulk presses down on you like a living wall: thick, sweat-slick pecs crushing against your tits, carved abs grinding slow and hard into your stomach, those massive thighs locking your legs back so tight you can’t twitch. His quads are so huge they swallow the backs of your thighs completely, pinning you open and helpless right there on the worn cushions.

“Fuck,” he rasps, voice low and wrecked as he bottoms out. “Still so goddamn tight even under all this extra mass. Look at you taking every pound I’ve put on.”

He doesn’t ease up. He just fucks. Deep, heavy strokes that drive home with the full weight of his frame behind every thrust. The couch groans and creaks beneath you both. Wet slaps fill the room, skin on skin, relentless. Sweat rolls from his neck and drips onto your cheek, your collarbone. One hand clamps around the back of your knee, keeping you folded. The other slides up to wrap loosely around your throat. Not squeezing, just holding, grounding, letting him lever even deeper.

“You feel that?” he pants, hips rolling in slow, deliberate circles so every new inch of bulk presses you deeper into the cushions. “ Gonna keep you folded exactly like this every damn day after the gym. Right here on this couch until your pussy remembers exactly how big I’ve gotten.”

You’re shaking, nails scraping uselessly down the hard planes of his back, legs trembling in his unyielding grip. The constant grind of his pelvis against your clit is merciless. His sheer size pins you flat, chest crushing yours, breath stolen with every roll of his hips until there’s nothing left but the wet heat and the overwhelming pressure of him.

“Come on,” he growls, voice rough and frayed at the edges even as exhaustion bleeds through. His pace turns brutal, hips snapping forward so hard the couch frame protests with every thrust. “Come for me, brat. Show me how much you love your man getting big.”

You break with a shattered cry, walls fluttering and clamping down around him so tight his rhythm falters for a second. A low, guttural groan rips out of him as he follows—hot, thick spurts flooding you deep, so much it spills out around his cock even while he stays buried inside, still twitching under the weight of his own bulk.

He doesn’t pull out.

He just stays there, folded over you, sweat-slick skin sticking to yours, heavy chest rising and falling against your own. A living wall of muscle keeping you pinned to the ruined cushions.

After a long, hazy moment he leans down and presses a slow, filthy kiss to your mouth, tongue lazy and claiming. Then he rolls his hips once—just once—enough to drag a broken whimper out of you.

“Shower,” he murmurs against your lips, voice wrecked and low. “Then round two.”

a/n: idk if u can tell but i'm gonna be posting about him A LOT

[hellomwah]

i found my old notes stash of fictions and like 75% of the fics are gone or the writers moved pages with no archives IM SICK TO MY STOMACH come home guys

[powerhayakawaa]

when you're trying to find a good fanfic to read but your tumblr fyp is genuinly shit

[hellomwah]

when i have to go to the SEARCH BAR 💔💔💔

[hellomwah]

i’m so hungry for frat!jo like come beat this uppppp pls

[thatsallitchief]

The twins! There’s nerdjo 🤭and then there’s fratjo too ig, I was really excited when i saw nerdjo trending so I grabbed the opportunity to draw him hehe

[hellomwah]

oh i’m so hungry

[the-knight-of-the-stars]

Things are scary right now in Mexico.

The leader of cartel Jalisco, considered as the most powerful drug dealer in the world, was killed in an operative carried out by the mexican army and the cartel has begun their retaliation by trowing molotov bombs at convinience stores, taking over an airport and highways and setting cars and trucks on fire all over central mexico.

A curfew has been set in all the affected cities, and mine is one of those. I'm really scared for what may happen in the next few days, threats are being made and I'm watching places I have walked by my entire life be set on fire; and even though I think I can stay safe until this passes over I would really appreciate it if you all prayed for us. Whatever belief you have, I would be really greatful that you prayed for us.

[classyrbf]

Since I have somewhat of a popular following on this platform…

Fuck ice, fuck trump, and fuck anyone who agrees with anything this dumbass mf is doing or thinks

[hellomwah]

guys i tripping or is everyone getting the same five posts on tumblr WHERE IS EVERYONE 💔💔

[hellomwah]

guys does my profile look cutesy or ugly lmk

[hellomwah]

i am not rockin w this lil camera in place of my search give me back my search it’s like tiktok now but tumblr whatever it’s called GIVE ME BACK MG SEARCH

[hellomwah]

ever just sit there and read sumn and be like ew hunan affection gross?