[sukunahs]

touch me | ryomen sukuna

pairing: sukuna x masseuse!reader

summary: sukuna isn't pleased when he's forced to go to a new masseuse for his monthly sports massage, but upon meeting you he finds himself hopelessly smitten and desperately seeking more of your touch.

word count: 6.2k

content: 18+ mdni, smut, modern au, pining, yearing, sukuna is originally a bit of a jerk, confident reader, boxer!sukuna, reader is muscular, subby (ish) sukuna, piv, hand jobs, semi-public sex (in a massage room)

a/n: got this one in as an anon request I hope you all enjoy sukuna being NEEDY and stupid

Sukuna had been going to Toji for his sports massages for years. 

They’d known each other since college, back when Toji would practice his craft on Sukuna for free on the path to getting his certification. Now Sukuna actually paid the guy to dig his elbow into his back once a month, certain that Toji’s impact had a lot to do with how effective Sukuna had been at avoiding silly injuries throughout his boxing career. 

Toji was a rare gem amongst masseuses - strong enough and mean enough to do his job well, unconcerned by how much it might hurt to relieve Sukuna’s body of all the stress he’d put it under week after week. 

He was the only person Sukuna trusted to do it effectively, and when he walked into Toji’s gym one day only for the receptionist to tell him that Toji wasn’t available thanks to a family emergency, he was devastated. 

Part of him had considered cancelling on the spot, turning around and walking straight out the door, prepared to wait for a different time slot when Toji would be available. But his shoulder had been killing him lately and he could really do with some relief, so against his better judgement he sucked it up and agreed to see the other masseuse that worked at Toji’s gym. 

Upon walking into the treatment room, he immediately decided that he’d made a mistake at the sight of you standing before him, all soft and pretty and welcoming in a way that Toji never was. You didn’t look like the type to be willing or even capable of inflicting pain upon anyone - he doubted he’d even be able to feel your tiny hands once they were pressed against his back. 

Call him sexist, but he really believed that men were just better suited for that line of work. 

Sure, a nice, relaxing massage would be better delivered by a woman, but a sports massage? He doubted you had the strength for what he needed. 

“Sukuna, right?” You’d asked, peering up at him with wide eyes. “It’s nice to meet you. Remove your clothes and cover yourself with a towel, I’ll give you a few moments to get settled-” 

“No need,” he said sharply. “When’s Toji back?” 

You wavered. “We’re not quite sure. His daughter was in some kind of sudden accident, he might not return for a few weeks, he needs to be there for his family in this difficult time…” You trailed off before continuing, taking stock of the resignation on Sukuna’s face. “I can assure you that I’m perfectly capable of attending to your needs. Toji hired me personally and can vouch for my skill.” 

Chewing on his lip, Sukuna appraised you once more. You were a pretty thing, even in the ugly green uniform that Toji had picked for his specialists. His thoughts lingered on what you might’ve meant when you said that Toji could vouch for your skill - did you mean that in a clinical manner, or was Toji using you for different means? 

Sukuna wouldn’t have been surprised if the latter was the case. You were his type which meant you were probably also Toji’s type, a thought that had a fresh wave of dread washing over him because if Toji had only hired you because you’d been sleeping with him, Sukuna was in for a rough massage. 

“Happy? Or are you gonna throw a tantrum?” You asked, a little impatiently, your hands firm on your hips. He was almost impressed by the bite in your voice, but it still didn't particularly convince him you’d be any good at this.

However, the flex of his arm as he moved a little reminded him just how much he needed this massage, so biting back his pride he nodded, speaking through gritted teeth. “Whatever, sure.” 

You looked far from impressed, but upheld your professional image regardless. “Great, you get yourself comfortable. I’ll be right back.” 

It took Sukuna all of five minutes to realise that he might’ve underestimated you. 

He’d laid down on the table as normal, half expecting to spend his half-hour session asleep, figuring he could at least catch up on that if you were no good at what he’d paid you to do. And to start with, you’d been as gentle as he’d expected, your hands running tenderly over the muscles in his back, no doubt impressed by them.

But that was where your kindness stopped. 

“You’re carrying a lot of tension up here.” You spoke matter of factly, fingers prodding a knot on the upper left side of his back. “It must be painful to sleep on your side right now.” 

Sukuna grunted in affirmation, uninterested in making conversation or doing anything that might make you feel praised, even if you were technically right in your assumption. You didn’t seem deterred, it was almost like you were expecting him to be difficult, and he wondered if Toji had warned you about him in advance. 

Walking around the table, you positioned yourself in the optimal place to work at the knot, and Sukuna found himself caught mid eye-roll when your palm dug into his back with much greater force than before, working away at the knot with enough strength that he found his fingers curling. 

That was how much of the rest of his session went. 

He’d been wrong to assume that you were too weak, because you’d worked at each section of his body with more ferocity than Toji usually would, almost like you were trying to teach him a lesson. Any knot found in his back and legs had been thoroughly beaten back into place, scared off by the skilled nature of your fingers. 

When you were done, allowing him to sit up, a towel still wrapped around his midsection, he felt thoroughly frazzled, his red eyes a little hazy. His back felt better than it ever had before, the ghost of your fingers still prominent against his tanned skin. He had to admit that your touch felt nicer on him than Toji’s did.

Not that he should be thinking about that. 

“All good?” You asked coolly, as if this was just run of the mill for you. He supposed it probably was. “If there’s something I’ve missed let me know and we can go over it again.” 

“Uh- n-no.” He could’ve died of embarrassment at the way he stuttered, emasculated even further by you grinning down at him in amusement. The worst thing was that he couldn’t really decide if he was humiliated or turned on, or maybe both. 

There was one particular body part of his that seemed to know the answer to that question, and he really hoped that you wouldn’t notice the slightly raised portion of the towel hugging his hips. 

“Great, then you’re all good to go. Since you only come by once a month, Toji should be back by your next appoint-” 

“Actually I think I need another appointment next week. My shoulder’s been acting up.” It was almost like an out of body experience, the words leapt from his throat before he could stop them and now you were smirking harder and he hated it and maybe he hated you. 

“Oh, it seemed alright-” 

“Well it's not.” He snapped, red gaze unwavering. You blinked at him a few times, staring down at him like you were trying to figure him out. It was clear that you’d been fully aware of his animosity towards you when he’d walked in, seemingly both puzzled and amused by his change of heart. 

“Okay, sure. I’ve got an opening this time next week?” 

“Great, I’ll be there.” 

Sukuna didn’t like to admit how much he thought about you throughout that week. He especially didn’t like to admit to the sheer number of times he’d awoken with wet boxers, the dream of your touch still prominent in his mind. 

He wasn’t sure what it was about you that had infected his brain so thoroughly. Sure, you were hot, but so were plenty of women, and Sukuna rarely had them rattling about in his head. It probably had more to do with your physical strength and perhaps your resolve, because even when he’d written you off, you’d shown him exactly what you were worth.

That, and the fact he couldn’t seem to get your condescending smirk out of his mind any less than he could stop feeling the ghost of your touch. He wasn’t used to meeting women who would treat him like that, more accustomed to the type that would fawn at his feet, those who were vapid and boring. 

And you certainly weren’t that. 

In the time between appointments, he’d even seen you across the gym when he’d been lifting weights. He imagined that you were there a lot, now that he could see your muscles, unobscured by those stupid clothes Toji made you wear. It wasn’t surprising that he’d never noticed you before, tending to stay in his own little bubble of focus at the gym, but now that he was aware of you he could barely tear his eyes away. 

You were strong, so strong, doing weighted pull-ups with 20kg attached to you like it weighed nothing. And based on the way that his heart sped up at the sight, beating almost into overdrive as you smiled at him upon noticing his stare, he found that shit immensely attractive. 

Shit, he really hoped Toji hadn’t been fucking you. That would suck.

Sukuna visited you again, and again you gave him the best massage of his life, driving your elbow into his back with a force that had him seeing stars. His heart fluttered with each simple touch of your hands, mind hazy with need as your fingers worked on his shoulders and he found himself wishing you were working on a different part of him. 

That was how things continued for weeks, in which Sukuna spent an ungodly amount of money just to have you touch him again, pretending that he had various issues which he certainly didn’t because you’d thoroughly removed all his knots and tensions during his very first visit. But he wasn’t sure what else he could do, addicted to your touch and unable to find a more effective way to be close to you. 

Because he was almost certain that you didn’t really like him. 

Whenever he appeared, trying to make small talk or even flirt, you’d brush him off coolly, getting straight to the point, urging him to lay down and silencing him beneath the harsh and strong movements of your hands. He had no better luck at the end of sessions either, for you’d hurry him along claiming that you had another client waiting. 

The waiting room was usually empty when Sukuna left so he doubted the legitimacy of your claim, but you’d left him at something of a loss as to how to handle you. 

To be honest, he wasn’t accustomed to chasing after women. Usually, he’d sleep with whatever women chose to throw themselves at him, seeking fleeting pleasure in the form of one night stands, never putting much effort into seeking out someone he liked - as long as they were hot he tended to be game. 

And then there was you, throwing his whole system and all of his beliefs completely out of check, because sure, he wanted to fuck you, but he also wanted to know you, and it was pissing him off that after several weeks of coming to you unfalteringly, he was no closer to you than he had been in that first session. 

What hurt even more was the one afternoon that he came in for his appointment, figuring that he’d finally bite the bullet, swallow his pride, and just ask you out, only to find Toji waiting for him in the treatment room. 

“Hey man, how’s it going?” Toji looked a little tired, having spent the last couple of months helping his daughter recover from her accident. Sukuna felt a flicker of annoyance at the sight of him, frustrated that his plans for the afternoon had been ruined. 

“Good.” Sukuna said warily. “I didn’t realise you were back.” 

He shrugged. “Tsumiki’s mom can look after her for a bit and I was going stir-crazy. Figured I’d come back to work and get back on a normal schedule.” 

“That’s great.” 

“Yeah, figured I’d give my cover a bit of a break, I’m sure you were fuckin’ awful to her while I was gone.” 

Sukuna hummed, chewing on his lip. “I mean, she was adequate, I guess.” 

Toji seemed to suddenly perk up at his words, green eyes narrowing as he peered at Sukuna’s face. Sukuna tried to stay nonchalant, staring back at his friend like there was nothing more to be said on the matter. 

“She was adequate?” He asked slowly. 

“Sure.” 

“Really? I thought you’d be cursing my name for letting some girl take care of you.” 

“Well, she was decent, what else is there to say?” Sukuna snapped, wondering how he could ask Toji if he could switch over to being your patient permanently without taking a massive hit to his pride. 

Clearly, he hadn’t hidden the emotion in his voice as well as he should’ve, because Toji was tilting his head to the side in question, a slowly growing smirk stretching across his face. “Got something you wanna tell me dude? You said you’d rather die than let someone else handle your massages.”

“Nothing.” He hissed quickly. “It was fine, just fine. I don’t pay you to talk, I got somewhere to be.” 

“Okay, okay,” Toji said with a raise of his hands, but the grin didn’t falter and Sukuna hated that. 

Toji’s massage sucked. 

He didn’t think that anything had actually changed in terms of what Toji did - the issue was that it wasn’t your hands pressing against his back, it wasn't the sound of your gentle breaths cutting through the silence of the room. 

It was disappointing, and he was humiliated that he actually felt that way.

He didn’t return for an appointment for a full month after that, going back to his usual schedule now that Toji had returned. He’d seen you in the gym a few times, but you were always working out with friends or sometimes guys and despite all his confidence there was something in him that felt afraid to approach you. He cared too much about the idea of you turning him down, laughing in his face like he had a chance.

So he left you be, and resigned himself to his fate. 

When his next appointment rolled around, he’d gone into his usual room, waiting glumly for Toji to arrive, hoping for the entire encounter to be done swiftly. There was no joy in it now, it was nothing beyond a necessity for him to maintain his physical health. 

His heart had practically leapt from his throat when you’d walked in through the door instead of Toji, greeting him with the smallest upturn of your lips. 

“Hey.” 

“Hey!” His words came out an octave higher than usual, and you couldn’t hide the smile it drew from you, sending humiliation coursing through him. That seemed to be a regular response in all matters concerning you, and he tried his best to push the feeling aside. “Toji back off work?”

“No, he’s here. He just gave your appointment to me, said I’m better suited for your needs.” 

“Oh.”

Sukuna wanted to crawl in a hole and die, unable to stop imagining how that conversation would’ve gone down. Did Toji have a big grin on his face when he’d told you about the change? Had his tone been particularly suggestive, betraying exactly what Sukuna felt when he was around you? 

“I can call him in if you’d prefer him though? He’s not got a patient right now so-” 

“No.” Sukuna was quick to interrupt you, “it’s fine.” 

“Just fine, huh?” You mused, seemingly to yourself. You didn’t give Sukuna a chance to admit that he was glad for the change, swiftly moving on and telling him to get undressed, sweeping out of the room for a few moments while he got himself settled atop the table, his heart racing at a hundred miles a minute. 

He hadn’t realised just how much he’d missed your touch until your hands were on him once more, sturdy in their feel but somehow much softer than Toji’s. You’d remained silent as you’d gone through your usual routine, quiet and even breaths falling from your lips, fingers pressing on the knots that had reformed at the base of his neck and in his shoulders. For once he actually needed to see you, having grown tense in your absence over the past few weeks. 

“Is the pressure okay?” You’d asked softly, to which he replied with a quiet grunt of affirmation, because of course it was, you always knew exactly what to do to ease his strained body. 

He wondered how it would feel to have your steady hands wrapped around his cock, squeezing with just the right intensity to have him unravelling. 

“Adequate, would you say?” You asked, with an amused lilt. Sukuna froze up, any tension that you’d eased immediately flooded back into his shoulders at the words he’d spoken to Toji about you during his last session. 

That bastard had really sold him out. He was probably in his office laughing about that shit. 

“I said you were decent, actually,” he mumbled, figuring that he might as well stand up for himself. The sweet quality of your giggle caught him off guard, eyes widening in shock because he wasn’t sure he’d ever heard you laugh before. You were usually so stoic with him, never offering him anything more than a smug smile. 

“Is that so?”

“Yeah. Why else would I be here so damn often?” 

You hummed, fingers still pressing into the muscles of his upper back. “That’s what I’ve been trying to figure out, since we both know there’s nothing wrong with your shoulder.” 

Falling silent, he felt his cheeks warm under the question. He was usually so in control where women were concerned, usually he was the cat toying with a mouse, but he felt that the roles had been thoroughly switched now. Still, you continued stroking his back, his cock hardening with each careful move of your fingers. 

He was convinced he was leaking onto the towel below him when he heard you let out a gentle sigh. “Sometimes, I’m almost convinced that you come here just to see me. But that would be crazy, right? You must’ve spent a small fortune at this point.” 

Sukuna didn’t want to think about how much money he’d spent in the last two months, but he couldn't say that he regretted a single penny. Fortunately, he was accustomed to winning his matches and through competition earnings and sponsors he had more than enough to afford it. 

Though, that money could certainly be better spent on you rather than half of it lining Toji’s pockets. 

“Would you like it if that was the reason?” He felt like a teenager again, trying to feel out a crush before committing to something that might end in rejection. 

“I think I’d be confused as to why you didn’t just ask me out.” You giggled again, hands stilling but not pulling away from their position on his back. 

Well, now he felt a little stupid. 

“I think I’d be flattered though. Maybe I'd even be interested,” you continued.

“Maybe?” He asked, heart fluttering. He was still staring down at the floor through the hole in the table, completely at your mercy, only able to imagine what expression you were wearing as you peered down at him, completely distracted now from the task at hand. 

“Mmmm, hypothetically, if that was the reason.”

Sukuna swallowed hard, starting to catch on to the fact that you wanted him to speak the words out loud, to swallow his pride and confess his desires. He hated how you always had the upper hand with him, always in control since the very first time he’d met you. He hated how much he liked it, how much he wanted to do whatever you told him to. 

“I want you.” The words came out all matter of fact, spoken more like he was listing groceries rather than confessing. He wanted to brush over it and get to the part where you were his, the moment that you’d climb on top of him and ride him until he couldn’t breathe, your hands pressing at his shoulders while you did so. 

But you were something of a sadist, because instead of simply accepting his confession, you said: “more.” 

And he didn’t hesitate, throwing himself over the threshold because now he’d admitted to his liking of you, what was the point in maintaining a stoic sense of pride? 

He pushed himself up onto his forearms, twisting around to look at you. “I’m here because I can’t stop thinking about you, hell I fuckin’ dream about you. I want you, I want you to touch me more, fuck.” 

“Yeah?” Your expression was ecstatic, eyes glimmering with glee. Sukuna suddenly found himself overly aware of how naked he was and how dressed you were, feeling almost shy under this newly found attention. 

“Yeah, I mean, look at you.” 

“It’s funny, when you first showed up here a few months ago, you didn’t seem to like me much at all.” 

His body literally sagged, wishing he could go back and undo all the rudeness from the first time he’d met you. At this point he’d been thoroughly humbled - you’d proven that women could be just as effective at giving sport massages as men, and you’d also stolen his heart in the process. He had really learned his lesson. 

“Sorry. I was a jerk.” 

“You were. It was cute hearing you stutter after that first session though, really adorable stuff.” 

“Stop.” He groaned, his cheeks reddening. 

“Pretty sure you were hard too.” 

He had been, just like he was in that moment, but he hated the fact that you’d known and had said absolutely nothing for two months. He was torn between wanting to implode beneath the weight of his own cringe, and being the happiest he’d ever felt, because he was pretty sure that through all your teasing this was you accepting his confession. 

“I also really liked watching you invent excuses to come back every week. My friends were sure you were gonna ask me out.” 

Sukuna shrugged, sitting up properly now and trying to relax. It wasn’t often that he’d been free to peer so openly at your face like he was right now, and it was a tough task to keep himself calm because you were just so lovely and he really wanted to lean forward and kiss you. He wanted you on the table with him - on top of him, beneath him, whatever - he just needed you.

“Look, I didn’t wanna seem like a creep and overstep a professional boundary,” he confessed. “I was scared it would be one of those situations where a guy thinks a stripper loves him.” 

Again you laughed. “Aw, that's actually kind of a sweet consideration. Toji told me that you were a jerk through and through, but I guess he’s wrong.” 

Sukuna pouted at the idea of Toji telling you anything about him, although his buddy clearly did a somewhat decent job at wingmaning considering he’d orchestrated the current situation. 

“I actually thought you’d approach me when I was working out. I was always smiling at you in the gym but you’d never come over.” 

God, he really was an idiot. 

He wanted to kick himself for not catching on sooner that you were open to his advances. It was something of an embarrassment for someone who usually held such confidence. 

“Again, I didn’t want to be one of those gross gym bros trying to bother a girl while she’s working out,” he mumbled. “I didn’t know- I wasn’t sure if you’d be interested in me so I didn’t want to risk it.” 

“Well I am. Interested in you, I mean.” 

He blinked at you a couple of times, red eyes scanning your face almost in disbelief. He wasn’t sure why it came as a surprise to him, since he’d never had much of an issue getting women to like him, but for some reason you’d just seemed so unattainable. You’d always seemed aloof to him in a way that suggested his chances of dating you were about the same as dating a celebrity. 

And yet, here you were. 

“Oh.” 

There was a moment of silence before Sukuna recovered, remembering that he was usually good with women and letting his body spring into action. His hands found your hips, tugging you forward and positioning you between his legs which were dangling over the side of the table. The towel had kept its position around his waist, but left little to the imagination as he held you there between his muscular thighs. 

Lips crashing against yours, his arms wrapped firmly around your torso, pulling you closer into his grip and allowing him to deepen the kiss. You tasted faintly of honey and were just as addictive, a desire for more surging through him as he explored your mouth, your tongue dancing with his as though you’d done this a million times before. 

Bravely, his hands toyed with the hem of your shirt, lifting it experimentally, thrilled when you aided him in pulling it off over your head, leaving you in your sports bra which he was equally quick to discard. It was nice to have his hands on your skin for a change, running his fingers over the muscles of your back as you lost yourselves in the kiss once more. He wondered if you’d enjoy him massaging you, or if you’d find his untrained attempts rather pathetic. 

You didn’t give him much chance to find out, thoroughly distracting him with the slow movement of your hands down the length of his torso, stopping only once you reached the edge of the white towel covering him. He gasped against your mouth once your hand slipped beneath, fingers brushing gently against his pubic hair before finding the shaft of his cock. 

“How about you lay back for me?” You murmured, breaking the kiss, eyes blown wide with desire. Sukuna’s cock twitched in your hand at the question, more than happy for you to tell him what to do. He shuffled back on the table, laying down on his back and relaxing as you hopped up on top of him, your knees placed firmly on either side of his thighs.

Your hand was stroking his cock languidly, lashes fluttering enticingly as you stared down at him, clearly enjoying the pleasure gripping his face with each careful touch. Your other hand was stroking his thigh, slowly massaging the muscle where dark bands of ink wrapped around his skin. 

“I’ve always liked these.” You hummed, eyes flickering to the tattoos. “I admire them whenever you come in.” 

“Oh yeah?” 

“Mmm. They’re hot.” 

Again, Sukuna was twitching in your hand, caught off guard by the impact the simplest of compliments seemed to have on him so long as they were falling from your lips. A low groan escaped from him as you squeezed his cock a little harder, running your hand along the length of it with the same expert motions you’d use on his back. 

Generally, when women had tried jerking him off in the past, it had never felt quite as good as it did to simply get himself off with his own hands - it was impossible for them to understand his body in the way that he did. And yet, under your touch he was writhing desperately, his stomach tensing with each firm stroke, trying to hold it together despite the fact he could already feel himself coming undone.

It was clear that you knew what to do - switching up the pressure and the nature of your movements, testing to see what had him shivering with the greatest intensity. Occasionally, your thumb would swipe the tip, spreading pre-cum down his shaft, all while you kept eye contact with him, your legs squeezing hard against his thighs. 

“Is the pressure good?” You asked in a low tone, a teasing smile on your pretty face, speaking to him like this was just another normal appointment, like your hand was wrapped around his bicep rather than his cock. 

“You know it is.” He managed to huff out, his face scarlet, only spurring you on further. 

“Aw, good.” Your hand picked up speed and moments later he was cumming all over your hand, his seed dripping down your fingers, making a mess beneath the towel he was still covered with. You’d released him, and as you pulled your hand away he’d expected you to wipe it clean on the towel; instead, you raised your fingers to your lips and licked them clean of his cum without a second thought. 

He was already hard again. 

Fortunately, you seemed to be one step ahead of him. 

Unravelling the towel hanging off his hips, you freed his cock from its confines. He watched you carefully, noting the way your eyes gazed upon it, the way your throat bobbed with a gulp at the sight. That, at the very least, restored his ego to some extent - for once he didn’t feel like he was totally on the backfoot with you. 

“Impressed?” He asked, puffing out his chest with pride. 

“Yeah, actually,” you responded easily. “Very impressed.” 

Once again, he felt shy beneath your easy confidence, still not quite used to how easily you would say what was on your mind. There were no games, no manipulation, no pretending that you cared about something less than you really did. 

He appreciated it. 

“There’s only five minutes left of our session, and Toji needs the room after.” You said, glancing at the clock on the wall. “Do you think that’s enough time?” 

It certainly wasn’t enough time for what Sukuna wanted from you. He wanted to spend hours worshipping every part of your body, wanted to eat you out until you were crying, wanted to show you what it was like for him to be in charge. More than anything, he wanted to be buried inside of you until you were both numb and overstimulated, wanted you clinging to him in the throes of exhaustion and pleasure. 

But none of that seemed fit to do in your treatment room, so it would have to wait for another time. 

“I think I can be quick,” he said honestly, only to be met with a smug grin.

“Oh, I bet you can.” 

“Shut up,” he mumbled, “it’s not my fault you’ve got me all riled up.” 

That earned him another soft laugh, and he found that he was entirely smitten with the sound. 

“Oh, how flattering of you,” you purred.

“What can I say? I’m charming.” 

You didn’t respond to that, offering him nothing more than an almost shy smile as you discarded the rest of your clothes, a blush lining your cheeks for once as he took in your naked beauty. You were as gorgeous as he expected, and he found his hands trailing down your sides before coming to rest on your hips, wishing he could kiss every inch of you. 

But you had speed on your mind, and leaving Sukuna in his position laying back on the table, you hovered yourself over his cock, taking it once more in your hand and rubbing it through your folds a few times before lining yourself up and sitting down on it with a quiet little gasp. 

Sukuna groaned in sheer pleasure at the tightness of your walls wrapped around him, his fingers digging hard into the skin of your hips as he helped ease you down his length until he was buried to the hilt within you. “Oh fuck, you’re so tight.” he groaned. 

“No, I think you’re just big.” You bit back at him with some effort, your hands braced on his chest while you struggled to adjust, thighs trembling ever so slightly. 

“Maybe.” He tried to hide how much your comment had swelled his ego. 

After giving yourself a few moments to breathe, you started to move, raising yourself up and bringing yourself down again on his cock, sweet groans and whines pouring from you as you found a rhythm, doing all the work yourself while Sukuna supported your hips. He was gazing up at you like a man who’d just witnessed an angel, red eyes shiny with affection at the sight of you on top of him, breasts bouncing with each movement. 

He couldn’t remember the last time it had felt so good to be inside someone. 

Probably never. 

Eager to be closer to you, he propped himself up on his forearms, encouraging you to steady yourself on his shoulders. You leant forward, hands firm against his skin, your breasts pressing up against his chest, forcing you to move from long movements of your hips to simply grinding yourself against him. 

A yelp left you once Sukuna decided that he wanted to help, thrusting his hips upwards and taking you along for the ride. He picked up a brutal pace, aware that the two of you were on a time limit, chuckling at the way your fingers scrambled for purchase against his skin, finding safety in the familiarity of the shoulders you’d been massaging for weeks. 

“Feel good?” He rasped against your ear, aware that your movements had largely stilled, letting him take charge in filling you so thoroughly.

“S-so good,” you stuttered, and Sukuna felt a sick sense of pleasure at hearing you falter in such a way. He’d been humiliated enough for a little while and figured it was time for the tables to turn, at least for a little while. 

He was certain that if things were going to work out between the two of you, he’d find many moments in which you were in control. 

But right now? This wasn’t one of them. 

You’d had your fun, and he was going to have his. 

Just as he’d wanted, you came before he did. You did your best to muffle your cry of his name by burning your face into his shoulder, but he was sure that you’d still be heard if there were any prying ears on the other side of the door. He couldn’t really care less about such a thing - Toji had heard him having sex plenty of times throughout college. 

He’d kept up his movements, fucking you through the orgasm until you were whining pathetically against his shoulder, begging him to slow down. He did no such thing until he had reached his own peak, spilling into you with a deep groan, only registering moments later that he probably should’ve pulled out first. 

It wasn’t like him to forget a condom, never having fucked a girl bareback before. 

But you were something different. The moment you’d offered your affection to him his mind had gone haywire, completely forgetting important details like that in favour of having you completely to himself. 

He’d buy you the morning after pill as an apology. 

Cradling you against him for a few moments, he wished you could stay like that for a while longer. Your weight atop his sweaty body felt lovely, and he desperately wanted to continue stroking your hair, losing himself in the intoxicating scent of you that seemed to drive him crazy. 

But reality came knocking in the form of a fist against the door of the treatment room. “All done? I do have a patient in ten minutes so I need to set up.” Toji called out. You leapt from your position on top of Sukuna swiftly as if suddenly remembering yourself, glancing at the door nervously. 

Sukuna wondered how much Toji had heard, wondering if the man was standing outside grinning like a Cheshire cat, ready to quiz Sukuna all about it the moment he exited. 

It was likely, since Toji had always been a nosy bastard. 

Too bad Sukuna wouldn’t be telling him anything about you. You were sacred to him, and it would stay that way - he wasn’t about to share anything with Toji.

“Yeah, just a few minutes!” You called back to Toji, your voice wavering a little. It was cute, how frazzled you seemed to be - he wanted to see more of that. 

Letting out a heavy breath, you looked at Sukuna, who was slowly sitting up. His red eyes were darting about your face, trying to read your expression, hoping to god that this wasn’t some spur of the moment, one time thing. He wanted to take you home, wanted you in his arms.

If he had to go back to lying about aches and pains just to see you at a scheduled appointment, he was pretty sure he’d lose his mind. 

“Do you wanna come to my place later?” You spoke before he could, giving him an almost bashful smile. 

“Yeah. Yeah I’d like that,” he responded, shoulders relaxing. 

He was pretty sure that your words alone had released a knot in his back.

That was just how good a masseuse you were. 

a/n: need him so bad my GOD

ANYWAY hope you enjoyed this little one shot while I work on the next chapter of crazy in love! thanks for reading, reblogs and comments are appreciated as always <3

sukuna permatags: @calicatzz @suzunu @windintheivy @winkii @kamisiag @sukubusss @bobis-notmylover @tetsuski @torupilled @brattyxackerman @r0vena @chaos-4baby @moonlitreveri3 @feyrinnn @strawberryrosey @creamofsneky-blog @zeeseekay @p1nkfl0wers @apricityn @keiiiluv @dogggggggblog-kaye @duckie3801 @lav4mpira @seellove @cutesytwt @gojodickbig @yuujispinkhair @somos-things @yeagersss @paradisestarfishh @jennilynn63 @tthhaattgguuyy27 @bexxli @being-blue-is-better @tisuruxx @juliarchiv3s @dishs0pe @plutoxxxworld @5kkalara @serenadesvt @00frenchfries00 @warriorofenlightenment @scarlet-issilly @himbosexual @pousivuitton @ksjtozaki @certainfanpoetry @gojoscumslut @ynishalee @nakiich

© sukunahs

[paperellina]

pt.2 mechanic toji picking you up after your car breaks down .✦݁˖ (x fem!reader)

the car starts making the same noise ten minutes outside town, a faint knocking at first, almost easy to ignore, but then the engine jerks hard enough that your hands grip the wheel tighter and the dashboard lights flicker, with stupid warnings you dont expect anyone to understand.

your stomach drops, the road stretching long and empty around you. there are no houses. no cars. just asphalt and wind.

when the engine sputters once more and dies completely, you sit there a moment, hands still tight on the wheel, heart pounding, trying to figure out what to do. and then you remember the folded slip of paper tucked carefully into your wallet.

call me direct.

your hands shake a little, you pull out your phone and dial. it rings twice before the familiar rough voice answers, low and calm, carrying that underlying certainty that you remember from the other week.

"yeah?" he says, a faint rumble of background noise hinting at the garage somewhere behind him. you let out a breath you didnt realize you were holding, your voice coming out quieter than you expect.

"hi… its-" you begin, realizing he probably doesnt have your number saved. theres a pause on the line, then a soft grunt of recognition.

"yeah? I know." he says, your cheeks warm a little at his words, but the certainty in his tone immediately relaxes you. "whats wrong?"

you explain quickly, pointing out your location, describing the engines noise and the way it just gave up. he doesnt interrupt, only hums once as he absorbs everything. when you finish, he exhales through his nose and his words come steady.

"aight'." he says. "stay in the car. doors locked, yeah?"

"...okay," you answer, voice small, feeling the weight of all the isolation around you.

"ill send a truck out," he continues. "dont try startin' it again."

you nod before you even realize he can’t see you. “…okay.”

theres another pause, softer this time, like hes letting you hear the concern tucked underneath. "ya alright out there?"

glancing at the empty road, fields fading into shadow, you answer quietly. "…yeah."

"good," he murmurs. "Im comin'."

the call ends before you can protest, before you can even think of what to say next, leaving you with the hum of the empty road and your own quick heartbeat as it pounds against your ribs.

twenty minutes later, headlights appear on the horizon, not the tow truck. his car pulls up behind you, engine low and steady, before shutting off. he steps out, jacket shrugging into place, his gaze scans your car quickly, then settles on you, and the faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth makes the air feel a little warmer than it is.

he taps lightly on the window. you unlock it and step out, feeling the evening air gently against your cheeks. up close, he smells faintly of oil and soap.

"…hi," you say, voice small but steady, and his eyes move over you briefly before settling on your face, softening just enough to make you exhale.

"car givin’ you trouble, huh" he says, voice rough but lighter, like hes amused rather than irritated. you huff, a little deflated. "guess so," you answer, huffing a small laugh, your hands clasped loosely in front of you.

his eyes flick down briefly as you shift, catching the curve of your hips and the way your jeans fit. he mutters, his voice low and half teasing. "cute jeans."

you glance away, muttering a small 'thanks'. he smirks faintly, clearly pleased with himself, then crouches near the hood briefly, more habit than necessity, before straightening, letting his eyes sweep over the car one last time.

"trucks on tha way," he says, and you notice the way he says it like its meant to reassure you. "one'a my guys'll take it back to the shop."

you nod, shifting your weight slightly as you stand there, feeling the chill more now that the car isnt running. he notices and steps closer, subtly positioning himself between you and the open road.

"you ridin' with me," he adds, his voice calm as if the choice was never yours to make. "aint leavin' you out here."

"you don’t have to-" you begin, hesitating.

he glances at you, serious and calm, one eyebow raised. "nah." he protests. "cmon. youre comin' with me."

the tow truck arrives not long after, metal clanking as your car is loaded, and he exchanges quick, low words with the driver while you stand just behind, watching quietly. he handles everything with that same unhurried confidence, the kind that makes you feel small in the safest way.

when the car is secured, he opens the passenger door for you. the inside is warm, leather faintly smelling of motor oil, and you slide in beside him, still catching your breath.

you tell him your address, and the drive is quiet at first. streetlights pass in streaks of gold across his face, shadows softening the harsh lines of the garage work, his hands are steady on the wheel. and after a while, his eyes flick toward you.

"ya mind?" he asks, nodding towards the pack of cigarettes resting on the dashboard. you shake your head, shifting in your seat. he grunts in response, reaching over to grab the pack of cigarettes with one hand, the other still on the wheel.

he lights the cigarette between his lips, taking a blow, his arm hanging out the open car window. "scared ya?" he asks, voice low, reffering to your car.

"…a little," you admit, voice soft.

he hums, jaw tightening faintly, a low sound that feels like both warning and comfort. "next time," he says, eyes back on the road, steady and certain, "ya call the second you hear somethin'."

you nod, feeling warmth creep up your chest.

the car slows outside your place. he shifts into park but doesnt reach for the door. "...we'll look at it tomorrow," he murmurs, glancing at you briefly. "figure out what happened. ill call ya when we fix it. gonna save your number."

you swallow, soft, "thank you." you mumble.

his gaze lingers for a moment longer than necessary, faint smile tugging at his lips. then finally, he slides out of the car

"come on," he says, voice casual.

you step out, brushing at your jacket, and hes already there, fingers brushing yours lightly as he reaches to guide you to steady yourself on the curb. the faint warmth of him is everywhere, from the press of his shoulder to the small brush of his hand against your back as he ensures youre safe on your feet.

"car'll be fine," he murmurs, not needing to say more.

you nod, taking a small step back. "thank you," you repeat softly.

he tilts his head, that faint half smile tugging at his mouth again. "…s'what the numbers for," he mutters. a few seconds pass, and then he steps back, shoulders broad and relaxed, letting you be the focus for just a little more.

he climbs back into his car without a rush, the door closing with a soft thud, and you watch him shift the gear, engine rumbling to life for a moment before he pulls smoothly away, leaving the street quiet once more.

you stand there for a second longer, the warmth of him still lingering in the evening air, and then finally, you turn toward your door, heart still a little lighter than before he arrived.

taglist: @@jjakeysheart @rkivesvs7 @c6choso @shea354 @kiwicherry04 @choco-chipp @kyovern @tojibunnyy @tojisgdgirl @xoxocherrybabyy @dearwyn @pigtaileddolliee @tojiful @heartcandyslxt @lisabelhyhn @chaeisrichnow @chewiebee @tojisfiancee @retiredpanda @bbvvvy @princesplatano @jaehyunsleftnut @lightandfuryauthor @fysalia @alinacoke @ssrist @blindv3lvet @lisa200976 @vheartsfushi @amarislovesmcdonalds @1ana22 @cherrieslovess @arcanehellokittyforlife69 @whoiskaykay @hiromisbb @tojioppshotta

© 2026 paperellina - all rights reserved. do not plagiarise, translate, or feed into any form of ai.

[madamechrissy]

pretty please

Sukuna and Choso are your roomies and they do not understand the word privacy! constantly just walking in while you're taking a shower, taking over your bed - If they're gonna be that way, you could at least get backshots, but no! They'd rather play Mario Kart and manspread with you on the couch. Sukuna keeps throwing you off rainbow road, (rude!) which leads to your own revenge - cucking him.

pairings - choso x reader x sukuna

warnings- fingering, lots of titty worship, nipple sucking, edging, making Choso whimper, cucking tf outta Kuna in a pink chair lol, petty reader (I luv her) yandere tendencies (both boys) p in v sex, creampie, cum swallowing, ragebaiting kuna -4k

this was a commission for my baby @martianzmars ahhh this is like our fourth one!? I luv u sm!!! - pt 2 here!

art is from @/679sora on IG

Sukuna and Choso are by far the most annoying roommates a girl could have – constantly in your space, always eating all your favorite snacks, not allowing you any privacy. Shower? They’re standing in the damn bathroom talking to you, thinking you can masturbate in peace? No, they wanna come hang out in your room all the time!

Not just in the apartment either – no, they don’t even let you go anywhere without them, the couple times they have they’ve come to the parties and made sure they were on either side of you, fending off any of the men. Aside from work and classes they’re not in, the two men tag along anywhere – up to and including getting manicures.

It was pretty cute to see them get their nails painted black, and how ticklish they get when they’re getting pedicures – but to have no alone time? To have no girls nights out, no they go to those too, heaven help if a guy maybe tries to talk to you, the two of them make sure anyone who is brave enough to approach is sent off running.

You love having them around, even when the two giant men just take over your entire bed, big ass arms all heavy and weighing you down when you wake up. Maybe you wouldn’t mind that if either of them used their cocks that were pressing on either side of you, but no they just snuggle you closer, leaving you soaking wet and aching, unable to use any of your toys in peace.

Menaces, they’re menaces.

Choso is an adorable menace, a sweetheart – but menace nonetheless. Sukuna was more outspoken with how insane he was, he lived to fuck with you, once he thought it would be funny to hide your dildo collection you’re so proud of. You didn’t talk to him for a week after that, until he groveled and bought you a brand new one for your addition.

Little did you know – Sukuna had it moulded to fit his cock exactly, the thought that you were getting stretched out by his shape made it even sweeter when he heard your soft little whines. When he’d jerk it in his room, groaning and tilting his head against that wall like a pervert.

Sometimes he’d use your panties to cum, he loved when you couldn’t find them and got all upset – he even took your scrunchies because they smell like your shampoo. Okay maybe Sukuna’s a bit obsessed with you, but is Choso much better?

No, he’s not, Choso is just a little sneakier, thinking of fucking you and jerking it when he’s in the shower and you’re talking to him, trying to muffle his moans as he pictures you right on your knees.

Not that you’re aware of any of it.

Even now, they’re smushing you between them on the couch, manspread thighs against your own, you never get any space with these two.

“Hah, i’ll throw your ass right off rainbow fucking road,” Sukuna’s grinning like the psycho he is when he nudges your cart, your cute little Yoshi flying off.

“Ugh, you dick!”

“Sukuna,” Choso sighs and shakes his head. “Stop throwing her off.”

“Stop throwing her off,” you smack him with his mocking tone, getting back onto the road and speeding up. “Hah!”

“Not again!? You’re such a jerk!”

“I’ll avenge you angel,” Sukuna rolls his eyes when Choso runs Sukuna off the road, and his bowser goes flying, you snicker in laughter as Sukuna crashes out.

“Choso, my hero!”

“I’ll come fucking get the both of you,” Sukuna’s locked in, brows lowered – far too close to you now as if the couch isn’t big enough for him, his biceps flexing in a concerning ass way that makes you stop driving. “What brat, ya done?”

“I um…” you blink and focus once more, in time for Choso to lean forward, his elbow resting on your bare thigh so casually.

Casual.

You’re ovulating and losing mario kart!

“Mnh…”

They both look at you and you cover your face in embarrassment, slick dribbling down your inner thighs – you’re always wet around them but today is too fucking much, how many times a day can you change your panties? You could swear they keep coming up missing too.

“You all right angel?” Choso asks softly, tilting his head and looking at you far too closely, hand on your cheek. “You’re warm! Do you have a fever?”

“N-no,” Sukuna scoffs and yanks the remote from your hands, feeling your head for himself.

“You are warm, brat, better not be sick,” he tilts your chin up and smirks. “You lost big time, hah you suck.”

“Ugh!” You shove at him once more. “You suck! I’m fine!”

You three play another round and Sukuna won’t stop knocking you off, sending your car into a tailspin, you get so damn mad at him you toss the remote on the floor. Sukuna snorts when you cross your arms.

“Looking like a little spoiled brat.”

“I am not! You’re just rude!”

“Tch, can’t even lose a game,” you’re so irritated and so horny you can’t think right now, just glaring at the pink haired menace. “Don’t feel bad, I beat you at every single game, don’t I?”

“Sukuna stop,” Choso sets his remote down, wrapping a protective arm and tugging you against him. “Leave her alone, you’re really being a dick over it.”

“I am competitive, she’s the sore loser.”

“You’re not competitive, you’re being an ass,” you snuggle to Choso now and he blushes, your lips against his neck, tickling his skin.

“Thank you Cho,” you murmur, pressing a kiss, he sucks in a breath, hand tightening at your waist, Sukuna glares at the sight, smacking Choso’s hand right off you. “Hey!”

“You’re mad she’s snuggling to me.”

“Hah, right,” Sukuna stands up now, yanking you off Choso like the big brute he is, you kick at him and he smirks, yanking your ankle. “Think ya can hurt me, brat?”

“You’re the biggest brat there is, Ryomen Sukuna!”

“Wow, my full name – really,” you stick your tongue out and Sukuna bars you with his arms on the couch, making your breath catch. Just because he’s a dick doesn’t mean he’s not hot and ruining you with his proximity. “Admit you’re trash at Mario cart and I’ll make you feel real good, won’t have to fuck yourself tonight with your dildo collection.”

“Invasion of privacy! No, I won’t admit I suck,” you smack at his arm and then climb right onto Choso’s lap, he sucks in a breath at the action.

“Oh… Oh! Oh,” he’s gripping your waist with those big hands, dragging your heat against that bulge underneath his pants as you move your hips, his eyes darkening. “Hi.”

You giggle a bit at that, moving again, feeling Sukuna tense behind you. “Hi.”

“Get off his damn lap,” Sukuna turns your face towards him, just to get Choso smacking his hand away this time. “I’ll beat both your asses.”

“No you won’t,” Choso murmurs, turning your face to him now, thumb brushing little circles on your hip, making you even wetter. “I’ll make you feel good without you having to say you ‘suck’ at Mario cart. You don’t suck.”

“I can suck,” you whisper, leaning forward and giggling, Choso moans when you kiss his lips, and everything in your living room shifts.

It’s a desperate kiss once Choso gets a taste of you, moaning into your mouth and working your body against him, sucking in a breath, eyes fluttering shut, sucking your tongue in his mouth and rutting up against you. You whine out at it, you could almost cum from just feeling him, one of his hands entangling in his hair.

“Are you really gonna leave me out?” Sukuna asks, flipping you before you can think, now your back is pressed on Choso’s hard chest, Sukuna is kneeling, his hands pressing against your tits. You’re ovulating so bad they’re full and aching, your nipples sensitive when he brushes his thumbs on them. “You’re needy, huh brat?”

“Not for you and your Mario cart cheating tactics, mnh!” He uses a hand to tug up your shirt, your tits spilling out, earning his moan.

“Don’t want my mouth on them?” You can’t say no, not when Choso’s biting your neck, his fingers slipping up your shorts, making your thighs tremble, back arching for more of Sukuna’s touch. “Answer.”

“I am still mad at you, but I’ll let you do that,” he smirks as if he’ll get to fuck you – little does Sukuna know you take Mario Kart very seriously, and you’re planning on making your giant, pink haired roomie pay. “Mnh!”

Sukuna presses you back against Choso, grabbing your tit and wrapping his lips around the little bud, sucking it into the hot recesses of his mouth, tongue ring clicking against it and earning a soft moan. You move against Choso who whines out in response, cock licking so much sticky pre it’s drizzling against your inner thigh, his finger running over your panties.

“Ngh,” soft moans escape your lips as Sukuna sucks one nipple, the other toyed with by his thumb and forefinger, Choso’s running up and down your slit until you’re dripping wet. “Choso…”

“Even now?” Sukuna scowls and you grin, earning a sharp bite on your tit, leaving glistening teeth marks, you gasp in shock and he grins. “Marked you.”

“Freak,” you grumble, but he’s sucking your other nipple, and your hand finds its way in his pink silky hair, it’s so soft, you tug hard and he grips your tit hard, sucking it in his mouth as Choso toys your clit. “F-fuck… mnh…”

“You’re soaked baby,” Choso whispers, tilting your face to his and kissing you, messy with your tongues dripping saliva. “Like that?”

“Y-yes, ow!” Sukuna bites the fuck out of you again, earning your attention, you yank the fuck out of his hair and make him moan.

“Where’s my attention!?”

“I’m still mad, I already told you,” Sukuna tugs your shorts to the side, seeing how soaking wet you are, panties drenched.

“Already fuck yourself today?”

“Maybe,” he smirks. “Why?”

“Nothing – just that’s my cock.”

“What!?” You shove him hard, he’s chuckling and Choso’s damn near about to bust with how you wiggle. “You did not seriously? Psycho!”

“Bet you loved it,” you did, fuck him. “Could you take it all?”

“No – I mean!? Yep, hah wasn’t that -”

Before you can finish your petty lie, Sukuna’s kissing you, messy and mean with it, tongue ring clicking the roof of your mouth, you’re rocking back and forth, dying for them inside you. If you weren’t such a petty girl, maybe you’d let Sukuna slide his cock inside your cunt, where Choso’s running circles against your slick entrance – but you’re still mad about Mario Kart.

And now he’s making his cock your dildo!?

“You’re batshit insane,” you’re still kissing him though, Choso’s got your clit twitching and Sukuna’s pinching your nipples and rolling them, the simultaneous play is too much to handle. “You c-can’t just… mnh, d-do that.”

“That’s not fair, I wanna make you one,” Choso pouts as he sinks two fingers in your messy, needy cunt, you’re soaking them and quivering, sucking them up so damn easy. “Do you want one of me?”

“I do, stop biting, you dick!” Sukuna’s furious – how dare you give him all the attention when Sukuna is right there, he slips his finger down and Choso pulls his out with a wet pop, sucking on them and moaning.

Fuck he’s hot.

You’re a little lost when you realize Sukuna’s shoving two fingers deep, scissoring them in and out of your hole. “Hah your cunt is already fucked out, you must love my dick stretching your messy cunt out.”

“You w-wish,” your thighs are held up by Choso for Sukuna’s mean fingers to rock in and out of your cunt with loud squelches, your nails press into Choso’s forearms when he grips your tit, squishing it in his hand and rutting that leaky cock right on you. “Close, close… Sukuna!?”

“You thought,” he yanks his fingers out, smirking at the obscene amount dripping, slipping them right in your mouth. “Suck.”

You bob your mouth up and down his knuckles, cheeks all flushed and your eyes dazed, Sukuna moans at the sight, picturing how well you’d suck his cock, as you slip your tongue between those digits. Choso’s already fingering you again, your cheeks hollowed, eyes rolling back.

“I’ll let you cum baby,” he murmurs, Sukuna scoffs – Choso was always trying to ‘please you’ and this was no different, you’re sucking Sukuna’s fingers as his hand grips under your chin, Choso’s fingers making a mess between your thighs as you clamp down. “Go ahead, cum for me.”

“Mmph!” You’re drooling as Sukuna’s fingers go deeper, damn near choking you with them, orgasm making you squirt all over Choso’s lap, drops smacking against Sukuna’s pants, he groans at the sigh.

“Messy lil slut, look at ya, can’t handle a couple fingers?”

“Fuck off, was cummin’ for Choso,” Choso grins, his fingers easing out of your cunt with a messy pop as she keeps spasming, gushing arousal down onto the couch you’re sitting on. “Cho, come on.”

“Come where baby?”

“My room,” you stand and push past Sukuna, whose cock is so hard you can see it pressing out, he winces and has to adjust it when you’re crooking your finger. “You can watch.”

“Watch!? The fuck?”

You drag Choso – dopey grin on his face and all – giggling as you rush him to your room. “Yep.”

“I’m not just gonna watch you…” You’re stripped down right in front of them in moments, and both the boys have open mouths.

Listen, you’ve been waiting to fuck them, and cucking Sukuna seemed apt enough punishment after the shit he was pulling today. Your tits bounce when you turn to Choso, slipping off his shirt and running your fingertips across his tattooed chest, he snatches you up and kisses you, surprising you by how needy he is, you thought he may be shy.

He’s so not shy when he eagerly steps out of his pants, and you see all that white dripping through his boxers. “I am not watching.”

“You sit right there,” you point to your bright pink gaming chair, a big ass flower cushion and a plushy on it, Sukuna’s red eyes narrow – for a moment he does scare you, but not when he throws your plushy and pillow on the ground. “Hey!”

“Fuck off,” he sits in the chair and it creaks under his heavy weight, crossing his arms now. “Well, put on your little show – you’ll beg me to join.”

“You think so?”

“I know it, want all your holes filled,” his eyes drift down the curves of your body, his cock aching so badly he unzips his pants, watching your fucked out little gaze. “Like what you see?”

Who wouldn’t like that thick, veiny cock with the pierced reddened tip? Drooling white as he strokes it in front of you. Your throat goes dry as you consider if you can give him such a punishment, but you smile all mean.

“Admit you cheat at Mario Kart.”

“I don’t you brat!?”

“Then no,” you press Choso down on the bed, he’s tugging his boxers off, his pretty cock smacking his belly button, pre just dripping against that black strip of hair over his cock. “Oh… You’re so ready, aren’t you Choso?”

“Please,” he’s tugging you on him, giving Sukuna a view of your ass, your cunt gliding along Choso’s cock and dripping all over. “Oh pretty…”

He’s got a piercing too, right on his pretty pink tip, you’re running your slit right along it, hands braced on his chest, Choso's mouth wraps around your nipple, sucking it hard into his mouth. You’re whining out when he plays with the other, holding them both in his hands as you move.

“Your titties are so pretty,” he whispers, one hand slipping down to your waist, god he’s dreamed of you but not like this – gliding your cunt right on him? He could lift you and slam his cock so deep, but he also wants to let you tease him, edge him till he can’t help himself. “F-fuck… you’re so wet…”

“Rub it in,” Sukuna earns your laugh, peeking over your shoulder and arching so he has a look of your hole from the back. “I’d fuck you right in your ass first.”

“You would not!”

“Sure would, Choso can have your cunt..”

“I’ll take any hole,” you giggle again, kissing your roomie, his lips plush underneath yours, your nails press into his shoulders as his tip bumps your needy clit. “Ah! Choso…”

“Do you l-like it baby?” You nod eagerly, he’s sucking your tits again, dragging you down hard, his cock leaking more pre – so much he worries he did cum, but it’s still thickening against you. “Wanna fill you up with all my cum. Eat it out of you.”

“Mnh,” you’re leaning up now, gliding faster, watching Choso lose it, bruising your waist, his cheeks dusted with pink.

“You really gonna do all this for MARIO KART!? You’re such a petty little annoying brat.”

You glare and turn around, reverse cowgirl right on Choso’s cock, he’s whimpering and Sukuna’s stroking his cock, his lips parted as he takes in your body facing him. “You’re petty! And annoying, you never give me privacy!”

“Neither does he!?” Sukuna stands, his cock so heavy it’s just hanging, dripping on the pink fluffy rug.

“You’re making a mess, Kuna, all over my rug.”

His jaw sets, Choso’s fingers are pressing harder as he drags you up and down, gasping out. “Like you didn’t squirt on me!?”

“Can I put it in please?” Choso’s completely ignoring your spat – how can he think when he’s so close to being able to slide his cock inside your cute, soaking wet hole?

“Y-yes,” you let him lift you and grab his cock, wrapping his hand around the base, tip slipping in your hole. “Mnh!”

“Oh my god,” he drags you down in one stroke – deep inside – so much your tummy bulges for Sukuna to see, he groans at the sight, Choso lifting you and that mess of slick glistening. “You’re so f-fucking wet, god you feel so good.”

Sukuna’s gripping your hair and bending down as you ride Choso’s cock, ass bouncing up and down, nails pressing into his thighs to keep balance, he lifts your ass up and groans, fingers dimpling the plump flesh of your ass. “Making a whole show, aren’t you?”

You take your hand and swipe your thumb over Sukuna’s tip, licking it off and watching him lose it, only to rock on Choso’s cock more, feeling him hit your cervix, making you gasp out desperately. “You’re so deep, mnh!”

“Swear to god,” Sukuna’s stroking his cock when Choso sits up and puts you on all fours, slapping his heavy cock against your ass, you moan and arch, face precariously close to Sukuna’s cock. “Come on, fuck… just lemme…”

“You can jerk off near me,” You gasp out, a broken little moan spilling from your lips as Choso slams right back in, heavy balls kissing your clit, your head falling back. “You’re lucky to even get that.”

“Fuckin’ brat,” Choso’s groaning as you grip him with your gummy walls just fluttering, he can’t even focus on anything but the curve of your ass like this, the way his tip is pressing your cervix, how full his balls are.

Your thighs tremble, hands gripping the blanket, looking back at him all pretty as he splits you open on his cock. “Ch-choso… f-feels so…”

You break off talking when he shoves in hard, pinning you to him and rolling those hips – god Choso could fuck, you didn’t think he couldn’t exactly but you sure didn’t expect that. He slams again harder, pushing your face until your mouth is almost brushing Sukuna’s needy tip, just that has the six foot five man whimpering.

“Fuck… slutty lil brat,” you’d scowl or stick your tongue out but Choso’s hitting it too good, stretching you right out to his shape with messy strokes. Your mouth is open with your gasps, every stroke of Sukuna’s hand on his cock making your tummy clench any more.

“Y-you’re gonna admit you cheat,” you whisper, sucking in a breath when Choso grabs your shoulder and fucks in so deep it hurts. “Ah!”

“Stop fighting,” he whines out when you pulse around him, leaning over you and gripping your chin, turning you to him. “Just cum, lemme feel it milk me.”

Oh fuck.

You kiss him and let him rail you, as Sukuna has to watch the girl he’s jerked off to fuck his roomate – all because he just had to make her mad. He wishes it wasn’t so sexy hearing the skin smacking and your messy cunt squishing with every thrust, already about to bust like a pathetic loser.

“I’m s-sorry, fuck,” he mumbles, you pull back and Choso chuckles, slamming against you again, pushing you to arch more. “All right!? Shit you’re mean.”

“You’re s-sorry, really? Mnh!” He moans and grips your hair, jerking right in front of your face as Choso snaps his hips hard.

“Perfect cunt just gripping me, god jus’ like th-that,” he’s pussy drunk off you, he can’t help but be happy he’s inside and not in your bright pink cuck chair, or jerking it like Sukuna.

Not that he wouldn’t enjoy that too, but he’s been fisting his cock to you since the first day you met.

“M’gonna cum,” you whisper now, looking up at Sukuna and moaning, breath tickling the tip of his cock. “You’re sorry?”

“Yes, god just… can I just… cum on your tongue, fuck – I’ll let you win, n-next time just…”

You suppose you’ll take a little pity on him, opening your mouth with your little pink tongue out, letting Sukuna jerk it even closer, strings of puffy cum splattering all over your tongue, your mouth, your chin. It’s fucking filthy having it all over you as your orgasm hits, making you swallow all him up.

“Want me to cum inside your pretty lil hole?” Choso asks, you’re still swallowing Sukuna’s cum when he brushes it on your lips, stroking it so even more oozes from that little slit and decorates your lips.

You nod and arch, your nails now pressing into Sukuna’s thighs, Choso busting deep inside your cunt and all he can get is his tip grazing your damn tongue, he’s so desperate he’s happy for that. He’s groaning as he watches you get filled by Choso’s cum, your fucked out face and your crossed eyes.

“Wanna be inside next,” he mumbles, pulling back and groaning, your nails pressing into the tattoos on his muscled thighs as you tremble.

You’re flooded with Choso’s warmth, coating all your walls as he pulses, thickening even more, tip dragging on your spot over and over, making you both sensitive. “Took all that, so greedy.”

“Mhm,” you whisper, licking Sukuna’s cum off his thumb when he gathers it from your cheek, off your chin, slipping it in your mouth. “You came so much, Choso…”

“What about me you brat!?”

You grin and give him the tiniest kitten flick of your tongue on his tip, watching him jerk from just that. “I’ll maybe forgive you.”

“Maybe? Tch,” Choso pulls out of you with a messy pop, watching all his cum flood out of your hole, pushing it right out and dripping on your blankets.

“Look at all you took,” he plays with the sticky mess, fingering it right back inside and smirking at Sukuna. “I think she likes me more.”

“She does not, she’s just sadistic,” he’d be lying if he didn’t say that turned him on more. He helps you up on your knees, tilting your chin up and kissing his own cum off you, Choso’s kissing up your neck, as you feel him slipping out of you. “Evil little brat. You liked that dildo.”

“Maybe I’ll let you use it on me,” his brows lower as he glares again, Choso snorts against your neck, tugging you closer.

“Use my own dick on you!?”

“Then you can fuck me. If you’re nice.” You turn and straddle Choso again, kissing his mouth, he flicks his tongue and gathers the little bit of Sukuna’s cum off your mouth, moaning.

“Can I at least finger you, or am I still in trouble?” Sukuna pouts kind of cutely, you admit, so you nod, and let him kneel on the bed, fingering Choso’s cum back inside you.

Sukuna won’t knock you off rainbow road again.

[https-lovvers]

sukuna's sweetheart!reader gf accidentally gets high for the first time..

wc: 1.7k

meet sweetheart!reader

you had smoked weed once before this, if you could call that smoking. it was at one of tojis infamous parties, you were wasted and curled up against sukuna on the battered couch of the frat house. sukuna had been smoking the blunt, his eyes drooping with each puff.

you turned to him, drunk and giggly, "sukuna can i try?"

he side eyed you and grunted, "no. shits bad for you"

"but you're doing it" you attempted puppy dog eyes, desperately wanting to know what it would be like.

he had let out a rough sigh before taking a hit and grabbing your face kissing you and exhaling into your mouth. he smirked a bit when you coughed and spluttered.

"you okay baby?" he watched as you slumped back against him further, eyes dilated and limbs heavy.

you mumbled a faint response before closing your eyes against him chest.

and that was it. you never felt like smoking again, and sukuna was very against you doing anything to harm your virgin lungs.

until...

you were at geto's birthday party. sukuna would be a bit late because he was getting a last minute birthday gift for suguru (despite you telling him multiple times in the past week to go get him something).

you had offered to come help him pick one out but sukuna insisted you go to the party and give suguru the gift you had gotten (which you were so proud of).

while sukuna didn't like the idea of you alone at a party, he entrusted toji to be on lookout duty and take care of you, at least for the first hour before sukuna got there.

you entered the party with shoko and utahime, your pretty white dress sliding up your thighs slightly when you trot over to suguru to give him his birthday wishes and gift.

he had happily taken your perfectly wrapped gift and in exchange pushed a drink into your hand and sent you on your merry way.

you were on your way back to shoko and utahime when you spotted brownies laying tantalisingly on a plate. you were hungry and the night was going to be long so you grabbed 4 brownies, one for each of your friends and you wandered back to them.

plopping down on the couch next to yuki, you offered her one, to which she denied giving you an incredulous look. which was strange because, were they not just regular brownies?

both utahime and shoko denied, shoko saying she'll stick to smoking.

weird.

thats how you found yourself eating 4 brownies. after the first one you had stumbled your way around to try and offer the other brownies to any takers.

you were nibbling on the second one when you spotted choso. "hey cho! do you want a brownie?"

his half lidded eyes met yours, "no thanks i already had one, and i made them so i can have them any time."

"i guess i have to eat these four then.." you sighed

"i don't think that's a good idea.." choso trailed off.

"huh" you mumble already on the third one. before he can clarify you're gone.

having swayed your way back to the couch, you slump, really feeling the effects. "sho i feel weird..." and you're reaching for the 4th brownie.

only you realise thats not shoko, it's toji.

"oh hey toji" you mumble, mouth full with the remnants of the 4th brownie.

the drink he was sporting is now resting on the table as he turns to look at you. slumped, eyes dilated, red rimmed, drooping lids, pouted glossy lips.

fuck. hes so incredibly fucked.

"angel how many of those fucking brownies did you have?"

you giggle at his seriousness. putting up 4 fingers you shove them in his face.

he drags a hand down his face.

"sukuna is going to fucking kill me"

toji’s already hauling you up by your elbows before you can slump any further into the couch

“c’mon, angel. up.”

“mmm no…” you whine softly, your head tipping back dramatically, “i’m sitting…”

“yeah? you’re also gone,” he mutters, half to himself, half to whatever higher power is about to watch him get murdered by sukuna

you don’t really register moving

just that suddenly you’re somewhere quieter—some random bedroom upstairs, the bass of the party muffled through the walls, your body melting into the mattress like it’s the softest thing you’ve ever touched

“toji,” you mumble, blinking slowly at the ceiling, “i feel like… floaty”

“yeah. no shit,” he snorts, dragging a chair over so he can keep an eye on you

“am i dying?”

he pauses. looks at you.

“…no. you’re just high out of your mind”

“toji,” you say again, very serious, “my arms feel weird”

“that’s because you ate four edibles,” he says flatly

you blink at him

“…what’s an edible?”

he actually laughs at that. like a short, disbelieving huff

“you’ve gotta be kidding me”

when sukuna arrives, he throws the poorly bagged gift onto the pile of gifts and immediately seeks you out.

he goes to the couch, where you would normally be. can't see you. he goes to shoko who's smoking outside. she hasn't seen you. he goes to yuki and choso who were all over eachother. they haven't seen you. he even goes to that idiot gojo with his stupid fucking amazing eyes. he hasn't seen you.

he starts to flip his shit. he opens every room of the fucking house, before he reaches a bedroom where he sees you laying on a bed, with toji in a chair taking a sip of a drink.

he inspects you. spread out on the bed, glassy-eyed, cheeks flushed, blinking at him like he’s just walked out of a dream

his expression drops instantly

“what the fuck happened.”

toji raises his hands immediately “not my fault. she ate the brownies”

“what brownies.”

“the ones choso made”

silence. then, slowly “…how many”

toji points at you “ask your girl”

sukuna’s gaze snaps back to you

he crosses the room in two steps, crouching in front of the bed, one hand coming up to cup your face, turning your head toward him

“hey,” his voice is lower now, rough but controlled, “look at me”

you do. and then you smile: soft, dopey, completely gone.

“hi ‘kuna…”

something in his expression softens for half a second before snapping back. “how many did you eat.”

you hold up your hand proudly. four fingers.

he stares “…you’re joking”

you shake your head, very serious again. “they were really good”

toji barks out a laugh from the corner “i told you. she inhaled them”

“get out,” sukuna says immediately.

“gladly” and he’s gone in seconds.

traitor.

the door shuts and suddenly it’s just you and sukuna. his hands are still on your face, thumbs brushing under your eyes as he studies you. your pupils are huge. your breathing is slow. you lean into his touch without thinking

“you’re late,” you mumble

his jaw tightens, “yeah. i know”

then your hand lifts, clumsy, grabbing at his sleeve “i missed you”

that hits him harder than anything else tonight, his grip on you softens immediately

“yeah?”

you nod, then squint at him “…your face is moving”

he huffs, almost a laugh, shaking his head, “course it is”

“you’re not allowed to eat random shit at parties anymore,” he mutters into your hair

“i didn’t know…” you mumble defensively

“i know”

he sighs, pressing his cheek briefly to the top of your head “…i know, sweetheart”

you readjust so you're on top of him, swaying slightly on your way up. before your head lulls forward and plops on his chest. you’re fully draped across sukuna at this point. not even sitting properly. just sprawled half on his lap, half against his chest.

he’s got one arm locked around your waist to keep you from sliding off the bed

“…you good?” he asks, low and unimpressed

you tilt your head up to look at him very slowly, very seriously.

“…you have two faces”

he rolls his eyes “…i have what”

you squint, lifting a hand and poking his cheek but missing spectacularly and instead landing on his chin.

“…they’re like… overlapping” he grabs your wrist before you can poke his eye out. “that’s called being high, genius”

you gasp “don’t call me that”

“…genius?”

“yeah” you mumble, offended, immediately melting back into him, “be nice to me…”

he rolls his eyes but his grip tightens slightly around you anyway “i am being nice. you’re lucky i don't drag you downstairs and grab myself a blunt so i don't have to deal with your bullshit”

you go very still then slowly lift your head again.

“…you would never do that”

he doesn’t answer immediately, just stares at you for a second.

“…yeah,” he mutters finally, quieter, “no. i wouldn’t”

you grin like you’ve just won something then immediately get distracted by your own hand.

“…my fingers feel fake”

you wiggle them in front of your face, completely fascinated

“‘kuna… look”

“i see them”

“no like… look”

you grab his face this time, turning it toward your hand and he lets you.

because apparently this is his life now

“…they’re moving when i tell them to,” you whisper, awestruck

“that’s usually how it works”

“that’s crazy”

he huffs out a laugh through his nose shaking his head.

“…don’t go anywhere” you mumble

his expression shifts again. softens, just slightly “not going anywhere,” he mutters

you hum, satisfied. then after a second, “…‘kuna?”

“what.”

“…if i was a dog…”

he already looks tired “no”

“just listen”

he sighs “…fine. what”

you look up at him, dead serious again “…would you adopt me?”

there’s a pause. then he actually laughs. low, surprised, real “you’re so fucking stupid,” he mutters, shaking his head but his hand comes up anyway, brushing your hair back from your face. gentler than his words.

“…yeah,” he says after a second “i would”

you beam like that’s the best answer you could’ve gotten then immediately tuck your face back into his chest completely content.

and sukuna just sits there one arm around you, hand absently rubbing slow circles into your back, waiting it out, making sure you’re okay, even if you’re the most ridiculous thing he’s ever had to deal with.

[fayelero]

hiromi who break the rules??

“shit… this is so fucking bad,” hiromi groans behind you, voice low and strained like he’s trying to hold onto the last thread of his sanity. his big hands grip your hips hard enough to bruise as he pounds into you from behind, the wet slap of his hips meeting your ass echoing obscenely through his dimly lit apartment. you’re bent over the back of his expensive leather couch, tits pressed into the cool material, ass up and spread wide for the much older man you’d only seen for the first time this morning at the Tokyo District Court.

he looked like sin in that black judge’s robe — sharp features, tired eyes that still burned with intensity, salt-and-pepper hair slightly disheveled like he’d run his hands through it too many times during a long trial. now that same man is balls-deep inside you, thick cock stretching your soaked pussy with every brutal thrust.

“you’re… fuck… you’re half my age,” he pants, voice rough but still carrying that precise, lawyerly tone even while he’s rearranging your guts. one hand slides up your spine, pressing you down harder as he snaps his hips forward again, driving so deep you feel him in your stomach. “this could be career suicide. conflict of interest, abuse of authority… technically i’m not supposed to even look at you like this after seeing you in my courtroom today.”

you moan loudly, pushing back against him, drunk on the way his cock drags against that perfect spot inside you. your juices are already dripping down your thighs, the couch creaking under the force of his thrusts.

hiromi doesn’t stop talking. he can’t. even buried to the hilt in your tight, dripping cunt, the man is still a fucking judge.

“legally,” he grunts, pulling out almost all the way just to slam back in with a filthy squelch, “this could be construed as misconduct under Article 49 of the Judicial Ethics Code. improper relationship with a party present in court… shit, you’re so fucking wet—” his voice cracks for a second as your walls clench around him. he keeps going, hips never slowing. “if anyone found out i brought you home and bent you over like this… fuck, i could face disciplinary review. suspension. maybe even disbarment.”

his pace turns punishing, one hand fisting your hair to arch your back deeper. the new angle makes you cry out, eyes rolling back as he hits that spongy spot over and over. sweat rolls down his bare chest, dripping onto your back. his balls slap loudly against your clit with every deep stroke, the obscene wet sounds mixing with your broken moans.

“and yet here i am,” he continues, almost like he’s arguing in court, “fucking you raw like some desperate old man. no protection. no restraint.” he leans over you, chest pressing to your back, lips brushing your ear as he growls, “you have no idea how many rules i’m breaking right now, sweetheart. how many statutes i’m violating with every thrust.”

you’re losing it. your thighs shake violently, pussy fluttering wildly around his thick cock. the pressure is building fast — hot, overwhelming, unstoppable. every brutal snap of his hips pushes you closer to the edge, his words only making it filthier, hotter.

“hiromi— fuck— please—”

“please what?” he rasps, still pounding you mercilessly. his free hand slides around to rub tight, messy circles on your swollen clit. “you’re going to cum on a judge’s cock? right after i just spent all day upholding the law? this is textbook abuse of power. i should stop. i should pull out right now and—”

“shut it,” you snap breathlessly, voice cracking into a desperate moan as your orgasm crashes dangerously close. “shut the fuck up and fuck me, hiromi.”

something in him snaps.

“fuck,” he growls, all composure gone. he straightens up, grips both your hips with bruising force and starts railing you like a man possessed. no more legal talk — just raw, animalistic pounding. the couch scrapes against the floor from the sheer force. your pussy gushes around him, creamy white ring coating the base of his cock and dripping messily down his balls.

“you want it messy?” he snarls, voice dark and dangerous now. “then take it.”

he fucks you harder, deeper, hips slamming against your ass with wet, filthy smacks. your juices spray a little with every thrust, soaking his thighs and the floor beneath you. one of his hands comes down hard on your ass, the sharp smack echoing as he watches the flesh jiggle. then again. and again. red handprints bloom on your skin.

you’re sobbing now, completely overwhelmed, tears of pleasure streaking your face. “i’m— i’m gonna—”

“cum,” he commands, voice rough and low. “cum on my cock while i ruin every ethical boundary i have left.”

your orgasm hits you like a freight train. you scream, body convulsing violently as your pussy clamps down around him like a vice, gushing slick all over his thrusting cock. your vision whites out. your legs give out completely, but hiromi holds you up, fucking you straight through it without mercy. the wet, squelching sounds are downright pornographic as he keeps driving into your spasming heat.

“that’s it… good girl,” he groans, teeth clenched. “fuck, you’re squeezing me so tight—”

he doesn’t stop. he flips you over suddenly, laying you flat on the couch and spreading your legs wide. he hooks one of your knees over his shoulder and sinks back in with one brutal thrust, folding you in half. the new angle makes you see stars as he pounds even deeper, his heavy balls slapping against your ass.

his hair is a mess, sweat dripping from his forehead onto your tits as he looms over you. his eyes are wild, dark with lust and that lingering conflict.

“this is going to destroy me,” he mutters, almost to himself, but he keeps fucking you harder, chasing his own release. “one look at you today and i threw every principle out the window… shit—”

you’re still twitching from your orgasm, oversensitive and whimpering, but he doesn’t slow down. his thumb finds your clit again, rubbing fast and firm, forcing another peak to build right on the heels of the first.

“hiromi— too much—”

“you told me to shut up and fuck you,” he growls, leaning down to bite your neck, sucking a dark mark into your skin. “so take it. take every fucking inch while i ruin this pretty pussy.”

the wet slap of skin is relentless. your mixed juices drip down onto the couch, creating a soaked mess beneath you. his thrusts turn erratic, deeper, more desperate as he nears his limit.

“gonna cum inside you,” he warns, voice strained. “fill you up like the reckless old man i am tonight.”

you nod frantically, nails raking down his back as another orgasm rips through you. you cry out his name, body arching hard, pussy gushing around him again.

hiromi groans deep in his chest and buries himself to the hilt, hips stuttering as he cums hard. thick, hot ropes of cum flood your pulsing cunt, spilling out around his cock with every twitch of his hips. he keeps grinding deep, pushing every drop inside you like he’s claiming you.

for a long moment the only sounds are your ragged breathing and the wet drip of his cum leaking out of you onto the ruined couch.

hiromi rests his forehead against yours, still buried deep, breathing hard.

“this… was highly illegal,” he mutters, but there’s a dark, satisfied smirk on his lips. “and i already know i’m going to do it again.”

he kisses you then — deep, messy, and hungry — like a man who just broke every rule he believes in… and fucking loved it.

Ⓒfayelero all rights reserved. please to not plagiarize, repost, or translate !

[yoonsucks]

Guitar Freak!!

Why does that emo guy look so submissive and breedable?

MusicStoreWorker!Choso x mean!reader cw: fem!reader, subby whiny PATHETICC CHOSO, choso has a lip and eyebrow piercing, tit sucking, degrading(him), pervy choso, grinding, cumming untouched (?), mommy kink, choso has an oral fixation, choso cries, kinda makes noo sense but... nooott proofread sorz

You day had been shit. So shit in fact that you found yourself looking for the only open music store on the damn weekend.

You needed to practice with your band on sunday. But lucky you, in the middle of a saturday YOUR DAMN GUITAR STRINGS SNAPPED. All you had been doing was playing with a bit too much emotion. Not tugging on the wires like a madwoman out of frustration because you couldn't get the tune just right.

No clue, really.

Now you were in a small little shop. Looking trough new guitar strings.

You had glared at the emo guy at the counter just trying to say hi- dismissing him as a whole.

Choso, oh poor Choso.

He never liked taking shifts where he was alone. He wasn't prepared. Especially not for this.

A hot babe... with a skirt too short and boots too heavy... and that angry scowl on her pretty face. And she hadn't even spoken to him? The guitar she was dragging in a case with her?

Sooo his type.

The poor guy was glad he had to stand behind a counter. A veryyy obvious hard on twitching to life.

Choso tried to mind his business while she shopped around. Really really did... but he kept gnawing on his lip piercing, dark eyes following the way of her hips swayed.

His pale face was quick to get pink, cheeks a flushed shade of pink, hands fiddling with some paper to distract himself.

You, pretending he wasn't there- finally found the pack of new ones you needed. Bending over and down to get them from the bottom shelf.

POOR POOR CHOSO.

He almost lunged over the counter, eyes bulging out of their sockets and lips parting- the sight of your thighs.. and..andnd just the tease of cheeks-

You swore you heard someone whimper, quickly standing up and whipping your head around to look for the sound.

But the only person with you was the nervous looking employee.

Whatever.

You flicked your hair, fixing your hold on the guitar case and heading over to the counter.

Choso tried to make eye contact and be a good worker.

His gaze kept flickering down to your chest- the hint of a brastrap peeking out somewhere.

You narrowed your eyes, carelessly tossing the pack of strings on the counter.

That made Choso cough and quickly grab it and scan the item.

"W...will.. will that be all, ma'am?"

"No, i need them on my guitar... like now. Can you do it?" You scoffed, as if he was supposed to know what you wanted.

"U..uh! Yes! But you'll..h..have to come back later..."

"Fine, sure. Cool. How much?" You nodded to the cash register, looking down to fish out your phone to pay.

You didn't get a reply.

You heard some shifting around, but ignored it.

Good thing that you did.

The flustered man looked like he was guilty of something, unable to concentrate anywhere but your chest, the lip piercing caught between his teeth- and his hips flush against the cabinet underneath the counter- grinding his painfully hard cock against it.

You got your phone out, unlocking your card. "Hello? I said how much, you idiot." You frowned, taking your guitar off of your shoulder and hauling it up on the table besides the pack of new guitar strings.

"67,99$....please" you could hear his voice breaking, finally focusing on the task at hand.

Your nose scrunched a bit, unsure what the hell was going on.

But you left it and your phone number, not even replying when the guy whimpered out some sort of goodbye.

How pathetic.

Once you stepped out of the shop- Choso was taking your guitar and the new strings to the workshop area.

Notttt to grind against the back of YOUR guitar while his skilled hands removed the old, snapped ones with the new sturdy strings.

And he definitely wasn't salivating at the thought of licking your pick- no no, not at all.

In honesty, he didn't need you to leave and come back later for this... but he kind of wanted your number. And he wanted to touch the guitar case.. and smell- okay enough.

You had gone out to some cafe nearby, sipping on a pure black coffee while angrily staring at the little cookie the barista had placed on your cup, your phone laying facing up while waiting for the green light to go get your prized instrument.

An unknown number messaged you, the screen lighting up.

Finally.

Unknown: Your guitar is ready to be picked up, mommy. :)

Mommy?

You had to do a double take.

Was this guy being serious?

Unknown: SORRY I MEAN MOMMY

Unknown: MOMMY SORRY

Unknown: MAAM

Unknown: I MEANT MAAM.

You: Be there in 5. Delete this number.

And you were there in less than five. Maybe it was the rush of adrenaline from the coffee or your frustration of the audacity of this man-

The little bell on the door jingled and you stepped inside.

The weird, long haired emo wasn't anywhere around.

You took a deep breath, walking in further to look for him.

You did find him, in the back of the store organising some new cd's.

"Hello? Is my guitar done?" You tried not to yell at him, but for some reason he made you want to step on him.

Choso got startled, the few cases in his hands fumbling around before he got to set them down.

"U..uhm- i.. well y-"

"God, speak up for once." You groaned, walking closer, backing him up against the cd display.

"Sorry... ma'am... i... yes, it's ready!" He looked down at you, eyes flickering lower than your angry face... your chest was against his...your chest! OH GOD.

Your tits were pushing against him. You didn't care, thinking about how you could get away with punching him.

But Choso just got red as a beet, stammering all over the place.

"You're fucking useless." You rolled your eyes, stepping away to go and look for it yourself, leaving the poor choso melting into the cd wrack.

But he came to his senses and quickly ran after you, his chain around his neck and belt clinking as he managed to get in front of you, guiding you to the break room.

Behold.

Your guitar was neatly placed in its case, looking shiny and tuned. Perfect.

But now that you were in a private area with him... you decided to confront the emo boy.

You slowly turned your head, looking over your shoulder up at him. Choso was wide eyed, gnawing on his bottom lip piercing.

"You know i saw you staring. A lot."

He looked caught off guard... and also caught in general.

"Staring?"

"At my tits. You like em?" You grinned.

Listen, having a little pick me up from a shit day was only human.

Having a cute guy sucking on your tit was also very human.

You were leaning against he door, your hands playing with his messy, dark hair, watching as he had pulled your top down just enough to get to the bra, spilling your tits out for him to drool over.

Literally.

You had never seen someone drool so much over getting a taste of your nipples. His hands being clumsy while squeezing your breasts together to get both hardening buds in his mouth, leaning down to bury his face into them.

"This what you wanted, huh?"

"Yesh...mhnnm..yes..." he moaned against the smooth skin there, puppy dog eyes peering up at you, slobbering over your tit.

You weren't some whore... just because a guy got all shy and stared at your boobs didn't mean you'd give him a taste. But this was an exception, okay?

You lightly tugged on his hair to make him squirm a bit... but that resulted in him nipping your skin.

You hissed, pulling him away by his scalp and using your other hand to pull the lowered shirt and bra back up.

A pitiful whine leaving Choso, wet lips pouting.

"I'm sorry mommy- ma'am..i mean...ma'am..!"

"Mommy again? If you're gonna call me that, say it with your chest. You mutt. "

You shoved at him, choso easily falling to his knees in front of you. A pitiful look on his face, bottom lip already quivering.

His hands slid up the backs of your thighs, trying to nuzzle against your legs.

"Yes, mommy..."

"Get off of me, you don't deserve to touch me."

Your leg moved between his thighs, the front of your boot crushing down on his... honestly really big tent. You could see the outline of his needy cock underneath the platform.

He let out a sad little moan, arms hugging your ankle instead.

Choso never looked anywhere but up to your face, tears starting to pearl in his eyes, gnawing at his lip piercing as if he had been scolded for doing something terribly wrong.

You never thought this was how your day would go.

You cooed down at him, pressing down harder... the action being met with Choso sobbing, trembling from the pressure. "I'm sorry... i'm sorry mommy... please let...let me touch you again..."

"You got some sort of mommy kink? That's pretty pathetic. I bet you get hard just by a girl looking at you." You grinned, pressing harder.

Choso, looking far more needy by the degrading words just nodded. "Y..yes... yes i do, mommy..."

You thought for a moment, grinding your boot between his thighs, listening to the small whimpers and short gasps that left his shaky breath.

"Fine."

Choso perked up immediately, hands already sliding up- but you slapped them back down.

"No, bad boy. Let me finish speaking."

You spread your legs, shifting so you were standing right above him. allowing him to get a nice view from underneath the skirt riiiiight to your panties.

He gulped, nails lightly digging into your skin to hold himself in place, sniffling while holding back the floodgates.

"Go on, take them off. With your teeth. Nothing else."

You watched him, the boot still keeping him in place.

Choso leaned up, managing to get his face between your thighs and taking a looonggg sniff, not letting the opportunity go to waste.

You reached a hand down, lightly smacking the side of his face. "Focus."

Focus he did.

You felt his lips find the edge of your soaked cotton panties, using his teeth to start tugging them down, just like you said.

Once they were off, he was back to sniffling, giving you sad, teary puppy dog eyes while rolling his hips up so his poor cock could grind up into the mean heel of your boot.

"Remember... look but can't touch." You teased him, wiggling around a bit to let the skirt flutter.

It was so precious...

Choso desperately humping at your boot, his lips parted while looking righttt where you wanted him to.

The glistening folds, your smell... he wanted to be IN that pretty pussy. But all he could do was rut against a solid platform and drool out from the corner of his mouth from the sight.

You just stood there, applying more pressure now and then to hear him cry some more, pretty tears rolling down his flushed cheeks- hands doing their best to keep holding on to your leg and not reach up for the tempting fruit.

You could see his nose start to scrunch up, movement getting jerkier.

You weren't that cruel.

You let him cum.

In his pants. On the damn break room floor.

You didn't even bother helping him clean up, walking over to your guitar and packing it up in the case, slinging it over your shoulder and casually walking out.

Leaving a blissed looking Choso all alone. You wondered how fast it would take him to realise you had left the soaked pair on the floor beside him.

Unknown: Mommy do you need your guitar fixed again? :)

Yoon's notes: do u like? i feel like i didn't write this as good, kinda rushed :( tell me if its bad For my lovely: @oeilduserpent I HOPE ITS HOW U ENVISIONED IT <333

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all work belongs to @yoonsucks , do not copy, repost, translate or feed into AI !!

[higurumaslvt]

I LOVE HIM SO MUCH😩😩

[aquasprings]

୨୧ choso’s just about as pathetic as a man can get. ୨୧

this realization comes to you after gojo begs you to give his friend a chance.

“please,” gojo says, and you scowl at him. “he’s nice. and i’m pretty sure he has a massive thing for you.”

“me?” you ask, incredulous. “i’ve never talked to him in my life.”

gojo sighs, flopping back onto your couch. “if i ever, like, loosely mention you in conversation, i swear he blushes.”

that’s how you end up in the living room of the frat friday night. loud, warm, the air slightly hazy.

choso right beside you on the couch, barely looking at you at first, all hunched shoulders and quiet glances, dark hair brushing his neck, dermal piercing catching the light every time he nervously shifts.

yeah, you think, he’s cute.

you end up sharing a joint, and that’s when you notice how he freezes every time your fingers brush his, how his breath hitches. it’s not subtle. not even a little. and when you lean a bit closer, knee nudging his, he almost drops it. across the room, gojo and the others are already smirking like they know exactly how this is going to go.

they don’t even try to hide it when they leave. gojo claps choso on the shoulder, says something low that makes his ears turn red, and suddenly it’s just the two of you on that worn-out couch, the music muffled now, the air heavier.

choso apologizes. for his friends, for himself.

you remember thinking how easy it is to get a reaction out of him. how all it takes is a hand on his chest, a soft question, and he’s unraveling right in front of you.

he nods at everything, says yes too quickly like he’s afraid you’ll change your mind if he hesitates. when he slips and said “please,” you know you have him.

“d’you like me, cho?” you murmur with glassy eyes, hand sliding up his collar and pressing against his nape, fingers deftly threading through inky hair.

“g—yes. yes, so much,” he exhales, voice shaking slightly as you pull him closer to you.

“wanna fuck?” you whisper, straddling yourself on his lap and relishing in the small, broken sound he makes when your glossed lips suckle at the junction of his neck.

“here? now?” his eyes bugger wide, hands squeezing your waist as your lips trail up, and up, and up, until you’re sliding your tongue in his mouth, bracketing your lips against his, swallowing his needy little moans.

he pants into your mouth as your hands pull at his hoodie and he shrugs it off wordlessly, cheeks flushed as your eyes trail down the milky expanse of his chest.

“pretty,” you murmur, and he whines, hands frozen at his sides when you slip your shorts off and toss them to the side.

“as much as i wanna feel your mouth on me,” you breathe, pupils blown, “i need to feel you in me. now. yeah?”

“y—yeah,” he shudders, hands fisting the couch beside him nervously as you tug his jeans and boxers down mid-thigh, his cock beading precum as it aches towards his stomach.

“i—ohmygod,” he slurs, whimper being pulled from his throat as you sink down on him in one shot. “please—”

“haven’t even done anything,” you say, hands locking onto his shoulders as you lift your hips slowly before dropping them back down, the motion making choso buck up desperately and moan into your neck.

“m not gonna last,” he whines pathetically, and you sneer, telling him to be good for you or you’ll stop.

you think it’s 30 seconds before he’s cumming, head falling back against the couch with a strangled sound.

he whimpers when you ask him which direction his bedroom’s in.

[higurumaslvt]

ATTHESAMEDAMNTIME😩😩😩

[sixxels-deactivated20260420-dea]

asshole!sukuna and his soft spot for shy!girlfriend!reader ༊*·˚ (18+)

asshole!sukuna doesn’t fuck with a lot of people. i mean, when you’re a 6’5, 90 kg guy with bold tattoos littering your entire body, you’re not really trying to attract sociable people. still, the borderline loner had a few exceptions, his frat brothers, a select few professors, and you. 

you were the main exception. 

asshole!sukuna met you one day at a fundraising event his frat was hosting, a dollar for a slap. girls would line up in front of a long table and choose a guy to hit, then pay a small donation that went towards the rspca. you and your friends were keen to donate, put some of the guys who’d fucked with their feelings in their place, or however they’d phrased it. you were mostly there for the experience, not too in tune with the whole frat fuckboy lore your friends loved to gossip about. 

when you arrived, you started to feel really bad. all these guys’ cheeks were raw and red, and despite their cocky smiles, it just couldn’t be all that fun. when it came to your turn, you had to choose a guy, and your eyes drifted to asshole!sukuna. he was the biggest there, had only a slightly red cheek, and looked like he could take a hit. 

asshole!sukuna forced a smile when he saw you walk up to him, your head lowered as you shyly handed over a fiver. he accepted with a, “thanks, sweetheart. go ahead.” he leaned down to your level, bracing for impact, but all he felt was a light pat on his stinging cheek. 

“the fuck?” 

“oh, i’m sorry! i tried to go soft, i—” 

“you call that a slap? what, think i can’t handle it?” he scoffs. “slap me again, hun, harder. don’t waste your money.” he leans down again, looking you in the eye to challenge you. 

but again, all that comes is a light tap. 

“oh, for god— it’s a dollar for a slap, not a dollar for a fuckin’ cheek massage.” he huffs, looking over your expression with an irritated scowl, only to catch that hesitant little frown on your face. 

asshole!sukuna can’t help but crack a smile. he’d had about ten girls come and slap the fuck outta him today. they were all old flings desperate to get their get-back, but that was hardly the point. you were this new thing entirely, a soft thing that seemed sweet regardless of if he was notorious for being a cunt or not. 

“what’s y’ name, sweetheart?” 

asshole!sukuna decided he wanted to see you again after that. you’d caught his interest, which doesn’t happen often. he asks for your number. your instagram, your snapchat, everything. it was kinda pathetic how eager he was to get to know you, but you handed them all over anyway. your friends warn you after the fact that he’s definitely not good news, but you can’t help but want to see where this goes after only dating squares for most of your life. 

asshole!sukuna takes you on a date the very next day, and you were pleasantly surprised at how chivalrous he was. he pulled out your chair at the small hole-in-the-wall restaurant he took you to, he paid for everything, and even more surprisingly, made you feel comfortable. you talked for hours about everything and anything. 

you learned that asshole!sukuna had a lot of hobbies. he played guitar, drums, did a fair few building sketches in the art room with his friend geto when he had time, and had a real connection to film. all of which were things you found extremely attractive, and he could tell, because the next time you two went out he took you to his dorm and showed you his musical endeavors. 

“you’re like... super talented, it’s really attractive.” you smile gently, sitting at the foot of his bed, watching as he finishes up a love song he’d been learning for you. 

“yeah, y’ think so? gonna come to all my gigs when i’m a famous musician?” 

“will i get a backstage pass?” 

“oh, absolutely.” 

asshole!sukuna had officially swooned you after about five dates. he'd mustered up the courage to ask you to be his at that same restaurant he’d taken you to on that first date, and the rest was history. you and sukuna, the couple everyone of his mates envied due to how perfectly you two fit together. 

“how the hell did a guy like you bag a girl like her. yr' gonna destroy the poor thing.” geto teased while they were smoking up one night. 

asshole!sukuna could only reply with, “god, don’t you just hate jealous, hating ass motherfuckers?” 

asshole!sukuna loved to not so subtly brag about you to literally anyone he talked to. (which wasn’t many, but still.) 

“eugh, you’re buying lunch? my girlfriend made me food today, fucking loser.” he’d laugh at the dining hall when gojo and geto sat next to him with a greasy burger and fries. they just gave each other a look, smiled, and rolled their eyes. 

“hm? nah, can’t tonight. me and my girl are getting hot pot. have fun drinking your problems, tho.” he’d turn toji down, turning his nose up at the idea of bar hopping like he wasn’t the most frequent man along the strip a few months back. 

“a two man? i’m not bringing my girl around your little one and done situation, don’t ask me that shit again.” he’d laugh in jogo’s face, hating the idea of his precious baby being around a sleaze bag like him. 

asshole!sukuna always puts you first. his frat’s planning something big, another fundraising night where they really care about attendance, and he’s meant to be there early to help set up. but out of the blue, you’ll send him a text just to say that you've had a slightly shitty day, and boom, he’s suddenly nowhere to be found. his phone’s off, car’s out of the driveway, and he’s at your door with your favorite food and that pissed look, how dare the world have the nerve to bother you. 

asshole!sukuna likes to keep you very close to him when you’re out and about, with either an arm at your waist or his fingers intertwined with yours, he’s most comfortable when you’re right there where he can see you. that way, if anything were to happen, you’d be there for him to protect.

asshole!sukuna lets you get away with absolutely everything. 

“ryo, can i draw on you? like, draw on your back while we watch a show or something?” 

“sure, baby.” 

“ryooo, can i braid your hair?” 

“of course, love.” 

“hey, ryomen? could you drive me to my friend’s house? she lives on the other side of town, though.. it’s okay if you don’t want—” 

“no, no. let’s go, sweetness.” 

“ryo, you smell.” 

“shower with me then, baby.” 

with anyone else, asshole!sukuna would have either yelled or broken their jaw for even thinking they could ask him such questions. but with you? the princess gets what the princess wants or whatever the saying he made up in his head was.

asshole!sukuna fucking hates when people talk over you. it’s a common occurrence due to your soft-spoken nature, you’ll be in the middle of saying something, and someone’ll cut in with whatever thing they think is funnier or more worth listening to. sukuna never lets it slide. “she was talking, dickhead.” he’d scoff, shutting them up and earning a shy, thankful smile from you, as you continued with what you were saying, far more important than whatever that clown had to yap on about anyways. (in sukuna’s mind, at least.) 

asshole!sukuna spends a shit ton of money on you. you almost always go against the idea, but he just can’t help it... when he sees your eyes light up when you see something you like at the mall, he physically can’t resist. he’ll bookmark the product, then order it online to come to your apartment the next day. 

“ryo... why do i have another package?” you whine over the phone, earning nothing but a chuckle from the other end. 

“could tell you wanted it, so just enjoy it, sweet thing. you deserve all the fruits of my labour.” 

“you don’t work? isn’t it your parents’ mon—” 

“semantics. just enjoy, baby.” and he hangs up the phone, grabbing his keys to drive to your place and see how you like the new gift. he thinks it was a new dress? couldn’t be sure, it was hard keeping up with the millions of notifications from the post office. 

asshole!sukuna remembers everything about his girl and makes sure you’re always getting exactly what you want. if he’s out getting dinner before driving to your place, he’ll stop at five different places if that meant getting your order perfectly correct. local maccas has a broken ice cream machine? he’s driving to the next location to try his luck there. one place doesn’t have the kind of noodles you like? he’s making his way to the closest chinese place to see if they do. he is the embodiment of “if he wanted to, he would,” and it’s all worth it seeing your face light up when he holds up the paper bag with a smile. 

“your favourite.” 

“oh my god? this is the place out of the city? how did you—” 

“don’t worry about it, angel.” 

and that was another thing, ashole!sukuna  didn’t let you worry about anything. your place felt too messy? he was over there turning on mlp equestria girls and helping you clean. you wanted a home cooked meal? he’s at the store buying the ingredients. you needed help with an assignment? he’s pushed back his own work to sit down and help you smash them out. 

asshole!sukuna is so overly territorial when it comes to functions. he doesn’t know, there’s just something about people drunk and horny all around you that ticks him off. he’ll always have you either sat next to or on his lap at frat parties. you stick to him regardless, but he has to make it obvious to all the fuckwits blatantly staring at you that you are indeed, his. 

if they don’t get the hint the first time and are still gawking after his mild pda, asshole!sukuna would up the ante. he’ll take you off to some hallway or, if the guys are being particularly sleazy, he’ll kiss you right there. his lips trailling up and down your neck while he stares them dead in the eye, challenging them to look away. 

“ryo... people are looking!” you whisper nervously. 

“let them, sweetheart. you’re too pretty not to stare at.” he grins against your neck, sucking and biting at your soft skin. 

by that point, they always look off. whether that be due to his death glare or the realisation that you’re not going anywhere anytime soon was beside the point. 

asshole!sukuna gets embarrassingly hard at the smallest little things with you. you’ll just be sitting on the couch together and you’ll start scratching his back or head, boom, hard. when you’re sitting next to him in the library and you’re biting your pen, boom, hard. even when you’re just laying in bed, tired from the day, he’ll lay next to you and just sigh. 

“how the fuck do you just look like that. you make it so hard to keep my shit to myself.” he groans as his arms snake around your waist. 

“jeez, i can feel that thing poking into my back... what did i do now?” you smile sleepily. 

“i wish i knew. seems like one look at you and i pop a boner.” he admits, a little embarrassed. 

“can i help you out?” 

asshole!sukuna loved how willing you were to service him, but preferred it the opposite way round. sukuna would spend hours between your pretty thighs if he could, sloppily kissing and sucking at your cunt with dazed eyes, loving nothing more than the pretty moans and groans he could pull from your throat. 

“fuck yeah, y’ like that, baby? you like my tongue, hm?” he’d tease with his mouth full, pumping two fingers in and out of your soaked pussy as he dragged you closer and closer to your orgasm. 

asshole!sukuna knew how wet his filthy words could get you, and he abused that knowledge each and every time he needed you prepped and ready for him. 

“y’ think you can take me, baby, yeah? think you can take this fat cock?” he’d taunt, slapping the thick head against your cunt as your slick coated the pink, glossy skin. “fuckkkk, pretty pussy’s beggin’ t’ get drilled.” 

“what’s that? you need me? well, isn’t that fuckin’ cute. beg a little more and maybe i’ll give you what you want.” 

“be a good girl n’ say please and it’s all yours, angel.” 

asshole!sukuna was massive, but you always took him so well. “you can do it, baby. i know you can.” he’d coo in your ear, lining up the monster of a thing. 

“one, two, fuckkk.” 

asshole!sukuna saw stars every time he’d push in, letting go of a long, pornographic moan as he began to thrust slowly in and out of your tight entrance. the look on your face as your eyes rolled back in pleasure made coming in less than a minute extremely hard, but the intense need to make you finish first overrode any sort of selfish desire to fill you up to the brim in the first few minutes. 

asshole!sukuna loved missionary the most because he could see your pretty face. he enjoyed a bunch of freaked-out positions, but nothing could beat watching your pupils dilate and your lips quiver the second you finally came, his name on your tongue as you let go of the tension building in your tummy. 

“y’ gonna come, baby? y’ gonna come on this cock?” he’d grunt, slamming his member deeper and deeper the louder your cries got, faster and faster until— “fuck, ryo! m’ cumming!” you’d stutter, your insides spasming on his cock, drawing out his own orgasm with one final pound, filling you up with hot ropes of his seed. 

asshole!sukuna was the king of aftercare. words that were filthy before, now soft and caring. 

“you okay, baby? did i go too hard on ya?” he’d ask through tired pants, standing to grab the wet wipes in the side drawer to wash your messy parts off. 

“you want me to order something? anything you want, love. i’ll get you anything and everything.” 

“c’mon, sweetheart. drink some water.” 

asshole!sukuna never made you feel small after intimacy, in fact, sometimes you enjoyed the aftermath more than the mindblowing sex. 

“m’ okay, ryo. just wanna cuddle.” you’d admit shyly, reaching for him to come back to bed. 

his eyes would soften and he’d plop down next to you, pulling you into his lap. “anything for you, angel.” 

sure, sukuna was an asshole, but he couldn't even dream of mistreating you, his biggest exception.

“love you, baby.” 

“love you too, ryo.” 

a/n: i wrote this semi off my face so excuse any bad word or structural choices 💘

© 2026 sixxels. All work belongs to @sixxels Do NOT repost, modify, translate to another language, or plagiarise in any way on ANY platform.

[tonycries]

Guys My Age

Synopsis. (!) Two assignments overdue: your law professor and your history professor. Objective: After teasing them all semester, Professor Higuruma Hiromi and Professor Nanami Kento…snap.  Time: At the same time.

Pairing. Nanami Kento x Reader x Higuruma Hiromi

Content. MDNI, fem!reader, history professor!Nanami, law professor!Higuruma, college AU, you’re such a TEASE, driving them wiId, they’re overworked, they’re older, tutoring, STERN Nanami, fíngering, rings, p sIapping, p talking, chokíng, rídin’ Higuruma’s nose, oraI (m + ‌f), pússydrunk Higuruma, manhandIing, dragging, running from it, bíting, BOTH, fuII neIsons, bIindfolds, guessing, DP, SAME TIME, spítting, DÚMBlFICATlON, cervíx smoochin’, big stretches, they’re FÉRAL, creampíes, cúmpIay, slight cúmfIation, surprise at the end, pet names, swéaring.

Word count. 13.2k

A/N. You babygirls said you wanted more law professor!Higuruma so…I said why not have BOTH?!

He had you next hour.

Professor Nanami Kento - head of the History Department, PhD with Distinction - had you in his next class.

And he wasn’t even half as prepared as he should be: the coffee-maker in the staff room had broken down. 

Goodness knows how many times the blond-haired man has haunted that very station. Slouched over, sighing, sipping on his seventh coffee of the day. 

And although he could blame it all on the higher-ups and their stingy funding, or perhaps the frat boys of Delta Jujutsu Pi that’ve made it a challenge to sneak inside—he blames you. He wouldn’t even have latched onto such a respite had it not been for the way you made his blood pressure rise…in all sorts of ways.

Nanami’s eyes glaze over, and his hand absent-mindedly drifts between his legs. Perhaps if he got his pent-up energy out first…

“Kento.” A knock at his cubicle. And Nanami jolts his hand away as though it burned- 

It was Professor Higuruma Hiromi.

The head of the Law Department. Also PhD with Distinction. The man with dark circles and even darker suits, all prim and poised as he waded through the hallways with his stacks of documents—of course, Nanami was one for suits, as well. 

They really brought out his broad shoulders- at least, that’s what you told him.

Another reason why he needs the coffee.

Fuck. 

Nanami attempts to even out his breathing as he looks up. “Hiromi.”

If Higuruma thought anything of Nanami’s startled reaction, he makes no indication. Instead he holds up a slim file in his hand, “Are you free? Could you help me with looking over this essay?”

“Of course.” 

They were the only two in the staff room right now, besides- anything to take his mind off of you.

Nanami adjusts the gold-rimmed glasses on his face before he takes the file from him. Flipping it open to find a jumble of justice and law jargon that his history-inclined brain balks at—“I never thought you’d want a history professor’s opinion on an essay about…” He squints at the title, “-the scope of judicial power and judicial review. Does this have any names of 14th century shoguns that you need me to check?”

“No- no.” Higuruma runs a hand down his face, though Nanami gets the impression that it wasn’t for him. Rather it was for whatever ravaged at the man inside- making him look up at the ceiling with a hollow sigh—“Man, I need some coffee today.”

“Understandable.” Nanami pushes his glasses up.

“The machine’s broken, right?”

“Right.”

Higuruma only lets out another sigh that Nanami relates to well.

“If it helps, Dean Yaga said it’d be fixed by tomorrow.” Nanami attempts- he never was the type of sociable guy some of the other professors were. But he gets the feeling that Higuruma was the same.

He runs a hand down his face one last time- “That’s too late, I have tutoring this evening with…” And how Nanami Kento related to that, as well. Before he seems to shake himself out of it- somewhat. “It’s alright, could you just check the grammatical and citation stuff for me?”

“Of course.” As Higuruma leans against the partition and waits, the other professor skims through the writing. It wasn’t half bad, to be quite honest, and had it been for his own class then he would’ve given it an A—none too many mistakes except for the odd careless error. At least it was human-made. 

After a while of silence, Nanami’s partway through the conclusion when he asks. “Did you happen to get tired of looking through so many essays?”

“No, it’s just…” The dark-haired man sighs once more- for about the twelfth time since he came in. “-this student, you know?”

Nanami nods—he did know. “Trouble student?”

“Not quite.” He almost gulps.

Nanami narrows his eyes. “Doesn’t attend?”

“No, she attends every class.”

“Then what?” He leans back in his chair, essay forgotten now. “The legacy kid? The credit-chaser? The class clown that isn’t actually funny?”

Higuruma cuts through them all with a fierce shake of his head. “No, no, and no—” Almost gulping. “It’s just that this student is a little…distracting.”

The tips of his ears were red.

Instantly, Higuruma looks like he regrets it.

“F-forget I said anything-”

He does.

But Nanami looks squarely at the other man.

“I have a student like that, too.”

The law professor looks at him in wary interest. “Oh?”

“My star student, actually.” Pushing his glasses up, he opens up one of his cabinets and pulls out a thick, paper-stuffed file. And though Nanami Kento does collect his students’ work for the semester to review, he never does keep them quite so close - none other than yours.

Higuruma looks through them with slightly widened eyes. “All hers?”

Nanami nods, “So diligent that it’s almost distracting.”

Higuruma pulls out an empty chair beside Nanami and sits. Legs spread. Dark eyes thoughtful. “Mine, too.” He starts—“Never have I had a student ask for so many hours of extra tutoring.”

“Mine’s basically set up a tent in my office.” Nanami chuckles- though he can’t deny the slight pang it sends down to his cock. “Always taking on more assignments for extra credit, always answering questions first-”

“Always first in class and last to leave?”

“Exactly.” Nanami agrees. And he leans a hand on his desk as he watches the other man go through those papers - they were some of his most prized possessions, he feared to admit. Words from your heart. Swooping slashes of ink from your hands.

It was a part of you in those papers that Nanami Kento held dear to him- fuck, it was a part of you that sometimes he’d bring up to his greedy nose and sniff. Almost as if he could feel your skin through these very parchments.

It made him so fuckin’ hard.

But Higuruma didn’t need to know that.

Though the careful manner in which he handled those papers - how he leaned in just a little to drown in the ink - made him wonder…

“Always wearing the skimpiest skirt to class?”

And the other man looks up in shock- as though conveying something in his silence. Oh.

He flips the file over to look at the name typed-out on the cover, and it reads—yours. Ultimately, he continues—“A-always sittin’ in the front row with her legs spread just a bit?”

Nanami nods. “Always leaning over the desk when she has to speak in private.”

There’s a slight hardening within Higuruma’s eyes - though not of any unpleasant kind - it’s almost as if something deep and carnal was stirring awake right now. “Always wearing the prettiest black lace underneath?”

“She wears baby pink for me.” Nanami can’t help but smile.

“Fuck.” Higuruma runs a hand down his face again- and if Nanami didn’t know any better then he would’ve sworn that the other professor looked even more weary than when he first came in here. “And her panties-”

“Matching set.” Nanami responds without missing a beat - and he knows he’s some ol’ pervert for this. 

He knows he is. 

But he also knows about the smile that’d spread across your face the moment you’d realized he’d seen. “Bent over too low when picking her pen up one class.”

“Fucking—fuck.” Higuruma sounds agonized.

Nanami leans back in his chair, making it bounce a little bit. With a slightly breathless sigh leaving him, and his cock hardening even more in his pants–he’s forced to manspread under the table a little more. “She’s a needy lil’ thing, isn’t she?”

“That’s putting it lightly.” Higuruma’s lips quirk up into a sensual smile - as if he was reminiscing on the memories. “Wanting to fuck her professors? Seriously?”

“Believe she’s thought of both of us at the same time?”

“Don’t even say that-” The law professor looks around, even though there was no one else here. Looking back at the man with somewhat pleading eyes, “I have tutoring with her this evening. If I can’t even fucking grade her essay without getting a hard-on then what d’you think will happen if I’m thinking of that—?”

“Oh…” Nanami hums to himself, hands lacing in front of him. The coffee-machine really was broken. “-maybe that won’t be an issue.”

Higuruma glances at him with furrowed brows, “How so?”

“What time is your tutoring with her?”

“You mean…”

The blond man shrugs coyly- “I’m not implying anything…but which one of us two do you think is her favorite?”

“And people think you’re the gentleman of us two.” Higuruma grumbles but ultimately spits out the time. It seems you’d opted for tuition classes with your law professor in the after-hours—when the offices were snug, and the department was empty. And he feels his cock perk up at the fact- how many times has he raced back home to plunge into a cold bath after your tuition classes? How many times has his shower heard your name whispered? “I’m most definitely the favorite, by the way-”

So lost in his thought, Nanami nearly doesn’t catch the sentence. He looks over at Higuruma. “Does she call you ‘sir’, too?”

“She does.”

“Well, then we’ll find out, won’t we?”

.

.

.

The two hottest professors on campus.

Higuruma Hiromi (38) with his sleek-cut suits, his polished shoes, and those sleepy eyes that seemed to stare into the depths of your soul. The depths of your body - exposed underneath him. He was a stern teacher, not afraid to make you do an assignment over and over and over again…(and you gladly would). Higuruma’s justice classes made you…wet you had to admit, hearing him bark out simulations of court cases. Orders. Commands. 

You could practically hear a sigh echo out across the room every time he acted out his attorney days. 

Every time he banged his gavel down made your knees weak.

It was no wonder that students in the law department tittered n’ scattered any time the ruggedly handsome professor walked past. 

On the other hand was your history professor. 

Nanami Kento (31) with his beefier build, his strong arms, his gentle eyes—twinkling down kindly upon you every time he corrected a mistake. Which - you have to confess - you’ve made a few more times than you really had to, just to feel his molten gaze upon you again and again. He often caused your heart (and something else entirely) to flutter at the deep musicality of his voice, managing to make even the most boring of history passages something interesting. Something that swept the class up easily.

Nanami was reputed around campus for being a complete gentleman - never looking down upon someone, never letting them walk in after him, never letting them pay him a compliment without receiving a sweet one back. 

The dream husband.

The stern and the nice.

Both of them- frat guys hated them.

It hadn’t been intentional to join both their classes- honest! 

But after seeing them on your first day, how could you not commit to maintaining a spotless attendance? You had a sneaking suspicion that the rest of the class behaved in the same manner for much the same reason - though none took it quite as far as you.

The skirts. The extra credit. The bending.

Speaking honestly, you were a teacher’s pet. Through and through.

And the tightness in their pants whenever you left a class told you- they were the best professors. To you, that is.

Which is why you’d been a little less than happy when Professor Higuruma had told you that someone might be joining your weekly tutoring. 

Invigilated tutoring? 

What the hell was invigilated tutoring?!

You admit that you’d been forced to hold back a groan of disappointment. Picking such late hours had been a conscious decision—right up there with those tight pencil skirts that you knew your law professor loved but would never admit to.

Professor Nanami was more the type to like free, flirty pleats that barely reached your thigh - and you loved the way his eyes would follow them behind those glasses of his. Even though he pretended they didn’t.

And right now you were wearing a mix of both.

Tight on top, flared at the bottom

Seated opposite his desk - thighs shut, skirt pulled down as low as it would go - more concentrated than you’d ever been during one of these tutoring sessions. It’s been about half an hour since the start of today’s tuition. Higuruma’s office was a cosy space, decked out in the most expensive-looking mahogany banisters, and shelves, and a witness box in the far corner.

It gleamed at the light—down knowingly at you, almost as if waiting for you to make a move.

But how could you? If there was a potential visitor, then you didn’t want to risk Higuruma’s job- as much as you loved teasing your two hot professors, it wouldn’t do to get them fired!

So you kept your hands and your skirts to yourself.

And even Higuruma himself had his eyes raised, possibly wondering why you hadn’t leaned over his desk or lingered a touch at his shoulder for help.

But oh, how you wanted to…

The professor looks down at his watch, “He’s late.”

You’re glancing at the closed door, “Maybe the invigilator isn’t coming?”

“Oh, he will.” Higuruma crosses his arms and leans back in his chair. “Trust me, he won’t miss this.”

A shiver runs down your spine.

You wondered what made him so sure.

And yet, you edge closer over the desk to him anyways.

It’s about forty-five minutes into your tutoring session when the door you’ve been sneaking glimpses of this entire time- clicks! And a looming figure walks into the room, his figure nearly taking up the whole frame.

Your jaw drops as you realize—

It’s Professor Nanami.

“Ah- Kento.” Higuruma beckons him over warmly- and you’re nearly suffering from whiplash from watching the two interact. These two are close?! Professor Nanami had been completely normal during your last class, if just a little more distracted than usual - and what was this? “We’ve been waiting.”

He looks at you as he says this.

“I had to penalize a student for missing a few assignments.” Nanami says smoothly, before bringing up a chair beside you and taking his seat. His movements were fluid and precise - as if he wasn’t questioning for a single moment why you were here so late, why you were dressed like that for him, and why you were so damn close.

You’d been staring into his handsome face for so long that he clears his throat. “Continue.”

“S-sir?” You’re chirping- and in your peripheral vision, Higuruma shuffles in his chair.

“Continue.” Nanami repeats in a stern tone. You don’t think you’ve ever heard him sound like that—“Just as you are. I would like to take notes for teaching my own classes.”

“You heard what he said.” Higuruma nods- and now you’re looking his way to see the most knowing smile on his face. “Continue, angel.”

Your thighs squeeze at the pet name.

Nanami quirks a blond brow and notes something down.

And so you’re ducking back into your work—

“Your blouse button is undone.” 

Slightly gasping, you’re reaching down to fix it-

“No, don’t button it.” He interrupts you with his low tone, gravelly with something you can’t pinpoint. You’re looking up at Nanami to find his gaze unwavering from you already- “I was merely noting it. Nothing to fix.”

“But-”

“You unbutton it for my class, too, don’t you?” He asks, and you’re unsure what to say-

“Answer when your teacher speaks to you.” Higuruma’s humming tone echoes—and from the sound of it, he was thoroughly enjoying this. He cocks his head down at you, “Or haven’t they taught you that yet?”

“Th-they have.” You’re squirming in your seat, a slight heat simmering in your stomach. You turn to Nanami, “And I do.”

“Hm.” With nothing more said- he writes something else down in his notes.

And you think you’re in the clear.

For now.

It’s barely a few sentences later on your work that Nanami speaks up again-

“Your feet are touching his.”

You pull away-

“You’ve been writing the same sentence over and over.”

Your hand pauses-

“Your thighs are parted more so than before.”

Immediately, you’re smacking them back shut again- you hadn’t even realized. And how the hell had Nanami even seen?

And you could practically hear the smug smile in his voice - so unlike everything you know of him - as he continues. “And your bra is peeking out.”

“Never seen one before?” You mutter underneath your breath, just about to fix your collar (that you’d very purposefully left open)—

Before Nanami’s voice cuts through again. “Never seen one of yours in black before, is what.” Even as you’re looking at him in slight sensual shock- he doesn’t look up from his papers. “What happened to the baby pink you show-off in my class?”

And Higuruma merely leans back and smiles. “Black is my favorite color, remember?”

“How could I forget?” The history professor answers.

“Though I myself am curious about this baby pink of yours…”

And you have nothing else to do but gape- they knew. 

Oh, how they both knew by now.

And by the looks in their eyes, they’d been dying for this very moment.

To confront how you’d been toying n’ teasing them all semester through now- enough so that they’ve apparently begun trading secrets about their unruly star student. You knew that Higuruma tended to have his ears grow hot and red any time he bumped into you in the hallway, and that Nanami would loosen his tie as if undressing whenever you wore a particularly scandalous thing to class - but you hadn’t known they’d been pushed…to this extent.

And you were glad for it.

So you sigh—slouching back in your chair. “So you both know. What now then? Do I get written up or something?”

But Nanami only looks at you through his glasses. “Sit up straight.”

He’s never uttered a command like that in his entire life during your usual lectures. And when you don’t move - merely looking at the blond man with raised brows - Higuruma pipes up. “You best listen to him now, angel.”

“Oh please.” Fluttering your lashes at them both. “And what’re you gonna do about it?”

Higuruma looks at Nanami.

Nanami calmly puts his notes down on the other’s table, and looks at you.

“Why-” He pushes his glasses up his handsome nosebridge. “-teach you a lesson, of course.”

“Both of you?” You could feel the elated giggles bubbling up in your throat- and you could feel the space between your legs start to grow wetter already. Looking between both of them—“Do it then.”

And then it’s a blur - you don’t know where Higuruma’s lips end and yours begin. He’s reached over the surface of his desk to kiss you like a starved man- and he groooans into that very kiss like you were the sweetest thing he’s ever tasted. Hand on your cheek. 

The tips of his canines start nibblin’ on your lower lip- and you’re kissing him back even deeper. “Shit-” Higuruma’s husky tone scorches across your face, “Shit, I’ve been wanting to do this for so fucking long.”

“Mmm, you kiss like husband material.” You’re giggling into the kiss. Both of your hands end up on his shoulders, and you could feel the shifting of his muscles through his slim suit. 

“Shit- and you talk like trouble.” He echoes out in an almost pained tone- like every second that his lips were away from yours ached. 

And those plump, pursed lips press against yours once more—so much sweeter than you would have expected this booming lawyer to kiss. He’s using the hand on your cheek to tilt down your chin- “May I?” Before the short nod you give lets him slither his tongue in wetly, lappin’ at your sweetest taste. “Shit, you’re really like sugar on my tongue.”

And you’re whining into the fervent kiss, letting it go on for a few more minutes before you’re breaking away with the most lecherous plop! And a thoroughly flushed professor chasing after your lips drunkenly-

“And what about you…” You’re kissing down Higuruma’s sharp jawline, looking at the other man who’d been sitting quietly this entire time. “-sir? Haven’t you wanted to kiss me even once this semester?”

Nanami shivers but he hides it well. Uncrossing his legs and revealing the most rock-hard, aching bulge between his legs—“Kiss? Perhaps.”

And you’re gulping at the sight.

Higuruma scoffs out a slight burst of laughter. “Perhaps.”

“But I’m a gentleman, my love.” Nanami continues, leaning back in that luxurious armchair. He takes off his coat to reveal a pale blue button-up, and beneath that was revealed the most chiselled body you’ve ever seen. He pushes his sleeves up to his elbows and beckons towards you. Manspread. Lap so welcoming. “Which means I’ve thought of far, far worse.”

Higuruma - with a final sloppy kiss plastered across your mouth - lets you walk over to Nanami.

Which you do on wobbly legs- plopping down unceremoniously on his lap. More than enough space there for you. He wastes no time bending you into shape in his strong arms, flipping you around to face the other man, and spreading your legs wiiiiiiide open-

Riiiiiip—!

“Whoops.” Nanami’s thoroughly unapologetic tone gruffs against the shell of your ear. Two of his vein-covered forearms were hooked underneath your elbows, and Nanami looks on boredly at the clean split down your skirt—“I always thought you’d look better without these anyway.”

Before he’s spreading your legs even further across his lap. Tearing it even more.

Exposing you for nothing but your tremblin’ legs and those drenched panties. Pretty black in color. 

So lacy that it was practically nothing.

Higuruma’s eyes widen, “Dirty girl.”

Nanami breathes, “No, that’s called being a slut.” And shock runs through your body at his words- at Nanami ‘Gentleman’ Kento’s words. Before it’s suddenly overtaken by the sudden feeling of him smearin’ aside your panties and stuffin’ his fingers inside.

Those thick crowns dooooown to the golden ring on his middle finger.

They were long and thick. Swirling and swirling the tip of his digit right ‘round your clit- and when you’re shuddering and unable to take it any longer—he pulls away and licks off that excess slick with a slurp!

Humming to himself as though it was the greatest delicacy in the world. “One thing you should know about me, darling, is that just because I’m gentleman-” And you’d been so caught up in his ragged tone, you didn’t even realize that he’d snaked his hand back down between your legs. “-doesn’t mean that I’m not depraved.”

And he’s ending off the sentence not with a full stop- no, but with a sudden shove of his fingertips between your folds. So swollen n’ sweet with slick.

You buck and he lurches his hand out to slap you on top of your pussylips.

“Down, darling.”

“Please…” You don’t even know what you’re begging for.

But Nanami’s mouth waters already at the sound of it, and he’s keeping it at bay by pushing n’ pulling on the first ring of muscle at your cunt. “I said down.”

Head throwing back against his collarbone. “Oh.”

Fucking you with just the first inches of his fingers- “It doesn’t mean that m’not desperate.” Continuing as though your eyes weren’t bulging, as though your legs weren’t shaking, as though you weren’t arching off of his muscular chest. “It doesn’t mean that m’not ready to debase this pussy like she deserves.”

“Y-you mean—” You’re hiccuping, eyes starting to water at the sheer raw stretch. It was the type that left your pussy burning in the most delicious way - the feeling of having Nanami Kento’s scourin’ fingertips eager to enter your cunt. “-that whole gentleman thing was just a lie?”

“It’s not.” He responds. Final. His blond strands fall over his forehead as he keeps his eyes locked on your glistening hole, scissoring his fingers at that entrance n’ spreading you even wider. “I’m nice…”

Adding in a third finger before you’re even registering his second.

“-to everyone but this slutty pussy, that is.”

“Sh-shit—” Mewling at the top of your lungs, you’re clawing down Nanami’s strong forearms. They were the perfect thing to hold onto- just about the only thing you could hold onto as he utterly ruined your pussy with short, jerking thrusts.

Bulging the sides of your velvety walls open with his globular tips.

Cold metal ring shocking you.

So thick that he manages to probe into a few of your sensitive spots without even trying. Dragging his flexible fingers across every inch of you.

Scissoring and opening up and scissoring—deep.

Tears track down your cheeks at the sheer stimulation.

“Go easy on her, Kento.” Higuruma can’t help but groan at the sight of your pretty crying face. And soon enough, you’re hearing the metallic clinking of a belt buckle- “Don’t want to break our star student, now, do we?”

Nanami purrs against your temple. “Mmm, I don’t mind.”

“Just remember that she’s tutoring with me.”

The sound of Higuruma’s belt hitting the polished wooden floorboards is enough to make your eyes startle open- and oh, how you’re so glad it did.

Because then you’re greeted with the sight before you: of Higuruma Hiromi in utter ecstasy. All because of you.

He’d taken your seat from prior, chair angled perfectly to face the show taking place in front of him. 

Where Nanami had your legs spread aaaaaall the way as far as they would go - until Nanami could hear your joints threatening to pop - and facing the dark-haired man. His dark eyes glinted as they stared down at your glistening hole, swallowing Nanami’s rams easily.

Slurps n’ squelches emanating like music. 

Cunt dripping everywhere over the history teacher’s tight trousers. And the larger that puddle you were forming seemed to grow, the harder Nanami’s hammerin’ pace seemed to become. 

You could barely keep your eyes open long enough to see Higuruma tug down his black pants- that throbbing erection of his making an appearance. He wraps his hands around his thickened base and starts tugging, soft grunts leaving his mouth at the rapid pull-pull-pull of his cock. “Shit, she’s so fucking wet- be a little nicer with that pussy o’ hers, would you?”

“Hmmm…I don’t think she deserves it.” And with that said, Nanami plants yet another sodden spank on top of your cunt. Ring grazing your front- “She hasn’t learned her lesson yet, has she?”

That stinging sensation zaps throughout your entire body and makes you buck. “I-I have—”

Before yet another thwack! of Nanami’s calloused fingertips follow.

Harder, this time.

“I was talking to this pussy, actually.” 

And he doesn’t even wait for the primal sting to pass by before openin’ your cunt up and thrusting his fingers inside again. In and out.

Push after push into your gooey depths.

You’re so sensitive n’ wet by this point that even the slightest movements have you emanating out the loudest sounds. Squelches upon squelches—every time he’s hitting a spot deep inside your hole. “Mhmm…mmmhm.” You could feel Nanami’s head slightly nodding above your own, as if locked deeply in a conversation with your pussy’s sounds. Just one whine of yours and he’s spankin’ on you once more- “Wait your turn, my love. She’s talking t’me.”

And Higuruma- ah, Higuruma has the audacity to snicker at the action. “Now that’s just bullying, Kento.”

“Is it?” He’s slappin’ down on your pussylips once more. Listening for the sound, “She says it isn’t so.”

You’re sending a narrowed glare his way that makes the law professor roll his eyes fondly.

“Oh, alright alright-” And he half-heartedly waves off at his colleague. “Be a little nicer to my dear student, won’t you?”

“Spoiled brat.” Yet another spank. Nanami sinks his canines into the shell of your ear, and he’s tuggin’ and teasing—he’s spreading his legs even further and settling you down. With your back against his rippling chest, he pushes and pushes his greedy fingers inside your pussy. “And why do you think you- hah, deserve that, huh? Haven’t you been fucking torturing us all semester long now?”

Higuruma groans. “Can’t deny that, angel.” His hands fly even faster up and down his cock- ravaged and reddened with need. 

“Mhmmmm.” The blond-haired man agrees, “Haven’t you been wearing those slutty skirts expecting to get fucked in them? Haven’t you- fuck, haven’t you been wearing that damn lingerie hoping we’d take a peak? Aren’t I right?”

He waits for your pussy to answer first- and then you’re answering. “I-I mean-” Attempting to.

“Haven’t you been bendin’ over and shit just because you wanted to show up in our wildest dreams? To consume our thoughts and make our cocks twitch?”

“Well-”

“And we did.” Higuruma pipes up next. He was so needy that he was practically bucking off of his chair, making it creak with movement. Short, jerky thrusts.

“Oh, yes we did.” Nanami continues. He leans down to your ear, as if exposing a secret- “I’d look forward to our classes everyday, my love. I’d have to fuck my fist raw before class- just so I wouldn’t fuck you senseless in front of everyone like how you were begging me to.”

Higuruma moans as he thumbs down the line of his flared tip - that pinkish, slippery line. He twitches as though he’s near to cumming already. “Me- me, too…”

“And you still expect me to be a gentleman?”

You’re restless, opening your mouth to defend yourself and—

Nanami only leans down and spits a glittery wad of spit between your pursed lips. “Don’t talk when the teacher’s talking, darling.” 

And your ears pop with pressure-

He’s hittin’ the plushness of his palm against your pussy with a loud smack! Smearing the curves n’ divots of his fingers dooooooown and up your walls, down and up.

His crown fingertips reach for your deepest innards- and you swear you can feel him stroking your very cervix. Runnin’ his frigid ring across your walls.

Drawing a few lines and marking his placement right back there, before he tunnels his digits at a frenzied pace - fingers almost nothing but a pale blur between your legs. His speed is so feverish that it leaves your sheen tricklin’ all down your thighs.

Trickling and trickling and—

And then you feel Nanami hook his fingers against your g-spot.

The pleasure shoots up your body like a lightning strike, “O-oh my god—right there, Kento.”

“Kento? Who’s Kento?” Nanami doesn’t even falter his fingering to answer, cooing in that tone that you’d almost mistake for something sweet. “I think you meant sir-”

“S—fuck.”

“Say it.” He huffs against the side of your face. Teeth almost out for blood- “Say it. Call me ‘sir’ or you don’t get to cum.”

“I—”

“Say it.” Higuruma, to your surprise, echoes from his seat. Where he had his gaze burning into your spread-open pussy n’ his mouth drooling at the vision of you—“Say it, angel. I need to see that pretty pussy cum.” Hands rubbing faster and faster- 

“She deserves to cum, mhm.” Nanami nods. “But do you, huh?”

“I-I do.” You’re nodding up at your desperate professors. One just barely in your line of vision- but his fingers were working up such a storm. His slightly-tanned arms pinning you down, working your pussy open, hitting that target of your g-spot like a cute button. Again and again—

Blond hair ruffled. Glasses slipping down his sweaty nosebridge.

And then the other one that was just creamin’ his precum down his hands. With his hands on his swollen erection - one of them creating a tunnel for him to fuck his fist, the other flattening over his dribblin’ divot to stop from cumming already. 

Sleepy eyes half-lidded. His pale thighs shivering as they bucked n’ rutted.

And the vision itself is enough to make you cum- but then again it just felt so good on Nanami’s hands, and underneath Higuruma’s gaze. So you can’t help but let your lips wobble open—“P-please let me cum-” Stars bursting behind your vision once Nanami presses down on your clit as well. “-sirs.”

The two older men look at each other.

“Sirs?” Higuruma asks, voice breathless with ecstasy.

“She just begged for both of us.” Nanami grumbles out - though not quite unhappily. It made his cock twitch deep in his pants to have you whimperin’ like this, and he continues. “Alright then, you slutty pussy.”

And it takes only a few more strokes - a few more direct thrashes along your g-spot - for you to hurtle straight into your high.

It’s so strong that you’re seeing white behind your eyelids—and your mouth blabbers out an unintelligible combination of both professors’ names. Toes curling. Sweat beading down your temple.

Nanami holds you down as you’re thrown through wave upon wave of your orgasm, your hips bucking up and down desperately. Riding throughout your bliss- and if that wasn’t already enough, he counts underneath his breath to measure how long it takes between your peaks of euphoria. Before hittin’ away at your g-spot just in time with each one.

The sensations that take you over are just incredible.

And your head falls back limply against Nanami’s shoulder.

Shivering. Almost as if you were in heat- and your pretty pussy gushes out honeyed slick as though to give credit to that statement.

Lavishing Nanami’s open thighs with all your sap—Higuruma eyes the mess and gulps. “Kento, give me a taste of that.”

Nanami scoffs. “In due time.”

“Kento, I need her pussy on my face now.”

Slowly but surely, you’re fluttering your eyes open at the feeling of being shuffled around - only seeing the beautiful, brown eyes of Higuruma Hiromi staring down at you. When did he get so close?

“Hiromi?” You’re blubbering out stupidly, still suffering from the aftershocks of your previous high. Those zapping bursts of electricity made your thighs twitch sensitively- “I mean- sir?”

Higuruma shivers, “You trained her well, Kento.”

“Mhmmm—” Nanami noses down the column of your throat proudly.

“Maybe now it’s time for a reward then, huh?”

You’re perking up. “Yes, please.”

Nanami snickers. “You spoil her.”

And in almost no time, you’re finding yourself handed off to the law professor - Nanami stands up and gets off of the armchair. While Higuruma takes his place- 

At least, that’s what you think is going to happen.

But what ends up happening instead is that Higuruma seats you down on the chair, letting your barely-clothed pussy rub up against the cushion. Something in his eyes gleams at the way you’re squirming, and he speaks to you in a gentle tone. “Can you turn around and hold the headrest f’me, angel? Be a good girl f’me?”

“A-alright?” Confused, you’re just doing what he says. He meant that you had to turn and climb your knees onto the seat, ass turned towards the professors, back slightly arched.

“Mmm, good.” Higuruma admires the view. “Arch that back just a little more f’me now, alright?”

“Like this?” 

And still not sure what he was about to do, you can only follow his commands. It almost feels like a doggy position- and you hold onto the wooden headrest for dear life.

“Mhmmm.”

And Nanami’s the first to mutter to himself, “Don’t tell me you’re…” He takes in the sight of you - with your front resting against the backrest of the chair. You have your spine bent, your ass cheeks displayed for them, your cunt not quite on the seat—“Hiromi, you dirty dog.”

“Couldn’t help myself.” Steadily, Higuruma’s kneeling on the floor. 

There’s no warning before he then shoves his face nose-deep into your cunt- straight from behind. 

Higuruma grabs onto either side of your ass cheeks, his prominent nose curvin’ up the slit of your pussy. He’s using his grip on you to draaaag you further down onto his face—“Mhmmm—spread those legs.”

He’s muttering.

He’s spitting- stern lips pursing and letting out a rivulet of saliva.

It strikes vertically down your cunt before Higuruma’s running his fat tongue over it. Smearing around the mess he’s made- but most importantly, smearing around the mess that you’ve made.

You’re whining as Higuruma’s textured tastebuds seem to take over your pussy. All the way from the plumpness of your folds, and then dipping between them to tease your hole- you’re still so sensitive from the massage that Nanami’s fingers had simmered into you. And you’re trembling your thighs further open, “P-please- fuck-”

“I’m a lawyer so I’m really good with my tongue, y’know?” Higuruma pants out, scorching hot against your needy pussy. “But that means my fees are high, too-”

“A-and what are your fees?” You’re sobbing out.

“Mmmm…” He takes the time to think—and by that, you mean that he rovers his mouth over where your clit was throb-throb-throbbing. The law professor takes his sweet time spreadin’ open your pussylips with his tongue, before letting his tongue flop out n’ draaaaaag down your clit-

And his next words are so lecherously muffled. “Ride my nose raw, sugar.”

You gasp.

In the background, you can hear a gruff bout of laughter that notably doesn’t belong to Higuruma.

You grip onto the headrest of the chair harder than ever- because in a split-second, Higuruma’s thumbin’ your folds open and stuffing your hole all full of his tongue. 

So loooong and slick- curving right against the roof of your pussy. It makes you jolt to feel his honed, flexible tip zig-zagging its way down your channel—mazing and mazing inside that it’s as though his wet muscle was never-ending.

Higuruma Hiromi was damn ravenous.

He feels your knees start to slip away from him- and he claws his fingers deep into the globes of your ass cheeks to pull you back. Uncaring if you’re whining for mercy- “A-aren’t you supposed to be the nice one, sir?”

“Spoiled.” Nanami’s voice echoes from the distance.

“Mmm- keep calling me that, yeah?” Groans wrenching from the back of his throat at the mere sound of that title being said in your pretty voice. How nice it was to make you beg. “And no—”

“No?”

“I am being nice by letting you ride my nose, aren’t I?” His head jerks just a little upwards to look at you- and Higuruma can just barely make out the shock on your face. “I know how much you’ve wanted to ride it-”

“Hiromi-”

“Ever since ya fuckin’ met me, huh?” His rough tone vibrates through every vessel of your body- pushed even further by the constant swabbin’ he was doing inside. Swab after swab. “Ever since ya first saw me- don’t think I didn’t see how you stared at me.”

You’re clawing further up the headrest. “B-but how did you know-”

“Oh, angel…” Higuruma almost chuckles. Something dark and depraved- “If I was wrong then you wouldn’t be so fucking wet- I can barely breathe.”

Both of his roughened palms plaster around your thighs. Draaaagging you bodily - as though you were nothing against him - to glue your pussylips to his own lips.

He makes out with your pussy like a man parched.

“And I don’t need to.”

Your vision blurs with pleasure as Higuruma spreads your folds perfectly apart- and starts rammin’ his tongue into you wildly. Thick and thirsty for the taste of your sweet, sweet juices—any time that even a mere droplet of your sap starts to drip down your thighs- you can best believe that Higuruma was whipping his head down to slurp it up. “Harder.”

“I-I am-”

“Faster.”

“Fuck-”

“Raw, I said raw.”

Practically addicted to it. 

He’s pussydrunk in with just a few sloppy, open-mouthed kisses. And you yourself can feel your pupils start to circle inside the whites of your eyes.

Spreading yourself even further on the chair to meet his utterly ravenous mouth-

“Didn’t forget about me now, did you?”

Nanami Kento sounds the closest he’s been since he had you on his fingers- which could feel like minutes, hours, days ago by now. It takes you significant effort to blink away the clingy film of tears on your eyes, and you’re opening them to find that he was actually…standing right in front of you.

Nanami had rounded the side of the armchair - and if you looked up, there his handsome face was. So now you have your law professor at your behind, and your history professor’s crotch in front of your face. His pants much too tight. 

His cock thick and throbbing underneath there.

Clasping onto the headrest of the chair, if you raised your head juuuuust a little then you’d be able to mouth over the twitching erection he hid underneath there. “K-Kento?”

Nanami looks down at you through his gold-rimmed glasses. Grinning at your teary expression, “Only a few minutes with your nice teacher n’ you’ve already forgotten your manners, my love?” His hand falls to his formal pants, “Guess we have to go back to lesson one.”

“O-oh…”

Nanami had already unbuckled his belt and lets it drop to the floor—clink! Followed right along with the popping of his buttons, it doesn’t take too long before you’re face-to-face with his rock-hard bulge. Achingly hard. Almost painfully hard.

Barely held together by his boxers, he seeps out such volumes of precum that it creates a dark patch on the silken fabric. It glistens just a bit under the dim lighting of the office- something that makes you gulp.

And something that makes Higuruma nudge his tongue even deeper inside of you- shit, you could feel yourself growing more aroused. And he could taste it.

“Did you know she gets sweeter n’ sweeter the wetter she gets?” Higuruma slurs from in-between your legs, latching onto your clit with a loud squelch! “And you won’t believe it…but right now she tastes like the tastiest strawberry candy- heh.”

“Is that so?” Nanami’s nose crinkles as he looks down at you. He’s admiring that drunken expression on your face for a little bit, before reaching his right hand down and clasping at the back of your head. “Filthy girl.” 

You shiver. “C-can’t help it-”

“Ah ah—not another word out of you.” The blond-haired man continues. His grip tightens- “I expect you not to speak when your professor is speaking-”

Cocking his head just a little, Nanami takes a glance at the famished way that Higuruma was kissin’ between your legs. Gasping. Gulping.

He had his mouth gaped wide open and was dragging it across every inch of your pussy that he could reach- sticking that long tongue of his between your pussylips. You’re almost sandwiching his tastebuds for a bit before he manages to flicker his tastebuds inside again—then in and out, in and out, in and out.

Faster than before.

Reeling back out to slap! your pussy with the flat surface of his tongue.

Then probin’ back in again.

Higuruma’s just being so loud-

“-and when this pussy is speaking.” The rest of the history professor’s sentence makes you gasp - brain so muddled that you’d almost forgotten what he was saying. Almost forgotten that he has a firm grip on your sweaty scalp—one that he’d now turned into two hands upon your sweaty scalp.

Tugging your head forwards as if you were nothing but a ragdoll to smush your face against his boiling hot erection. 

Your jaw falls open and soon enough, you’re salivating all over his clothed cock. 

Tongue lavishing across the cotton of his boxers- feeling every ridge n’ vein along his shaft. 

He groans at the feeling of your heated mouth, and his fingers dig into your scalp even deeper. Tugging. Needing. One set of your fingers reach upwards to fumble its hem, and you take Nanami’s round, reddened tip into his mouth.

Moaning at the large size of him.

Moaning at the salty taste that floods your mouth-

“Hey now…” Higuruma’s choked-up tone echoes from behind. You’re feeling his tender fingers start to pull your hips back onto his face, “-don’t steal my star student away.”

“Have you forgotten that she’s my star student, too?”

“Her pussy’s on my mouth right now- so who’s in charge?”

“Well, let’s ask how she feels about it…” Nanami’s voice trails off—and only too late are you realizing that he isn’t talking about your pussy this time. He’s talking about you- waiting for your answer.

And you’re attempting to muffle out something, letting the globular edge of his cock swirl around your mouth a few times. Around and around. Just the crown of his mushroom tip prods into your every orifice inside- you’re opening your mouth to answer when Nanami jerks his hips forwards.

Fucking his cock deeeeep into your maw.

And with it, whatever words were in your throat, too. 

“I dunno about that-” Nanami hums down at the chokes n’ strangled gasps you’re letting out, just the barest noises of whatever was able to filter past his swollen shaft. “-but it sounded like a ‘you, sir’ to me.”

“Didn’t know you were that depraved.” Higuruma spits out. Dark eyes narrowed as he’s grinding you back to him n’ lapping away at your oversensitive pussylips.

“I’m a gentleman, what can I say?” The other professor responds.

As the slurps n’ sucking continues, Nanami looks at you through half-lidded eyes. He admires the way your mouth leaves a glittering glaze of spit from the tip of his cock and doooown to about halfway down his shaft—so cute how you couldn’t fit it all. “And as Head of your pussy-” Fuck, when did he even assign himself that? Is he pussydrunk already? “-I say you can’t cum until you’re fitting my cock aaaaaall the way…”

The history professor’s left hand lifts off of your scalp. Then dragging down the front of your throat - down, down, down. 

“-here.”

He points to a spot way past the back of your throat.

He fucks your mouth like he’s agonized every second he isn’t reaching for it.

Higuruma growls.

And thereafter it’s almost like a tug-of-war - on one end you’re being hauled forwards by Nanami’s grip on the back of your head. His hands strong and unwavering, no matter much you’re gasping for air- fuck, the ever-gentlemanly Nanami Kento was gone for the feeling of your mouth tightening around his hot cock.

Rutting those toned hips up into your velvety cavern like an animal-

“Just a little more.” That left hand of his wraps around your throat now, his thumb markin’ at the spots where he can feel his rounded tip probing inside. “Just a liiiiittle more now- about four inches? Heh.”

“Mmm—” Your eyes go wide in surprise.

And Nanami responds by pushing his hips even further, nearing the tip of your nose to those curls of blond at his base. “C’mon, c’mon.”

And on the other end, Higuruma had his nails digging into the flesh of your thighs. Into the flesh of your ass. His tongue fishing around your insides before he pulls out and starts nibblin’ on your damn clit—

He’s thirsty. Depraved.

“Noooo, angel.” He’s gluing his chin to the front of your pussylips. Head moving back and forth, back and forth, back and forth as the law professor lashes his tongue across. “Come back to me-”

“Mmm—” You’re being pulled off of Nanami Kento’s reddened, dribblin’ cock with a plop! Just from the sheer pressure of Higuruma manhandling your body from the other side - dragging you all down his handsome face. “Fuh-fuck-!”

“Where’d you think you’re going?” Only for Nanami to barely let you breathe for a split-second before he’s pulling your mouth down his shaft again.

Shovelling a gooooood few inches of his vein-covered cock inside- he marks that spot out on your throat. Even deeper than the last time you had him- “Mmm, not bad. Just a few inches- mmm, more.”

“Ride my nose.” Higuruma begs from the other end. Breath breezing down your gooey core, it makes your thighs shiver- “Ride my nose, I don’t care. Ride my nose, ride my nose—” 

And you’re just so overstimulated from all ends.

From the draaagging of Nanami’s thumb down the front of your neck, from the sensual touch of Higuruma’s nose being sandwiched between your pussylips, from the pleasure of them both playing with your body. It’s as if you’re their favorite toy to taste, to fuck - to worship because of the way they were being driven to absolute madness by those carnal sensations. 

You can only jolt your body back and forth.

Down Nanami’s cock. Up Higuruma’s ready face.

Riding his nose just like you wanted- “S-so—” Somehow barely managing to gurgle out past the pulsating tip of his cock, “So close-”

“Close?” Higuruma perks up. “Fuh-fuck- I have you, angel.”

“Remember- no cumming until you take it here.” Nanami presses his thumb somewhere near where your voicebox was bulging with the intrusion of his inches. “You’re not there yet, darling…”

“But-”

“Please let her cum.” But to your surprise, it’s your law professor who is pleading your face. 

Nanami raises a blond brow, “Oh?”

“Let her-” He slurps away on your swollen nub- sensitive and throbbing. He’s hollowing his cheeks out to get that suctioning sensation, already making your knees feel weak with pleasure. “Need her to- fuck, want her to cum on my tongue. Let her cum already.”

Nanami thrusts even deeper, “Hmm…I dunno.”

“I’m the one asking you.” Higuruma grumbles. “Let her cum-”

“Mmmpf- please.” And your brows furrow as the pit of bliss in your stomach grows stronger.

“Let her-” The law professor continues, “I’m begging you- fuck, she’s becoming so sweet. Let her cum-”

Pale brows furrowing. Sweat lines down his temple- “I don’t…just fit-” And he’s scrapin’ his bulbous tip down the roof of your cunt—all the way along to the back of your throat and targeting even further. “If she takes it until-”

Higuruma’s nose helping your grinds and bounces. “Just let her cum-”

“If she takes it-”

“Fucking let her-”

“G-gonna—” It’s the last thing you’re managing to get out before a sudden slam! of Nanami’s hips shut you up- and before you know it, you’re feeling the carnal scratch of his pubic hair. The feeling of his tawny curls at your skin, the intrusion of his throbbing shaft all the way down your throat.

And his thumb tapping where he’d marked a treasure spot - a spot he was supposed to meet. Nanami doesn’t have to say a single thing for Higuruma to bite his sharp canines down on your clit.

And before you know it, you’re bursting into your nth high of the night. 

Not just your second, but your third, perhaps even your fourth.

Stars burst behind your eyelids, and your moans are nothing but soft crackles at the back of your throat. Higuruma draaaaags you all throughout those waves of bliss, elongating them with the thorough lavishing of his tongue. 

Probin’ into every sweet spot.

Inside and out.

He digs his fingers into your thighs, now accomplishing his dream of having you ride his nose. Because you’re being made to arch your back n’ bounce your hips lecherously up and across.

Hittin’ those best angles- the peaks of your high absolutely burst through you. 

And Nanami? Your history professor was enjoying the view - cocking his head to the side and smiling as you shatter on Higuruma’s face. He watches about half your orgasm bate, before starting to fuck his swollen cock back in and out of you. Thrusting. 

“Now now—” Nanami murmurs. “You should be thankful my rubric’s so generous this time.”

You can only look up at him with your teary eyes.

That sight is enough for him to bite down on his lower lip n’ stop himself from cumming. No, he had something more important in his mind…

“Thirty seconds to finish up.” He says meanly. “Before I either drag your pussy off of his face or you have to drag yourself off, m’kay?”

“Tch- stingy.” Higuruma keeps lappin’ at you even after your high has passed. 

And once that thirty seconds of more bliss have passed - just like Nanami said - he grips both hands ‘round the back of your scalp and wrenches you off of his cock. Off of Higuruma’s mouth. He’s bending down to spit straight between your lips—

“Now, I’m gonna be nice this one time because you took all of me. Understood?” The history professor states, so firm. “Nod if you understand, my love.”

You nod.

“Good.” He then kisses your lips- tasting you, tasting himself. “Now…do you want it from the back or face-to-face? Because m’fucking you filthy either way.”

“From- from the back.” You pant out.

And Nanami gives a single, stern nod before he lets you go. “Brace yourself.”

You’re collapsing back into the chair—sitting your ass down on it this time. Before the law professor suddenly has you in his arms - he supports you in getting off of the armchair and standing up. Now in the middle of his office, you’re stumbling onto your wobbly feet.

Your arms loop around Higuruma’s neck. “Hiromi…”

“Mmm, I love it when you call me that.” Higuruma kisses you.

“How unruly.” Both of you snap your heads at the sound of buttons popping- only to find that Nanami was taking off his button-up. And you were right- fuck, you were so right. He was so thoroughly chiselled underneath, almost Herculean in nature.

With the most naturally defined ridges n’ curves of his muscles—his firm pectorals, his washboard abs, his meaty thighs that make an appearance.

Nanami sheds of all his clothes before he stares down the two of you- “Addressing your professor by name? Clearly going against objectives to get ready? Making me jealous? What an undisciplined class, no need to be standing around.” He looks at you, “I’ll be fucking you until you can’t stand, anyway.”

A shiver runs down your spine—“Oh.”

“Now, darling.”

Higuruma lets you waddle away to Nanami- who merely swivels you around and bends you over the edge of his colleague’s desk. Papers and ink flying everywhere across the office as he does.

Folding you forwards until your head hits the table. Kneeing your legs apart.

It’s hitting you like a truck - your history professor is about to fuck you against your law professor’s desk.

“Stay still.” He gravels in your ear.

Nanami’s barely letting you take a breath before rubbin’ his bulbous tip down your dripping wet slit from behind. Hand gripping his thick hilt—up and down. Up and down. Up and down. Getting his inches coated in a glaze of your sap, Nanami hums at the feeling of you attempting to contract around him.

“This naughty girl’s reeeeal needy for me, huh?” Scorching breath heating up your skin, he kisses down your arched spine. “She says she can take all of me- can you?”

“Y-yes—” You’re sobbing into the polished mahogany. Bucking your hips up, “I want it, sir.”

You’re jolting as his puckered, pinkish tip smooches at your wet entrance- he’s just so thick that he can plug your hole up easily. Nanami’s tip throbs against your hole, and he reaches a right hand down to feel your pretty stomach - to feel where he’s going to be hittin’ with his hungry cock. 

He breathes out airily—“You want it?”

“Yes-”

“Say please.”

“Please-”

“Hmmm?”

“Please, sir.”

Nanami lurches his hips back, back, backwards- “As you wish then, teacher’s pet.”

And then you’re being stuffed with an inch or two of him.

And by stuffed—you were seriously stuffed. 

Thick and thorough. Almost too big to even fit in - Nanami fills out the orifice of your cunt without even trying. His ruby-red tip just manages to squeeze between your pussylips, before the first ring of muscle at your entrance makes him falter.

And he’s gritting his teeth at the sheer tightness, voice coming out as nothing but a hiss. “Fuck- didn’t you say that you can take it?” He’s pressing his left hand down at the base of your spine, leaning his weight in to keep you still. “Come back, my love- class isn’t over yet.”

You hadn’t even realized you’d been clawing at the desk until now. “S-sir—”

Just that is enough to make Nanami’s ravaged tip twitch inside of you- spurting out a few more dollops of pre. “Yes, darling?”

“I d-don’t—” Fuck- you swear you could feel him grow even harder inside of you at the sight of your teary expression. Staring at your history professor over your shoulder, “I don’t know if it even can fit.”

“Awww, my poor baby.” And you should know better than to let Nanami Kento hush your cries, you should know better than to let him lull you. 

But you can’t help but get pulled into his big, strong arms anyway.

“My poor, poor baby.” And from one corner of the room, you could hear Higuruma’s distant laugh. Although you don’t have the time to wonder what it means, because Nanami’s continuing- “None of those boys ever taught you how to take a real cock, hm?” 

And you can only nod. 

“None of those boys have ever fucked you right, hm?”

Nodding once more.

“Don’t you worry, darling. If you can’t take this one…”

He presses a chaste peck against your hairline. Letting his soft breath waft over the crown of your head, and his chest ripple with his words, soft. 

“-m’gonna make it fit.”

And that’s the last thing you’re hearing before Nanami’s rammin’ his swollen, aching cock into you like an animal- his furious cockhead burrowing in deep. 

He manages to shovel just a few more inches inside, before the snugness of your channel acts up once more. Leaving him barely even able to reel his hips backwards—just that much of a tight fit that’s making his eyes roll to the back of his skull.

He shakes.

His groan cracks at the back of his throat. “O-oh.” Both of Nanami’s hands fly to the sides of your hips, and his fingers fucking shake where he holds you. “Oh, yeah.”

“Shit-” You’re flinching at the scalding sensation of his breath. Gusting.

And even that mere shiver- Nanami catches onto it. And it’s only making him clasp your body even tighter, pulling you into him—“You’re really not getting away until we make it fit, my love. Good luck.”

No matter how much his ravenous hips are rutting n’ bucking and trying oh-so-desperately to hammer even more of his inches inside- he can only fuck you in short, needy half-thrusts. The rest of him left to throb wildly behind you, he keeps on stretching and stretching your insides just to fit inside.

Each one of his bucks so desperate. So greedy.

The pointed tip of Nanami’s cockhead prods away at your innards as though he’s trying to claim every single ounce of space inside you- 

“Have you forgotten that this is a joint class, Kento?”

Higuruma’s voice is enough to send pulses of adrenaline flowing through your body - and you’re just managing to look around Nanami’s toned frame. The law professor stands behind the two of you with his arms crossed, clothes mostly on except for his trousers being tugged down.

He held his blushin’ cock in one hand, pumping furiously at the sight of his star student. 

Nanami himself sighs—though he doesn’t stop his sloppy scouring of your innards for a single second. He looks straight at the other man as he asks- “Oh yes…would you like her now or after me, Hiromi?”

“Now.” Higuruma narrows his heady eyes at the two of you. And the blond-haired man slightly growls at his answer, seemingly grappling with the thought of leaving your pretty pussy right about now- “But don’t pull out.”

You feel like you’re experiencing whiplash. “What?”

Nanami only raises a sharp brow.

And Higuruma himself can’t help but crack a sleazy smirk-

Before you know it, he’s rounding the two of you. Coat off. White button-up flapping open.

He tugs on the smooth, black tie that was hanging haphazardly from his neck- and gestures something indiscernible at the other man.

Though, clearly both professors understood.

Because one second you’re slouched on top of Higuruma’s desk, droolin’ stupidly over some important documents as Nanami Kento pounds you into oblivion - and in the next second, he’s lifting you off of it.

Cleanly off the desk.

One hand wrapped around your waist, the other putting you in a headlock.

He pulls you up as though you’re nothing- and you’re ogling the way his biceps bulge around your throat. Feeling the cushy firmness of his strength—“W-what are you-”

“D’you know what a standing full nelson is?” Higuruma asks. And for a second you think he’s asking you - maybe this was some strange sort of quiz - but then Nanami nods.

“Thought that only happens in fiction? Don’t tell me you’re a secret freak, Hiromi?” He scoffs, though he pulls out either way. 

“And look who’s talking…” Then Higuruma looks at you and taps his shoulders. “Hold on, angel, he’s going to lift you.”

“Shit…” 

As expected, you’re holding onto Higuruma’s broad shoulders for leverage- whilst Nanami bends and loops his hands around your legs. His strong forearms where your knees were. 

Scooping you up into his arms.

Holding them up.

Holding you up.

Hoverin’ well over six feet in the air.

Yelping, you’re digging your nails into the law professor’s shoulders - but if it hurt, then he doesn’t’ react to the pain. Honestly, you don’t even think he could feel it right now—because Higuruma was holding out his tie.

Measuring it against your face-

Tying it around your face like a blindfold.

He knots it at the back of your head, and suddenly the room is curtained in nothing but pure black. You could only hear the gruffness of both men’s chuckles, and Higuruma asking. “Everything alright, angel?”

“Of course, it is.” Nanami mutters- almost to himself. Though he does stretch your legs a little wider, presumably to show to the other man—“Look how fucking drenched she is.”

“Good girl.”

“Naughty, you mean.”

“I must beg to differ.”

And you’re arching against Nanami’s toned front, the plushness of his abs digging against your back. It was the most sensual massage you’ve felt in your entire life- “Please- ngh, what’s with the blindfold?”

“Oh, that…” Higuruma starts. “Guess.”

“What?”

“Guess.”

Brains wracking- “You aren’t going to leave me hanging, are you?”

“No.”

“Is this a roleplay?”

“No.”

“A kink thing?”

“Well…”

“A BDSM thing?”

“Guess.”

You’re feeling helplessness wash over you—“B-but, I already did-”

“No, my love.” Nanami’s the one to speak up this time. He leans down so that he’s pressing an innocent kiss to the edge of your hairline, “We’re going to make this slutty pussy guess which one of us she’s being fucked by.”

Your jaw drops.

And your cunt grows even wetter.

An occasion that the two professors are watching with awe-

Higuruma in particular finds himself breathing out—“And your time starts…now.”

And then you’re hearing the shuffling of his trousers- right before a sudden proddin’ intrusion starts up at your entrance. It was hot and throbbing—so needy that your teeth are set on edge by the sheer volume of precum that he was emptying out.

You’re feeling his thick tip start to eeeease in- squeezing in past the tightness of your channel for a bit before pulling back and fucking you ruthlessly in semi-thrusts.

“H-Hiromi?” You guess. Surely, with him being the one that was removing his trousers it must be…

“Wrong.” Nanami grins.

And then you’re feeling his cock give you a few vicious pumps before he’s pulling away - leaving you all empty and yearning for more. Your glistening hole clenches a few times around nothing, before a sudden globular tip starts kissin’ your entrance once more.

You’re bucking back in Nanami’s arms in an attempt to figure out just who it might be- but the history professor holds onto you firmly. Not a single inch.

Not a single inch less.

Whoever was fucking you takes no more time before swabbin’ his swollen erection inside once more- biting back a groooan at the feeling of your tightening walls.

It’s the same short, jerky thrusts from before just to fit in. 

“Sir?” You’re gasping out. But surely, it can’t be twice in a row…“No wait- is it Hiromi this time?”

The cadence of his hips stops abruptly. “Can’t get enough of the law, can you?”

Nanami.

And you don’t know whether it’s the fact that you’re just feeling your brain melt at the sheer stimulation between your legs, you don’t know whether it’s the fact that both handsome men had you sandwiched between their muscular bodies—it was just driving you wild. Making you stupid.

A line of drool slicks down the side of your mouth, and Nanami doesn’t hesitate before leaning in and lickin’ it off. “I should punish you for this.”

“I-I—oh, fuck.” Whatever words were on the tip of your tongue get swallowed up by the feeling of yet another round, ruddied cockhead pushing inwards. Pulsing. Prying apart your walls. And you’re noticing that this one is slightly slimmer than the last, more pointed, more honed, more of its curvaceous tip that tilts to the left.

It makes you shiver at the feeling of his bawling divot dragging across your walls so perfectly. “Is this- sir-”

“Try again, angel.”

It was a struggle to piece your thoughts together, and Higuruma’s voice is the only thing that makes you realize-

“Hiromi.”

“Mhmmm—” Before you know it, the other man has one hand dipping between your jittery legs. His fingers easily locate your clit to tug n’ pry like the cutest gummy - how sweet. And he’s timing it to the constant probes of his looooong, smooth cock. “Good girl. A++ for that.”

“You’re quite the generous grader.” Nanami scoffs. “I would have given that a B.”

“What can I say? I do have a soft spot for her…” Higuruma’s cock was slightly lengthier than Nanami’s, you’re noticing - though not quite as thick. And with less veins that didn’t massage your inner orifices as much, but made it soooo much easier for him to slip even deeper.

Especially with this position, he manages to probe his cockhead further past where Nanami’s thicker one was able to fit.

Reaching almost for your throat with his blushing, frenzied tip- Higuruma gives a final roll over your clit before he’s pulling out. Letting a few ribbons of sap gush down your legs after him-

Ones that are being fucked right back up with a second length.

Thicker. Harder.

Throbbing so much that you swear you can count them all the way at the top of your head- Nanami’s shaft was next. And he’s lavishing your entrance with so much attention—draaaaagging his vein-decorated shaft in and out. In and out. In and out.

“S-so?” He rasps out from behind. Higuruma’s cockhead had mazed open your insides just a bit more, and Nanami struggles not to let his voice tremble. “Which one of us, darling?”

“Y-you—”

That earns you a bite on the shell of your ear. “No.”

Before he’s pulling back out.

And your breath catches- “Wait- I meant sir. It’s you, sir—”

“Too late for that now.”

“Awww, come now.” Higuruma coos as well. “How are we supposed to make an example out of our star student if she just keeps makin’ mistakes?”

“I think she’s gettin’ lazy now, huh?” The other man responds. And now both of their ruddied cockheads were droolin’ all over your entrance- mixing with the sweetened syrup that was already dripping out of you and creating such a mess. “Maybe she doesn’t deserve our cocks at all?”

“Don’t say that—” You could feel your law professor’s eyes turn to you. “You deserve it- hah, don’t you, angel?”

Shivering at the feeling of both cocks sandwiching between your pussylips. Now that they’d both pulled out- it’s as if they were fighting over who can be next. Rubbin’ and teasing. “I do—” Your voice cracks on that last note, “P-please, I do-”

“I’m still not convinced.”

Higuruma continues, “Promise us you’ll be a good girl? That you’ll listen to what your professors have to say?”

“I will I will-”

“Promise us that no more of that teasin’ stuff in class?” His prominent nose slides down the column of your throat, breathing in your essence. “None of that bending over?”

“Yes—” But you could already hear the question in your throat - and it seems that they could, too.

And it makes Nanami gruffs out. “Because - forgive us - but you do realize that it’s not just us seeing your little…display, darling?” He spreads open your legs even wider, and Higuruma’s ministrations grow even more frenzied on your clit. Squeezing. Pinching. Flicking.

And you’re restless- “Wh-what do you mean?”

“I mean to say that there are others more…undeserving that see those legs of yours, those panties, those tits.” There’s a sharp edge to his words—“Those boys in class can’t take their eyes off of you.”

“We can’t either, of course.” Higuruma responds. Squeezing his cock inside- “But at least that little performance of yours is meant for us, right?”

“Don’t like the way they look at you.” Nanami’s also squeezing his cock inside now - both of them bullying your hole at once. Creating a stretch that makes your vision go white- so much carnal stimulation that your entire body wracks with shakes. “Don’t like the way they turn to look. Don’t like the way they have to mysteriously…disappear into the bathrooms any time you do your little show.”

“Given…we do the same.” The law professor continues—“Because fuck- how fuckin’ pretty you look all dressed up in silk. Makes it hard not to cream my pants everytime I see you- but none of those boys have the balls to back that admiration up.”

Giving you a thorough slam—both of them.

Higuruma’s the one to continue, “But we do.”

“Because I rub my cock raw to you, my love.” Nanami ends off, holding you close to him. “N’ none of those boys could ever fuck you like we do.”

“Yes, p-please—” And you’re pushed between both of their sculptured fronts. Unable to see them- but you could feel the ridges and curves of their muscles, the way they were both leaning in as though they couldn’t get enough of you. “I only want…ngh.”

One of your arms wrap around Higuruma’s neck, and the other reaches behind you to attempt to clasp onto Nanami’s.

“Just want the two of you…”

“Hmmm…” Nanami’s cock twitches at your gooey entrance- “A+”

And then they’re alternating between fucking you—

“Hiromi.” You’re gasping at the intrusion of his smoothened tip, the velvety texture of him reaching for so many spots inside you but most importantly- that g-spot. 

And then he’s pulling back out.

“Sir- fuck, Professor Kento.” Nanami swabs his thickened tip inside and hits that precise spot. Although he decides to take it a few steps further this time and dig his rounded tip into the very back of your pussy, bottoming-out. “Shit shit shit—”

Thrust after thrust.

Pulling out. Shovelling back in.

Making you guess just which one of your two older professors were takin’ over your pussy right now- it made your head dizzy just trying to keep track. Bounced up and down in their arms.

“Hiromi.”

“Professor Kento.”

“Hiromi.”

“Hiromi.”

“Professor Kento.”

“Hiromi.”

“Professor Kento.”

“Professor Kento.”

“Hiromi—” Before your voice shatters at the feeling of…two thickened lengths attempting to fit inside. Fighting against the resistance for a few sloppy strokes before they’re siiiiiiiiiiiinking in- “And Professor K-Kento, sir…” The feeling of their large, slick-glazed cocks were just incredible - rubbin’ against your walls and one another. Like nothing earlier.

It was a stretch like you’ve never felt before, hittin’ spots that you didn’t even know you had.

And both professors held onto your shaking body tight- they shovelled their lengths in and out of you. Two blushin’ cockheads heading for your g-spot, before their slide-slide-sliiiiiding all the way down to end up at your cervix.

Stretching apart your walls.

Making your channel bulge.

Letting the curves of their mushroomy tips drag apart your walls, n’ press into the sweetest spots of your nerves. Both of their heavy ballsacks smack-smack the front of your cunt right on time with their thrusts. Thrust after thrust.

Again and again.

Nanami grunts at the sensation of Higuruma deep inside you, “F-fuck…”

“You can say that again.” Higuruma himself replies. 

By now, the jostlin’ about had meant that your blindfold was falling off- and you could see the two men upon either side of you. Shovelling their hot cocks deep inside your pussy, positively ravaging you.

The law professor’s fingers weren’t letting up on your clit just yet, either. 

He quirks his digits just a bit to draw a little heart upon it—and soon enough you find yourself throwing your head back with a moan. “G-gonna-”

“Shhhh—” Nanami grins. His ears keenly listen to the noises from between your legs - they were just so much louder now that you had two thickened shafts ramming into you. “This pussy says she’s gonna cum soon, darling.”

“Y-you little-” 

A harsh hammerin’ on your spongy cervix. “Pardon, my love?”

“Nothing—oh.” Even their thrusting styles were different - Nanami Kento with his thorough, solid slashes as though he was trying to reach your womb every single time. And Higuruma Hiromi with slightly slower, smoother glides of his cock - soothing through the nooks n’ crannies that Nanami had activated first.

It was the perfect combination.

Naughty and nice.

Though not exactly in the way you’d initially thought.

And perhaps this manner was what was making you so desperate to cum again- “Please-” Gasping. “Let me cum—”

You’re looking between a grinning Nanami and Higuruma. Dazedly.

“Please may I-” Choking out in-between the moans and droplets of saliva that were gushing out of you- falling onto Higuruma’s puffed-out chest. “-cum, sirs?”

Both of their rock-hard cocks twitch deep inside of you.

And you’re briefly seeing a silent conversation pass between them-

“Go ahead, angel.”

“Cum all over my cock, darling.”

And it might have been minutes, it might have been seconds, it might have been split-seconds later once you’re crashing into your high. The waves of white-hot pleasure taking over you until it felt like your body was burning up. 

Feverish.

You’re crying out as you attempt to bounce your lewd hips back into both their shovelling shafts- but they’ve already got you. They’re holding onto your perspired body - so limp now with pleasure - and lettin’ their pointed cockheads hit each and every nerve bundle inside.

Pinpointing your g-spot with their lengths.

Targeting it especially through peak after peak.

After peak.

Your cunt trickles with honeyed slick- and it slips between your three bodies to drench Higuruma and Nanami’s cocks. Their thighs. Their bodies. 

Making it even louder to thrust into your cunt—you’re forced to raise your voice just a little just so that they can hear. “Sh-shit…” Until eventually you’re feeling so raw on their relentless cocks that you’re unsure whether you want them to elongate those waves of bliss or whether you want to fucking run away—“It feels so- oh, it feels…”

“And what do we say?” Nanami’s deep baritone croons out. He doesn’t slow down for a single second as he speaks- even though he himself was feeling a little sensitive by this point.

He hits his full ballsack against the front of your cunt and hisses- “Can I have it all inside…” You’re looking between them with wide, heart-shaped pupils. “-sirs?”

And you should’ve known what that would do.

You should’ve known how much that would break them.

Because with only a few final thrusts, both Higuruma and Nanami cum inside you with loud slurps! of your greedy cunt. Gobblin’ up all those white ropes of seed that they were emptying out - sheer volumes that they’d been holding onto for hours, days, this entire semester.

Nanami furrows his golden brows and presses his face into the crook of your neck. Groaning as he fucks you through his orgasm, “A-and here I was just expecting a thank you…”

“Our girl always was the sweetest.” Higuruma coos. 

Your history professor rides through his high with his teeth grit, jaw working overtime to keep his noises to a minimum - he wanted to hear your soft gasps and groans even more. Though his body shakes as it keeps on thrummin’ with pleasure. 

Visceral.

Meanwhile, your law professor let out such husky grunts after each splat! of cum that he emptied out against your womb. He couldn’t even handle fucking you properly anymore and his hips kept on stutterin’ through his waves. 

Cheeks flushed. Gaze locked on you. 

He didn’t want to tear it away.

Both of them are cumming so much that you nearly can’t tell who’s who - with their dollops of heated, syrupy sap. Each divot bawling them out messily—you can feel them stick against the end of your pussy, right where your cervix was, before being stirred about by the motions of their cylindrical shafts. 

Their prominent veins massagin’ your sweetest spots. Their globular cockheads pumping every single droplet inside you.

Every single droplet.

Not a single bead of that ivory cum escapes—but they’re both still looking at each other with the same idea.

And you’re seeing yet another silent conversation pass between them that you miss. “Oh?”

In almost no time, Higuruma and Nanami have you splayed out on the polished desk - back against its flat surface, legs held high in the air. This time, however, both their faces were between your pussylips and attempting to beat the other—

They were lappin’ their dual tongues over your leaking cunt like they were starved.

Nanami’s hand pressing down on your stomach to make a few more droplets spray out of your hole- Higuruma’s hand flicking over your clit still.

You lean back on your elbows and watch them.

And what a sight it was: both their handsome faces between your legs.

They nudge their noses against the creamy layers on top of your cunt, and swivel the mess around like mad. You could see through your tears the exact moment - the exact moment - that their pinkish tongues meet in the middle.

Where Higuruma’s tastebuds overlap with Nanami’s as they’re suckling on your clit- and they both flinch at the sensation before moaning—

And that’s before the door clicks.

“Oi, why are the lights still on? Don’t you know that campus has closed a long time ag-”

You pause.

Nanami pauses.

Higuruma pauses.

And so does Professor Shiu Kong - Head of the Mathematics Department, also PhD with Distinction. 

His jaw drops as his eyes drift over from the mess of clothes on the floor, to the mess that’d been made of you. Bite marks all over your throat. The blindfold still around your neck. And even more - you could see the way his hands tighten on his files as his gaze probes deeper, taking in your leaking, lecherous cunt.

No one moves.

Except for Shiu, who steps inside.

Your heart was in your throat.

Getting ready for a berating of some kind- or potentially even worse. Perhaps a suspension, perhaps Nanami and Higuruma would be fired at once-

“So…” Shiu’s husky voice interrupts your thoughts. “-got room for mathematics?”

A/N. Heheheheh ofc we got room for youuuuuuuuu Shiu <33

Plagiarism not authorized.

[higurumaslvt]

ILOVEMYMEN😩🤍🤍

[sukuhands]

{You unknowingly share aphrodisiac chocolates with your best friend Choso}

Bestfriend!Choso x f!Reader (veryy needy choso

MDNI (18+): Public, over clothes, pinv, oral (giving receiving), rough, biting, scratching, whiny Choso for the win, all with consent, aphrodisiacs, multiple orgasms, unprotected, searching relief.

*not proof read*

—————————————————————————

It really was an innocent gesture, you didn’t know aphrodisiac chocolates were a things.

If you did, never in a thousand years would you have shared them with your best friend.

"These look amazing," he'd said when you handed them over, that shy smile spreading across his face. His dark hair was still damp from the shower. "You didn't have to—"

"It's your birthday, Cho. Of course I did!" You'd grinned at him, opening the box. "My friend swears by these edibles, thought they might make the movie experience a little better."

And they would alright.

That was forty-five minutes ago.

Now his living room was set up for movie night, the new release you'd both been dying to see queued up on the TV. Four of his frat brothers and one of their girlfriends were sprawled across the couches and on floor waiting for the movie to start. Someone had made popcorn, the lights were dimmed, just the perfect setting

And something was clearly wrong with Choso.

You noticed it gradually. The way he kept shifting his weight on the couch next to you, tugging at his jeans. The way his face was flushed despite the cool temperature. The way he kept gravitating closer to you, his thigh pressing against yours, finding excuses to touch your arm or your shoulder.

"You okay?" you whispered when his hand brushed your knee for the third time in the last 2 minutes.

"Yeah, I just—" He ran a hand over his face. "Man, those edibles aren't working right."

"What do you mean?"

"It just feels weird." He wouldn't meet your eyes. "Like, it’s really warm. And I can't... I can't focus on anything."

The more he explained the more you realized you were also feeling the same, your own skin felt too hot, too sensitive, and the movie wasn’t pulling you in anymore. You've been trying to ignore it, the way your pulse was racing, the way every tiny touch from Choso sent sparks through you, he’s your best friend, he’s touched you before so why the reaction?

"Maybe you took too many?" Your voice came out breathier than you would’ve liked.

"Maybe." He shifted again, and you caught the way his hand drifted down his abdomen toward his crotch before he stopped himself. He was struggling. "I'm gonna go get some water."

But he didn't move. Just sat there, so close you could feel the heat radiating off him, his eyes slowly drifted to your hand that was laying on your lap, his own hand slowly crawling towards it but only to trace the outline of your fingers, as if they were pulling him into a trance. You pulled back your hand, sending one of those ‘what’s happening?’ looks towards your friend

"Choso—"

"Sorry." He pulled back quickly, looking embarrassed and genuinely surprised by his own doing. "Sorry, I-I don't know what that was."

He quickly got up and nearly fell over trying to get to the kitchen, a few seconds later he came back with that same flush on his face.

When he sat back down, he was even closer than before. His thigh pressed firmly against yours, his shoulder touching yours. You could feel him trembling.

All you could focus on was Choso next to you, your head was yelling at him to touch you, and you cussed yourself out for that because why would you think that??

Heat pooled low in your stomach everytime there was a ghost of a touch. Your own breathing getting shallow, an aching need building with every passing minute.

When his hand settled on your thigh finally, you actually had to bite back a whimper. His fingers flexed against you, and even through your jeans the touch felt like it was about to burn through.

That’s when it hit you, what the hell kind of chocolate did you guys eat?

You quickly pulled out your phone, typing the name of the brand.

*Aphrodisiac Truffles - Premium Blend. Recommended dose: 1/2 a chocolate per person.*

Oh fuck.

You turned towards Choso, his lip being his victim as he kept biting at it.

"Choso, how many did you eat?" You whispered pointing at the picture of the product on your phone

"Three. Maybe four of them?" He looked panicked now. "Why? What's in them?" He whispered with a snap to his tone.

You showed him your phone and the color drain from his face.

"Oh fuck." His voice came out strangled. "Oh fuck—" He cut himself off, his hand gripping tighter around your thigh. "I'm literally so hard it hurts. I've been hard for like half an hour and it won't go away and I keep thinking about—" He stopped again, looking mortified, trying to stay as quiet as possible to not alert anyone around. "You gave me sex chocolate—"

"Well I’m also a victime here!" You retorted back in a whisper yell, your own panic setting in.

You grabbed the blanket that had been sitting on the arm of the couch, draping it over both your laps as to try and hide the very obvious bulge in his pants to save himself from public shame. To anyone else, it just looked like two friends sitting close, sharing warmth.

Choso thigh pressed hard against yours, his right hand fisting his hair as if trying to keep himself together.

"Just try to relax," you whispered, but your own voice was shaky. That ache between your legs was getting worse, a loud throbbing that made it hard to think straight. "It'll pass—"

"It's not passing." His breathing was ragged. "It's getting worse." He didn’t even look at you anymore.

Around you, the movie continued, people laughing at something on screen and just completely oblivious to the two of you.

After a few minutes of struggle you feel his hand grab at yours under the blanket, and before you could react, he was guiding it between his legs, pressing your palm directly against the front of his jeans without any warning. The way you breathed, the way you bit your lip trying to stay cool this whole time, he was genuinely losing it.

He was rock hard beneath the denim, the outline of his cock heavy under your palm. You could feel the heat of him even through the fabric, could feel him throb as your hand made contact. The touch sent a jolt straight through you making that ache intensify to a heartbeat until you had to press your thighs together.

"Choso—" You glanced around but no one was looking at you two in the corner.

"I know." His voice was strained, barely above a whisper, clearly embarrassed by his sudden bold move. His hips shifted, pressing harder into your touch, and he immediately buried his face in your shoulder to muffle the sound that escaped him. "I-I need something—" He was flush against yours side, right arm draped around the couch behind you.

You felt his breath hot against your neck, felt the way his whole body was trembling with the effort of staying quiet. When you reflexively squeezed around him, a desperate whimper came out of him muffled against your shoulder. You were looking down at him, his flushed face doing something to you, your best friend was hot, but holy shit you’d never noticed it that much before.

"Fuck," he breathed into your neck. "Do that again. Please."

There was something different about him now. The usual shyness was still there, the way his voice shook, but his desperation made him suddenly very bold, giving the lightest thrusts into your palm..

"Please," he whispered against your skin, his hand covered yours under the blanket, pressing down harder. "Please, just—I need something. Anything."

You could feel him getting harder, if that was even possible. Could feel the way his cock strained against his jeans, probably painful at this point. His breathing was getting heavier against your neck, goosebumps never ceasing to exist on your skin as he spread his thighs slightly to give you better access.

"There’s people here," you whispered, but you were already moving your hand, palming him through the denim. Your own body was screaming for touch, for friction, for anything to relieve the desperate ache.

"I don't care." His voice cracked against your shoulder. "I don't—fuck—I don't care. Just keep going."

His hips were moving more confidently, subtle little thrusts up into your hand that he couldn't seem to stop. Under the blanket, hidden from view, he was completely falling apart. His hand stayed over yours, guiding the pressure, showing you what he needed. Every movement made him whimper softly into your shoulder, the crook of your neck making sure to muffle all of it.

His other hand that was around your shoulder slide under the blanket, moving to your thigh.

"Can I—" His voice was wrecked already, his head lifting up from your shoulder to look at you with those half lidded, pleading eyes.

"Mhm." You couldn’t speak, you were aching, throbbing, hot, your body screaming for release at this point.

His hand slid between your legs and even through your jeans the pressure made you gasp. He pressed the heel of his palm against you, you but your lip to keep from making any sound. It felt good, entirely too good for what it was—finally some friction where you needed it most.

"Oh fuck," he breathed out, his forehead resting on your temple now, eyes never leaving your face as you were fighting to keep it down, making him twitch in his pants from your expressions alone.

"Don't stop," you whispered frantically. "Please don't stop Cho."

His hand moved, rubbing slow circles against you through the denim, and you had to bury your own face against his shoulder now to muffle your reaction. The pressure was perfect, hitting exactly where you needed it, the combined with the feeling of him throbbing under your palm, twitching whenever you squeezed at his length, it was almost too much.

"Harder," he gasped, his hips thrusting up into your hand. "Please, harder—"

You pressed the heel of your palm against him and dragged up, feeling the rigid length of him. He made a choked sound that he barely managed to suppress, his back arching off slightly from the couch, disguising the sound as a low cough. His hand between your legs pressing harder in response, it sent a jolt through your whole body, almost making you break right then and there.

Someone laughed at something in the movie and you both froze for a second, remembering where you were. But Choso's hand didn't stop moving, rubbing frantic circles that made your thighs tremble. And your hand stayed on his cock, feeling him starting to leak through the fabric.

"Oh god," you breathed into his shoulder as he found the perfect spot, the perfect pressure. Your hips were moving now too, grinding subtly against his hand, chasing the friction.

"You feel so good," he whispered desperately against your neck. "So fucking good—"

His hand moved to the hem of your jeans, popping the button off and skilfully sliding his fingers down, finding the screaming heartbeat between your legs with a shaky breath. You bit down on his shoulder through his shirt to keep from crying out. The ache was building, intensifying, your whole body wound tight and desperate for release.

His fingers tracing slow painful circles of your crying clit, barely putting any pressure which was driving you mad.

"I'm gonna come," he whispered frantically, his hips losing rhythm. "Gonna make me come in my jeans like a fucking teenager—" He let out a low laugh.

"Me too," you gasped against him. His hand between your legs using your pooling juices to slide between your folds but not sliding them in, you were so close, so desperately close—

"I can't—" His voice broke against your shoulder. "I can't do this. I need everyone to leave. Right now."

"Choso—"

He thrust up into your palm again, helpless, while his hand pressed hard between your legs. "I need to fuck you. Right now."

The words sent a shock through you, made that ache intensify until you thought you might die from it. You could feel how wet you were, the way he was touching you was driving you insane, the way ge was breathing, he was driving you insane.

"Okay," you breathed. "Okay, get them out. Please."

It took twenty minutes for everyone to clear out.

Twenty agonizing minutes of Choso standing rigid by the door, barely responding to birthday wishes, his eyes tracking you across the room with an intensity that made your skin prickle. You could see him struggling, see the way his hands clenched into fists, the way he shifted his weight trying to find relief through his jeans.

Finally, the last person left.

The door closed and Choso stood there for a moment, his back to you, his shoulders tense. Then he turned around and the look on his face made your breath catch.

Pure need and lust painfully spreading across his features. "Com’ere,"

You didn't hesitate. You crossed the room and he met you halfway, his hands immediately cupping your face as he pulled you into a kiss that was all hunger. His lips were moving hastily against yours, his pierced tongue not letting you win over, and you moaned into him.

Your hands flew to his shirt, fumbling with the hem as he backed you toward his bedroom, never breaking the kiss. He was acting like he was starving, like he needed this more than anything at the moment, and you were right there, matching his intensity, your fingers finally getting his shirt over his head, your fingers finding their way into his hair.

"Fuck," he breathed against your mouth, his hands already working at your own shirt. You stumbled backward together, still locked in the kiss, your shirt coming off somewhere between the hallway and his doorway. His hands were on your bare skin now, roaming across your back, your sides, pulling you closer than you already were.

He kicked the bedroom door shut behind you both, and he pushed you against it, his body pressing into yours. His chest was bare and warm and you couldn't stop touching him—your hands sliding over his shoulders, his back, feeling the muscles tense under your palms.

"Need you right now," he whined as he fumbled with his belt, breaking the kiss just long enough to breathe the words against your neck. "Please—"

"Show me." You start pushing him towards the bed, his body slumping down onto it.

You grabbed the hem of his jeans and boxers together, pulling at them until his glistening cock sprang free, flushed dark and leaking. He was painfully hard, and the sight of him made that ache between your legs go crazy, you couldn't think straight.

"Oh fuck—" His eyes went wide as you climbed over him, his hands sliding up and down your arms.

"Need you in my mouth," you said, and it wasn't a request. You were burning up, desperate, that throbbing need making you aggressive in a way you'd never been before.

You didn't wait for a response, wrapping your hand around the base of his cock, giving him a light squeeze and tug before taking him into your mouth fully. He made a choked sound, his hips jerking up involuntarily.

"Fuck—" His hand flew to your hair but you were already moving, bobbing your head up and down, taking him as deep as you could while still finding space to slide your tongue flat against the underside of his dick. You were moaning around him, the taste of him making you clench around nothing, making that desperate ache worse.

"Oh god," he gasped, his fingers tightening in your hair, head digging into the pillow under him. "Your mouth—fuck—"

You hollowed your cheeks to create a bit more suction, tongue swirling around the sensitive swelling tip whenever you reached up, his hips started thrusting up to meet you. Not gentle, completely frantic and searching for his own release, like he couldn't help himself. You took it, took all of it, relaxing your throat and letting him fuck your mouth while you moaned around him.

"I'm gonna come," he warned, his voice breaking. "I'm—"

You didn't pull off. You pushed yourself down, swallowed around him, watching his abs contracting with every swallow, feeling his release spilling down your throat. You swallowed it all, working him through it, and when you pulled off a string of saliva and cum connected his cock to your lips still, bringing the back of your hand up to wipe it away.

But he was still hard.

"Me too," he growled, and before you could process it he was shoving you back on the bed, yanking your own jeans and underwear down in one rough motion like you had just done to him.

"Cho—" You barely got his name out before his mouth was on you.

"Fuck," You breathed out, his tongue piercing sending a cool wave through your heated core, the vibration of his own moans at the taste of you making you gasp. "m’so fucking good—"

He didn't ease into it. He dove in like a man starving, his tongue flat and broad as he licked up your entire slit, messy, extremely messy. The sound he made was obscene—a deep, guttural moan like he'd just started eating his favorite meal.

"Oh my god—" Your hands flew to his hair as he did it again, licking you from bottom to top, not caring that his face was getting covered in you. He was making a mess of it, sloppy and frantic, you could barely think through the wet obscene sounds filling the room.

"So sweet," he panted against you, and then you felt his fingers—two of them sliding inside you without warning, his rings sending another electric feel whenever they brushed your entrance, pushing in deep and hard while his tongue kept working.

"Fuck—Choso—" The combination made you cry out, your back arching off the bed. His fingers didn't ease in gently, they drove in hard, pumping fast and aggressive while his mouth latched onto your clit.

"So fucking perfect—" he groaned into you, the vibration traveling through your whole body. His fingers curled inside you, hitting that soft spot that made you see stars, and he didn't let up. He kept pumping them in hard, relentless strokes while his tongue flicked over your clit frantically.

His free hand gripped your thigh open while the other worked inside you, scissors inside you while his eyes feasted themselves on your whiny moans, then he added a third finger, fully stretching you, driving in so deep you were shaking you could feel him everywhere.

"Yes-yes f—uck" You couldn't form coherent thoughts. The sight of him between your legs, his face glistening with you, his fingers disappearing inside you over and over, the desperate sounds he was making just by working you up, it was too much.

He pulled back just enough to gasp for air, his chin dripping, but his fingers never stopped. "Shit," whined out your name, his voice wrecked, watching his own fingers pump into you. "You're so tight around my fingers—" He looked at you through his lashes, strands of his loose hair freely falling around his face. “You sure you didn’t give me those on purpose?” He chuckled, lowering himself to your thigh, leaving a mix of soft hard and kisses and bites.

Then his mouth was back on your clit and you nearly screamed. He sucked hard, his tongue flicking over it frantically while his fingers drove in harder, faster, digging every sound out of you.

"Don't stop—" You were grinding against his face now, riding his fingers, chasing that friction, and he let you, encouraged it even. His free hand moved to your ass, pulling you harder against his mouth while the other kept that brutal pace inside you.

He was being so messy—spit and your wetness covering his face, dripping down his chin, coating his fingers as they pumped in and out of you. The wet sounds were obscene, filthy, and he didn't give a single fuck. He just kept devouring you like it was the best thing he'd ever experienced.

"Fuck, look at you," you gasped, looking down at him. His eyes flicked up to meet yours and the sight of him—face buried in your pussy, fingers buried inside you, eyes dark and hungry, thise puppy eyes completely lost in you, a sight you didn’t know you needed till just now.

You could feel your orgasm building fast, too fast. The drug from the chocolate made everything so intense, every nerve ending on fire.

"I'm gonna come—" you warned, but he just groaned louder, fingers curling into that perfect spot and driving in so deep you couldn't breathe.

You came with a broken cry, your whole body arching off the bed, clenching hard around his fingers, and he didn't stop. He kept licking, kept sucking, kept pumping his fingers through your orgasm, working you through it while you shook and gasped his name. When you finally came down he pulled back, his face absolutely covered in you, his fingers still inside you, and he looked drunk on it.

"Need to be inside you," he panted, slowly pulling his fingers out and moving up your body. "Right now—", he climbed further on top of you, giving time to lick and kiss his way from your stomach, circling your navel, to your breasts, taking a hardened bud into his mouth with a gentle tug. Eyes fluttering to you to take in everything.

"Yes—" You were reaching for his shoulders trying to make him come up faster, still trembling from your orgasm but that ache was already building again. "Need you inside, please."

You pushed him off of you getting impatient, pinning him to his bed with ease.

You sank down on him in one hard motion and you both groaned. The stretch burned but you were so wet, so ready, it felt perfect. You didn't give either of you time to adjust—you just started moving, riding him hard and fast.

"Fuck," you gasped, your hands braced on his chest, the sensitivity of your last orgasm still coursing through, the feeling of him inside you alone making you almsot cum right then and there.

"Oh god—" His hands grabbed your hips, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise. "Fuck y’so good—"

You rode him harder, chasing that relief, that friction you needed so badly. Your thighs were burning but you couldn't stop, couldn't slow down, the tip of his length hittung that spot inside you just right. The sounds you were making were loud—desperate moans and whimpers straight out of a porn movie, you didn't even try to hold back.

"Harder," he gasped, his hips thrusting up to meet you. "Fuck me harder—"

You did, slamming down on him with bruising force, a broken guttering moan coming out of him. His hands moved from your hips to your ass, gripping hard into the plush skin, helping you move faster.

"I'm gonna come," he panted. "I can't—you feel s’good—"

"M’yeah?" you cooed at the needy man under you, grinding down on him. "Come inside me—"

He thrust up hard and came with a desperate groan, his cock pulsing inside you. But you weren't done—you were still moving, still chasing your own release, and he was still hard.

“Shit—“ His eyes rolled back into his head, shaking for the overstimulation, but it just felt so good. "Don't stop," he gasped. "Keep going—fuck’n use me—"

You rode him through his orgasm and into your own, your whole body going rigid as you came, clenching around him with agonizing tightness. The relief lasted maybe thirty seconds before that desperate ache came roaring back.

"More," you breathed. "I need more of you—"

He flipped you suddenly, pinning you under him, and thrust back inside before you could catch your breath. "I need all of you, god you feel good—"

"Yes—" You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper. "Harder— h-harder—"

He did, his hips snapping against yours with brutal force. You clawed at his back, leaving deep red marks, pulling him closer while you thrust back against him just as hard.

"Like that," you gasped. "Just like that—don't stop—"

He buried his face in your neck and fucked you harder, faster, his rhythm already getting frantic but not any slower. You could feel him getting close again, could feel your own orgasm building.

"Squeeze me," he panted against your skin. "I need to feel you come—"

Your body arched off the bed, the feeling of you clenching around him sent him over the edge. He thrust deep and came with a broken almost pathetic moan, his cock pulsing inside you, his white streaks getting lesser each time.

For maybe ten seconds, you both just shook, breather heavily while still basically eye fucking each other. You felt that need building again, felt him still hard inside you, his hips thrusting ever so slightly inside you still.

"Again," you demanded, your nails digging into his shoulders. "I need you to fuck me again—"

"Yeah I do." He pulled out and flipped you over roughly, pulling your hips up, pushing your face into the pillow. "I like that angle on you." You felt him smile against your neck.

He slammed back inside, both of you groaning at the new angle. He felt even deeper like this, hitting spots that made you see stars.

"Don't stop," you demanded, throwing your hips back to meet his thrusts. "Don't you dare fucking stop—"

You twisted yourself to the side pulled him down into a desperate kiss as he thrust back inside, and you both moaned into each other's mouths, tongues messily fighting each other. His thrusts slowing downs, but no less intense—long, deep strokes that had you both shaking, the ridges of his tip teasing at your entrance whenever he pulled back out, only to slam back in.

"Touch yourself," he gasped against your lips. "I want to feel you come again—"

Your hand flew between your legs. You came again, and again, and he came with you each time, neither of you able or at least, wanted to stop.

You lost track after that—of how many times, of who initiated what. You rode him again. He fucked you against the wall. You pushed him down and took what you needed. He pinned you to the bed and gave it to you harder. Both of you desperate, aggressive, clawing at each other like you were fighting for relief.

Every time one of you came, the other was right there, demanding more. Every time you thought it was be over, that ache and need came roaring back and you were on each other again.

His usual stoic composure was completely gone, he was a bundle of pure need and lust. But you were just as demanding, just as aggressive, taking what you needed and giving it back just as hard.

"Deeper," you gasped at one point, your nails raking down his back. "I need you deeper—"

"Fuck—" He hitched your leg higher and thrust so deep you saw stars. "Like that?"

"Yes—don't stop—harder—"

He gave you everything you demanded like a good boy, and you gave it right back, both feeding off the praise.

You have no idea when the aphrodisiac finally started to wear off, only remembering you and him completely spent, fucked out, two bodies oozing sex in his bed.

Neither of you spoke. You just lay there in the wreckage of his bed, trying to catch your breath.

---

You woke up still tangled together—your leg thrown over his hip, his arm pinned under your shoulders, both of you sticky with sweat and probably other things you weren't ready to think about just yet.

The first thing you noticed was the hickeys. They were everywhere. Dark purple marks trailing down his neck and chest, bite marks on his shoulders accompanied with light red scratches. When you shifted, you caught sight of your own thighs in the morning light, covered in the same crazy evidence.

"Oh my god," Choso groaned rubbing his eyes awake with both hands, his voice rough. He'd clearly just woken up too, he looked at you for a split second then back at the ceiling. "So,"

"Yeah." You couldn't help the laugh that bubbled up, clutching the covers to your chest.

He turned his head to look at you, and his hair was an absolute disaster, you’d swear he got attacked during his sleep (which isn’t far from the truth). You probably looked just as bad. His eyes dropped to your neck and he winced, biting the inside of his cheek.

"I'm so sorry—"

"You're sorry?" You gestured at his chest, at the clear bite mark on his collarbone and scratched covering his shoulders. "You look worst than I do!"

He exhaled loudly, "You did this," he accused, but there was nothing mad to it, just a small tired laugh leaving him. "Those chocolates—"

"I didn't know!" But you were laughing now, and so was he, both of you still not moving apart. "You're the one who ate four of them!"

"You said they were edibles!"

"They kinda were!"

He dropped his head back against the pillow, groaning. "The guys are never gonna let me live this down. I kicked everyone out of my own birthday party because of a boner."

"To be fair, you seemed extremely motivated then."

"Oh my god." He covered his face with his free hand, but you could see him smiling between his palm. "This is so bad. This is—" He peeked at you through his fingers, a little unsure, his eyes becoming serious for a second. "But like, are we okay?"

You laughed at him, the way he just seemed so worried, you pinched his side to tease making him flinch away slightly, but still very much tangled up with him. "Hm, I think we're okay." You gave him a reassuring smile, your head hitting the pillow on your side.

"Good." He finally moved, stretching and wincing, his muscles probably aching at this point. "Because I'm gonna need help fixing this,” He gestured to the room looking a mess. You could only laugh, slowly getting up yourself and stretching not minding the cool breeze hitting your skin.

Choso suddenly turned the other way. “Your boobs— they’re out—“

“Are you serious right now?”

“I am.”

“Well, I was gonna offer to share a shower but clearly you won’t—“

You’ve never seen Choso whip his head this quickly at anything you’ve ever said.

—

©️sukuhands /except characters

[syllysmot]

LEH MEH SUH DAH LAWYER DIH

[kamiflix]

▶︎︎ High For This (starring . fratboy plug!choso)

synopsis . You're best friend's with both your favorite emo fratboy and the campus plug. So when you make an offhand comment while under the influence one night that no guy has ever made you cum, he takes it upon himself to challenge that. content . afab!reader, oral sex, dirty talk, spitting, squirting, he has a tongue piercing, pussy slapping, slightly-bimbo!reader, high sex, 69 position, cumming without realizing it, munch activities (yk how choso is), he’s a lil cocky, first time squirting, finger fucking, shotgun kiss, he talks you to filth, slight manhandling, throat fucking, head pushing, heavy praise, etc.

word count . 8.9k || author's note: this is a repost from kamitv so if it looks familiar, that's why. (the original was labeled mature, unfortunately) banner art from, "Hachisuka's Family Kotoribako"

“This guy is following me, pretend to be my boyfriend.”

“Wha—“

A pair of arms are wrapping around his neck before he has time to react properly and the rush of something sweet wafts up into his nose. A careful hand, decorated with ring after ring and adorned with black polish across the nails, comes to the right side of your waist to pull you in close.

Choso’s rich and definitely intoxicated brown eyes mull over the faces of the people around him, spotting Gojo and Geto—his friends—not too far away from him, and a bunch of other partygoers.

He doesn’t ask you any more questions—despite how you’re some random chick who came clinging onto him—as his eyes soon land on the guy who’d clearly been following you.

“Ew, Naoya…” He spits out, his face twisting up into a nasty scowl of pure disgust as the residential misogynist comes walking toward the two of you. “Don’t tell me he’s the asshole bothering you?” Choso whispers questioningly.

Your face is all buried into his neck and he could feel your arms tightening around him as you mumbled a gentle, “Mhm, he is.”

Great…

Because who in their right mind would want to deal with Naoya on a Saturday night? The guy gets kicked out of every frat house party that’s ever been held ‘cause of shit like this. All he does is harass and insult women, only to be eventually approached by one of the many frat brothers and get kicked out moments later.

Seems like this week it’s Choso’s turn to handle him. Which is just wonderful, really.

“Yo,” Choso calls out to the fully approached Naoya, whose mere presence makes him feel nauseated. “The fuck do you want with my girl?”

Now, you’ve never spoken to Choso before this but, the sound of him calling you his girl has your heart feeling all warm inside—even though he’s only said that because you’d asked him to play along. 

The scent of his cologne mixing with the thick musk of weed fills your nose as your face smushes up into his chest. You only know the man through the rumors you’ve heard and the few times you’ve seen him around these parties you keep attending. As you readjust your chin to look up at his expression, you think your arms unconsciously hold onto him a little tighter the moment you spot the vein peeking out against his jawline.

Everyone hates Naoya, that’s an irrefutable fact. But, something about how annoyed Choso was looking at him right now had you pulling your lower lip into your mouth.

Naoya lets off a scoff, his voice all loud and annoying, “This dumb bitch is your girl?” He asks. 

Every syllable that left his mouth is grating to all listening ears. Ugh, he was such a nuisance…

You merely glance back at the guy for a second and notice the look in his eyes that clearly says he’s not buying this shit. Choso—catching the same thing that you do—slips one of his hands downwards to the small of your back, not daring to go any lower just yet, and then eases you even closer.

“First off, watch your fuckin’ mouth,” He scoffs out, jaded eyes dragging up and down Naoya’s frame as he wonders how long it would take to knock him onto his ass. “Secondly, yeah, we’re together. What do you want?”

“That slut owes me money,” Naoya curses with tightly crossed arms, his gaze fixated entirely on you as if Choso weren’t even there. Though, he’s not really looking to get kicked out of this party just yet and he’s trying his best to avoid physical confrontation.

Cocking a brow, the brunet smoothes out a low huff that smells of the recently consumed marijuana he's inebriated under before redirecting his slightly glossed eyes down to you, “This isn’t what I think it is, is it, baby?”

You’re quickly distracted by the pet name that so easily rolled off of his tongue but without getting too wrapped up in it, you blink. “Huh?”

Choso slowly tilts his head to the side and cracks a knowing grin, “You’ve been seein’ other dealers? Don’t you know I’m the best on campus?”

Gulping, “Well, I–”

“S’okay,” He cuts off to ease the concern and worry trying to paint itself into your features. “We’ll get back to that in a sec’,” Then he gestures his head over to Naoya, gives your waist a little squeeze, and says, “Lemme handle this guy for you first.” 

Choso carefully moves you to the side and steps toward Naoya, who’s arguably a bit taller than him. He sizes him up again and bites back his scoff, replacing it with a tiresome sigh that he doesn’t even try to play off as anything else outside of what it is—an honest gesture of displeasure.

Voice lazy, “How much does she owe you, man?” Choso asks with one hand already fishing through the pocket of his pants for his wallet.

It really didn’t matter what number was thrown out to him, he was gonna fling whatever bit of cash he had on him toward Naoya to get him to fuck off. The only thing good about his presence right now was the fact that it brought you along, which is something Choso would like to return to as swiftly as possible.

“Tch,” Naoya chuffs, trying to glance behind him to get another scowling look at you before he says, “As if you have enough to—”

“Jus’ give me the number before I get you kicked out again,” Choso cuts off cleanly with a gaze that bores into the man’s skull.

One beat of silence passes by as Naoya contemplates a few things in his mind, wondering whether or not he really wants to test his luck with this. 

Ultimately, he ends up caving with a roll of his eyes, “Fine…” Then he gives him the number of which you owe and he’s literally smacked in the face with a random wad of cash as if he were some kinda’ cheap whore to be dealt with.

“There,” Choso spat, “Now don’t let me catch you trying to sell my girl your overpriced bullshit again, yeah?” Technically, he had no right to tell someone else not to sell drugs to you when he didn’t even know you.

But, one look at your face and he was certain he’d want you coming to him for weed and not anyone else after this. Especially when going to someone else landed you in this situation where you’re being followed around parties for payment—Choso would never do such a thing. He’d offer alternatives before even thinking to harass you like that.

Naoya was immediately enraged by how he’s being dismissed but it’s not like he could express that since there were one too many fraternity members in the area for him to do so without instantly getting escorted out. Thus, he settles for shuffling up the cash that’d fallen onto the floor—snatching each bill from beneath the feet of partygoers—and keeps his curses in a lowered whisper that’d never be heard under the blaring music.

Then, as if nothing ever happened, the surrounding people return to their dancing and Naoya seems to disappear somewhere into the crowd shortly after.

Which leaves you standing in place with slightly widened eyes whilst Choso turns around to look at you, brushing his hands off like he’d just dealt with some type of dirt or something.

“You alright?” He asks, taking a step closer toward you. The music is loud so it’s hard for you to really hear him, hence why he leans his ear down to your lips so he can gather your response properly.

You nod at first and then the words follow, “Uhm, yeah. I wasn’t expecting you to pay that off for me but, thank you, Choso.”

Shifting over to talk into your ear now, “Don’t sweat it, princess. But uh,” He clicks his tongue before darting it out to swipe over his lower, pierced lip. “I meant what I said before. You should’ve been dealin’ with me, not that idiot.”

“Oh,” You chirp.

Then he pulls away and the two of you are able to take one another in properly for the first time.

Under the changing LED lights—which are currently a mix of purple and red—both of your faces are dimly illuminated. Choso’s eyes openly scan over every detail of your expression, watching the cute curl in your lips as you slowly smile at him.

Oh, you’re gorgeous. 

What are the odds that a pretty girl like you literally comes running into his arms at a party like this? And then this dress you have on… Choso doesn’t exactly mean to glance down but when he does, he notices the way the fabric simply hugs your body, shaping you in all the right places and more.

He gulps, a sound that would’ve been rather loud if not for the vibrating base of music against the surrounding frat house walls. His eyes flick back up to your face and you’re shamelessly staring at his lips, then your gaze lifts to his nose, then to the right side of his face; right at his cheekbone for some reason? After, you’re looking at the tattoo running across the bridge of his nose and—

Ohhh, Choso was so distracted with checking you out that he almost forgot how many body modifications he has. He gets these kinda stares all the time but for a second he’d lost his entire train of thought. There’s the ring on the left side of his lower lip, his anti-brow piercing on the right half of his face, the small one on the left side of his nose with a very obvious tattoo running across the bridge, and then the multitude of piercings all over his ears.

Makes’ sense why you were staring now. You’ve got this clueless little look in your eyes and it’s kinda cute—

“How much do you charge?” You’re asking, ending his thoughts entirely. 

The word, “Free,” blurts out of him before he even realizes it and it’s not until he sees the way you start giggling that he realizes what he’d just said. Shaking his head, and backtracking, “Wait-, no. I don’t do anything for free, sorry. If anything,” Choso leans back and slides his hands down into his pockets, “You actually owe me now.”

Your eyes shoot wide open, “Owe you for what?!” you’re huffing as you wonder how the hell you keep finding yourself in someone’s debt like this.

“Hm, I dunno. Paying Naoya off for you?” He says with this sly grin stretching across his face. “But don’t worry, you jus’ owe me a promise.” 

You lift a skeptical brow at him and watch his pinky finger lift out for you to attach your own to in the most cliché way possible. Looking down at his finger, then back up into his eyes, “What kinda promise?”

“Gotta’ promise you’ll come to me for your weed instead of that moron, I’ve got better prices and better strains. None of that baby shit he was scammin’ you with, trust me.” Choso offers with his pinky still outstretched. You’re slow to intertwine your finger with his and he uses the connection to pull you closer, “I need to hear you say it too.”

You almost start stuttering with the way he’d jerked your body closer just to say that all lowly to you. “I promise I’ll come to you instead of Naoya from now on,” You respond with a dramatic emphasis on your words, fighting the blooming feeling in the pit of your stomach that spurs when he smiles at you as if he were proud or something.

And that’s roughly how the two of you met and became acquainted with one another. A couple minutes of fake-dating, one pinky promise, and a “complimentary” joint to start you off later and the two of you were practically best buds!

——

Well, not exactly best buds but you and him do get really close after that little party and encounter.

You stay true to the promise you’d made with him and only ever deal with him from then on. Choso was entirely honest with you that night so, everything he’d said turned out to be more than true. The shit you used to get from Naoya was nothing compared to what you were constantly high off of now, and it was cheaper.

Though, sometimes you did seduce your way into convincing Choso to give you an even lower discount….

One slightly revealing top was usually all it took for him to snag off a couple dollars for you—amongst other things. Like the cute ass smile you flash his way whenever you’re geeked out of your mind, yapping on and on about fuck knows what until the words leaving you no longer make sense. Yeah, Choso loves that. 

Oh, and the tasty gloss you typically coat your lips with. 

He’s not some kinda weirdo so he definitely hasn’t had any… lustful thoughts about said gloss but, he can’t exactly avoid getting a taste of it whenever the two of you are cycling a blunt back and forth and bits of it are left clinging to the wrap.

Outside of just smoking his weed and becoming his favorite customer, you also become someone he likes to keep by his side and talk to from time to time. The best discounts from him come after a good smoke sesh that he usually has to beg you to stick around for.

During those, the two of you end up talking each other’s ears off until it really comes time for you to go. 

Slowly but surely, the two of you are spotted together more often than either of you cared to be, and dating rumors shuffle about. They’re quickly shut down after a couple of parties where you’re spotted letting some other random guy kiss on you but, a certain two individuals try their best to keep it alive.

The individuals in question are none other than Choso’s closest frat brothers: Gojo and Geto. Those idiots were fully convinced that poor Choso never got any play until he met you, and now they’re both convinced he’s your loser boyfriend.

You’re pretty sure they only act like that because they’re jealous you’re probably getting free weed from the guy while they’re not.

Little do they know, their perception of your relationship with Choso couldn’t have been further from the truth. He was definitely getting play, he was just quiet about it since he’s the kinda guy you wouldn’t even realize slept around unless he wanted you to realize it. And as for you, you’re the one who ends up feeling like a loser after a while seeing as every guy you hook up fails to make you cum.

So much so that you were starting to believe there was actually something wrong with you. 

This all leads to now, as you enter Choso’s dorm room for the nth time this week to, hopefully, get high enough to distract you from that little orgasmic issue of yours.

As soon as you enter the dorm, your mood is killed immediately.

Sitting in the living room laughing loud as hell, is Gojo and Geto. Both of their heads turn in sync as you walk in, trying to quickly pocket the spare key Choso had made for you some time ago—having mentioned something about being too lazy to open the door for you all the time—and hoping that the two men will leave you-

“Look who’s here to see her man, awww,” Gojo coos before you can even try to ignore him.

Then Geto follows that up with a cunning, “Should’ warn you though, your boyfriend’s high as a kite in there.”

Trying not to let their annoying-ass taunting get to you, you settle for a sigh of, “When is he not?” before turning the corner and b-lining towards Choso’s room.

There are some more childish snickers and comments made about you from the two men but you pay no mind to it this time.

Pushing the desired door open, you’re immediately met with a thick heat of smoky air and a completely fogged room. The sound of a towel brushing against the floor as you push the door open makes you look down and you quickly realize he’d been hotboxing all by himself.

“Without me, seriously?” You hum with no malice behind your words as you slip past the door and shut it behind you, using your foot to nudge the towel back into place and then letting your eyes scan Choso’s slightly cluttered room.

The man is lying across his bed, dark hair hanging off its edge with the way he splayed out upside down and pinched a rather fat blunt in between the thick of his thumb and index. “You were takin’ too long,” Choso drawls.

And god, you could tell by the tone of his voice that he was barely even with you right now. He always had a pretty mellow way of speaking but when he was really high, his voice would drop an octave or two—words crawling off of his tongue all sleazily and heavy with each syllable.

“Y’know I’ll make it up to you though, here,” He adds on seconds later before you get the chance to settle into his room.

That strong earthy scent coated the entirety of his room as you walked over to the edge of his bed and looked down at him, noticing the jaded reds and pinks coating the typically white portion of his eyes as he batted them up at you. He’s got some low melodies playing from some corner and it only adds to the ambience of the space. Then, his arm extends and he’s offering you the cause of his fumed room.

Humming, “Thank you,” whilst plucking the joint out of his hands, your nails just barely graze his skin. Choso eyes the way you bring it up to your mouth and clasp it lightly in between your lips, leaning down to him and nodding your chin towards the lighter in his other hand. 

He catches your gesture and hoists it up to spark the blunt for you, hand cupping the air around as he filters through a couple stubborn flicks before a flame adorns the preroll’s end. Choso’s eyelids are weighted even as he watches you draw in a steady breath to capture the item’s contents into your system—quickly moving your hand to the joint afterwards to pry it from your lips and exhale slowly.

Another hum, this time one of approval, ghosts past your lips along with the fumes you’d just let escape you. “You look tired,” You comment while pulling away.

As you move around his room to plop your back down somewhere and get comfortable, your plug merely mumbles an easy, “M’not.” in response to you.

You shoot him over a look he doesn’t quite see, “If you fall asleep on me like you did last time, I’m leaving.”

“You better keep me awake then, no?” Choso chimes with one lazy smirk making the corner of his lips twitch.

Cocking a brow now, “And how am I supposed to do that?” you ask.

You then relax down into the chair in front of his desk of scattered papers and unfinished assignments, dragging it over to the side of his bed so that you’re close enough to pass the blunt back and forth. 

He lifts his head adequately to glance over at where you’re sitting and then offers you a shrug as his hand goes out, “I dunno, you tell me, baby.”

In the midst of taking another long hit and after passing it off to him, you meet his expectant gaze with a certain look, “Cho.”

“What?” He scoffs immediately. Then he’s sitting up and reaching over to pluck the blunt out of your hand and bring it to his lips, mumbling, “I call everyone that…”

He knew you didn’t care much for the pet name, even though he’s been calling you that ever since the two of you met. You told him about how much you hated the way it fueled the dating rumors and made it harder to get Gojo and Geto shut up. But, when your eyes roll in reaction to what he just said, he lets off a soft whir.

“Mh, you didn’t like that, huh?” Choso asks you in between several back-to-back hits that you’d normally scold him about. The brown of his eyes glide over your frame and then zero in steadily on the way your lips are moving as you speak.

“What?” You huff, “No, I don’t care if you call everyone baby.” A lie, it did bother something deep down inside of you. “I-If anything that’s a good thing.” You suggest.

To which he extends his hand out to you again, letting a single brow arch up, “Yeah?”

“Mhm,” You’re humming. Though, the sound definitely seems like you’re trying to convince yourself here…

The conversation dies out there for a moment longer than either of you care for and it doesn’t go unnoticed, even as the two of you cycle the blunt back and forth until it’s about halfway smoked through.

While you try to relax in the uncomfortable silence that’s stretching itself out in between the two of you, your mind is unfortunately drifting back to your sexual issue. The weed is supposed to keep your mind at bay and help you relax and yet, today it decided to do everything but that. Instead, your head is very much wracked with annoying flashbacks of the recent times in which you’ve been faking your orgasms for the second-rate men you’ve been sleeping with.

It’s not that these thoughts are completely unwelcome but, you’d rather not have them now while you’re busy smoking with Choso. And it really doesn’t help that he’s not being his usual talkative self right no–

“You’re quiet today,” Choso breaks the silence all of a sudden and the sound of his deepened voice is almost enough to make you flinch. It was like he’d read your mind or something just now… 

Spooky.

You’re slumped back against the chair and staring up at the thickly clouded ceiling, “Think so?”

Choso nods before he speaks. “Yeah, what’s up?” He asks, eyes still watching you as if he were studying your every little move amid the haze, “Talk to me, princess.”

While your stoned brain decides to focus on your lack of orgasms, his mind is unable to drift away from you and the way you look sitting in his bedroom right now. This isn’t too unusual for him since weed does tend to help his focus but, normally it’s not on you as much as it is today.

Perhaps that was because of your weird silence. You hadn't even complained about anything yet, which was enough to tell him that something was wrong.

Before you speak, the question rings around your head for a few seconds. Choso has a handful of pet names he uses on people and you know that but, you’re not quite sure if he says that last one to just anybody.

Hence why a delicate, “...Do you call everyone that too?” streams past the gloss of your lips.

“Nah,” Choso answers immediately as if he’d been watching the words walk right out of you. Then he tilts his head, “Just you.”

At that, you visibly tense up a little. You hated sessions like this with him. When the quiet got too loud that the mostly dormant emotions began to bloom around you. The warmth you feel flash over your face and cling at your heartstrings is definitely not from the weed but, you try to ignore it.

He’s been like this a couple times in the past. While he does get sleepy after a long smoke sesh, he also tends to get uncharacteristically direct and soft with you. You remember how one time he went on this looong rant about how pretty you were. But, before you could reply to any of it, he dozed off while mumbling about how he hoped to see you in his dreams that night.

Anytime you bring this up now, he tells you none of that ever happens and that he’d definitely remember doing so but, he doesn’t.

“You gettin’ shy on me now?” Choso asks abruptly, to which you lift your head and look at him. He’s sitting all the way up now, rolling a few more joints—as if he needs to—and then glancing to you again, “I said talk to me, what’s on your mind?”

Your gaze fixates on how careful his thumbs are with the joint’s edges, smoothing over them with the rolling, and only ever taking his eyes off of you to focus on what he’s doing before slipping his tongue out to lick it. 

A short, “Everything…” comes out of you in a manner so cliche that it makes him snort.

The unpierced side of his lips quirk up now that he’s half-smiling, “Pfft, okay… Well, what’s been going on with you lately? You’re bein’ dry as hell with me right now.” He points out.

You pout a bit and take your eyes away from him, “I dunno. I… It’s stupid.”

Choso rolls his eyes at you, “Don’t you start that shit,” He warns. You know he doesn’t like when you beat around the bush but how the hell are you supposed to tell him that you’re quiet today because you’re sexually frustrated? He’s your dealer, not-, “We’re friends, aren’t we?” He asks, interjecting your thoughts directly before shrugging, “Just talk, girl.”

You scoff a simple, “You’re so annoying…” that trails off into another long beat of silence, the only sound coming from his softly moving fingers and the way you take a few more hits of the preroll still in your hands, hoping to gain enough confidence to blurt it out. Then, after a few more carefully thought-out seconds, “...I think something’s wrong with me.” You manage.

“Seem’ perfect to me,” Choso blurts out, clearly not thinking twice about the words that just fell off his tongue.

“I-,” You pause to digest the sudden compliment, brushing it off with a chuckle, “I meant my body, Cho,” To which he mutters the same thing and you pretend not to hear it this time as you say, “I dunno if maybe it’s the stuff I’ve been smoking lately but….”

Some more stillness flies by and this time he seems to be fed up with it.

“But what? Don’t edge me here.” He demands.

The light buzz in your mind serves as a coaxing feeling that helps you finally breathe out, “I can’t cum.” 

You don’t get much of a reaction from him at first. If anything, he looks confused as he cocks an almost innocently puzzled brow, “Huh? Can’t come to what?”

“No, not-,” His literal interpretation of your words ends up making you giggle. Then you sigh, “I meant that I can’t orgasm, Choso.”

“What?” He questions dumbfoundedly.

“Please don’t make me repeat that…” You mumble.

“No, seriously, what?” Choso repeats, looking now as if you have three as he puts everything down and turns his head your direction, “You’re not gettin’ fucked right?”

Caught off completely guard, “Jesus. That's not even what I said—”

“But that’s what that means, right?” He interrupts, waiting for you to meet eyes with him again, “Unless you’re trying to tell me you seriously can’t make yourself cum.”

It’s slow but, you finally manage to look at him, “I can…”

Nodding, “Exactly so, that means you’re out there receiving mediocre shit instead of coming to me… again.”

If you weren’t caught off guard before, you damn sure are now. So much so that you cough in between your next hit, the smoke choking up in your lungs with a slight burn as your zen is thrown off. “H-Huh?” You unintentionally stammer.

Even with your eyes on one another now, he can tell you’re nervous just from talking about this. Smoking was not the cause of that flush in your cheeks and he knows it. Something else definitely had you hot right now.

Choso’s eyes flick up and down your seated frame long enough to see the way your thighs shift against the seat. Instantly, his tone gets sly, “What, you think I’m only good for weed?”

Your lashes bat, “Well, n-no, but…”

“C’mere,” He cuts off, having lifted a hand to beckon you over with two generously ringed fingers.

Your scoff is instant, “Choso, respectfully, I don’t think-”

“M’not askin’ you to think,” He smiles, fingers still waving, “I’m askin’ you to come over here.”

It takes you a bit to digest his words before your body gets to moving and when you haul yourself off the chair, you move to plop down on his bed. Sitting right next to him now, Choso leans over a little and his arm slides somewhere behind you. His hand ends up just a few inches away from your ass, his fingers splaying out against his comforter whilst his head weighs to the side.

His body is hot next to yours. So hot you could practically feel the heat oozing off his frame. And the peering look in his eyes wasn’t making it any better either…

“How many times have I told you I’m here for whatever you need, huh?” Choso whispers, the lowness of his voice causing your hips to twitch a little.

He’s all focused on you again, even more so now than he had been earlier, and it was almost as though you could feel him everywhere without him even touching you yet. Perhaps it was the cannabis in the air and the way it swirled throughout your system but, all your sensations felt heightened now.

Pulling your head away from him to gain some distance back, “Plenty of times, but..” Your shoulders slump a little, “This is different, Choso.”

His gaze falls down your body and something husky and wanting sneaks its way into his words now, “How? You think I can’t make you cum?”

God, every time he opened his mouth you felt as though you were losing your mind. And the audacity he had to be so bold with his words on top of that was making it perpetually worse by the minute.

“N-No,” You huff as your head turns back to him and you’re heard gulping thickly at his focus on your mouth. “I’m not saying that but…” You pull your lower lip in between your teeth for a moment to chew while you think. Then, you sigh again, “Well, maybe I am saying that… I just think–”

“I told you to stop doin’ that,” Choso murmurs, arm snaking around your body so that his hand could land on your hip. He gives you a little pull and almost sounds needy as he utters a husky, “C’mere.”

“I’m right–”

“Closer, baby.” Choso cuts off, finally tugging you closer so that the side of your thigh brushes up against his. He then takes his other hand and brings it up to your jaw, drawing your face way too close to his. You could smell the viscous scent of weed on his tongue as he spoke given the lack of distance between you both, his eyes never straying away from the soft, soft curve of your lips, “Now, jus’ tell me if you want me to make you cum or not and I got you.”

Your top set of lashes meets your lower ones in slow-motioned blinks as breathing properly grows increasingly difficult, “It’s not that simple…”

The man’s grasp on your chin grows a little tighter, “It really is.”

You roll your eyes again “Literally no guy has made me-”

“Do I seem like every other guy you’ve been with?” Choso scoffs, as if he were actually ticked off now. Then he forces your head some more up so that your gaze is meeting his and, fuck. The look in his eyes did something. Looking at you all commanding and desiring like you were the only thing that ever mattered in his life, “Do you want my help or not?” he whispers one last time.

Of course you wanted his help, even though you had your doubts about receiving it. You weren’t sure what would be so different with him. 

Even so, you’re slow to give him a nod of your head and grumble a cute, “Yeah,” that has him swallowing down a groan.

Then he’s weighing forward and you barely get to fully shut your eyes before his lips smooth over yours. Catching your hesitance, you feel his thumb slip upwards as he talks into your mouth, “Don’t be shy, open up f’me, baby.”

At the sound of that, your lips get to parting over his and his tongue immediately slides right in. Both of your heads tilt off in opposite directions and he’s the first to let out a string of sounds. It starts out with a grunt when you pull back half a centimeter just to slip down and clasp his lower lip between your teeth, nibbling softly.

When you give it an adorable tug and then press forward into the kiss, that’s when he starts groaning. 

Choso’s got no idea how any guy could’ve gotten their hands on all this and then decided not to make sure you’re squirting by the end of the night. He supposes he can thank all those guys now though, seeing as you’re swiftly moving forward with this kiss.

Yeah, it starts out slow and a little sloppy but while your tongues are mingling with one another’s and sharing the prominent taste of marijuana, you’re getting eager for more and throwing a leg over him.

You’re properly sitting in his lap before he realizes it. And the only reason Choso acknowledges it at all is because he feels a rush of heat spark from in between his legs as something rubs over the previously dormant tent in his sweats. He can’t even pull away from your mouth to say anything because he’s far too distracted by the gorgeous moan you sink past his lips.

Oh, he’s lost it.

Choso’s hands grab at your waist suddenly and then squeeze hard enough for you to acknowledge his touch before he smoothes downwards to your hips and pushes your body lower so that you’re flush with him. “Mmph,” bursts past his parted lips in the middle of his suckling your tongue deeper into his mouth. 

The man is all but swallowing up the sweetness against your mouth, quickly growing addicted to it. Weed could never compare to the taste—a fact of which he’s sure about now. As his tongue soon goes diving down the center of yours, you feel the surprising bud of a snake eye piercing decorating its tip.

That’s when one of your hands moves in between your bodies and sneaks under his shirt as you gasp out his name and then pull away.

His lips chase yours as you draw distance and then he hauls your entire body impossibly closer to his, your chest smushed up against him now. In doing so, you roll your hips forward against his naturally and hear the way his breath hitches. Then you feel something.

Poking-, no, jumping up against your clothed cunt in between the many, many layers between the two of you is the thickness of his bulge. And with it comes another wave of sloppy kisses.

Choso’s hands are everywhere against you now, literally. 

Something in you seems to snap at the feeling of his cock growing under you and right after you let yourself gasp at the sheer size of it one more time, the hands you had on his chest manage to recline him back against his bed.

Choso hits the mattress with a soft huff of previously lost air and his brows twist up to flash something needy at you. “Fuck,” Scratches out of his throat whilst he stares at the way you look on top of him.

So pretty…

There’s a single string of shared saliva dribbling out of the corner of your mouth and he almost moans as you start leaning down to him again, his arms moving so that he could wrap them around you. Then your lips meet again and this time it isn’t even sloppy, just hungry.

The sound is loud, louder than any kiss you’ve had lately, and noisy enough to earn a couple of smiles from him in between all the kissing. Breathing into your mouth, “You shouldn’t have told me that shit,” Choso sears as one of his hands comes up to the back of your head, the other at your neck now. “Can’t even calm myself down…”

Followed by his not-so-gentle admission is another heavy pulse from his fully erect cock. 

You manage to pluck yourself away from his mouth long enough to say, “I don’t see why,” Then you snort cockily, “S’not like you’ve changed my track record.”

“Yet,” Choso quickly corrects. And before you can add another snarky comment in response, “But that’s alright, I’m about to.” He claims, tipping his head back to relax as his hands fall away from your body completely, “Come get up here.”

You blink, “Huh? Up…” Searching his frame as if you weren’t already on top of him, your brows tweeze together, “...where?”

Even with the poking of his dick, he takes this moment to gather himself and reach over to swipe up the blunt you were last smoking. Then he shuffles for a lighter and sparks it up again, taking a hit and returning his attention to you as if the little intermission didn’t have you on edge.

You had no idea what he meant by ‘get up here’ when you were literally sitting in his lap already. Surely he didn’t mean–

“On my face,” Choso clarifies, a sexy cloud of fumes ghosting out of his mouth along with his words.

At first, you just stared at him and watched him smoke. Your body was thrumming with need in multiple areas but you just couldn’t fathom sitting on his face. Surely, that’d be pretty unsafe to do while both of you are heavily intoxicated. Hell, you can barely see around his bedroom, how can he possibly expect you to sit on his face…

Well, a few minutes later and you’re halfway there.

Not quite sitting—after a million and one concerns of being scared to suffocate him—you’re now hovering over Choso’s face. You refused to meet eyes with him so you’re turned the opposite direction and your hands are helping your body remain hoisted up as they rest on the bed, caging the lower half of his body—just as your legs were doing to his head right now.

Your pants have been snatched off and you’re completely exposed to the greed of his eyes. He’s hardly touched you ever since you caved and brought your bare pussy up over his face. You’ve been left to stare at the throbbing bulge that rests a few inches away from your face and you feel awkward.

Y’know, until there’s a warm blow of intoxicated air that swirls up against your dripping cunt. Followed by which is the sound of Choso lapping over his lips at the sight, scoffing after. One thumb finally draws up to meet the left lip of your pussy as he slips it over and reveals more of your slicked glory. Your cunt clenches embarrassingly at his first touch and you silently hope he doesn’t notice how you drip when he starts talking.

“Shiit,” Choso begins, voice heavy in baritone now—no longer from the weed but purely from his own arousal, “You’re tellin’ me nobody’s made this pretty girl cum?” He asks, “Who the fuck have you been goin’ to, huh?”

You glance back at him over your shoulder, hardly able to see his face with the way you’re hovering, “Cho, I—“

“Shhh, I’ll take care of ya’. Don’t sweat it.” He claims, to which you roll your eyes. He always fuckin’ says that… “Now sit.”

Another gulp is heard from you, “Choso, I already told you. I don’t wanna crush—“

Rolling those blown-out brown eyes of his, Choso’s other hand meets your hip with a mean grip before he tugs your body down and your cunt promptly meets his greedy face. “So stubborn.”

The gasp you let out at the initial contact of his lips against your wetness makes something inside you crave the ability to disappear. You were hot before but now you’re soaking and heated all over.

Your nerves felt like they were on fire and your hips practically melted downwards when you felt Choso’s tongue slither out to get the first taste of you. “Hnngh-, fuck…” You breathe, fingers curling into the sheets to hold onto.

You’ve gotten head from guys plenty of times but this was so much different. And he only just started!

You definitely had your high to blame for the way his tongue feels glissading upwards in between your lathering folds—the sensation so strong and pleasurable you swore for a second he had two tongues or something. Of course, that’s just the weed talking but shit…

“S’sweet…” Choso mumbles into your cunt, pulling away just to spit and then using the fat of his thumb to rub the slick of it into you, “Poor baby, nobody could make you cum, huh?” He says.

You start to open your mouth—thinking he was talking to you—but when his thumb presses past that rather welcoming ring of resistance and earns one gorgeous squelch, you quickly realize he’s not talking to you at all.

“Yeahh?” He purrs, one eager smile plastering itself out across his face, “You needed someone to come talk to you directly?” 

Choso toys with your insides using only his thumb for a while, grinning wickedly the whole way through as he watches the way your pussy splurts out such saccharine sounds of slick ‘n filth. It’s not until your soakage is dripping down his hand that he finds himself grunting and then dragging his thumb out of you tenderly.

Sticking it into his mouth just to suck your taste off for a second, you hear the way he moans around his own digit. Then, before you have time to realize just how wet you really are, there are two dumbly thick fingers slipping past the plush of your folds, wiggling in deep and coaxing a pitched sound out of your throat.

“Y’like that, huh?” Choso mutters from beneath you, jaw already coated with the sweet traces of your taste, “You’re bein’ so loud, this must feel really good…” He comments softly. Then his fingers abruptly slip out of you and swat over to your clit to land a couple of wet smacks against, earning nothing more than a whine from you. To which he chuckles and tilts his head at the little quiver your cunt does in reaction, “Hah, s’okay, you don’t have to answer… she’s doin’ plenty of talkin’ for you.”

Those little smacks of his quickly grow repetitive and as he does so, he lets his jaw fall open and hangs his tongue out to capture the syrupy drip that oozes off of your walls. 

When he starts working you over his fingers again, you don’t even realize the upper half of your body has slumped over until you feel something pressing up against your cheek. Your eyes had fluttered shut and everything, having grown so lost in the pleasure of his fingers that you didn’t even realize what you’d laid yourself on.

Lifting your head, you look over and stare at the outline of his cock again. There’s a slight patch of wetness where his plump tip is resting and you’re moving before you’re thinking.

“Aw-, woahh..” Choso gasps from behind you, to which your senses come back to you a bit whilst you push his sweatpants down. “What uh-,” His voice almost cracks for a second there but he swallows the hindrance in his voice down. Then he’s hissing when your hand slips under his boxers and wraps around his curving shaft, “Fuck.. what’re you doin’?”

The curve in your back deepens and the fingers he’s got inside you now get swallowed up even tighter the second his cock springs out. With wide eyes and a drooling mouth, you don’t even hesitate to take his length into your hand and then let your breath hit it as you whisper, “Returning the favor, Cho…”

He scoffs, “You don’t have to-, holy shit…” The mere press of your warm lips against his leaky cockhead is enough to make him whine. And as if encouraged, you quickly spread your mouth over him and ease it down around his dick, letting your tongue lap at the sides upon your descent. “Oh god, your throat feels s-so fuckin’ good…. A-All this and people had the nerve to leave you unsatisfied? Tch.”

Meeting you halfway, Choso dives back into your cunt with the entirety of his mouth. You feel the ball of his tongue piercing tickle your walls as he stretches you out against the glutinous pink muscle—your moaning around his cock sending filthy vibrations all throughout his body.

His hips thrust up instinctively and his lips pop off of you with a sharp breath, “Fuck, princess… Do that again, yeah?”

Your cheeks hollow out as your jaw widens and you force yourself down further until his fat tip is bumping up against the back of your throat, earning a nasty gag from you. You try to lift yourself to breathe but you’re met with a sudden pressure at the back of your head as he swiftly pushes you back down.

“Hold it f’me,” Choso groans, “Need you t’feel me back there,” He adds shortly after. Then, keeping your head still, “There ya’ go, gooood girl…” He praises as his hips start bucking up again until your eyes are coated with tears.

Truth be told, Choso isn’t normally this rough with anyone he fucks. But the high buzzing throughout his brain has him acting different. He can't get over the way your lips feel wrapped around his cock like a warm hug. And the way he slides all the way down your throat perfectly? Oh, you’re lucky he hasn’t cum inside your mouth already.

The dark hairs he has decorating the area around the base of his heavy length tickle your chin with how wide your lips are parted around him. You could feel him leaving soggy kisses against your uvula and all it did was make you soak above his face.

When you finally give him another moan as your face presses snuggly against his skin—the veins trailing his dick pulsing with little heartbeats against your tongue—he lets your head go. You fly up a bit and start coughing softly, glancing back at him with a pout as you wipe your mouth off, just to see that he’s already moving on to do something else as if he didn’t just choke you out on his dick less than two seconds ago.

Choso’s got a joint perched between his lips as he takes a loooong drag from it and when he plucks it away from his mouth, he takes his free hand and moves it to your hip. You don’t even realize what’s happened until something heated is slapping up against your slobbering cunt. The sensation makes you jump and then Choso—ever the freak—is leaning up to shotgun a kiss directly into the puffy folds of your cunt.

“Ch-Choso,” You choke, “What the f-fuuck…”

Then your hips are lifting as if to escape him and something throaty and annoyed reverberates its way out of his throat before you feel his painted fingernails dig into your skin and force you back down, his head shaking up into your pussy whilst his tongue lathers into the deepest depths of your slutty cavern.

Then you hear the wet, gushing smacks that his mouth against your cunt begins to make, feeling a certain sensation bloom in the pit of your stomach. Your legs are twitching around his head and you’re whining. “Choso, w-wait… please, I-I feel weird…”

Instead of acknowledging your words, he just groans something filthy and hot against you, “Such a sloppy pussy, droolin’ allll over me like this…” He points out. You’re not sure if it’s possible but he’s clearly high off of you and not just the weed. 

You try rolling your hips back to see if that would capture his attention but all that does is make his cock drip with creamy slathers of white from the slit. As you notice that, you try to lean down and suck on his neglected tip, hoping that would get his mouth to go easy on you for just a second.

Unfortunately for you, that did the exact opposite. 

Instead, Choso’s pulling back to spit a gloopy wad of spit onto your cunt and then scoffing, “You should tell me-, hah.. who the assholes are,” He mutters, beyond pussy drunk, “The ones that couldn’t make you cum,” His tongue flicks around as if he were spreading his own saliva via spelling something out, “Then let me send ‘em the sexy lil’ mess m’about to make of you….”

Prying away from his cock for a second, “That’d be so-, mmgh! Right there, Choso…”

“Yeah? Right here? This is the spot they couldn’t find? How pathetic,” He’s searing with his tongue, drawing his name into your gluey walls all cursive-like, making your eyes roll back. “You’re so easy to please,” He teases, smiling after, “Unless, of course… fuck, that’s only ‘cause of me?” Choso asks, spitting again just to have the entire space in between your legs a slopped, wet mess, “S’that what it is? You like the way I treat this pussy?”

“Yesss, Cho,” You whine ever so thankfully.

And of course, he leans back up to french-kiss your pussy lips in response. You’re so high ‘n horny that you don’t even realize the number of times you’d let your shimmery gloss of release coat the insides of his mouth by now. 

Not until he’s felt smiling into you, “Mgh.. again? How many times is that now? Eight?” The number makes you inhale swiftly in surprise, your hand squeezing the base of his cock a bit tighter as you move your head to the side to moan deliciously. “Gimme one more ‘n I’ll give you a break…” He coos, pierced tongue massaging your sensitive folds now. 

At that, something prominent builds up within you. “Choso, mmnh! I-I think I’m… ohgod… m’gonna cum,” You pant, lazily jerking him off with what little strength you have in your hand.

He snickers, “Silly girl, you already did that. I think what’s about to happen now is uh…” His voice trails for a moment so that he could plug your hole in with his fingers and curl them against your g-spot, “You’re about to squirt f’me…” Choso tells you. 

And squirt for him you do.

You never thought you could feel pleasure so good that you couldn’t even tell you’d finished until you were at the point of squirting. It’s a weird sensation that makes you moan his name loud enough for his fraternity brothers to hear outside of his room. 

Your entire body convulses and your mind just blanks out. You think his fingers are somewhere around your clit and his tongue is back in between your slippery walls but you couldn’t tell at this point—all you knew was that you were making a mess all over his face.

And through it, he was down there praising you. “That’s it, thaaaat’s it, princess..” Letting his tongue dangle out again to slur, “Right on my fuckin’ face, I want everyyy drop.”

It’s embarrassing for you—y’know, squirting all over your plug’s face just from his stupidly skillful tongue and fingers. You wanted to hate every second of it, hate how nasty you felt by the time your orgasmic high began to diminish but, fuck there wasn't a single thought left in your brain.

You told the man no guy was making you cum and he did so consecutively without even putting his cock inside you. Not only that, he was faded the entire time!

Arguably, you were too so that’s likely why you were so sensitive to his mouth to begin with but… still.

You feel like you black out after your orgasm but, it’s only for a few seconds. Eventually, your ears catch the loud roar of his groans and bat your tear-coated eyelashes open to see his cock has spilt globs of cum out around your hand. Your grasp on him instantly releases and you scoff softly at the sticky mess.

Both of your orgasms leave your bodies motionless for a long while—your frame slumped over against his—and nothing but the sound of filthy pants echo throughout his fogged room.

Choso’s the first to eventually break the silence with a breathy, “And uh, next time come to me when you wanna get off…” He murmurs, feeling your limp body weight shift against him a little, “…not just for weed, okay?”

“Uhuh..” You babble tiredly.

“Good,” He sighs. “'Cause I charge pretty cheap for these sex sessions.”

Freezing, “What?”

Choso chuckles, a weary smile painted across his slicked face, “I told you I don’t do anything for free, didn’t I?”

perm choso tags (1/2):

@yulissacastillo11 @xxvendettaxx @blcknebula @imyourightnow @cupidstrace @iiakithegoat @hellodeeyanna @navyllll @etsuniiru @not-a-glad-gladiator

@hopelissromantiq @2kool4skoolll @o4tmilf @daxphoriax @gorouenjoyer @avatar4eva @broimherebcsimboredok @indiaas-priv @blubearxy @wonderfullymickey

@iaintblockinnobody @kitassecretgf @iam-souless @nanamitiddiechomper @ohreallyfriend @withersworld @suguphile @megottheswaskikacooooke @kvsqkiii @yourlocalcatscammer

@prettysexcgorgeous @themicthatyeosangwith @autistmicfool @v33326 @lucy-lulu @sukubusss @sweetieelilii @lisabelhyhn @serenadesvt @bloxdhawks

@satoruslxt @sinovi @riameriash @arminseas2 @palanggaaa @makingtimemine @theodoresvalentine @miss-f0rtun3 @jinjen @shamelessdancer

[incelz]

just a pinch

the piercer at the shop is really, really hot. how many visits would it take for you to be dicked down?

piercer!choso x female!reader wc. 4k cw/tw. explicit sexual content, unprotected sex, vaginal sex, cunnilingus, oral sex, creampie, overstimulation, piercing, needles, semi-public sex, rubbing, teasing, shameless smut 18+ mdni

                             ➳ this work is part of THE PERFECT MATCH collection

Choso is very much aware that he has the face of someone who looks like he’d rather be anywhere else.

Long brown hair falls messily over his bored, half-lidded eyes while he flips through a magazine with the enthusiasm of someone reading a grocery list. His sleeves are pushed up to his elbows, revealing forearms corded with lean muscle and ink that disappears under the fabric again.

You wonder if he ever smiles or if his face just clearly isn't built for it. But, you are determined to see more of him.

“I’m in total luck,” your friend says, nudging you with her elbow while pointing at the appointment book. “They squeezed me in for tattoos today.”

You hum, but your attention snags back to the guy again. He hasn't looked up once since you walked in, even when the bell above the door jangled. His fingers tap absently against the counter, like he's counting down the seconds until his shift ends.

The tattoo artist—a woman with neon pink hair and a sleeve of snakes winding up her arm—motions your friend over. You both follow but still, your gaze keeps drifting back to the guy at the front. There is something about the way he carries himself, all quiet intensity and zero effort to be approachable.

“You getting anything else done today?” The tattoo artist asks while she preps her station.

You hesitate, then nod. “Maybe a piercing?”

She glances over at the man on the counter and smirks. “I can pierce you but… Choso’s also good with needles,” she says. “He has much steadier hands.”

Choso.

The name rolls around in your head. Your eyes flicks back to him, who still, hasn't so much as glanced in your direction.

Your friend is guided into the chair and you watch the way the tattoo artist’s hands moved with ease. She wipes down on your friend’s skin and traces the stencil with the tip of her needle.

A few minutes haved passed before you finally cave in.

“Actually,” you say, smoothing a hand over your thigh, “I think I’ll get that piercing now.”

The tattoo artist doesn't look up since she’s working on your friend's tattoo, only jerking her chin toward the front.

“Choso. Customer.”

His head lifts slowly, dark eyes meeting yours for the first time. There is no warmth there, just a detached sort of focus like you are another task on his to-do list.

“What do you want?” He asks, voice low and rougher than you expected.

You step closer, leaning against the counter between you. “Lip piercing.”

The chair in the piercing room is cold against the back of your thighs, the overhead light harsh. Choso moves quickly and methodically. Disinfectant spray, gloves on, tools laid out in a neat row. He didn’t speak as he prepped, and while the silence should’ve been uncomfortable, there was something strangely intimate about it.

Choso studies your lips with a detachment that shouldn’t send heat pooling low in your stomach—but it does. His fingers on your chin are warm despite the gloves. His thumb brushes the corner of your lips, then tilts your face to the left, the right, back to center. The pad of his finger lingers a second too long on your bottom lip.

“Where do you want it?” he asks.

You smirk, letting your knee brush against his thigh as you shift in the chair. “Surprise me.”

Choso holds your gaze for a beat, his expression unreadable, before reaching for the marker.

The marker tip presses cool against your skin, Choso’s hand steady as he draws a precise dot just left of your lower lip. His breath ghosts a bit near your cheek, close enough that you catch the faint scent of mint and something like tobacco. You sit completely still, just watching the way his brows furrow slightly in concentration.

“Keep your head straight f’me,” he murmurs. You obey, eyes flicking down to his lips instead.

The clamps come next, cold metal pinching your skin as he positions them with efficiency. But his hands are so gentle and light that you don’t flinch even when the sharp sting of the needle pierces through the flesh, quick and clean.

Then the jewelry comes after—a small, silver flat-back stud that catches the light when you slightly tilt your head. His fingers brush against your lip again as he secures it, the warmth of his skin lingering even through the latex. He grabs a small pad and wipe the edges of the piercing. You inhale slowly, watching the way his lashes dip as he focuses.

“All done,” he says, stepping back to survey his work. “Suits you well.”

The words are casual, almost indifferent but they flutter in your stomach anyway. You slide off the chair.

“Oh, yeah?” You tilt your head, catching your reflection in the full-body mirror hanging on the wall.

Choso’s gaze lingers on you for half a second too long before he turns away, peeling off his gloves with a practiced flick of his wrists. The latex snaps against his skin as he tosses them into the biohazard bin.

You watch the flex of his fingers and wonder how’d they feel inside you.

“Aftercare instructions are on the counter,” he says lazily, nodding toward a stack of printed sheets without looking at you.

You bite the inside of your cheek to keep from grinning. Casually, you lean against the edge of the chair, one leg crossing over the other as you pull a folded bill from your pocket along with a small paper with your number scribbled on.

Choso’s gaze flicks down the moment your fingers slip into the pocket of his apron. Yet his expression still doesn't change—that same, bored neutrality as if he can't be bothered to react.

You stretch your neck slightly, feigning a glance toward the mirror again. “How long ‘til I can change it out?”

“‘Bout six weeks,” he says, voice flat. “Maybe two months or so, just to be sure.”

You hum, stepping closer just to watch his shoulders tense ever so slightly. “Guess I’ll have to come back, then.”

Your friend’s tattoo is already halfway done by the time you wander back into the main area, the buzz of the needle mixing with the rock music playing overhead. You touch your new piercing absently, the metal cool against your fingertip, and glance back toward the piercing room. The door is half-open, but Choso is already gone—back to his post at the front counter.

You don’t expect him to text you. Not really.

But three days later, your phone buzzes with an unknown number and a single message.

Unknown Number: Aftercare going okay?

You roll your eyes at how the message sounded so dry and detached like he's checking in out of professional obligation. You bite your lip, the piercing twinging slightly.

You: think so. u offering to check it for me?

While waiting for a response, you change his name on the Contacts app. The reply took twenty minutes, as you counted.

Choso: If you need.

You can almost picture his face—expressionless and eyes half-lidded. But you don't care. The fact that he kept the paper with your number on and texted you first is buzzing through you.

You come back to the tattoo and piercing shop a week later under the guise of needing aftercare advice, even though you’ve already Googled it. The shop is still in its usual operation. Though this time, a metal music you recognize is blasting through the speakers.

Choso and the neon pink-haired tattoo artist are lounging behind the counter. She raises an eyebrow when you walk in but doesn't really say anything, just smirks and disappeared into the back. 

Choso looks up from his phone as you near the counter. His dark eyes flicking over you.

“Piercing infected?” 

“Nope,” you say, leaning against the counter. “Just thought I’d get your opinion on my next one.” 

His gaze drops to your lips, then lower—your collarbone, the hint of ink peeking from under your shirt.

“Where?” 

You tilt your head. “I haven’t decided yet… maybe you could help me brainstorm?”

You are so full of shit. Seriously? Brainstorming for a piercing?

For the first time, you see something flicker in his expression—a faint tightening of his jaw, the barest hint of interest.

“Follow me.”

The piercing room smells sterile with the sharp tang of antiseptic mixing with something faintly metallic. Choso flicks the lock on the door behind him—just a quick twist of his wrist. The click sends a curl of heat down your spine but you don't mention it.

There's a new chair. A sleek, black leather furniture. It's cool under your thighs as you settle onto it. Choso drags a swivel chair toward you and drops into it, his knees bumping against yours. He briefly pulls away to snap on a fresh pair of gloves.

His gloves snap sharply against his wrists as he adjusts them, eyes dragging over you with a slow, assessing sweep.

“Aight, next piercing. Where?”

You push back the hair covering your ears, fingers brushing over the small hoops and studs already decorating the cartilage.

“I was thinking of another ear piercing,” you muse, “but they’re getting heavy now.”

Choso’s eyes flicks down. “How about nose?”

You wrinkle your nose, then shake your head. The thought of healing a septum or nostril piercing doesn't appeal to you right now—not when you have other plans.

Choso breathes in quietly. His fingers twitch against his thigh before he leans in closer, the scent of antiseptic and something musky clinging to him.

“Tongue piercing?”

For the second time, you shake your head, letting your lips curl into something teasing. The corner of his lips twitches, just once, before flattening back into neutrality.

“Then what?” he asks, voice lowering.

You uncross your legs slowly, letting your knee brush against his again. This time, neither of you pulls away.

“I was thinking somewhere… less visible.” your voice dips, fingers tracing the hem of your shirt where it rests just above the waistband of your jeans.

Choso’s dark and unreadable eyes follow the movement. Then, without breaking eye contact, he reaches for the marker on the tray beside him.

“Show me,” he says.

You hook a finger under the fabric of your shirt, lifting it just enough to expose the smooth skin of your abdomen—right where the delicate fine lines of your tattoos curled. Choso’s gaze burns as it traced the ink, then lower, back to your jeans.

But that doesn't stop you. Your fingers only move higher, pushing the fabric up further until the underside of your breast is visible, the swell of it barely peeking above the lace of your bra.

“Here,” you murmur, tapping a spot just beneath the curve.

For a long second, Choso doesn't move. His gaze only flicks up from where you're pointing back to your eyes.

“You sure ‘bout that?”

You arch a brow. “Would I be here if I wasn’t?”

Choso’s fingers trace the lines of ink, following the swirls and sharp lines that disappear beneath the fabric of your bra. The marker hovers just above your skin.

“Where here, exactly?” his voice is an octave lower.

You gulp, your heart hammering against your ribs. The cool air of the room ghosts over the exposed skin of your abdomen, but his touch—even through the latex—burns. You shift slightly, pulling your shirt higher before tapping a spot where your nipples would be.

For the first time, his usual bored expression changes. His dark eyes turn sharp and focused. There’s a smirk creeping up to his lips.

“You’ll have to take your bra off.”

You don't hesitate. The clasp comes undone real quick and easy. You drop the bra on the empty space beside you. Choso’s gaze never wavers, still locked onto you as he uncaps the marker with his teeth. The cap clatters somewhere unseen but you don't care.

Not when his hands finally move.

Choso’s fingers are warm through the latex, rough against your skin as they curl around the swell of your breast. He squeezes slightly, and you feel a shudder down your spine. His thumb grazes over your nipple, already hardening from the cool air and the weight of his stare.

“Here?” he murmurs. The tip of the marker hovering—teasing.

You swallow while nodding. “Mhm. Right there.”

The disinfectant pad is cold against your peaks the second it makes contact. His fingers press firm as he drags the pad in slow circles over one nipple, then the other.

He presses the tip of the marker against you; the ink is a little cold, a stark contrast to the heat of his touch. 

Choso’s grip tightens, making you suck in a breath. His fingers slide to your other breast, kneading the soft flesh with such slowness. His thumb brushes over the nipple again and you swear you see his pupils dilate behind those bored, hooded eyes.

“It’s not hard enough,” he mutters, more to himself than to you.

His fingers pinch your nipple suddenly, rolling it between his thumb and forefinger until the peak stiffens under his touch. A small noise escapes your mouth, something between a gasp and a sigh. Choso’s eyes flick up to your face, watching the way your lashes flutter.

The marker presses against your skin again, leaving another small dot to each side of your nipples. His fingers doesn't stop teasing your nipple even as he pulls the marker away.

“You’re gonna have to stay completely still.”

The clamps come first, cold metal pressing against your already-sensitive buds. Choso’s fingers linger a bit too long once more, his thumb brushing over the peak of your nipple one last time before positioning the tool.

You still can't help but feel nervous. Sure, you’ve handled piercing needles before but those are for your ears and well, the latest for your lip.

“Breathe,” he tells you. His knee nudges your legs apart slightly. You exhale shakily, your fingers curling into the edge of the chair. “It’s jus’ a teeny tiny pinch.”

The needle pierces through the skin sharp and quick. But it lingers, throbbing in time with your pulse. Then, he gently inserts the silver jewelry into place.

“You good?” he asks softly.

You nod, almost breathless. “Yeah… just-” You gulp. “Just do the other one.”

Choso’s hand moves to your other breast, rolling the nipple between his fingers again before positioning the clamp. His eyes snap up, watching the way your chest rises and falls faster now.

“Same thing,” he murmurs. “Just a pinch.”

This time, you are ready. Though the pain still shoots through you—sharp and hot—you bite down on your lip hard. His touch stays too long this time, twisting the jewelry before smoothing his thumb over the swollen flesh around it. As usual, he grabs a pad and wiped the edges clean.

“Done.”

Choso pulls away from you then peels his gloves off with a snap. You stay still, expecting him to walk away like he always does—detached and professional. To your surprise, he sits back in the swivel chair and comes closer to you again after disposing the things in the bin.

He leans forward, forearms resting on either side of your hips, caging you in against the leather chair.

“You obviously came here for piercings,” he says, voice thick with something you can't name. “But, anything else in mind?”

The question hangs between you, heavy as the silence that follows. You smile, shifting just enough to press your knee against the inside of his thigh again.

“Do you guys offer anything else aside from tattoos and piercings?”

Choso grins, a sight for you since the very first time you walk into the shop. Then he is on you, his hands gripping your waist as his mouth crashes against yours.

You gasp into his mouth, fingers immediately tangling in his hair, tugging just enough to make him groan. His hips press forward, the hard line of his cock visible even through the layers of his clothes.

“Fuck.” he mumbles against your lips, one hand sliding up to cup your breast. His thumb brushes over your new piercing.

You whine and arch into his touch, the sting mixing with the heat pooling between your thighs. His other hand grips your hip.

“You been thinkin’ about this?” he growls, nipping at your bottom lip where the silver stud sits.

You laugh, rolling your hips up to meet his. “Fuck, yes.”

Choso’s mouth trails down your jaw then sucks hard to leave a mark. His hands move with purpose, finally yanking your shirt over your head. His fingers hook into the waistband of your jeans.

“Off,” he orders.

You shimmy out of them, kicking the fabric to the floor while Choso strips off his own with quick, impatient movements. His shirt hits the ground, revealing the lean cut of his abs, with dark ink curling over his ribs.

Just when you thought he only had tattoos on his arms.

You try to reach out for him but he catches your wrist, pinning it on your sides as he leans down to lick a stripe up your neck.

“Should’ve known you’re trouble,” he whispers, his free hand sliding between your thighs. “D’you think I was dumb enough to not see through your moves last time?”

You bite back a moan as his fingers brush over your clit, already swollen and aching. 

His mouth find yours again as he thumb your clit in slow circles, making your hips jerk forward. Then, without a warning, he pushes two fingers inside you. You clench around him, the stretch sharp and perfect.

He fucks you with his fingers, curling them just right where he hits your sweet spot while his thumb presses against your clit in time with each thrust.

Choso’s fingers curl deeper inside you, the rough pads of his fingertips pressing against that tender spot that makes your thighs tremble. You arch off the chair but his free hand splays across your stomach, pushing you back down and pinning you flat.

The contrast of his warm skin against yours, the sting of your nipple piercings—everything feels too much and not enough all at once.

“Stay still,” he murmurs against your throat. His fingers don't slow, fucking deliciously into you as if desperate for more friction. “You’re gonna mess up your piercings.”

You let out a shaky laugh, nails digging into his shoulders.

“I don’t really give a fuck.”

Choso’s eyes darken and his mouth twists into something between a smirk and a snarl. He pulls his fingers out abruptly, the sudden emptiness making you whine. But before you can even protest, he suddwnly hooks his hands under your thighs and yanks you forward, tilting your hips up. The leather squeaks under your skin as he settles between your legs.

He ducks his head and licks a slow, delicious stripe up your aching and gushing pussy.

You gasp, fingers immediately entwining in his hair as his tongue circles your clit. He teases the swollen bud then sucks it into his mouth. The pain from your fresh piercings blurs into the pleasure. Choso hums against you, the vibration sending sparks up your spine.

One of his hands slides up your torso, thumb grazing over the fresh metal adorning your nipple. You hiss at the sting but he doen't let up, he still pinches your nipple as his tongue laps at you feverishly.

“Fuck—ah! Choso!” your voice cracks, thighs tightening around his head.

He chuckles, the sound muffled against your skin. Then, he drags his tongue lower before pressing inside you with a filthy, wet noise that makes your cheeks burn. His free hand grips your hip, holding you still as he eats you out like he has all the time in the world.

You tug at his hair in desperation but he only groans and presses deeper, his nose bumping against your clit as he fucks his tongue into you. The coil in your stomach tightens—your breaths coming in short, uneven gasps.

Just as you teeter on the edge, he pulls back, leaving you shuddering and empty again.

“What the fu-”

Your protest is cut off when he stands up, stripping off his boxers with one hand while the other grips the base of his cock. The tip is already flushed and leaking.

His cock is thick, long, and pinkish.

Cute, you think to yourself. Though he doesn't give you any longer time to stare—he lines himself up your pussy and pushes in with one smooth trust.

The stretch burns, deliciously slow, as Choso bottoms out inside you. His hips presses flush on yours, the coarse trail of hair above his cock tickling your skin. His hands are suddenly on your shoulders, pinning your back further into the chair. The material now feels warm as he pins you flat, your hips tilted up at an angle that makes every inch of him feel twice as deep.

“Shit—you feel so good,” he moans out. “So tight around my dick.”

Choso’s breath hitches above you, his lips parted around silent curse. His fingers dig into your thighs, spreading you even wider. But then he pulls out almost completely—keeping his tip inside—before slamming back in.

The sound of skin hitting skin echoes in the small room. You can't even be bothered whether his co-worker is listening or if there are customers who came in. All that matters are Choso’s grunts and his punishing cock.

You choke a moan, babbling ‘pleasepleaseplease!’ as he thrusts into you mercilessly. He started with a rigorous pace that still hasn't died down now.

“You like that, huh?” he grits out. His hips snaps forward again, the veins embedded on his cock dragging around your walls.

You can only nod, can barely speak out coherent words to answer him. You are good at pleading with him to go deeper and faster, though.

“Please! F-Fuck, right there!” The words tumble out between gasps, your voice ragged as Choso’s hips brutally piston into you. “Oh, m’god…! H-Holy s-shiiit!”

He leans down, his breath hot against your ear. “Louder,” he demands. “Wanna hear how bad you want it.”

You whimper and whine. “Choso, I—nngghh!—I can’t-”

The sounds created as he pushes in and out of your tight, swollen pussy are both delicious and filthy. It’s all squelch! squelch! squelch! every time he bottoms out—his balls also hitting.

“Gonna cum on my dick like this? Hm?”

You choke on a sob, your thighs shaking as the pressure coils tighter and becomes almost unbearable. You roll your eyes to the point you could swear they reach the back of your head.

“I’m—mhhhmm—I’m close!”

Choso’s rhythm stutters for half a second but snapping harder and deeper back again. “Me too. Fuuuck, me too.”

You can feel it. The way his cock twitches inside you, the way his breath comes ragged against your neck. The growing pressure in your abdomen tightens to the point of pain. Choso’s hand slides between your bodies, his thumb finding your clit again—rubbing rough and relentless as his thrusts turn uneven.

You shatter. White-hot pleasure rips through you, your vision blurring as you clench around him with a choked gasp. Choso curses, his hips slowing as he fucks you through your orgasm, his own release hitting him like a truck. He buries himself into you with a groan while his cum spills hot and full inside you.

The only sound is your mingled panting and the slick drip of his cock sliding out of you. Choso stays braced above you, his arms trembling slightly with the effort of holding himself up. Some hair sticks to his forehead, now damp with sweat. You reach up, brushing the strands away.

“Shit. Your piercings.” Choso’s voice is rough. His fingers ghosts over the jewelries. The skin around them is angry red.

You grin up at him. “You can suck on them next time.”

Choso’s lips quirks up as he brushes over one of the piercings again. He watches your face closely, eyes darkening when your breath catches.

“Next time.”

[tonycries]

No Mercy

Synopsis. Hot nerds.

Pairings. [SEPARATE] Higuruma x Reader, Gojo x Reader, Ino x Reader, Sukuna x Reader, Choso x Reader, Geto x Reader, Nanami x Reader, Toji x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem!reader, nerd!JJK men, college AU, pIot, TA!Nanami, Iessons, slight exhíbitionísm, chokíng, spítting, running from it, scientific Ianguage, manhandIing, matíng presses, rough s, first times (theirs), academic rivaI!Geto, Peter Parker!Ino, REACTIONS, p talking, p sIapping, JACOB’S LÁDDER PlERCING, góoner!Gojo, surprise in Choso’s, needy JJK men, glasses, DÚMBlFICATlON, overstím, sIight bréeding, creampíes, cúmpIay, slight cúmfIation, Iaw professor!Higuruma, getting together, someone save Yaga, pet names, swéaring.

A/N. YOU SHOULD’VE BEEN MERCYYYYYY-

♡ TOJI FUSHIGURO - Better man.

“—and not only did he cheat on me-” You’re whispering to the black-haired man, glare flashing behind his rectangular glasses. Fixated on none other than the faux-blond on the dance floor. “-but he has the audacity to go around telling everyone that I’m the reason we broke up.”

He snorts unkindly- though not directed at you.

Crossing his arms, broad chest straining against the flannel. “The box-dye has clearly seeped into his cerebral cortex- perhaps even the P-FIT Network.”

You’re nodding in agreement - it wasn’t quite in your plans to unload all your relationship drama to the nearest hot stranger at the party tonight. But you’d seen Toji around—who hasn’t? He was the brightest and best in the Veterinary Science department. Always on top of class, always the example your professor used, always with his head ducked into his textbooks.

Though now he held his head high. Pushing his glasses up, “Statistically and personally- I’d be much better for you than him.”

Oh.

You’re jerking your head up to meet his eyes, clearing not expecting of the man you knew not to be a social butterfly. And he’s looking away from you just as quickly—“I-I mean-” There was the socially awkward mess you’d forcefully introduced yourself to tonight. “Forget I said anything- there must have been a miscalculation on my part, I didn’t…”

Though you can’t help but notice that Toji’s ears were…bright red. Redder than even his flannel jacket. 

Oh. 

You knew he wasn’t the type to flirt around.

You knew he wasn’t the type to even get approached- though not for a lack of anything, Toji Fushiguro was hot. To say the least.

Shaggy black bangs that covered part of his glasses. Large hands made to carry numerous books (and perhaps something else…should you let your mind wander).

He towered above most of the campus, with shoulders for daaaaays—no matter how much he hunched them, Toji couldn’t hide just how sculpted they were. And not to mention, the way his biceps would flex any time he raised his hand to answer a question (which was…for every question) made it such a treat to sit behind him during Professor Yaga’s lectures. Beauty and brains?

Somehow, it seems that half the campus had decided that that was a deadly combination, and they could only admire from so close before they suffered from heart palpitations. And the other half had decided that perhaps such a combination really was fatal- and were much too intimidated to try and talk to the man.

And so he waded through the throngs of people, unknowing or perhaps uncaring of their silent admiration. 

Not that his quietly intense demeanor gave off many welcoming vibes, either way.

Toji Fushiguro had one love, and one love only: his books.

Ultimately, it meant that the three seats upon the left and right of Toji were consistently empty for whichever class he sat in.

And you felt for him - you really did. So you tried to sit next to him in whichever classes you shared, though you were yet to have the man make any attempts at friendship. 

And neither had you.

So you’d been content.

Until tonight, that is.

When you’re finding yourself dragging this tall, buff nerd into the frathouse bathroom - it was your luck that there wasn’t a line. Because you don’t think either one of you could wait. Pushing him inside-

Right before the door slams shut and you’re finding the roles fucking reversed.

And you’re finding yourself manhandled in the direction of the sink - front shoved against the porcelain surface, Toji’s weight pinning you down from behind. Panting. Ravenous. He steadies himself with a hand on your hips. 

His other hand reaching in front of you and stuffin’ into your panties. His raging erection pressing against your ass cheeks.

Toji’s calloused finger swipe up your glossy slit and he moans- “A-are you this fuckin’ wet for me—?” Voice breathy as though he couldn’t believe it himself.

And you can only nod. “Who else would it be for, Toji?”

“Well…” He doesn’t answer - he can’t. Because at that very moment, Toji Fushiguro is given the privilege to feel just how sinfully your cunt can clench ‘round his thick fingertips—and his brain goes into overdrive wondering just how cutely you’d squeeze his aching cock.

Before long, he’s hooking a hand underneath your left knee and guiding it up onto the sink. Letting you perch there- “Now—easy f’me, girl.” Toji’s rasps ruffle the sequins on your dress- one that you’re finding hitched up from your lower half. In fact—he’s baring you all the way until your panties. Moving them aside with a finger just the barest inch-

Enough for the bespectacled man to catch side of your glistening wet pussy and groan-

“Neither of us are making it out of this alive.”

And it doesn’t take long before you’re feeling Toji’s long, luuuscious shaft start to sandwich between your pussylips. Honed tip. Bawling divot. They were just so puckered and sensitive- even the barest lines of his veins leaving you gasping. “Fuck-”

“Easy there-” That familiar tone of his echoes, sounding even more out-of-breath inside this bathroom. Toji hooks his chin into the crook of your neck, “Easy—” His swollen, reddened tip starts circling your entrance- and your head spins at how he probes into you. “Easy there- now- breathe-”

“What do you…oh, fuck.” Mewls shattering in your throat- you feel the sheer streeeeetch of Toji’s incredible length.

Just so thick. Just so heated.

You knew that it was always the quiet ones…but fuck.

It felt as though he was melting your walls around him - feeling every throb he was letting out at the top of your head. Your teeth were on edge, and your body was torn between wanting to take him even deeper and bouncing away into safety. For your mere sanity—could he even fit?

“O-of course, I can.” Toji’s guttural answer comes - and it’s only then that you’re truly realizing that you’d said that out loud. Fuck- had you been so dumbified by his mere size? That you were now babbling away as Toji sunk inside—

And he’s ruthless in his swipes- hard, technical. “It’s gonna fit.” It felt as though Toji Fushiguro had already studied every single inch of you, and he was now hurtlin’ away his rock-hard tip straight into where you needed him the most. “It will fit.”

He sounded so sure of himself - as easy as passing every finals exam with flying colors.

Toji pushes his glasses up his nosebridge and angles his cock even more viciously. He rubs that bawling divot of his against the roof of your cunt- messing around some of those tender sweet spots that you’d always kept hidden. And then glide-glide-gliiiiding down to purposefully massaging every nook n’ cranny of your walls against those prominent veins of his-

“Fuck—” In absolutely no time- he’s managed to locate your pulsing g-spot. As though drawn in by a magnet, Toji’s then following the shivers of your body to target that exact spot. Ramming and ramming his heavy cockhead between your pussylips. “H-how are you even-”

“Hmmm?” Nearly purring, Toji grazes his cheek down the column of your throat. “Speak up, doll.”

“How-”

“Actually…” You could hear the smile in his tone. “-raise your hand to speak.”

You gape. And that rebellious streak within you makes you open your mouth with a protest- but soon enough Toji’s darting his tip away from your g-spot to start thumpin’ at your cervix.

Lengthy glides that end up swabbing your sweetest spots, before thrashing straight to your womb.

It was as if he was teaching you exactly what you’d be missing if it weren’t for him and fuck- if that wasn’t a compelling argument…

Belatedly, you raise your hand. “How are you even this good, Toji?”

And that makes him raise a dark brow- “This good?” He asks - mostly to himself - and the utter botched breath in his tone makes shivers sprint down your spine. Toji watches his plump tip disappear in and out of your cunt a few times- before suddenly he’s letting out a startled laugh. “This good?”

Before you can do anything about it, Toji lifts his hand off of your waist and ends up smushing your cheeks together. There was nothing gentle about it - Toji was mean. Toji was trying to leave marks.

So that everyone who sees the two of you walk out of the bathroom together can look at your pretty face and know that that was him. That pretty set of lips- both ones.

He’s holding your face up to the sink mirror, his eyes meeting yours through the reflective surface. You’re realizing with a jolt that Toji’s eyes were the most intense shade of emerald green - and they were currently narrowing down at you—“Who’s fucking you right now, girl?”

“Wh-what?” You’re managing to sputter out.

His grip slightly tightens- and his cock starts hitting you twofold. “See it?” Those handsome features of his are just irresistible, making it so difficult for you to tear your eyes away from him. “Feel it?” And his other hand loosens from your clit to glide down your tummy - where you felt utterly bloated with all his bulging, massive inches. Throbbing. “Feel it?”

And you can only nod and nod-

“Who’s fucking you right now, girl?”

“Y-you—”

And in that very moment, his fat cock bottoms out with a lecherous slurp!

“That’s what I thought.” Toji sounds so content with himself- slightly slurring at the ends of his sentence. “And what’s my name?”

“Toji-” You’re gasping out. Your cries were echoing so loud inside the bathroom that you’re sure some of the bystanders outside were hearing - but you didn’t care. Not when Toji was reeling his sloppy hips back and stutterin’ a few direct hits to your bruised g-spot—“Toji Fushiguro—!”

“And who said a nerd can’t fuck?”

He snickers to himself.

Right before he’s starting to fuck into you like a damn animal- spotting every ounce of space inside you with his dribbling pre. The length of his cock was nearly a blur between your legs, and Toji was just drunk on the thought of having you. 

On the thought of wanting to have you for so long now-

“I studied, y’know?” Toji whispers against the shell of your ear, words clammy. “I studied every inch of the human anatomy-” He presses a kiss—then a bite. “I studied eeeeevery nook and cranny-” Swirlin’ his rude cockhead around just in time, “Every nerve in the clitorourethrovaginal complex and every crevice-”

“F-fuuuuck-”

“Every statistic for the Gräfenberg spot, and every spot where it couldn’t be-” He pinches your clit. He’s thrashin’ his hips against yours so hard that it sends your heels flying off of the cool tile. “Every stretch of your rugae and every little clench-”

As if on cue, you’re clenching around him. Embracing him with your puckered pussylips until Toji himself sees white- “Toji, it feels so-”

“Good.” He’s furiously pushing his glasses up, not daring to miss a single second or squeeze of your cunt. “Because I know this pussy in and out—” The nerdy man lands a few more sloppy strokes, and he has to bite down on his lower lip to hold back a whimper. Locking eyes with you through the mirror- “And who’s fucking you?”

“You, Toji—” Your eyes scrunch shut as you’re crashing into a sudden high- taking your entire body by surprise. Those white-hot bolts of pleasure start up where he was plunging into you, before building up through the rest of your body.

Your toes curl. You’re seeing white.

So strong that it leaves you nearly numb.

Nearly stupid- unable to do anything but grip onto the sink and bounce your hips back down. Right as Toji was fucking you through peak after peak- “Toji—fuck, Toji-”

And your ears are still ringing by the time the bathroom door clicks open.

Too late, you’re sloppily swivelling around to face the faux-blond man standing at the doorway. Not that you had anything against people that dyed their hair - but you did have something against Naoya Zenin.

Your jaw drops, “You-”

His furious eyes dart between you and Toji. “You two-”

“Take a hike, fucker.” Toji’s gruff tone echoes from behind, and you’re noticing that he doesn’t slow down for a single second as he talks to Naoya. In fact, the bespectacled man plants a sudden spank on the side of your ass and speeds up—“You’ll see enough of her soon at family functions- as my girlfriend, of course.”

Fuming, Naoya doesn’t speak a word before the door slams shut.

And it takes the tremble inside the bathroom for you to speak- “Wait…family functions? Do you know him or something?”

And Toji looks at you squarely. “We’re related.”

Oh.

“And don’t think that I was b-bluffing about the girlfriend part.”

Oh.

He stutters at that?

.

.

.

After a considerable few years of teaching, Masamichi Yaga has learned not to be surprised. 

It was inevitable, of course—the same old campus, the same old syllables, the same old faces that inevitably get replaced by those rather similar. All bored and slightly hungover.

Though that’s not to say that Yaga doesn’t love teaching or his students - in fact, he can empathize with those that aren’t exactly the keenest on learning Veterinary Science at 8AM. He empathizes - really - and he does his best to keep the process as pain-free as possible until they’ve earned their credits for the semester. 

And then again, that’s also not to say that there aren’t a few students who always…stand out. Not in terms of looks or aesthetic, but rather in the work they do.

In the questions they answer- and the questions they ask.

In the hours they put in.

In the textbooks they keep as close as their hearts.

And who better to illustrate this point than Toji Fushiguro? Though it was such a shame that he wasn’t the social types - these stand-out students often didn’t tend to be - in fact, there was only ever one student that dared sit next to him—ah! There you were.

Yaga admits he takes no small pleasure in watching this small interaction everyday.

Namely how Toji would duck his head and pretend he didn’t see you- except…except today, Toji wasn’t ducking his head at all. Not at all.

Instead, the black-haired man looks straight at you and whispers something in your ear.

Something that…that - judging by the gaping expression on your face, and the smug one on his - was a sentence not meant for Yaga’s ears. Something dirty.

And oh goodness…

He doesn’t know what happened since last class, but if he has to watch the two of you flirt everyday from hereon after then…

He might just have to request a course change.

♡ NANAMI KENTO - Lesson #1

“So like—” It doesn’t surprise Nanami Kento - TA to Professor Yaga’s History class, the star student in the entire department, the man infamous for having even his dorm walls covered in academic accolades and awards - when you lean over his desk.

Palms planted almost on his side. The neckline of your loose satin blouse dipping.

Dipping.

Enough to give him a gooood look at what was underneath- he catches just the slightest glimpse of baby pink before he has enough sense to look away. Lingerie? You’d worn fucking lingerie to come get tutored by him?

But alright—say that was understandable. Say that Nanami has enough experience as a TA by now to know that certain students might attempt to gain favors through…non-academic means. 

Perhaps one could chalk that up to human sensibilities (or lack thereof) - Nanami Kento was never that type of man. In fact, most of the department would harp on ballads about what a romantic the blond-haired TA is- much to his obliviousness.

However, what actually stuns him is the way you’re tucking a finger into your blouse’s neckline- and how you have the audacity to actually tug down on it.

You’re humming, “What do I have to do to get an A in this class?”

Nanami balks. Mouth opening and closing soundlessly.

He knows your type- more accurately, he knows you. He knows you’re the type of student surrounded by others, always invited to the most exclusive parties, always with a phone blowing up, always at the center of attention—always in his line of sight. Though that’s because he knows you’re not above cheating to pass this class…of course. That’s the only reason.

Short skirt. Seemingly getting shorter everyday- sat front and center whenever he assisted with class.

Legs slightly ajar.

It made him lose track of his thoughts whenever he happened to glance your way. Happened to. 

To Nanami Kento, history is what he lives and breathes- but to you, he knows it’s nothing but a credit you need to get your degree. And though he wouldn’t necessarily fault anyone for that, he can’t deny that it’d sent a thrill up his spine once you’d cornered him yesterday asking for tutoring.

He’d said yes faster than he would’ve liked.

And thus, here he was.

Nanami Kento tries to keep his composure by reminding himself of your absolutely abysmal naming of Japanese shoguns from the 14th century, but just when he thinks he’s getting a grip on himself—

He darts a look down your blouse and his voice cracks.

You smile as though you’ve got him already - you’ve seen the way he looks at you during lectures.

“I-I think that would be highly inappropriate-” Pushing his gold-rimmed glasses up frantically.

To which you’re only leaning closer- “Oh? What would be inappropriate? I was asking about what extra assignments I could take to make up for my last test score…” 

You cock your head in the picture of perfect innocence.

But he knows your games- he fucking knows it. And almost as much as his ears were burning, his cock does the same between his legs, too. “Perhaps re-taking that test- and the last five.” Nanami grits out. “And perhaps a long reading list—”

“You say that as if you’re disappointed.” Smiling - a snare.

“You say that as if you didn’t plan to re-take any tests at all.” Nanami counters. Somehow, his perfectly slicked-back hair was mussed up - he doesn’t know how, but he always did seem to lose his cool when it came to you. Every part of him.

“What can I say?” You’re shrugging, “I love a hot fuckin’ nerd.”

Nanami gulps. Tightening his tie- before he thinks better of it and all but rips it off of his neck.

Perfectly pressed pants. Perfectly buttoned-up shirt. Sleeves sometimes pushed up to his elbows. Golden cufflinks. Tie. 

Everyone who has seen Nanami Kento striding about campus, has commented on his formal clothes in one way or the other - but mostly about how there was not a single crease in them, not even at the end of the day. And it really was true. You’re feeling them pressed up against your front right now—

With Nanami taking only a few split-seconds to tug you from the other side of the table - easily, as you were all but on top of it by now. He’s grabbing ahold of your wrist and easily manhandling you to his side.

Splaying you back out on the table. Back against the cool surface.

His muscular core weighing you down- and fuck, your mouth waters as you feel all the chiselled abs he was hiding away beneath his button-ups.

The calm, collected nerd had somehow snapped-

Nanami’s intense brown eyes peek up at you as he nears- and you can only nod.

It’s the only confirmation you need before that infamously handsome tie of his ends up ‘round your wrists—tied together. You’re delighting at just how rough he was being with you thereafter- flipping up your slutty skirt, barely pushing aside your panties.

Nanami’s all the way through taking out his heated, ravaging cock - so thick - and tappin’ his blushin’ red tip between your pussylips—before he takes a look at your heaving just and gapes.

“Oh.”

And before you know it, your blouse is being ripped straight down- buttons flying to the floor.

“Sh-shit-” You’re gasping at the shockwave of cool air that greets you. Your body arches up into his touch as Nanami leans down and draaaags his face across your tits, lapping his tongue all over the swell of your breasts and smelling you. So sweet. “Shit- just fuck me already, Kento-”

And the first thing you’re registering is the sound—thwack!

Before you’re registering the actual understanding that Nanami Gentleman Kento had just rovered his right hand down and spanked your puckered pussylips.

Hard. 

You’re so sensitive that the action sends you seeing stars, and you buck up into his touch-

Thwack!

“The first lesson we’re going to learn tonight-” He twiddles his thumb between your folds, smearin’ them open and taking a nice look at your cute hole. Wet. No matter how much self control the man might have, he can’t stop himself from leaning down and spitting—

A gentle wad of spit that falls vertically between your legs.

The TA hums at the splatter, running his thumb purposefully down your clit. “-patience.”

You begin to whine. “Now that’s just unfair-”

Thwack!

He looks up at you with heavy, half-lidded eyes. “What was that, darling?”

“N-nothing…” You’re forced to admit. And it takes every shred of willpower in you to stop from humping up into his touch so needily—and Nanami doesn’t utter a word as you take control over yourself. He merely leans back and enjoys the show.

Let you be the one to dictate how far he teaches tonight. He’s a patient man.

“Good.” Nanami announces once you’re finally stock-still, having contained your desperation. It was cute how you think you could mask those tiny squirms of your hips, but he lets it go as your first lesson…“Second lesson-”

You’re shivering at the thought.

And he spits between your pussylips once more.

“If you aren’t wet enough to fucking drench me- then I fear you won’t get me, my love.”

“P-please—” And you really were wet enough to drench him- you’re perking your hips up slightly so that he can see. Leaving a sheen of gleaming sap down the front of Nanami’s crotch, “I am I am-”

“Then…” His lips quirk up meanly. He’s sandwiching his ruddied cockhead between your pussylips and fucking- just between your pussylips. “Show your working.”

Show your working?

Show your working?!

It seems you have no choice but to spreeeead apart your legs even further- letting your gooey cunt gush out a few sploshes of slick. Nanami cocks his head down and takes you in, “Hm…good, good.”

And you’ve never felt more shy in your life. “A-and the third lesson, Kento?”

He fits his pointed cockhead between your ready folds.

“Good girls take it all.” 

Did that mean—

Soon enough, you’re throwing your head back- voicebox shattering with a spiel of moans. Mewls. Whines. Any and every noise that possibly couldn’t describe the sheer raw sensation of Nanami’s hot, giiiirthy cock entering your cunt.

He was stretching you out so wide.

Wider than you ever thought possible.

He’s placing a hand down on your front and press-press-preeeeessing down on your stomach as his cock sinks in- fat cockhead opening up your channel. Fucking you like an utter madman. It didn’t matter how composed his reputation stated him to be- because right now Nanami had his blond bangs falling across his forehead, his jaw clenched at the sensations, and his glasses nearly slipping off his face as he tuuuugs you down his cock.

His reddened divot weeping into even the tiniest of nooks and crannies inside you, his cock so large that it could almost be felt from the outside—

“Feel me right in there?” Nanami’s deep baritone echoes out into the room, echoing against all four corners. Five thick fingers of his splay out across your core- “Right there-”

You shiver as he locates the exact spot where he was easing in - another few inches pushed inside. His swollen tip was swirling about your insides and push-push-puuuushing inside, past those restraints and that tight muscle of your hole. “Yes.”

“Feel me openin’ that pussy of yours up?” He grumbles out in a gravelly tone. And it makes the hair on your body stand at attention to realize that this was him speaking like this. This was him pushing his glasses further up his perspired nose, this was him pounding his heated cock into you in short, jerky thrusts. “Feel me teaching her the shape of my hah- cock? Feel me teaching her to take me—”

“Y-yes—” To be quite honest, it felt as though you could feel him in your very throat. “But are you really…”

“Hm?”

And you’re trailing off simply because you’re so awestruck - Nanami’s cock was looooong and bloated. Decorated in a few veins down his sides—they were red and irritated. Thick. Throbbing so much that you swear you could count them from where you were spread apart on his table-

His cock is enough to render you so honest. “Are you sure it even can fit in?” 

And that makes Nanami pause.

“Can it fit?” He breathes out - his voice taking on an airy tone that you’ve never heard before. It’s startling enough to make you look right into his eyes, and the inkling of something…dark in them is enough for you to jolt. “Can it fit?” 

And before you can repeat - before you can even ask him what’s wrong…Nanami reaches up to grab the tied restraints around your wrists.

And don’t mistake him- he isn’t about to set you free.

He’s using that tie as leverage to haul your body down—“You’re asking if it can fit?” Your blond-haired TA grunts out hoarsely, breaths coming out ragged. He hisses when you clench your sopping wet walls around him- “Good girls take it all.”

“Y-yes, fuck-”

“And you’re my good girl, right?” Staring passionately into your eyes whilst he hits every hidden spot inside you in long, lecherous strikes.

His sheer expression - the way you had the Nanami Kento - so ruffled is so compelling that you can’t help but nod your head. “Of course.” And your legs are tightening evermore against his toned waist, interrupted only by Nanami himself.

He uses one hand to throw both of your legs over his shoulders- one each. And before you know it, the big, buff nerd is bending down to fold you in half.

His fat cock reaching the end of your pussy.

“Fourth lesson-” And you’re barely even hearing it above the constant thrashes and thuds at your cervix, the stars you’re seeing. “-repeat all those back to me…”

And just then, the round edge of his tip was grazing right across your g-spot.

“-or you don’t get to cum.”

.

.

.

“How odd…” Professor Yaga’s bushy brows furrow above his shades - it might not be quite professional for a professor to wear such a thing to campus, but to be fair, students showed up in their pajamas half the time. Besides, they helped mask his expressions rather well.

Like right now.

Though Nanami Kento - his ever-loyal TA - could sense that what was upon Professor Yaga’s face was nothing but pure, unabashed surprise. He says your name—“I don’t remember her getting A++’s a single time this semester- and now you’re telling me it’s all that she’s been getting?” The professor squints at his screen, in the middle of doing his customary check-ins before a lecture.

Nanami coughs, “I-I’ve been tutoring her lately…”

Professor Yaga looks to Nanami in surprise - he knew that his blond-haired student would much rather hug a porcupine than a person. Let alone spend his precious hours tutoring one. “Is…is that so?”

Nanami nods silently.

The older man clears his throat - if there was anyone capable enough to bring your History grades up to such an extent, then it could only be Nanami Kento. At this rate, you might be giving his star student a run for his money- “And how has that been?”

“Well it’s been quite- ah, illuminating, sir.”

Professor Yaga raises a brow in question- but before he can ask anything further—the students start trickling in.

Class has started.

To everyone including Professor Yaga, Nanami Kento- and you. 

Winking blatantly at his TA as you waltz up to your chair, skirt shorter than ever, hips swaying…

The professor just barely manages to catch the way Nanami’s eyes…follow you.

And it dawns upon him.

The slight wobble in your saunter.

The strange bruises peeking out above Nanami’s collar.

The traitorous blush upon his face.

Professor Yaga has never searched up course change forms faster.

♡ GETO SUGURU - “Shut up.”

“Make me.”

And that…is precisely what makes you pause.

It’s what makes you s-sputter. It’s what makes you shoot a glare at perhaps the most infuriating man you’ve ever had the misfortune of meeting- and that’s saying a lot. 

Though, he always did manage to surprise you—ever since Professor Yaga’s Philosophy Class 101, you’d been haunted by the thorn that was Geto Suguru.

You recall that first meeting like it was yesterday.

The nervous shuffling of seats. Professor Yaga was notorious for hand-picking only the best of the best for his classes, and you remember the glee that’d shot up your spine at the email of confirmation. You’d been picked. Similarly, adrenaline wafted off the other students in waves around you, burning its sour aftertaste into the atmosphere. Though at that moment, nothing had been sweeter.

Especially once the professor had finally - finally - asked a broad question about the theory of knowledge—

And your hand had shot up.

Right along with the boy’s beside you.

Long black hair. Longer limbs.

Draped across the chair so carelessly, his grey turtleneck hugged him in a way that made your eyes dart away.

Gold-rimmed glasses.

He had the most feline smirk across his face as his eyes met yours- smug. He raised his hand higher. 

And from that day onwards, you knew that Geto Suguru was your sworn enemy.

Rival, more like.

Throughout the semester, you’d answer one of Professor Yaga’s questions, and Geto would be sure to disagree. You’d top the grades in class, and Geto would break your streak on the next one. You’d try not to bash his head in, and Geto would only urge you to more.

He infuriated you. If not by whatever sharp quip comes to his tongue - seemingly always in competition with yours - then by whatever sly wink or smirk he’d throw your way. He was shameless. 

And you were sure Professor Yaga wasn’t paid enough for this.

So being paired together for the biggest project of the semester certainly hadn’t been on your radar. No matter how much predictivism you’d been taught.

And it was by sheer miracle that you two hadn’t strangled each other already-

“M-make you?” You ask. Geto adjusts his glasses and leans back in his chair, arms crossing.

“Make me.” He repeats, and you’re sure by now that you weren’t mishearing things. “You’ve spent this whole semester running that mouth- I’m starting to wonder whether that’s all it does.”

The slight arch of his brow makes you bristle. “You fucker-”

“No need to lower yourself to insults, gorgeous, I’m just stating the facts. Diogenes always did seek an honest man.” He hums, all faux innocence. “Philosophy isn’t just about theorizing, it’s about application. Besides…” Geto shrugs those broad shoulders of his, snug in yet another too-expensive turtleneck. Cashmere, you bet. He looks straight at you as he speaks—“-there’s nothing little about me, either.”

And then you pause.

And then you’re standing in the middle of Geto Suguru’s bedroom- because of course the bastard had suggested his dorm room for your project meeting.

“Prove it then.”

His pink lips part. “What?”

“Prove it.” You repeat. “Philosophy isn’t just about theorizing, it’s about application.”

“Maybe I will. Socrates said to be is to do.”

“Maybe you should.”

“Maybe I—” And of course, you have to be the one to make the first move. You have to be the one to drag Geto Suguru in by his stupid turtleneck, pressing your lips to his. Stupidly sweet.

He’s lapping at you like a man in the depths of hunger, licking his tongue between your gloss-covered lips and moaning- “Fuck.” He rasps out through honed canines. “Fuck.” Dragging himself off of the floor where your poster boards were spread out-

“Sit.” And without a single warning, you’re pressing the heel of your foot between Geto’s meaty thighs. You’re locating where his rock-hard cock is and puuuuuush-

“N-ngh…” He shivers. He blushes at the broken noise that escapes him. “Tha’s all you got?”

You raise a brow and crush his thickening length harder. 

Geto bucks- but he pulls himself together. “Still all you got?”

And so you’re narrowing your eyes n’ grabbing onto him- tearing through Geto Suguru’s stupid, pretentious layers like you’ve always wanted to.

Tugging off his neat pants. Pulling on his tight Aristotle-patterned boxers.

Spitting straight between his lips once he opens his mouth-

And Geto’s bulbous red tip twitches at the sensation of your wet dollop of saliva. He nods with a blush as you’re lowering your naked cunt down on him—“Yes.” Breathing out. Feeling a little dizzy at the sudden warmth of your swollen pussylips, swallowing him up- “Yes- fuuuuck-”

Before he knows it, your hand is around him. “Shut up.” 

“Fuck, that’s makin’ me even harder-” As if to prove his point, his flared tip throbs inside of you.

“I said shut up.” Those pretty fingers of yours claim his pale neck- digging the curves of your nails into his skin. It makes him gulp. “If someone walks in or if the dorm RA catches us, then my reputation will be affected-”

“You mean my reputation- fuh-fuck.” He can barely even get the sentence out before you’re tightening your grip. Perkin’ your pretty hips up juuuust a little before gulping down his thick length.

Inch after inch.

Fat and pulsing inside of you with need.

He was so veiny that each tiny slip n’ slide caressed Geto’s prominent veins against your sweet insides. And he’s throwing his head back at the sensation as though he’s seeing the pearly gates themselves.

Letting out such a guttural groan- “Oh fuck.” Choked-up at the back of his throat. Those milky thighs of his shake as he reaches them upwards to chase your wettened cunt, bashin’ in the roundness of his cockhead. “Oh fuck, fuck, fuuuck-”

“What was that about running one’s mouth?” You scoff. “Seems like you’re all talk- what? Can’t even handle a little pussy?”

“Maybe I just can’t handle your pussy.” He bites back. With yet another soft sound leaving him once your fingers dig against his throat.

“I doubt you’ve ever seen a real pussy in your life.” And when he opens his mouth, you’re quick to interrupt. “Don’t lie.”

Geto’s mouth shuts again. Having you be so stern with him like this…fuck. It makes some strangely carnal part of himself that he didn’t even know he had awakened- and the black-haired man merely ruts up into you a few times. A line of drool dragging down the side of his lips the more n’ more he’s feeling your soft clenches. Just one hard cleeeench.

He was gone for.

His cadence grows stuttered. His glasses slip down his face. And he finally nods in admittance—a virgin. And, listen, you didn’t have anything against virgins- but the fact that he could talk so big and yet get driven so wild by a mere drag of your sloppy walls down his cock- and still not admit to it?

“Pathetic.”

The dribblin’ and irritated crown of his shaft grows even bigger inside of you. Geto’s head plummets forwards, and he’s whispering something inaudible.

“What was that?” You raise a brow- an expression that he raises his eyes to meet and jolts. As if electrocuted. 

“I-I said I didn’t hear you.” He counters. Bucking into you like an animal. “Pythagoras said-”

And you don’t hesitate to emphasize every single syllable. “Pa-the-tic.” 

“What was that?” 

“I said you’re path—oh.”

Rutting into you even harder—fuck. It didn’t even matter that his massive, inexperienced cock wasn’t fitting all the way- because Geto was digging his rounded crown around your most delicate insides.

He somehow locates your g-spot in a few swipes, brows furrowed as though he’d memorized this particular spot through years of reading (he has, all for this very moment…) 

Such a delicious curve that you feel in your very throat, tastebuds sizzlin’ with a lacquer of saliva the moment his cockhead strikes your sweet spot. Your favorite. And more than your low profanities, the way you’re tilting your head down and glaring at him makes Geto Suguru splosh out in more lewd slick. “Watch it, Suguru.”

“Mmm—” He shivers. Hands coming up ‘round your back and tugging you further against his toned front- you never realized that the nerd you sat next to was so ripped. “S-say that again.”

And you swear now you’re beginning to grow a little concerned- he surely couldn’t be that pussydrunk, could he? “I said watch it-”

“No-” Geto cuts you off. “In that tone.”

That tone? And it dawns upon you slow and sensual—like the toyin’ rubs that he was granting on your g-spot now. Though you were the one most in control, letting his swollen cock stir up your insides at a thorough pace - now all the way from the tufts of black at his base to his puckered, drooling tip. “Suguru…” And your hand locks around his neck even tighter- and just as you’d suspected, he’s drenchin’ out even more syrupy sap that leaks out of your hole. Gets fucked back in. “You fucking like being degraded, don’t you?”

A blush rises to his face. His glare targets you even through his foggy glasses, “Th-that’s prepost-”

“You like me yelling at you.” And this time, it’s not a question. You already know—and you’re grinding your hips down onto his toned v-line at a frenzied pace, wrenching those words away from his husky throat before they can even formulate. “You like me calling you pathetic.” This time reaching up and tugging on a stray lock of his hair- “You like me fucking you like a little bitch.”

And his rude, reddened cock - ever the culprit - fills out your insides so much it’s as if you were fit to burst. He empties out his wadded webs inside you- 

“Isn’t that true?” You coo down at him. Poor Geto Suguru, spit-glossed lips and quivering at the feeling of your pussy- “You’ve always wanted to be fucked by me like this, huh?”

And he nods.

He fucking nods.

Eyes glazed. Brows furrowed.

Hips shivering every time they rammed into yours.

And that’s right before one of his tremblin’ hands reaches up to grab your own dominant set - lifting them off of his sweaty scalp. For a second there, you think that perhaps Geto is particularly cagey over his pretty hair- but then he’s opening up your palm and smacking the side of his even prettier face with your hand.

Not hard enough to harm. Not soft enough to not leave a print of your digits across his blushing cheeks.

You’re surging up with questions when-

“Ahhh…” He exhales, eyes fluttering shut at the sting. Once Geto opens them again, you’re noticing that they look clearer than ever now. “That’s better.” He pushes up his drifted glasses.

Rapidly and ravenously, he’s back in control with his sloppy cadence. Globular edge of his cockhead swervin’ apart your folds to tickle your g-spot—then reaching all the way towards the back of your womb-

Again and again.

“D-don’t think m’never gonna catch up, gorgeous.” Geto gnaws down on his lower lip as if to hold back a moan. “I’ve been wanting to fuck you since the start of semester- you didn’t think m’just gonna let you win, huh? Plato said that the first and greatest victory is to conquer yourself.”

“Don’t act like you weren’t just—oh.” You’re out of breath from his sheer thrashes, the ridges of his veins massaging spots you didn’t even know you had. “-weren’t just putty in my hands.”

“Ah- and about hands…” Like he’d just remembered- like he’d been so gone on the feeling of your sopping wet walls that he didn’t even realize what had just transpired, Geto shoots a look down at your hand. Still in his grip. Still prickling with the slap from earlier.

He bites his lip and blushes.

“Slap me again.”

You fucking knew it.

.

.

.

The next time you’re attending Professor Yaga’s class, you have a lot of explaining to do - first of all about why you’d sent him an urgent email in the middle of the night, requesting an extension for the project.

And second of all, why you and Geto Suguru walked into the next class holding hands.

“So that’s what happened.” He doesn’t even need to hear your excuses to know. From here he can already see the bite marks on your neck, the limp in your walk, the way that Geto looked much too happy with himself.

The older man pushes up his shades and sighs-

“Professor-”

“I really don’t get paid enough for this.”

♡ CHOSO KAMO - XXXreads.

“I r-really can’t thank you enough for helping me.” Choso’s sweet, sweet voice flutters out at you—almost inaudible past the mountain of books in his hands. They were as tall as him when set down on the floor, and being held up they nearly grazed the arch of the doorway. “Really. I didn’t know how many trips I’d have to take otherwise.”

You giggle, “Don’t worry about it, Choso.”

“No but- really.” And somehow - perhaps through years of practice, perhaps because of those muscles you always suspected he hid underneath soft fluffy sweaters - Choso’s letting go of his towering pile to push his glasses up. “N-no one really offered…no one talks to me anyways but-” 

He looks at you in slight panic, as though fearful he’s scared you off.

“But really, thank you.”

And you feel your heart clench for the poor boy—it was true, after all. No one in class ever quite spoke to the nerdy Choso Kamo, always with his face close against the pages, always with his hand raised in the air.

He lived more in the world of books than he did with people.

Which was no surprise- not when the people in most of your lectures weren’t exactly the nicest. Despite it being university, it seems people still did pick on him for being a little…bookish. Tittering to themselves as he passed. Throwing scrunched up paper balls at his head. Speaking to him just for the laughs.

And that’s where you came in- there was absolutely nothing wrong with being bookish, or studious, or smart.

In fact, out of everyone in Professor Yaga’s English Lit lectures, you think that Choso was the best one there. The most…handsome, too. But that was neither here nor there!

And so you did your best to divert their attention, to prevent your classmates from taking out their slouched midterm grades and bad hangovers on the nerdy boy. Which included spotting his form (or at least the little you could make out of him) in the corridor, struggling to balance countless books, and stopping to help him.

And you’re nodding at the librarian as you enter- slipping in Choso’s multiple borrowed books through the book drop slot. Soon enough, you’re finding yourself free of all the weight of his books and Choso—holding onto merely one.

“What’s that one, Choso?” You ask in curiosity. 

His voice cracks. Holding the book against his chest, Choso’s handsome face tints red as he looks at you. “Th-this one? Nothing-”

And as you attempt to take a peek at it, he swerves away slightly. Hm… 

Pushing his glasses up his clammy face, “N-nothing at all. This is just one that I have to…to return personally.”

“Personally?” You squint. “Like put on the shelf yourself? I’ve never heard of that.”

“Yes—” With a final squeak, he’s darting into the depths of the library as though his feet were on fire. As though, perhaps, you yourself were fire - and he hunches away from you slightly when you’re following him. 

All the way past the science section.

“A-and thank you so much for your help- again. I wouldn’t want to bother you any longer.” He pants.

All the way past the literary fiction section.

“Really- I wouldn’t want to bother you. I promise you can leave.”

All the way into a darkened corner of the library that you don’t think you’ve ever been in before- where the tables were sparse and the students were even more sparse. In fact, there wasn’t a single soul in sight there.

“Please.”

And Choso ducks into a barren corner of an aisle.

One that you look up at—

And right there on the shelf marker atop the shelf. Right there in laminated plastic. Right there in printed script that could not be erased.

Erotica.

He’d borrowed an erotica book.

And judging by Choso’s familiarity with the section, this wasn’t the first time. Nor would it be the last.

In just a few seconds- you’re walking up to him. And knowing that he was cornered, Choso Kamo can do nothing but bow his head in shame when you reach out for the book—something by some author named Tony with a glitzy, glossy x-rated cover. You’re glancing at the brief summary on the back. 

You catch a few key words.

Nerd.

Bullied.

Class. 

The hot girl who’s the only one to treat him with kindess—and the one to take his virginity. 

.

.

.

“Fuck.” And Choso Kamo’s tone comes out hurried- it comes out harrowed. It comes out hushed—nothing but a low, trembling tone against the shell of your ears. It shakes, just like the rest of his half-naked body as he tucks his fat tip between your pussylips.

Pants pulled down just enough to free his raging erection. 

His plump, reddish crown swipes down your crevice and straight inside your hole. Jerking his hips sloppily back and forth a few times-

“Fuck fuck fuck fuck—” Choso’s voice cracks in your eardrums, entire body feverish as he glues himself to your behind. Your front against the ridged bookshelf, his toned body against yours. 

“Shhhhh, baby.”

He nods, “Shhhh.”

The towering man fucks you like an utter animal- hips pinned to yours and making the wooden furniture underneath creak. It’s as if he doesn’t even realize his own strength, his own girth - how could he? When he hasn’t had the experience to before…

And just the act of putting it in is enough to leave Choso a stuttering, strangled mess. A single tear tracks down his cheek, “Fuh-fuck, it feels even b-better than in the books, baby-”

“Thought about me a lot while reading, hm?” Turning your face around- you meet his flushed one with a grin.

“Well…”

You clench and his breath hitches- “Did you touch yourself to those thinking about me?”

It’s a tone that’s making him shiver - the tips of Choso’s ears burn bright red, and his lips wobble cutely. He nods—he fucking nods away drunkenly before he’s registering it. The look of glee on your face is enough to make the nerdy man choke. “D-don’t tease me, baby.” He quietly whispers out, hand dragging down the side of your upright body. He’s managing to slip his slender fingertips between your legs n’ massage those treacly pussylips of yours—just like his books had taught him. “Though you- I mean- the character in the books did, too.”

“Oh?” One of your brows raises interest. “And what else did this character do, baby?”

Choso whines, his flushed cockhead emptying out the most adorable lines of slick into your deepest depths. He pulls out a little just to watch those ribbons of sap cling onto your cunt- “F-fuck back into me…”

“Hm?”

“The character- I mean.” He gasps out. And a line of sweat glides down the side of his temple as he starts ruttin’ into you even harder, the round edge of his cock opening up spots you didn’t even know you had—Choso was fucking massive. “Would fuck back into me- the nerd.”

And so you’re gripping onto the firm wooden planks of the book shelf, using it as leverage to raise your hips. Up and down. Up and down. “Shit—” Your walls glide down his swollen cock, the patterns of his veins just so prominent. “And what else, baby?”

He’s whimpering at the sound of that pretty pet name on your tongue- so much so that Choso leans over to suck on your tongue. “And then- and then-”

“This is how you kiss, Cho…” You angle your head to kiss him back - so sloppy. Who’d have thought that the lovely, quiet nerd in your lectures was just so…

“And then she’d start t-to clench.” He admits, oglin’ down with big brown eyes at the glistening circle of your cunt. “I don’t really know what that means, baby, or what you have to do to cl—fuck.”

And you’re hearing the exact moment it hits him- the exact moment that the cute hug of your walls leaves him a broken man. Choso shudders upwards as though he’s just been jolted by electricity, and he probes his red, round tip against your spongy cervix- bottoming-out. Barely even starting to pull away from your sultry womb as he fucks inwards.

Held hostage by your cunt—he pants. He shakes. “And then-” Spittle dribbling down the sides of his lips, they twitch with delight. “Just like that—j-just like that…harder.”

And so you do. Fluttering your lashes, “Like this?”

“Harder.”

“Like this-”

“Hard-” Cutting his own words off, the nerdy man reaches his quiverin’ fingers from your slit—and before you know it, he’s pinching your puffy pussylips together. Tight. Ruthless. Making you see stars behind your shuttered lids at the sheer pressure- “Like this. And then in the end she’d beg-”

“Beg for what, Cho?” You ask.

“She’d beg…” The raw draaaags of his flared mushroom tip leave your knees weak. And Choso has to keep a hand constantly looped around your right thigh to keep you from collapsing. Perking your ass up against his ramming v-line, he utters—“You’d beg for my cum…”

Your mouth drops into a pretty circle. “Oh.”

And almost instantly, he seems to regret the filthy words spewing out of his mouth. “B-but that’s just a fantasy and-”

“Well…” This time, you’re the one interrupting him. And it’s done so with the realization that- hey, he was fucking you raw anyways. “Why don’t you go ahead then?”

And he doesn’t even need to hear that entire sentence- he doesn’t even need to hear the middle of it. He merely slaps a hand on top of your gaped maw - effectively shutting you up in such a mean way - and rams his slam-reddened hips against yours. Choso all but fucking collapses his muscular body against your back as he scours his tip into your deepest spot.

The circumference of his girth ending off at your womb.

Before you’re feeling the slow, sensual trickle of his cum filling you up from the inside. It starts off with a few shy dribbles- before soon, the bespectacled man has to gnaw his canines down on your neck to stop himself from making too much noise.

Chasing your hips as you don’t know whether to fuck back or lean against the library- shoving and smearin’ his leaky tip into every orifice. Every nook. Every cranny.

Your eyes roll to the back of your head at the feeling of his slick glaaaaaazing you from the inside, frothing out near your entrance. “Sh-shit there’s so much, Cho.” You murmur out. “You’ve never cum inside anything but your fist, huh? Shit- been savin’ this all up, hm?”

Biting back a groan as your words make his seed shoot just a few more spurts—“Yes.” To your absolute surprise. “Been saving it up for you, baby.”

And a shiver runs down your spine.

Both at Choso’s words-

And at the sudden knocking upon one of the bookshelves- almost as though someone was making their entrance known upon a front door.

Both of you whip your heads up in a panic - with Choso still not moving away from your cunt. All honeyed and driiiipping with his ivory sap. 

And the sight before you two makes the nerdy man wrap his arms around you possessively.

Because standing there—tall, tattooed, dark hair that reached his shoulders. A bright blue jersey with the infamous emblem of Delta Jujutsu Pi - it was none other than Chisato Kamo. 

His twin brother.

A man that shared the same face as the one fucking you, but just about none of his interests.

Well, none of his interests other than you that is…and perhaps that’s why in a few minutes the older brother of the two is being pushed aside so that Chisato can ram his rugged, red tip into you rudely. Scoffing at the way your pussy quivered and clenched around him—

“Cheh…shut up, girlie.” He plasters a palm over your mouth, just as Choso had done so earlier. “Honestly, are ya even my brother? Look at her poor hole- she isn’t fucked even half as good as she should’ve been-”

Choso pipes up from where he’d been banished away from your pussy. “If you just gave me her again-”

“To cum in two pumps again?”

“She said I could- she’s mine.”

“She’s mine.”

.

.

.

“I’m not even going to ask.” Professor Yaga rubs at his throbbing temples—it wasn’t anything out of the ordinary to see his star student, Choso Kamo, walk into the lecture hall with his head bowed low. Unspeaking even with him.

It wasn’t even anything out of the ordinary to see you clinging onto aforementioned Choso Kamo, talking his ear off about your day. And Choso would let you.

What was absolutely astounding was the way in which the aforementioned Choso Kamo’s younger brother - Chisato Kamo, member of Delta Jujutsu Pi, attended more ragers than study sessions, never attended this English Literature class a day in his entire life - was following behind…

Sauntering in as if he owned the place.

He throws an arm around you- and Choso immediately jerks up to smack it off of you.

He sees the two brothers glare at one another.

And Yaga decides that he definitely wasn’t paid enough to intervene with that…

He sighs and starts off attendance, and for the first time has the privilege of hearing. “Mister Chisato Kamo?”

“Here.”

♡ RYOMEN SUKUNA - 2-IN-1

“Isn’t she just…”

“Out of your league?”

“-gorgeous.”

Uraume can’t help but roll their eyes- well, mentally. They knew that their (unfortunate) best friend’s (unfortunate) resolve wasn’t nearly as strong to withstand such a thing, and so they have to settle for letting out a long sigh.

Bringing that red Solo cup to their lips, they hum. “Then why don’t you go there and talk to her-”

“Talk to her- ya must be fuckin’ joking.” Sukuna scoffs, staring down at his white-haired friend. Uraume had been attached to his side ever since their freshmen year rush for Jujutsu Delta Pi, and they’ve seen him through thick and thin. Through his wrestling lows and his professional contract. Through his best moments and…whatever this was.

His embarrassingly big crush on you. Ever since he’d seen you at one of his wrestling games, cheering him on- Uraume has heard far too much about you from him ever since.

He sighs at the sight of you dancing in the middle of the dance floor.

Before narrowing his eyes down at Uraume’s cup. “Seriously…has your fruity lil’ punch - and I know you don’t drink anything hard - been spiked with something? Talk to her- cheh, just imagine-”

“Ryomen Sukuna.” Cut off by the stern, supremely exhausted voice of his best friend. “If you don’t ask her to dance right now—” The smaller person looks up from their far shorter height, dead-set into Sukuna’s crimson eyes. “-then I’m telling the entire party about what a nerd you are.” A pause. “And showing them your Grimmjow figurine collection.”

“On it-”

And it was a dance- just a dance, right?

It’s not like Sukuna was going to ask you to marry him or- or to come up to his (geeky) bedroom or anything. It’s not like one dance would have him embarrassing himself. It’s not like one dance would have you finding out his true identity as a…nerd.

Right?

He was a Health Science major, for crying out loud!

Uraume drinks a shot of straight vodka.

.

.

.

“Fuck, I need ya.” Sukuna breathes out against your throat—one hand tilting your neck to the side for more access, the other gripped onto your hips. He kisses you maddeningly. 

Blindly, the two of you had made your way through the throng of meshed, musical madness and climbed those fraternity stairs up to Sukuna’s bedroom. Where he had your back pressed against- his mouth attacking you wildly—he groans. Licking a stripe up your sweet skin, “I need ya so badly—”

“All talk.” You tut. And before he can stop you - before his rational mind can get the better of him - you let your hand slip to the door handle.

Flinging it open and letting the two of you stumble inside. Door slamming shut.

You’re making it all the way to splay out on Sukuna’s massive king-sized bed before you turn on the lights and-

“Woah.” And your jaw drops at the vision before you. Surrounding you. Someplace you’d never thought to be…Ryomen Sukuna’s bedroom- anime posters, figurines, books upon books upon books, academic trophies as well as wrestling ones. 

And he panics- “This is-”

“You’re a-”

“A little fuckin’-”

“Nerd.”

“Nerdy.”

The both of you pause—before the clear urgency and embarrassment on Ryomen Sukuna’s face makes you smile. He looks away with a huff-

“Do you have glasses?”

Reluctantly - still staring off intensely into a poster of Ouran High School Host Club - he nods.

“Can you wear them while you fuck me?”

He looks back down with heated eyes.

And so he does.

Sukuna keeps his thin-rimmed, tortoiseshell glasses on as he tears through your glittery dress. Sukuna keeps his glasses on as he tugs down his ripped jeans n’ swipes his thickened tip between your pussylips. Sukuna keeps his glasses on still as he fucks you in long, sloooooppy strokes through and through your multiple orgasms.

Once just from fingerin’ over your clit - with his fraternity ring still on. Once more just from eating you out. Two more times just from fucking deeeeep into the sponged softness of your cervix- feeling him fill you out like never before was maddening.

Just about tunneling you through your fifth- meanwhile he hasn’t even cum for the first time yet.

He leans his sweaty head down in a mating press - close enough that the thundering slams of his hips send little flecks of slick flying up to his glasses. Roverin’ reddened cockhead plunging between your pussylips and hitting dead-set on the back of your cunt—splattering both your slick and his own upwards.

Coating the frame and all the way down to the lens, Sukuna snickers as he fucks you even harder—“Better know that yer gonna pay for dirtying these glasses-” He pants between clenched canines. “Yer not getting off that easy, girlie.”

“A-and it’s my fault?” You’re squealing out in indignation. “I’m not the one that—fuck.”

“Fuck?” Sukuna hums. Expression turning into one of mocking thoughtfulness, “Why, yes, according to my calculations I am fucking you.” With that said, he’s dragging his veined cock all over your walls and pulling out—just to tap the swollen curve of his cockhead on top of your cut. Splashin’ away your slick, “Quite the astute observation, brat.”

Gurgling out between the force of his thrusts, “Th-thank you?”

“I was talking to this pussy.”

Your maw drops at his sheer audacity. “Y-you’re not even that kind of nerd-”

He cocks his head, soft pink curls following him. “And what fuckin’ kind of nerd am I, hm?”

“You’re not even the…” In punishment, his length drills into you even harder - as if he was trying to pound those insolent words back into your throat. Making you feel the lump of his girth there where your voicebox crackled- “-the scientific kind.”

Sukuna shoots a glance at the numerous academic accolades atop his shelves. “Right…”

“Because if you were then you’d have found my g-spot already!”

Right now you were blundering out whatever it was that you could say- which wasn’t much at all. Sukuna’s ravenous cock had left your mind nothing but mush, pounding and pounding and it felt as though your cunt was molded to his exact shade and size by now—making you arch up into him. He glides a hand underneath your spine to help you.

It was true, however.

Ryomen Sukuna had made you reach your sultry orgasm five times without even caressing your g-spot. And you weren’t sure whether it was inexperience, or ignorance, or whether he just didn’t care for it but-

But he lets out a deep, dark burst of laughter at your sentence.

The last thing he does before reelin’ his thickened cock back and hitting your womb in a hard slam- “Not the scientific kind?” Sukuna’s repeating to himself, through a slight chuckle. And there was something ragged in his tone that made you shiver—“Not the scientific kind?”

And if his first repetition sounded as though he was in disbelief, that last one sounded as though his brain just refused to fucking register this shit - couldn’t possibly. It’s almost enough to make you take back your statement, but thank goodness that you don’t.

Because within the next split-seconds, Sukuna has his middle finger pushing up his glasses- his eyes locking down above your front. His gaze then calculates the distance between where your swollen pussylips were gobbling him up, and where he could feel his rounded tip scrape your spongy depths. Your womb.

It takes him only mere moments- “The Gräfenberg spot is said to be on the anterior wall…” Accordingly, he stirs his erection deep inside of you. “About 1-3 inches deep as per average statistics…”

And you’re suddenly feeling his bawling divot trace that exact distance down your walls. Up and down. Up and dooooown—“Sh-shit, Kuna-”

“Directly behind the pubic bone- the inferior pubic ramus could…”

“Shit, Kuna- almost-”

“Considered part of the clitorourethrovaginal complex so-” And before you know it, his finger swipes down your pretty clit. Your body trembles, expectedly, and Sukuna’s bespectacled eyes follow that shiver riiiight up your cunt.

“P-please-” You cry out.

And he’s cracking a small snicker. “Tell me if the trials are successful, my lil’ lab helper.”

“Trials?” Climbing up onto your elbows in confusion—what trials? And you’re regretting the action almost as soon as it happens, because just then Sukuna lurches his hips back n’ gives a thorough smooch near your g-spot. 

Near it.

“Trial one…” That little lilt in his pitch lets you know that he’s waiting for your answer.

“F-failed.” Blubbering.

He pushes his glasses upwards and tries again- harder this time. “Trial two-”

“Failed-”

Even harder. 

Mercilessly bashing in the top of your cervix, so smooth and slick you were - he’s sure his rude tip has formed a bruise there. Round and ravenous. 

“And trial number…” Sukuna trails off. Dragging his swollen cock back aaaaaall the way until his tip was just chastely pecking your pussylips, and you could feel every single throb - and then dooooown until those scuffs of pink scrape your pussy. A carnal itch. “-three?”

“F—fuck.” You can’t answer.

Because with that final thrust, Sukuna’s swipin’ down your g-spot perfectly. Making you go numb with the pleasure of him poking that tight orifice- right before you’re bursting into your nth high of the night.

Stars behind your lids. Toes curling until it hurts.

You can’t stop your hips from thrashing upon the squeaky mattress—and Sukuna can’t stop from shovelling his throbbing inches just a little deeper. He grips onto your hips from one side. He locates the exact spot that made you shatter, and digs his rotund tip into even even further - not pulling away even if you were sobbing at the sheer overstimulation.

Just slow, staccato-ed pushes inside.

It made a small primitive part of Sukuna break to pull away- he just wanted to keep on kissin’ your cervix. And he grunts at the back of his throat, the nerd’s own high washing over him in waves.

Silky droplets of cum that end up pouring deeeeep into the back of your pussy—it’s such a goopy mess there. Splashin’ around every time that Sukuna fucked his hips inside, collecting where he kept on pressing at a constant pace - like a button - on your g-spot.

Being fucked through peak after peak.

Thrust after thrust that aaaaaall end up targeting your g-spot. He was proving to you that he knew where it was, that he was that type of scientific nerd. 

And the corners of his lips twitch in delight, “I take that as a success?” Though he wasn’t asking you - not at all - he leans his head down to peer at your pussy. Lens coating in spraying droplets of sap, “Why thank you for the help, my best assistant.”

“Y-you’re so…” Your legs tremble weakly.

And Sukuna pushes those tortoiseshell glasses up his nosebridge- you’re noticing just now that they have small horns in the corners. How fitting. 

He didn’t even bother wiping away the thick layers of your slick. Stuck onto him like a medal - the best, the shiniest out of all those upon the shelves.

“Now, have you ever heard about the A-spot?”

.

.

.

“Mister Ryomen Sukuna.” The man’s stern voice calls out - it was 8AM but Professor Yaga could make a sloth jump onto a racetrack with his tone. Not that it does that much to the star of the wrestling team, the notorious pink-haired member of Delta Jitsu Pi, and Yaga’s very own star student of Health Science.

Sukuna merely looks at him boredly. Lounging an arm around the back of your seat- right beside him.

Honestly, if it wasn’t for the fact that he was (secretly) topping all the exams, then Yaga wouldn’t even put up with all this.

“Please pay attention to the lecture.” Professor Yaga straightens out his papers, “If you have any personal conversation to be had, then please take it out of my classroom.”

“Aye aye, teach.” Sukuna sleazes out a grin. “I was just helping my girl here with the lesson, y’know.”

A chuckle spreads throughout class, little did they know that they were laughing at the smartest student between all of them - perhaps even between the whole year. 

“Then I suppose you don’t mind giving the entire class a briefing-” The professor starts boredly, before he catches the smug look on Sukuna’s face- and Yaga has to look behind himself. The PowerPoint slide he didn’t realize he was on—fuck, it makes him swear internally.

Erogenous zones: The Gräfenberg spot.

“I would be more than happy to give the class a briefing, teach.”

♡ INO TAKUMA - Got webs?

With great power came great…responsibility. Sure. 

That was what Tony had briefed Ino Takuma on—meeting the Avengers and getting to speak with Iron Woman? Absolutely awesome. Meeting the Avengers and saving the world? No biggie. Fighting crime and putting his life on the line everyday? Pssssht-

Getting fucked by you?

Shit, he was about to cream his pants.

Ino Takuma was fucking terrified.

Not because of you, of course, because you were just as beautiful as all his dreams and even more so—but rather he was caught up in the fact that this…well, wasn’t a dream. Exactly that.

It’d all come not too long after he’d confessed to you that he was Spider-Man. Taking you on a romantic dinner at some fancy restaurant he’d had to beg his uncle to make a reservation for, followed by a moonlit walk downtown- and a little breaking into campus to watch the stars from the rooftop. It was perfect.

And the way you’d taken him being Spider-Man? Perfect. 

You were so sweet and loving- punching him in the shoulder (deserved) before taking him into your arms (Ino doesn’t know if he’d ever be deserving of being in the arms of an angel…but…he sure wasn’t complaining).

And afterwards, he’d taken you into his arms and used his webs to swing you all the way back to his apartment. It really was perfect.

And now he can’t lie, he’d taken you back to his apartment - landing neatly on his lil’ balcony ledge - without any ulterior motives. He promises! Ino Takuma is as pure as snow!

Ignore the fact that snow contains atmospheric pollutants and vehicle emissions…but other than that he swears he’s pure! He’d merely wanted to show you his vast Lego collection, perhaps his camera and all those pictures he’d taken recently (maybe not the ones he’d taken of you from afar, however…), and a few more of his nerdy Spider-Man gadgets!

So he swears that the little peck he’d placed upon you was innocent. And when that peck turned into something more…he swears that was innocent, too.

And when that turned into sprawling him out on his chemistry bedsheets, straddling his erect cock n’ sliding your soft pussy down it—fuck, he doesn’t know what’s innocent or not. Right now your friendly neighborhood Spider-Man was trying not to pass out.

Pretty brown eyes scrunching closed at the cleeeench of your soft, sensual pussy- you were so sweet around him that it felt as if you were about to melt. Velvety and slippery. 

The winding zig-zags of his veins rubbin’ against your sides.

You’re letting off a sudden squelch! as you swallow up yet another inch of him - and Ino has to bite down on his lips to keep himself from whimpering. Fucking whimpering—“E-easy there, sweetness.” He’s grabbing onto either side of your waist, with the brilliant idea to control those sloppy bounces of yours- but instead he’s ending up merely…holding onto you for dear life. 

His limbs were weak n’ boneless.

His body was putty in your hands.

He was arching his hips ooooooff of the rickety single-bed- and he doesn’t have to even think before doing it. Body moving on pure instinct. Bulging tip yearning to hit your cervix—“Keep going like this n’ m’gonna cum already…”

“Awww, you poor boy.” You’re tittering- and shit, he knows it might be a little lecherously amusing to you. But does it really warrant enough for you to lean over and push his thick-framed glasses up his nosebridge? He swears he sees heaven itself. “Spider-Man can fight crime- but can’t handle a pussy?”

“I can’t handle your pussy.” Ino bites back, a blush upon his cheeks. “N-not that I ever have before…”

“Then maybe I should be deemed the strongest in the neighborhood, huh?” You hum.

“Y-you wish…” He’s bucking up into you at a frenzied pace- not even full thrusts. Mere, milking half-thrusts that have his precum pouring out in bucketloads—his balls were so heavy that they almost hurt.

“Oh yeah?” And you could feel the twitchin’ of his scouring tip with each one of your sentences - your syllables. Ino was growing only harder and harder at your egging on- “You’re stronger than me, baby?”

He stammers, “W-well…”

“Think you can take me down like you take down all those bad guys, baby?” Cooing- and that tone. Fuck, that tone…it left his flared, reddened tip scraping your insides at an even faster pace. “Think Spider-Man’s gonna win again?”

Ino shivers as you lean down to press your naked chest against his toned one, “Yes…I can—” And then you’re gripping at once of his biceps for balance, “I can-”

All for you to press a pretty peck on the side of his face- and then drag your tongue across where the attractive man was tearing up at the mere feeling of your pussy. So soft and hot. Sucking him up until he was seeing stars- “Then prove it, Taku—”

And it all happens in a split-second.

You don’t even realize it.

One second, you’re staring down at your boyfriend - with his chestnut hair splayed out upon the pillow like a halo, with a faint blush breezing across every inch of him (yes, every inch), with his entire body shaking n’ shivering underneath you. He seemed just so delicate.

Gone on your pussy.

Except…except for that little fire in his eyes that clued you in on something dark.

And the next second- you’re the one staring up at the ceiling. And right into Ino Takuma’s glazed, glittering peripherals. 

He was stimulated on your pussy until tears.

There was something stoic in him, however, as he reaches his right hand up somewhere above you. And you hear it before you see it- the splat! of something wet and clingy sticking onto your wrists. They’re both pushed against the headboard by the sheer force of…whatever that was.

And only when you go to pull away do you realize—oh fuck.

You were stuck.

You’re jerking your head up to glimpse at the pattern of white webs that restrain either hand against the sides of your headboard. Trapped.

And you’re peering up at Ino with a sheepish smile- “Baby?”

He pushes up his thick glasses, “Don’t ‘baby’ me—” And his ruddied tip finds its way between your pussylips in a split-second, jerkin’ in and out at a dizzying rate. Until his furious length was nearly nothing but a blur between your legs. “You wanted this- fuck, you’re gonna get it.”

“Yes-” You’re being manhandled back and forth- unable to do anything. Unable to even hold onto Ino’s locks of sweaty hair for balance, “Yes, yes, yes—please.”

“And you’re gonna fucking- hah, take as much as you’re given.” Ino emphasizes his point by slowing down, giving you loooong and luxurious licks of his puckered crown. “Only as much as you’re given- any complaint for more n’ I’m webbing that pretty mouth up, sweetness.”

“Oh, anything for you.” Fluttering your lashes up at him. It was just so cute how that made Ino immediately break out into a smile, “But what if I want you to cum inside m-”

“God- fuck.” And his wrist twitches as though he’s just about to make good on his promise. “Don’t even fucking…”

That aching cock of his just can’t stop pumping in and out, in and out, in and ouuuuuut.

And before he even knows it, he’s plunging straight into his high- deep and hot inside of you. “Thermodynamics—” And you’re almost sure you didn’t hear him right - spit-slicked lips repeating away as he pumped his hot wads into you - “Polarization functions.” His sweat-matted head dips into the crook of your neck, and he’s pinpointing each single orifice inside you with a dollop of his seed. “Orbitals- fuck, I love orbitals.”

Pouring and pouring out so much of his voluminous cum that it practically overflows.

“W-wait, why are you reciting formulae now, Taku?” You’re breathing out with the last inkling of your rationality, “You’ve already cum-”

“To stop me from losing my fucking mind, pretty.”

And he sounded damn serious.

Damn ruined.

Eyes wide. Voice pitched.

There’s nothing more for him to do but ruggedly hit his cock into every one of your delicate spots now- feeling those tender bundles of nerves with his tip. He slide-slide-sliiiiides down those particular areas—fucking and fucking and fucking you until you’re bursting into your wave of bliss.

“And don’t think we’re done yet, sweetness- maybe next we could get some use out of my camera…”

You’re not making it out of this alive.

Because it turns out that not only does Ino gain superpowers as Spider-Man, but he’s also earning extra…stamina. And he lasts until dawn breaks, he lasts until his fucking bed breaks- you have to tap out before you think he might just break you, too.

Wobbling your way downstairs- you can only clamor onto the walls and furniture for help. “I’m banning you from sex for a month-”

“A month?” Ino gasps, “I only just had my first time-”

“Two months.”

“Sweetness, just let me help you walk-”

You grumble, “Forever.”

And as Ino howls about how utterly unfair it was- and how you had actually been the one to start him up on his superpowers—you’re stumbling across…a figure in the kitchen. Hunched over the island. Coffee in hand.

It’s just then that you remember that Ino Takuma didn’t live alone- no. He lived with his uncle who was supposed to be away on a professor’s retreat tonight.

But it seems…

“Taku-” You elbow your ranting boyfriend, who still hadn’t looked up from his hands. He continues. “Taku-”

“I can handle a villain, but I can’t handle a damn se-”

“Taku.”

It’s only then that Ino looks up from his tear-stained (honestly, he’s so dramatic for the hell of it) palms and sees his uncle. Masamichi Yaga looked as though he was about to burst a blood vessel.

Honestly, in all the semesters that you’ve seen the deadpan professor- you don’t think you remember a time when he didn’t look as though his students were bringing him to the precipice of an aneurysm. 

“H-hello, sir.” You’re the first one to speak, after far too long a silence from your boyfriend - guess Spider-Man has two weaknesses, huh? Yaga nods graciously at you in response, before fixating his eyes on his nephew once more.

“Uncle Yaga—” Ino jolts with yet another elbow at his side. “I didn’t know you were coming today.”

Yaga’s ‘World’s #1 Uncle’ cup chips in his hand.

♡ GOJO SATORU - Goonology.

“—and in this one he’s Frankenstein with a huuuuuge dick- heh.” Gojo titters as he pushes his glasses up, having slid down his face in excitement. He gestures to another file on-screen, “And in this one, they’re clan leaders that have to fuck for an heir. And in this one, he’s a rose toy that turns into a real man and she reeeeally likes that. And in this one, it’s an omegaverse- do you know what an omegaverse is? So basically it’s like those alpha wolf memes but with-”

“Uh-huh.” Nodding absent-mindedly - honestly, you’ve been doing it for so long by this point that it’s likely become a permanent fixture of your demeanour.

Perhaps you’ll go nodding away for the rest of your life.

Perhaps you’ll only nod when you think of Gojo Satoru, and the absolutely massive (concerning) hentai collection he was showing you. Files upon files all meticulously organized and named, with a spreadsheet to follow rating them on the basis of goon-ability.

You’re not sure how you got here, to be honest.

You’d become friends with the nerdy boy at the start of Professor Yaga’s physics course, assuming him to be one of your fellow intellectuals. And what you’d found out was that…Gojo Satoru is an intellectual (there was no denying that, he was the brightest amongst the department with a suspected job offer from JAXA straight out of university—even Yaga himself couldn’t deny it no matter how much the white-haired boy got on his nerves), but that he was also the ultimate…gooner.

The realization didn’t come instantly, of course.

It’d started off with long study nights and mornings spent early in the library, poring over thick physics books with Gojo. Then that acquaintanceship had turned into a friendship. Which resulted in nights dragging Gojo to bars and parties, and helping the nerdy boy cut loose.

And then an even deeper friendship—

After which a few too many Jägerbombs (one, actually, he was a lightweight) ended up with Gojo confessing to you that he was a virgin. You’d guessed as much, to be quite honest.

But then he’d confessed to you that he’d never even had his first kiss before- hell, he’d never even held hands with an in-real-life woman before. And it’s that last comment that got you—what the hell did he mean by an ‘in-real-life’ woman? 

And Gojo Satoru had been more than happy to confess to you that although he might’ve never had contact with a woman in real life - you yourself were a miracle, and the first friend he’d had in…forever - he’d gotten into far too many bases in his virtual world. 

His video games. His manga. His body pillows. His hentai.

Anything and everything that had your jaw dropped in this cozy bar the two of you were at. Eventually, you’d both ended up getting kicked out once Gojo had (far too loudly) talked to you about his collection of personalized ahegao hoodies. And ‘would you like any recs?’

What the fuck…?

You’d gone home to sleep it off that night- but you couldn’t help yourself. Call it morbid curiosity, call it some part of you being a masochist—but you just had to call Gojo up the next day and tell him-

Yes, I would like some…recs. To know what he was into, if anything.

Totally nothing to do with the fact that you were maybe-kinda-sorta nursing a massive crush on the pretty, perfect (other than…perhaps this) white-haired nerd. His blue eyes. His shyness. Those dimples at the edge of his smile. Oh…and perhaps you had to know whether he was actually crazy or not, alright?!

And thus, here you were.

Doing your very best to ignore the body pillow that was splayed out upon his bed, with an original character of his own that looked suspiciously like…

“Me?” You’re blurting out without meaning to.

And Gojo glances over at you in response- fixing those cutely thick glasses of his. “Yes?”

“Why do they all…” Come to think of it…you’re taking a closer look at his glaring computer screen. And the expression of glee upon Gojo’s face at your sudden interest quickly morphs into one of absolute horror at the analytical look in your eyes.

He darts forward to cover his screen. “Wait-”

“They all look like me.” Snatching the computer mouse from his hand, you’re scrolling through the numerous MP4 files. Rows upon rows. Thumbnail upon thumbnail. Each one gave you a brief flash of an animated woman that looked like you, coupled up and being absolutely pummeled by a man with…blue eyes. Rows upon rows. “Satoru…”

And you’re looking at him in silence. He’s silent back.

“Do you like-”

“Yes.” Adrenaline runs through your body. 

And now he looked a bit more like the shy, bookish man that he usually was. Fiddling with the hem of his Digimon t-shirt, that aroused blush upon his face getting replaced by something a bit more innocent.

And by looking at his slender, pretty hands- you’re accidentally sneaking a look at the bulge in his pants. “And do you…” At his questioning gaze, you gesture at his crotch.

“Y-yes.” He admits.

Your eyes widen, “Even—” Looking at the body pillow on the bed.

He huffs and tugs down the hemline of his t-shirt to cover his erection. “Yes.”

And as the silence grows longer, Gojo fidgets more upon his squeaky chair. Restless. Ravenous but…he couldn’t quite browse through his collection with you in here, could he?

Before finally you say-

“And what about the real one?”

.

.

.

“Oh fuck—ngh~” Gojo’s gaze was wide and dilated- the blackness of his pupils almost entirely engulfing his irises. There was a slight glowing glaze on top of his eyes, as though he was drunk - and the way he’s babblin’ away certainly didn’t help his case. “Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck—”

The very crown of his tip was tremblin’ nearly as much as his tone was- and the nerdy man pushes his hips up into yours like an animal.

Claiming the tiniest of orifices inside you as though he’s running out of time.

Splashing around his glittery white cum- because of course he’d ended up cumming just as soon as he’d put it in. 

Stirring around his thiiiick cock until a ring of white forms at your entrance. “Oh fuck, it fuh-feels—” Cute pink lips tremoring. He’s fluttering those long lashes up at you, from where you were straddling his cushioned chair. “It feels so- ngh- much better than it looked in the hentai, sweetheart.”

“Oh yeah?” You titter to yourself. And it’s an action that makes the nerdy man pout, “That good?”

“Yes—” Gojo’s mouth drops, as though he genuinely couldn’t believe that you were asking him this - as though he genuinely couldn’t believe that such a question like this existed. And with his back arching off of the chair slightly, he ruts up into you- again and again. With no rhythm nor rhyme other than the urge to absolutely pound-pound-pound his hot, needy cock into your perfect pussy. “Yes- why the fuck wouldn’t it feel good? Do you know how fucking good you feel?”

And then you clench and it’s enough to send him throwing his back through tears-

“It should be fucking illegal for your pussy to feel this good.”

He sounded dead-serious - and you almost found it cute just how pussydrunk Gojo had gotten after only a few vicious strokes. “I dunno…you had ah- omegaverse and all in your hentai, Toru.”

“My hentai had omegaverse, but I have you…” He’s blubbering out. And it would’ve been the most romantic things he’s said…perhaps, had it not been for what he says next. “And y-you even feel better than my PocketPussy3000…”

Arching one of your brows, “I don’t think I want to know what that is—oh, fuck.”

He gives a sudden swipe, dragging that metallic sensation across every one of your hidden sweet spots.

Oh, how could you have forgotten to mention?

Gojo Satoru - nerd galore, the most inexperienced man you’ve ever met - has a fucking Jacob’s Ladder piercing. A line of ruthless metal barbells that pierced his lengthy shaft, that stuck out lewdly - creating a texture that made your eyes absolutely roooooll to the back of your skull.

Their delicate orbs were rubbin’ coldly against your walls, were molding his interesting shape against your channel. And you find yourself speeding up your bounces just to feel his sensual piercings. 

Just to feel the rub-a-dub of them pushing apart your snug cunt- clinging onto any tiny crevice.

Gojo’s giving an inexperienced slam against the back of your womb and you cry out—“Shit, how can it feel so good-” Holding onto his broad shoulders to keep yourself from falling off of his lap, “You’re really a virgin, aren’t you?”

He pushes his glasses up smugly. “That, I am.” Feeling more confident now, he’s grabbing onto either side of your hips- if this was one of his hentai, then he’d probably use his alpha powers to induce you into heat. Then probably pound you with his cum until you’re bloated…that last one, he could still do. He gives you a few rough thrusts, “And because I’ve got the power of gooning and hentai on my side-”

“Okay, I wouldn’t go that far-”

“Why not?” There was that smug bastard you knew and loved in class- so sure he was right. Gojo cocks his head defiantly to the side, sure he had you wrapped around his finger. Cock, more like.

But just then you’re clenchin’ your fluttering cunt around his cock—making the overconfident nerd stutter, making him blush, making him jerk his hips up into yours and splat! out another wad of cum. Adding onto the puddled mess upon your cervix, slick and heavy with syrup. “What was that, Toru?”

You’re keeping him absolutely hostage.

And it felt so good for you, too, with the nooks and ridges of his Jacob’s Ladder driving you absolutely wiiiiiild. Especially the orbs at the end of his barbells that slipped easily into your walls.

Again.

And again.

And again-

He’s staring up at you through his lashes, words sputtering. “I-I meant-”

“Hm?” Yet another clench- a mere clench. And that round, reddened tip of Gojo’s ends up swervin’ straight against the door to your womb—the nerd’s mouth waters as he thinks of all the possibilities…

“I just meant that m’thankful, sweetheart.” Gojo’s crooning up at you. He loops his arms around your papping! waist and brings you deeper against his toned chest, probin’ your spots even deeper. “I’m so thankful to get to- hck! fuck a pussy like this- so, so thankful…”

“Mhmmm?”

“There’s a reason I cried a little when I first put it in, y’know? A loser like me could never have even imagined- fuck.” Answering, he keeps on drilling his hips up into you - sloppily. Semi-thrusts that leave your entire body on edge from how fast n’ frenzied they were becoming. “And no hentai nor manga nor bodypillow in the world could ever compare to you—” 

“Fuck-” You whisper. It was only making his mazing tip, his massaging piercings, do their magic even harder inside your slippery channel.

And Gojo whispers - mostly to himself. “I got those just because they looked like you, anyways…”

But you’re hearing him perfectly.

And it takes only a few more swerves n’ grinds of your hips to draaaaag yet another orgasm out of Gojo Satoru—you’ve lost count which one it was for the night. But it’s enough that your walls feel slightly inflated with the sheer volume of seed pumped into you, the clingy wads n’ webs stuffing you so full.

Part of it sprays between your legs and glues the backs of your thighs to his waistline. 

And you’re only tightening them ‘round him deeper- ready to ride him maddeningly through another burst of euphoria.

But the surprise comes when Gojo pushes his foggy glasses up in determination - it comes when he peeks down at your pussy through his sweaty bangs. Pinkish tongue sticking between his teeth, the nerdy man locates your neglected clit in a few seconds and starts rollin’ over it with his thumb like a machine. 

He wasn’t quite sure what to do - but he knew from those sultry mewls leaving you that it felt good. And so he’s alternating between slow hearts n’ rapid stripes drawn down your puffy nub.

Every drag of his digit sending sparks to your brain. Overheated.

“Shit-” You’re somehow managing to choke out. And it takes only one-two-three more twists n’ turns of his wrist to get you to start trembling. “Shit, shit—Toru. That feels so-”

To get you to cum.

And so you do-except…you weren’t just cumming.

You were squirting—glittering, hot splashes of sap escaping between your pussylips. They splatter all over Gojo’s slender waist, drenching him all the way down to his chair- and he doesn’t care. 

Fuck, he’s having the girl of his dreams soak his cock with her pussy—and you think he’d care about something like that?

Barely paying attention to his own orgasm, Gojo balances you on top of him n’ drags you through your high. Such strong, sudden zaps of bliss going from his roverin’ tip and straight up to your muddled mind—just a few hungry hammers, and you’re already babbling with pleasure. The knobs of his Jacob’s Ladder massaging your sweetest spots, only elongating that wave of euphoria even further.

It shatters through your body until you’re a mess.

You’re dripping between your legs- and from your eyes. Sobbing into Gojo’s shoulder, “Sa-Satoru, that feels so good—fuck, that felt so good.” Perking your hips up n’ down his swollen shaft—even the area ‘round his pelvis was reddening with impact. “You did good, baby.”

“I d-did?” Gojo asks.

And you can only nod. “You have to delete that insane collection of yours, though.”

“W-well of course, I will…” He smugly pushes his glasses further up his nosebridge- and the sudden improved vision lets him see the dark patch you’d squirted all over his favorite Digimon t-shirt. 

And Gojo can’t help himself from tugging up that hemline and fucking sniffing your sweet, sweet juices-

“Now how about I introduce you to my PocketPussy3000…that I named after you?”

.

.

.

Professor Yaga is just about reconsidering his resignation plans- it’s been a while without any…incident involving his students pushing him to the verge of an aneurysm, he hasn’t had any problems with grading, he hasn’t had any problems with the other staff.

Overall, life has been good.

The problem comes when Gojo Satoru comes to class looking as though he’d come to the very same conclusion.

That morning, he decides that the bespectacled man - his star student in Physics class - looks blissed out…too blissed out. His skin was glowing. His eyes seemed sparklier than ever. He was practically hovering into class.

And Yaga’s eternal conundrum is put to rest when you walk in right after, looking (perhaps not as dramatic) equally happy.

Ah…he connects the dots. And he catches the way the two of you look at each other as though you wished the rest of the class didn’t exist-

Yaga shudders. He reconsiders reconsidering his resignation plans.

He splits the two of you up during seating.

Gojo’s loud cries sound like music to his ears.

♡ HIGURUMA HIROMI - Mr. Mr.

“Fuck…” Higuruma Hiromi finds his head pressed against the polished mahogany of his desk yet again, breathing out his woes into it as though it could hear him.

It always was his most avid listener, these days.

He ignores the newest paper that’d landed on his desk - Higuruma wasn’t above taking cases that interested him anymore. But then again, most cases required attention—and that was exactly what he was lacking right now. These days.

And who else was to blame for such a transgression by Tokyo’s best law professor but you? 

You. You. You. You.

Ever since you’d walked into his lecture hall at the start of semester- your pencil skirt sharp, your mouth even sharper. Higuruma would be lying if he said he wasn’t drawn in by the sheer breadth of your knowledge—even to a man like him who lived and breathed law itself.

He was stunned.

And you were stunning.

Both in your beauty and your brains- and everything else in-between that Higuruma Hiromi just couldn’t stop fucking thinking about-

It was driving him crazy.

He thinks he might be going crazy.

He can’t spend a single class without his eyes drifting towards you—as though drawn in by magnets, even though he didn’t really have a point to emphasize nor any question to ask. He can’t grade your papers without fearing that he might just subconsciously slip in an extra point or two - not because you need it, but because he’s a weak man. He’s a weak, weak man. 

And Higuruma always ends up loaning off your papers to some other attorney friend of his - it always does make him breathe easier when he finds out that you’re always given top marks regardless.

Even the clock has found itself inutile ever since your entrance into his life—no longer is it a device to display time, but rather a countdown for when he might see you next.

The next class. The next orchestrated bump in the hallways. 

The next time he sees your beautiful, beautiful smile.

If Higuruma isn’t in class with you, he’s spending his time counting down the hours until he does. And that’s what he was doing at this very moment—that’s what he was attempting to stop right now.

“I must have gone mad.” He runs a hand through his thick, black hair - usually parted to perfection, but it usually seems to unravel whenever he thinks of you. As does every other part of him. And Higuruma whispers his confession into the late hours- with no one in the vicinity right now.

Class had just ended, and he was still reeling from the vision of you in that short, short skirt. So short…

Higuruma’s breath hitches at the mere memory of it, like a dying man. He’s always been the type of man to prioritize his career - and that means he’s never quite…felt anything like this before. He’s never quite looked out of his books long enough to take interest. Perhaps he’s been in a maddened haze—“That must be it.” He declares, “I really must have gone mad-”

He stands abruptly. Slightly teetering.

“Because I can’t—” You were a university student. You were a decade his junior. You were the beautiful face he got to see everyday- and yet, he wasn’t supposed to notice just how beautiful you were. “It’s not right. It shouldn’t be done. I really can’t-”

“Professor?”

“My law student of all things-”

“Professor?”

“And yet- fuck, I’ve never wanted anyone so desperately-”

“Professor.”

Higuruma feels his blood grow cold. Without a speck of sense in him, still, he’s whirling around to face you - he’d recognize your voice above thousands.

You were standing at the edge of the doorway, tip-toeing slightly inside as though unsure whether you should interrupt. One of your hands rest at your chest to feel your beating heart—and the other one slowly but surely closes the lecture hall door behind you.

“I came here to get a bag I’d left behind…” You’re starting off- and to Higuruma this doesn’t feel real. He’s falling into his chair—“But maybe I’ve left something a little more ah- important.”

And that smile of yours definitely doesn’t feel real.

“I-I beg of you to reconsider.” He starts off, nervously fiddling with his glasses frames.

“Motion denied.” You smile, stepping closer. And the way you’re looking at him—fuck, he feels his cock start to throb already.

“I’m much older than you, my angel.” Higuruma attempts to reason - but the thing is, he isn’t sure whether he’s attempting to reason with you or himself. Because you certainly had an air of finality about you- “And I’m your professor.”  He gulps. He has his books in his office- so, so many books. And yet, none that would help him find the words for right now. “Not to mention, there are so many other eligible bachelors who would be a better f-”

“Dismissal with prejudice.” You hum. Examining the older professor before you—dark circles, beautifully tragic, such a bookish air about him. “Anything else?”

He pushes his stern glasses up his nosebridge. “No…sentence accepted, Your Honor.”

.

.

.

And it’s not too long before you’re finding yourself spread flat across Higuruma’s desk - all polished, poised, formal. Not a speck of dirt or document out of line—except for the fact that you had your back against it and was currently being fucked dizzy on Higuruma’s fat, throbbing cock.

Throwing both legs on top of his shoulders. Pinning you down with a hand at your throat. 

He was giving you all that you were going to get- and all that you were getting were looooong swipes of his bulging tip. In and out. In and out.

Plummeting between your pussylips n’ tickling the deepest spots in the back of your pussy. The deepest—Higuruma makes you taste his rotund circumference at your throat, before he’s dragging his sloppy cock back out and repeating it all over again.

Reddened tip to the tiny curls at the base of his cock- and luckily for you, this was everything you’d been wanting since the second you walked through those hall doors.

Ever since you’d seen your hot, nerdy law professor. 

Higuruma pushes his thin-rimmed glasses up his nose, and you’re gulping at just how handsome he looks. A thin line of sweat tricklin’ down the side of his temple- “Shit-” He’s hissing between clenched teeth, voice higher as though he still couldn’t believe that this was real life. “Shit, you’re taking me so well.”

“A-anything for you—” You’re gasping out. His thrusts are hard enough that you swear you could feel him empty out his pre all the way in the back of your throat- and you swear you could taste it, too. That salted caramel flavor that clogged up your tastebuds—

“For me, huh?” Higuruma’s handsome nose crinkles, and he slams a set of his fingers down upon your clit. “Teacher’s pet.”

You’re whining at the stars that makes you see. “You have no idea.” It was only in the slight reprieves between his thrusts - when he’d pull back from your cervix and relieve the pressure on your womb - that you could manage to even speak. “You have no idea how fuck- how long I’ve wanted to fuck you.”

“That long, huh?” His dark eyes widen.

“So long.” And you’re not even sure why you’re being so honest - but you suspect it has something to do with just how stupid he’s making you with his textured length. Those zig-zagging veins and ridges upon his swollen cock—fuck. “You have no idea how many nights I spent- ngh, poring over textbooks. Just to memorize things n’ impress you.”

His achingly-hard cock grows even plumper inside of you. “You d-did that for me?”

“I wanted you to be proud of me—” You’re almost sheepishly admitting to him. You dare to hide your face behind your hands- but Higuruma stops you then and there to take in your full expression. “-sir.”

And that almost makes the stoic man…pause.

It almost makes his lungs heave out.

It almost makes his glasses slide completely off of his nose-

Something in him just snaps - perhaps his sanity, his restraint, his hips slamming into yours until your very mind jolts. Fuck…

And Higuruma has to stare at you - whilst his cock still shovels in at a rapid pace - for a few seconds just to register. He has to throw his head back—“Fuck. Substantive and procedural law, right and duties- liabilities.” Such an odd slew of words and concepts from your syllabus leave him, growing even more feverish the more fervent hush hips become. “Theory of legal positivism—”

“What are you…” You don’t even have the words to describe it.

But Higuruma looks down at you with such dark, depraved eyes - a slight glaze atop them that made you realize he was completely and utterly pussydrunk. “That’s to distract myself, angel.”

“Oh—fuck.”

And before you know it, he’s scooping your lower half even further into his body and bending deeper down. Deeper. Deeper. Deeper. Higuruma folds you until the cheeks of your ass aren’t even touching the polished wood of his desk, and his cock reaches in so deep that it makes your pupils cross-

“And that’s to remind you that big girls never hafta bow down- not to anyone.” A line of drool travels slowly down the side of his mouth - he kisses you. “So how about it—”

“You want me to call you-”

“I’ll be calling you-” He starts off. “-something very fitting, Your Honor.”

You shiver.

And he basks in his own glee - what else for his star student?

Higuruma’s poundin’ away at the gooey back of your pussy- all the way until it feels as though he wants to fuck you through his damn office desk. 

And you’re sure by now that a print in the shape of your two bodies has formulated on top of the varnished mahogany—and knowing Higuruma, he’d likely just admire it all day. And as if he was trying to make this dream a reality, his bludgeoning pace increases until that gluttonous cock of his was nothing more than a dark pinkish blur between your pussylips.

Thrashing and swiping.

Locating your sweetest spots.

Higuruma draws a particularly good stripe down your puckered g-spot and you moan- “Please- m’so close, s—”

“What was that?” He cuts through. Stern. 

You didn’t think you’d get anything past him, did you? There was a reason he was so damn famed in the courts of Tokyo.

Higuruma’s sharp eyes glint. Through slower, sensual draaaaags of his cock he asks- “What- was- that—”

“Nothing-”

“I believe there may be inaccuracies in that statement.” He hums. Thickened shaft plummeting once more to your womb—thud-thud-thudding. “Try again.”

“You must’ve heard me-”

“Hearsay.”

“I called you-” Ultimately, you’re left to cry out. Nothing left but to have Higuruma’s hazy peripherals staring intensely down at you, and his cock twitchin’ as he pumps you through your orgasm. “…sir.”

And he reels back in delight at having won.

Your body trembling. Your eyes welling up with tears.

It was such a startling wave of bliss- one that almost made it hard for his fattened cock to fuck deep into you - not with your walls clinging onto him like that. And he has to fight to keep himself from cumming right now, just wanting to let you bask in the simmering pleasure first.

Just rammin’ a bruise of his cockhead against your cervix. Again. And again.

Though his steamrollin’ cock fucks you through peak after peak, Higuruma’s smile stays as mean and merciless as ever. Tutting, “Someone deserves some punishment, sugar.”

You’re still shivering from the force of your euphoria- “R-request for a fast trial?”

Wordlessly, Higuruma then reaches somewhere behind you—and you don’t have to turn your head to know what it is. Because soon enough, he’s bringing his shiny gavel to your line of vision- and dragging the honed tip of it straight between your legs.

“My conditions are that you cum with just this-”

“And my punishment if I can’t?” You breathe.

That perfectly poised wooden tip is just starting to inch inside and graaaaaze down your tight walls.

Higuruma gruffs, “Then I sentence you to ride my face until you squirt.” 

He smiles.

.

.

.

“Hiromi—” Masamichi Yaga’s drawling tone echoes down the empty corridor- it’s been just a few hours since he’d last been in the Law Department. Not one of his usual haunts (and he was almost glad for it, law students just seemed so much more…intense), he felt awkward waddling down the barren place.

It was long after classes had ended, though it was a sure shot that Higuruma would be in his office.

If not for the little…task he’d sent his friend—then because of his workaholic nature. Yaga was sure that his friend would have that little letter typed out for him by now, Yaga was sure that by tomorrow he could walk up to the Dean and let them know that he was resigning. Officially.

And with such a formal letter to boot- his pension was going to be luxury!

He was sure of it…

So tell him why he’s wandering right up to Higuruma’s door and hearing the strangest…groaning noises from inside. Worried that perhaps his friend might have gotten into some trouble with his health, Yaga’s hands twist upon the door handle- one that would’ve been less easy to open than a safe.

It was firmly locked.

“What the…” His brows raise well above his shades, and Yaga can’t help himself- he really can’t. He was acting under the presumption that his close friend might have been hurt—alright! The older man leans down to the keyhole on the door and…peers inwards.

He knew that Higuruma was never the type to keep a key in a door- he preferred deadbolts and such. But oh, how Yaga was wishing it was the opposite as he snatches a glimpse.

And what he sees is his best friend- not suffering from any health complications or injuries as he could see. Instead, Higuruma seemed as healthy as ever as he arched you deeper into his front and fucked you - you - in a way that made Yaga blush.

He’s shooting upright as if burned.

Speedwalking down the corridor—fuck the letter, fuck the Law Department, fuck everyone around him.

Yaga was never resigning.

A/N. Got a little…carried away with this one whoops-

Plagiarism not authorized.

[yukkigiri]

mdni. nanami and higuruma as your overworked boyfriends

imagine having two overworked boyfriends, nanami and higuruma, who spoil you endlessly. they complain about brutal days—court marathons for hiromi, endless deals for kento—but seeing you in the dresses, lingerie, or jewelry they bought (or you bought with their cards) makes every headache vanish. nanami’s eyes darken quietly; hiromi exhales like the weight just lifted.

they won’t let you clean, do laundry, or shop for groceries—everything’s handled. but they can’t stop you from cooking. you pack them perfect bentos: neat tamagoyaki, karaage, little onigiri. hiromi smirks at the note inside during lunch; kento finishes every bite and keeps the container on his desk like a trophy.

you give back the way they crave most.you greet them at the door in nothing but what they paid for, and they’re on you instantly. hiromi pulls you onto his lap, grinding slow while kento watches, then joins—hands everywhere, mouths on your neck.

they love your mouth after the worst days. you drop to your knees; nanami guides you gently down his length, groaning low; hiromi waits his turn, then fucks your throat a little rougher, praising how perfect you feel.

your ass is their stress relief. nanami preps you slow, slides in careful while hiromi kisses you deep. they find a rhythm that leaves you shaking, full and whimpering.

your pussy is the ultimate reward. they take turns or both at once—kento underneath stretching you open, hiromi pressing in beside until you’re gasping, stuffed and sobbing. they murmur “good girl” and “so perfect for us” until you come clenching hard around them, pulling their releases with broken moans.

after, warm cloths, soft kisses, you sandwiched between them. quiet for ten minutes, then hiromi’s hand drifts lower. “one more?” kento’s already hard again.

you always say yes.

© 2026 yukkigiri ☾ creations by luna — please do not repost, copy, or translate without permission.

[g00miato]

[sixxels-deactivated20260420-dea]

sex with a stoner

fratboy!choso x bestfriend!reader

synopsis: your stoner best friend choso and you are deeeep in sexual tension, you are his girl, but not really his girl. cuddling, forehead kisses, being glued to eachothers hip, it eventually simmers down until neither of you can take it anymore. (my favourite work i've done so far)

content warning: smut, p in v, angst (not really), fluff, comfort.)

wc: 16k || art creds: @/einrvji

choso kamo is the kind of boy people notice without realizing they’re staring. he’s not loud, never one to demand a room’s attention, but something about him pulls you in, the lazy grace of someone who’s always just a little bit stoned and completely at peace with himself.

he throws the best parties on campus, the kind that aren’t just about getting drunk or high, but about the vibe. incense burning in the corner, led lights set to red or purple, trap playing softly over speakers. and yet, you’re the only one who really knows him.

you, the sweet girl who never misses a single one of his parties. the one always curled up next to him on the couch with a red solo cup of something you can barely taste, your legs draped over his lap, your cheek pressed to his shoulder. it’s always been like this. ever since freshman year, when you met him during that stupid icebreaker event on campus that neither of you wanted to go to.

somehow, you’d ended up next to him. not even talking at first. just being. and then he’d pulled one earbud out and offered it to you without saying anything, and you’d heard frank ocean’s “ivy” playing soft and crackly from his phone. you’d smiled at him, and he’d smiled back. just a little.

after that, it was like something clicked. you didn’t have to try with choso. you just existed in each other’s space like you were meant to.

you’re sweet, outgoing, a little flirty, always the first one to compliment someone’s outfit or remember their birthday. people love you for your light, your laughter, the way you make everyone feel seen.

but when it comes to closeness, to real comfort? that’s reserved for choso.

it’s a mystery to most people. you, the glittering, glowing party girl, and choso, the stoner boy who doesn’t even have social media. but it makes perfect sense to anyone who’s seen the two of you together.

you show up to his parties before anyone else does. you help him string the lights, pick the playlist, bring snacks no one asked for but everyone eats. you’re the one sitting on the counter while he rolls, sipping from a straw and babbling about your week while he nods, smiling faintly, muttering things like “that’s wild, ma,” or “yo, you’re too nice for them.”

and during the parties, you’re never far. you gravitate toward each other like magnets, slipping into place the way you always do. choso’s usually on the couch, arms stretched over the backrest, and you’re tucked under his arm without even thinking. you lean into him when you laugh. he rests his chin on your shoulder. he passes you drinks and you take tiny sips before handing them back to him with a wrinkle of your nose.

and it’s so easy. dangerously easy.

choso’s never been one to push. he’s got feelings, real ones, deeper than he’ll ever admit out loud, but he keeps them buried. not because he doesn’t want you. he wants you in a way that scares him sometimes. in quiet moments, when he’s too high and you’re asleep on his chest, he thinks about what it would feel like to kiss you. to be yours for real. but he’s content, at least for now. content to have you like this.

you give choso a kind of peace he didn’t know he was missing. before you, things were kind of blurry. background noise. but with you, it’s all color. you laugh and the whole room tilts toward you. you touch his hand and it’s like static electricity under his skin. he pretends he doesn’t notice. he jokes, he teases, he lets it pass.

because he thinks he’d rather have you like this, close and real and warm, than risk losing you completely.

and you? you love him. maybe too much.

you’ve never said it out loud, not even to maki or shoko, but you know it. you feel it every time you see him laugh at something you said, every time he lifts your chin to tuck your hair behind your ear, every time he waits for you outside class just because he felt like it. choso is yours, in a way no one else is. and you don’t know what to do with that.

maybe you’re scared to ruin it too.

it’s not just the friendship, it’s the rhythm. the quiet glances, the shared playlists, the way you always, always end up in his bed after parties, clothes still on, hearts too full.

you’ll lay there in the dark, both of you wide awake, and you’ll wonder if he feels it too. if he notices the way your breath hitches when his fingers brush your waist. if he hears the way your voice gets softer when you say his name.

but neither of you ever says anything. not really. not yet.

there’s something unsaid between you, always has been, something glowing and soft and maybe a little fragile. like the chords of “ivy” hanging in the air, too tender to touch. it’s in the way he looks at you when you’re not watching. in the way you linger at his door after a party, lip gloss smudged and heart aching. in the way he lets his hand rest on the small of your back just a little too long.

it’s a love that’s still blooming. hesitant. deep-rooted. and for now, maybe that’s enough.

maybe not forever.

~

the party’s already full by the time you get there, but you know exactly where to find him.

bass thumps through the floor like a second pulse, red lights spilling down the hallway, laughter echoing from the kitchen where someone’s poured jungle juice into a mixing bowl. bodies press close in the living room, the air thick with smoke, perfume, sweat, but none of it touches you. not really. not when you know where you’re going.

you slip past people who call your name, who compliment your outfit, who try to keep you still, but you’re already moving, already smiling like you’ve got a secret. because you do.

he’s on the couch. he always is.

slouched like he was poured there, long legs spread, a blunt pinched between his fingers. there’s a few people around him, suguru’s sitting on the floor, half-asleep against his knee, gojo’s perched on the armrest talking to some girl, but he doesn’t really look at anyone. just stares at the smoke curling above him, the red light making shadows under his eyes.

until he sees you.

choso’s head tilts slightly. his gaze sharpens, just barely. his mouth softens, corners curling up into something small, lazy, private.

“yo,” he says, voice low and smooth like honeyed smoke. “there you are.”

and just like that, you’re home.

you drop down next to him without a word, tucking your legs up on the couch, leaning into his side like you were made to fit there. his arm lifts automatically to rest behind you, and your bare shoulder brushes against his chest, skin to skin. he smells like weed and citrus and something warm, like sunbaked cotton. familiar. dangerous.

“i brought you chips,” you say, holding up a bag. “because you never remember to feed people when you throw these things.”

he laughs, soft and breathy, and takes the bag, tossing it onto the table without looking.

“you’re the only one who eats at my parties,” he murmurs, dragging the blunt to his lips. “they’re lucky you show up.”

he inhales, slow and deep. lets it sit in his chest for a moment. then he turns his head toward you and exhales, deliberately, slow, a trail of smoke that ghosts over your collarbone. it’s not on purpose, but it is. everything choso does is like that. unbothered. intimate. effortless.

your heart stutters.

“you look good,” he adds, like it just occurred to him. his eyes dip, trace your legs, the cut of your dress, the gloss on your lips. “real good.”

you smile, sweet and slow, like you’re soaking it in.

“you’re stoned.”

he shrugs. “yeah. still true, though.”

you nudge his thigh with your knee, and he smirks that lazy, barely-there grin that never quite reaches his eyes unless it’s you.

the party swells around you. bodies dance in the center of the room, the music gets louder, someone’s yelling in the kitchen about the beer pong table. but in your little corner of the couch, everything is slowed down. hazy. sacred.

he keeps passing the blunt, and you keep refusing with that little scrunch of your nose he always teases you about.

“don’t know how you come to my house every week and still don’t smoke,” he says, flicking ash into a red solo cup.

“don’t know how you survive without eating dinner like an adult,” you shoot back.

he chuckles, tipping his head back. his throat stretches long, his hoodie slipping off one shoulder to reveal the black ink of a tattoo just under his collarbone. you don’t even pretend not to look. choso doesn’t pretend not to notice.

“you missed me?” he asks after a beat, quieter now. the smoke’s made him slow, softer around the edges. more honest.

you glance up at him, lips parted. “i was here last weekend.”

“yeah, and then the whole week happened.” he shrugs, lazily. “i got bored.”

you nudge your way closer. your knee slides between his. “you say that like you don’t have other friends.”

he hums. “don’t hit the same.”

you’re both quiet for a second. it’s a thick, heady silence, not awkward, not tense. just full. full of everything that’s been building since freshman year. everything you don’t say. everything you both feel in moments like this, when you’re a little too close and he’s looking at your mouth and his hand is resting just a little too low on your waist.

you want to kiss him. god, you do. but not yet. not here.

so instead you lean forward, just enough to rest your head on his shoulder. you feel him go still for a second, then relax, melting back into you.

you stay like that. for a long time

later, when the house gets louder and hotter and someone pulls you up to dance, you feel his eyes on you.

you’re not a wild dancer, you move like you’re in your own little world, fluid and soft and smiling. some guy tries to grind up behind you and you immediately peel away, laughing as you shake your head. but when you look over, just once, you see choso watching from the couch.

his eyes are darker now. still lazy, still half-lidded, but focused. pinned on you like he’s memorizing the way your dress moves, the way your hair sticks to the sweat on your collarbone. one hand resting on his knee. the blunt long gone.

you move back to him eventually, of course you do, and he opens the space beside him again like he knew you would.

“have fun out there, superstar?” he asks, gaze flicking over you.

you shrug, settling back into him. “missed my favorite dance partner.”

he raises a brow. “you don’t dance with me.”

you grin. “exactly.”

he snorts, shaking his head. you rest your hand on his thigh, fingers splayed over ripped denim, and he doesn’t flinch. doesn’t move. just lets you stay there. touching him. like you always do.

like you always will.

when the party starts dying down and the lights dim even lower, when suguru’s asleep and gojo’s disappeared and the couch is just the two of you again, you curl into him like you belong there.

he yawns, one arm around your shoulders, hand playing lazily with the strap of your dress.

“you crashing here?” he asks, already knowing the answer.

you nod, cheek pressed to his chest. “if that’s cool.”

he makes a soft sound, something between a hum and a laugh, and dips his chin to brush his mouth against your temple. not a kiss, exactly. just a press. warm, soft. barely there.

“always.”

you smile, closing your eyes for a second. his hand is still resting on your waist, fingers tracing absent little shapes into your skin like he’s not even thinking about it.

you could fall asleep like this. you’ve done it before.

but he shifts a little, murmurs, “come on, ma. let’s get off this fuckin’ couch. my back’s killin’ me.”

you whine quietly as he moves, and he laughs again, a lazy rumble in his chest and slides an arm around your waist to help you up.

“drama queen,” he says, tugging you to your feet with effortless strength.

he doesn’t let go.

you move through the sea of red cups and leftover smoke, past the people half-passed out in the hallway, with his hand still slung around your waist. like it’s normal. like it’s instinct. your arm hooks around his middle, and you lean into his side as you walk, slow and steady, like you’ve done this a hundred times. because you have.

choso’s room is down the hall. it’s the only one with a broken doorknob and a blacklight taped above the bed, buzzing faintly. it smells like weed and clean laundry and him.

you kick off your shoes the second you walk in and collapse face-first into the unmade bed, limbs spread.

he laughs, low and indulgent, then flops down beside you.

“yo, scoot over,” he mumbles, nudgin your hip with his.

“you scoot,” you shoot back, voice muffled by the blanket.

he doesn’t argue. just lets his body melt sideways until your shoulders touch again. you shift your head onto his chest without thinking, cheek to the soft fabric of his hoodie.

and there it is again. home.

“this party was kinda ass,” you say.

“nah,” he says softly. “you were here.”

your stomach flips.

but you don’t say anything. don’t need to. you just lie there, breathing in sync, your hands curled in the hem of his hoodie while his fingers play with your hair, slow, lazy twirls that make your eyelids flutter.

“remember the first one?” you ask, voice hushed now. “the freshman-year party where we met?”

choso smiles at the ceiling. “fuck yeah. you were wearing that little white dress and yellin’ at some guy who spilled beer on your shoes.”

“he ruined them,” you murmur indignantly.

“and i was just sittin’ on the porch, watchin’ the whole thing,” he grins. “high as shit. thought you were hot as hell.”

you lift your head to look at him, one brow raised. “you still say you don’t remember how we ended up talking.”

“i don’t. swear to god.” he shrugs. “one second i’m finishing a blunt, next thing i know you’re sitting next to me like you’d been there forever.”

“i probably just decided you looked safe,” you say, settling back down. “and hot. but, like, quiet hot.”

he chuckles, slow and low. “quiet hot?”

you nod. “like… hot in a way that doesn’t try. like you didn’t even know it.”

“damn,” he mutters. “flirting with me now?”

“always.”

his hand slides down from your hair to your shoulder, warm and broad and steady.

“that’s why i fuck with you,” he says after a moment. “you’re real.”

you blink.

“like, people show up to my parties for the vibes or whatever. you show up to make sure i eat dinner.”

you laugh. “well someone has to.”

“nah, but for real,” he says. “you’ve been showin’ up since day one. always got my back. always know what i need before i even do. shit’s crazy.”

your throat goes tight. but he doesn’t sound emotional. he sounds calm. sure. like it’s just a fact of life, gravity, weed, you.

he doesn’t say it like it’s a confession.

he says it like it’s just the truth.

“you do the same for me,” you murmur, voice small.

his thumb strokes your arm, slow.

“yeah,” he says. “i know.”

the room hums with silence after that. not heavy. not awkward. just real.

he lets you lie there on his chest, the beat of his heart under your ear, the rise and fall of his breathing making you feel safe in a way nothing else does.

you shift after a few minutes, and his hand moves automatically , tugs the blanket up over you both, settles you closer, fingers smoothing over your arm like it’s second nature.

he doesn’t flirt with anyone the way he does with you. doesn’t touch anyone like this. people know you’re close, but they don’t get it.

they don’t know how choso listens to you rant for hours about your classes even when he’s half-asleep. how he always keeps snacks in his room he doesn’t like, just because you do. how he’s seen you cry at 3am and didn’t say a word, just pulled you onto his chest and played with your hair until you calmed down.

how you’ve cleaned up after every party. how you always know when he needs water. how you never smoke but you always light his blunts for him.

they don’t know that you’ve been doing this, just like this, since freshman year.

you’re not together.

but this? this is something else.

“you good?” he mumbles, his voice starting to get gravelly with sleep.

you nod, curled into his side.

“you?”

“mhmm.” he exhales through his nose, deep and slow. “don’t leave before i wake up.”

“i never do.”

he hums, already drifting.

you close your eyes.

"night, cho."

"night, babe."

and in the dark, in his bed, wrapped in the quiet warmth of choso’s heartbeat and the hush of something unspoken between you, you fall asleep.

right where you’re supposed to be.

~

the sun’s too fucking bright.

choso’s got his hood pulled low, hands stuffed in the front pocket of his faded sweatshirt, hoodie sleeves bunched at his wrists like armor against the cold. his airpods are in, but he’s not playing anything. just using them to avoid eye contact. to avoid people.

his chem lecture starts in twelve minutes. he’s not rushing.

he’s never rushing.

the quad’s half-full with undergrads moving in packs, laughing too loud for this hour. he weaves through them like a shadow, dark-eyed and slow-moving, sleep still clinging to his bones.

he hasn’t showered. hasn’t brushed his hair. smells faintly like weed and sleep and your lotion, the floral kind you always keep in your bag.

he’s halfway across the quad when he hears it.

“yo.”

he looks up.

toji.

posted up on a low wall near the main staircase, nursing a large iced coffee and wearing the same zip-up he’s worn every morning since choso met him. he looks good, like he always does, jaw sharp, eyes tired, posture loose in that older-guy way that makes people think twice about messing with him.

choso pulls out one airpod. “yo.”

“you look like shit,” toji says, amused.

choso shrugs. “feel fine.”

“late night?”

“always.”

toji grins. “bet.”

choso wanders over, boots crunching gravel, and leans against the wall next to him. toji’s got that lazy menace vibe, like he could break someone’s nose or fall asleep in the sun, it could go either way. choso respects it.

they’re not close, but they’re good.

“you throw last night?” toji asks.

“yeah. packed out.”

“heard. saw some dude getting dragged out by the neck around one.”

choso huffs a little. “sukuna. again.”

“no shit?” toji laughs. “that guy’s a walking lawsuit.”

“got blood on my stairs,” choso mutters. “ruined the rug.”

“tragic.”

they’re quiet for a second. choso watches a squirrel dart across the walkway. toji sips his coffee.

“how much you make off the door?”

“couple hundred. enough for groceries. gas. weed.”

toji nods like that’s the natural order of things. “you ever think about pledging?”

choso snorts. “nah.”

“you’d run that shit,” toji says. “turn those little rich boys inside out.”

“i’m not good with rules.”

“fuck rules.”

choso grins a little. “you sound like yuki.”

“i taught yuki,” toji says, deadpan.

that gets a real laugh out of choso, low and amused, breath curling in the cold air.

“you got chem?” toji asks after a moment.

“yeah. lab.”

“tough.”

“i'm so fucking hungover.”

toji smirks. “so. last night. you go home alone?”

choso shrugs. “nah. crashed with her.”

toji looks at him. not surprised. not shocked. just curious.

“y/n?”

“yeah.”

a beat.

“you guys together now or what?”

choso looks up, brows drawn. “nah.”

toji raises an eyebrow. “huh. figured that would’ve happened by now.”

“why?”

“you’re always with her.”

“yeah.”

“you sleep in the same bed?”

choso shrugs again, easy and lowkey like it doesn’t mean anything. like it’s normal. “all the time.”

toji whistles under his breath, grinning. “you’re a better man than me.”

“not like that,” choso mutters, looking away.

“right,” toji says, smirking. “not like that.”

choso stays quiet. doesn’t explain. doesn’t elaborate. he just lets it sit in the air between them like secondhand smoke, warm, familiar, a little dangerous.

because it isn’t like that.

not yet.

but toji doesn’t push. just nods, takes another slow sip of his coffee, and claps choso on the shoulder with a rough hand.

“you’re cool,” he says. “but if you ever fuck that up, someone else won’t be.”

choso just exhales through his nose. shrugs.

he knows,

he knows.

~

choso slouches in his stool at station 4B, safety goggles pushed up into his messy hair, long fingers lazily rotating a test tube over the bunsen flame. he’s supposed to be running a titration, but he’s running on three hours of sleep and an edible that hasn’t stopped hitting since breakfast.

there’s a small chemical fire happening at the next table over. he doesn’t care.

his partner, some girl from his gen chem section who only speaks in whispers and perfume, scribbles answers onto their worksheet like her life depends on it. she’s never once asked him to help. choso’s fine with that.

his phone buzzes in his hoodie pocket. he pulls it out without looking, thumb unlocking the screen by feel. it’s instinct. the way he always knows when it’s you.

[10:37am] you: what class r u in rn

[10:38am] choso: chem

[10:38am] you: ew

[10:38am] choso: yea

[10:39am] you: wanna meet up after?? i’m bored

[10:39am] choso: wya

the response comes fast.

[10:40am] you: bleachers behind the field. bring snacks or i’ll cry.

choso smiles.

it’s the kind of smile he never shows anyone but you. lazy. lowkey. like a secret he doesn’t need to say out loud.

he texts back a thumbs up emoji. tucks his phone away. watches the blue flame flicker under the test tube like it’s trying to tell him something.

~

the bleachers behind the athletic field are barely standing. rusted metal, cracked paint, half the steps warped from years of cleat-stomped abuse. it’s one of the only spots on campus that still feels untouched, still feels yours. people don’t hang out here. it’s too open, too weird, too quiet.

perfect.

you’re already there when he shows up, sprawled across the middle row like it’s a chaise lounge, sunglasses perched low on your nose and a bag of kettle chips open in your lap.

you perk up when you see him. smile wide and lazy. “you brought me snacks?”

he lifts a 7/11 bag in greeting.

“you’re an angel,” you say, and you sound like you mean it. choso climbs up beside you, drops the bag between you, and sits with a long sigh like the weight of the whole morning finally got the memo that it can fuck off.

he lets himself lean back on his elbows, head tipped toward the sky. hoodie sleeves pushed up to the elbow. hands ringed in silver, knuckles faintly bruised from last night. jaw sharp, neck tattoo peeking just above his collar.

you glance over at him, bottom lip tucked between your teeth for a second too long.

he doesn’t notice.

or maybe he does.

but he doesn’t say anything.

“what happened in chem?” you ask, voice slow with sunlight.

“almost set the bench on fire,” he says. “again."

you laugh, and it’s the good kind, low and warm and familiar, like something soft you wrap yourself in. “you’re gonna fail.”

“nah,” he murmurs. “i got you. you’ll cry to shoko for me.”

you shrug. “probably.”

he grins.

you eat chips together for a while in comfortable silence. people jog past on the track below, but it’s like the two of you exist in another timeline, quieter, slower, deeper. every time your shoulders bump, he doesn’t move away. every time your fingers brush in the snack bag, he lets it linger.

you pull out a cherry lollipop from your tote. unwrap it with delicate, distracted fingers. stick it between your lips and suck thoughtfully.

choso looks over. blinks once.

his throat bobs. “you eat candy like you’re in a music video.”

“duh,” you say. “gotta stay on brand.”

“your brand is slutty candy princess?”

you flash him a wink. “you know it.”

he groans into his hands. “you’re gonna kill me.”

“you’d like it.”

“maybe.”

you both laugh.

but underneath it, there’s a tension you don’t touch. not yet. not today. not when the sun is this warm and the wind is this soft and the space between you feels like a bubble no one else can pop.

“so what’d you tell toji?” you ask suddenly, pulling your legs up under you. “he asked about us, right?”

choso blinks. shifts.

“how’d you know that?”

“i just saw him talking to you this morning and you rushed of before i could catch up.”

he sighs. rubs a hand over his face. “just asked about some dumb shit, was surprised we aren't fucking.”

“oh yeah?”

“yeah.”

you hum. “what’d you say?”

he shrugs. “told him we’re just friends.”

you nod.

but your fingers are tight around your lollipop stick. “did he buy it?”

choso looks over at you. eyes half-lidded, lazy. “dunno. didn’t really care.”

you don’t speak for a second.

then—

“you know,” you say lightly, “if we were dating, people wouldn’t question it.”

he raises a brow. “you wanna date me?”

you laugh like it’s a joke. like the idea’s crazy. “obviously not. i’d ruin your whole vibe.”

“nah,” he says, quiet and cool. “you are my vibe.”

it knocks the air out of you a little.

you don’t reply.

he doesn’t push.

instead, he pulls a lighter from his pocket. a faded red bic with a sticker of a cartoon frog on the side.

“you mind?” he asks.

you shake your head. “go for it.”

he lights the joint behind the bleachers, careful to block the wind, and takes a slow hit like he’s been doing it his whole life. like breathing.

you watch the way his lips part. the way the smoke curls from his mouth. the way he blinks up at the sky, exhaling slow, like there’s nothing in the world that could ruin this moment.

he passes it to you.

you hold it between two fingers. bring it to your lips, but don’t inhale. you just like the closeness. the ritual. the rhythm of it.

“you always smell like weed and coconuts,” you say absently.

“you always smell like sleep and candy.”

“that a compliment?”

“you know it is.”

you smile.

and then, like always, you shift until your head is in his lap, knees bent, lollipop back between your lips.

he threads his fingers into your hair like it’s automatic. like muscle memory.

you don’t say anything.

you don’t have to.

“there’s a party saturday,” choso says, like it’s just a passing thought. his voice is mellow, dragged slow with smoke and sun.

you squint up at him from his lap, one leg kicking idly off the edge of the bleachers. “yours?”

he shakes his head, dragging another pull from the joint before it sizzles low. “nah. kappa’s.”

“toji’s place?”

“mhm. sukuna’s throwin’ it.”

you make a face. “ew.”

he laughs, lazy and low. “yeah, i know.”

“what kinda party is it?”

he shrugs, flicking ash off to the side. “dunno. probly loud. messy. overrun with freshmen.”

“my favorite,” you say sarcastically.

“come anyway.”

you raise a brow. “you want me to go?”

he nods, eyes still soft from the joint. “yeah. all our people are gonna be there. gojo’s bringing that speaker he stole from the rec center. suguru’s bringing weed from the plug that scares everyone but him. shoko said she’s pre-gaming at yours.”

“she didn’t tell me that,” you mutter, amused.

“she said quote, ‘i’m getting blackout on your floor so you better have mixers.’”

“classic.”

“maki’s going too,” he adds. “and yuuji. megumi. nobara. y’all can take over the kitchen or whatever.”

you snort. “we always end up doing that. turning some random frat kitchen into our private lounge.”

“better lighting.”

“less vomit.”

he taps his knuckle to your forehead. “so?”

you blink at him. “so what?”

“you comin’?”

you stretch your arms over your head, lollipop tucked in your cheek like a secret. “mmm, depends. who’s walking me home if i black out?”

he gives you a look. “me."

“who’s holding my hair if i puke?”

“me.”

“who’s dancing with me when they put on early 2000s throwbacks?”

he smirks. “you already know.”

you grin and nuzzle into his thigh dramatically. “ugh, fine. i guess i’ll go.”

“what an honor.”

“you’re welcome.”

you stare up at him for a second, at the sharp angle of his jaw, the lashes curled against his cheeks, the faint bruises of exhaustion under his eyes.

there’s something warm in your chest.

like always.

“what time’s it at?” you ask.

“late.”

“when are we getting there?”

“later.”

you smile. “as always.”

“as always,” he echoes.

you reach over, fingers brushing the side of his hoodie pocket where his lighter peeks out, red and fading, sticker peeling at the edges.

he doesn’t notice.

but you do.

you always do.

~

the sun has long since set when you’re back in your dorm.

shoko’s stuff is already half-scattered across your bed, a tote bag overflowing with lip gloss and tequila, her ripped denim skirt folded beside your pillow like it lives here. your bluetooth speaker is charging in the corner. your fairy lights are glowing dim, and the whole room smells like something between vanilla lotion and sharpie markers.

because you’re painting.

your desk is a mess of scattered brushes, scratched acrylics, and an empty matcha can you’ve been using as a water cup. right in the center sits the new bic lighter you picked up after social, jet black, perfectly smooth, untouched.

you’re painting red spider lilies across the front, his favourite.

the petals curl across the plastic like veins, wet with gloss and attention. you’re careful with the details. you’ve looked up references. you’ve done this before.

but this time’s different.

this one’s for him.

you don’t know why, exactly. maybe it’s because his old one’s going dead.

maybe it’s because you love him.

not like that.

not yet.

but in the way you know exactly how he likes his ramen. in the way he texts you “home?” when it’s late and doesn’t sleep until you answer. in the way he rolls his blunts left-handed and always lights yours first. in the way he remembers your mom’s birthday even though he’s never met her.

in the way he makes you feel safe in a room full of noise.

in the way he never tries to make you anything other than yourself.

you lean over the lighter, the brush held steady between your fingers, and add the final line of gold detailing around the petals. your breath fogs the surface. you wait for it to dry.

outside, someone blasts a bad edm remix. the party’s already pulsing down the block.

you aren’t ready yet.

but you will be.

because he asked.

because you always go when he asks.

by the time you and shoko step into the kappa house, it’s already hell in there.

there’s music vibrating the walls, some mashup of jersey club and distorted britney spears, smoke curling from doorways, the reek of beer and weed and something you hope is a vape cloud drifting from the stairs. someone’s already swinging a half-finished bottle of patrón in the foyer, and a guy in a spiked collar is passed out half-naked on the pool table. red LEDs paint the room like a warning.

“jesus,” shoko mutters, pushing through a knot of people. “it’s worse than last time.”

“that’s saying a lot,” you reply, laughing.

you pass a makeshift tattoo station set up in the kitchen, a foldable table, three guys with gloves and prison-grade guns, girls taking shots with their shirts off, someone yelling about cross-contamination. someone else is already screaming into a paper towel, gripping their friend’s thigh as ink bleeds into skin.

“how much you wanna bet that guy’s not even licensed?” shoko asks, pointing with her cup.

a few feet away, a couple is practically devouring each other on the couch, hands in places that definitely shouldn’t be public, their moans barely muffled over the bassline. you and shoko share a glance.

“ten bucks says they’ll be upstairs in five,” she says.

“two,” you shoot back.

you find the rest of your girls near the island, maki’s drinking straight from a bottle of dark rum, nobara’s yelling at some guy for calling her “sweetheart,” and miwa looks like she’s trying to spiritually leave her body.

“there you bitches are,” nobara says, throwing an arm over your shoulders. “i was gonna beat some freshman’s ass for trying to say you weren’t on the guest list.”

“please tell me you’re drinking tonight,” maki says, eyes already glossy.

“i just got here!” you laugh, letting shoko pull you in tighter. “i haven’t even taken my jacket off!"

“well hurry up,” nobara insists, pouring something violently pink into a solo cup and handing it to you. “this night’s cursed already.”

you take a cautious sip, bubblegum and battery acid. “what the hell is this?”

“it’s called the thong dropper,” shoko says helpfully.

“girl.”

you let the chaos swirl around you for a bit, settling into the rhythm of things, catching up on nonsense, swapping wild stories, dodging spilled drinks and clumsy hands. nobara starts talking about some guy she hooked up with last week, rolling her eyes and groaning dramatically.

“his stroke game was so weak,” she says, slamming her cup down. “he kept asking me ‘is that good?’ like, cmon. do you not hear me faking it?”

maki snorts. “you faked it?”

“of course i did. i had to get it over with.”

shoko leans in. “rookie mistake. just tell ‘em straight up.”

“i can’t crush a man’s ego like that,” nobara defends.

“they’ll live,” maki says.

you giggle into your drink, letting the warmth buzz up your spine.

“what about you?” shoko nudges. “you getting any lately?”

you shrug, trying to hide your smirk. “define ‘getting.’”

they all ooh at that, but you wave them off.

“nah,” you add quickly. “just been… chillin’.”

nobara raises a brow. “chillin’ with who?”

you don’t answer.

you don’t have to.

because you just spotted him.

across the room, slouched low on the ratty couch like a king on a broken throne, hoodie slipping off one shoulder, blunt glowing between his fingers, is choso.

he’s got his head tipped back, laughing at something gojo just said, eyes heavy-lidded and hazy, lips pink and glossy from smoke. his legs are spread wide, rings catching the LED lights, and there’s a plastic crown crooked on his head like someone dared him to wear it and he just went along with it.

you hand your cup to shoko. “back in a sec.”

you beeline straight to him.

he sees you coming, of course. always does.

“yo,” he says, voice syrup-thick, laced in that lazy drawl you know too well. “there she is.”

you plop onto the couch next to him, thigh pressed to his instantly, as natural as breathing.

“hey, babe.”

he pulls the blunt from his lips and passes it to gojo. “you look real hot,” he murmurs, eyes scanning over you. “like… stupid hot.”

you grin. “you’re high.”

“and you’re a fucking bombshell.”

“so high.”

gojo chuckles. “he’s been saying shit like that about everyone for the last twenty minutes. told sukuna his chains looked ‘shiny as fuck’ and that he would fuck him if he was gay.”

“and i meant it,” choso says, nodding solemnly.

“sukunas a menace,” you laugh.

“a sweet menace,” choso adds.

gojo tosses the blunt into an ashtray and stretches. “aight. i’m gonna go find the aux before someone puts on country again.”

“godspeed,” you tell him.

choso watches him disappear into the crowd before turning back to you. “you good?”

you nod. “the girls are wild tonight.”

“when aren’t they?”

you smile. “mmm. party’s kinda gross, though.”

he grins. “yeah. it’s ass.”

“i miss your parties.”

he hums, dragging a slow breath through his nose. “next week, tuesday.”

“a tuesday party?”

“hell yeah.”

you laugh softly, eyes dropping to the front pocket of his hoodie. his lighter’s there again, the red one. the same one from earlier, edges worn down like it’s been used a thousand times.

without saying anything, you reach into your jacket pocket.

he watches you curiously as you pull out the lighter you painted, black and glossy, the spider lilies blooming across the surface in blood-red ink and gold veins.

you hand it to him wordlessly.

his fingers brush yours as he takes it, and something in his face shifts, softens, quiets.

he turns it over slowly in his palm, eyes scanning every detail like he’s memorizing it.

“you painted this?”

you nod.

“ma…” he says under his breath, almost like it’s too much. “yo. this is… this is fucking beautiful.”

“your other one’s dying,” you say, a little shy now. “figured you needed a new one.”

he’s quiet for a second, blinking slowly.

then,

“you’re such a fuckin’ angel.”

you laugh. “it’s literally just a lighter.”

he doesn’t let his gaze leave it. “nah. it’s you.”

you blink.

he says it so casually. so high. so him.

like it’s just a fact.

you don’t say anything, and neither does he. the music swells. the lights flicker. people scream and laugh and break things somewhere in the background.

but right now, it’s just the two of you, and a lighter between your palms.

“you’re gonna make me cry,” you joke, even though the way he keeps looking at the lighter makes your chest feel a little too full.

choso doesn’t answer, just keeps running his thumb over the curves of it like it’s some delicate artifact, black with the glossy gleam of fresh paint, those red lilies blooming across the surface like blood in water.

he flicks it once. flame bursts up.

“perfect,” he mumbles.

“it works?”

“better than my soul, babe.”

you laugh, leaning your head against his shoulder, and for a few seconds everything around you falls away, just the throb of the music, the warm press of him, and the soft flicker of that tiny orange flame between his fingers.

you sit like that for a little while, talking about nothing. him complaining about a group project he hasn’t started. you teasing him for skipping chem lab again. him promising you some “next-level weed” for tuesday’s party that “tastes like peaches and existential dread.”

his voice is slow, syrup-thick, a little slurred at the ends. he’s stoned, clearly, but you’re used to this. used to the way he leans into you when he’s like this, heavy and unguarded, every thought coming out a little slower and more unfiltered. it’s a version of him that doesn’t get tired of looking at you.

he tugs at the hem of your jacket playfully. “you gonna stay with me tonight?”

you raise a brow. “didn’t plan on going anywhere else.”

he grins, that sleepy smile that makes your heart tick funny.

then your name cuts through the room, pitched over the music.

“oh shit,” you say, glancing over your shoulder. “they’re calling me.”

choso hums, not looking away. “tell ‘em i said hi.”

you hesitate for a second, not wanting to leave the warm bubble you’ve curled into. but shoko’s waving you over, and maki’s already halfway across the room with a bottle in her hand and trouble in her eyes.

“i’ll be back,” you say, giving his knee a squeeze as you get up.

he watches you go, eyes dragging over your silhouette, that sway in your hips, the flash of your smile as nobara yells something at you that makes you laugh and flip her off in the same breath.

then he’s alone.

not really, the house is packed, pulsing with bodies and music and smoke, but alone in the way that matters.

the lighter’s still in his hand.

and it won’t stop looking like you.

'she fuckin’ made this.'

that thought loops through his head in lazy spirals. he stares down at it like he’s still not fully processing that it’s his now, the way it fits so perfect in his palm, like you painted it with him in mind, like you know his hands that well.

(which you do.)

'what an angel', he thinks again, your face still ghosted in his mind.

he’s high. so high. his body feels like a heartbeat, slow and deep and pulsing warm. and the lighter, it keeps dragging him back to that moment on the couch, your thigh against his, your fingers brushing his, your quiet little smile when he lit it up for the first time.

'she always does shit like this. just makes stuff better. without even tryin’.'

it hits him all at once, sudden and full-body.

he needs to mark this. this moment. this feeling.

he’s already pulling out his phone before the thought’s even fully formed, scrolling through the camera roll he swore he didn’t care about but secretly checks too often. blurry candids, selfies with you curled against his chest, that pic from two weeks ago when you were looking up at him from the floor of his room with a red gummy in your mouth and sleep in your eyes.

he pauses there.

your eyes in that picture. big, soft, glassy, sexy.

his thumb hovers over the screen.

“yo,” a familiar voice calls, sauntering through the haze. “you look fried.”

sukuna.

choso glances up. “am fried.”

sukuna grins. “figured. that couch is cursed, by the way. guy got a blowie on it last week during pong night.”

choso shrugs. “adds flavor.”

they lean on the wall together, easy silence for a second.

“you see the tat guys?” sukuna asks, chin-jerking toward the kitchen. “someone just got a fucking worm on their calf. like a literal earthworm. said it was ‘symbolic.’”

choso laughs, low and thick. “symbolic of what?”

“dunno. being dirt, i guess.”

he doesn’t respond. just looks back at his phone.

sukuna raises a brow. “you good, dude?”

“yeah.”

“you look like you just had a vision.”

choso finally meets his eye.

“yo,” he says slowly. “you ever just feel something and know you gotta do somethin’ about it right now or you’ll bitch out?”

sukuna squints. “uh. like what?”

choso doesn’t answer.

instead, he pushes off the wall, hoodie slipping off one shoulder again, lighter still clutched in one hand, phone in the other, and starts walking.

sukuna watches him go, a little amused. “damn. alright.”

the air is thick with smoke and bass as he weaves through the crowd, bumping shoulders, dodging a girl dancing with her heels off and her hair in her face.

he reaches the makeshift tattoo stand.

it smells like rubbing alcohol and regret.

“yo,” he says, voice smooth as silk and twice as slow.

the guy behind the table, ink sleeves up to the neck, black gloves, sunglasses indoors, glances up.

“what’s up, man?”

choso leans down slightly, eyes low-lidded and unreadable, body loose and stoned and sexy in that careless way he always carries.

he holds out his phone.

“can you do this,” he asks, “on my arm?”

the artist blinks, then looks at the screen.

it’s a close-up of a girl’s eyes, wide, seductive, yet still glowing with laughter. looking up at the camera like whoever took the photo was the only thing in the world.

looking up at him.

choso taps the screen once. “those are hers.”

the guy raises a brow. “like… your girl?”

choso shrugs one shoulder. his eyes never leave the photo.

the buzz of the needle starts soft, a low, persistent hum, and choso doesn’t even flinch. he just leans back, one arm draped lazily across the armrest, hoodie shoved halfway up his bicep where the artist wiped him down with alcohol. his eyes are half-lidded, bloodshot from whatever gojo rolled earlier, but locked on the phone he’s holding out in his opposite hand.

the picture’s still up. her eyes, warm and wide, lashes curled, looking up at him like she trusts him with her whole heart.

“pretty,” the tattoo guy mutters, angling a small light to get a better look as he sketches the stencil. “yours?”

choso’s mouth curves slow. doesn’t answer right away. just flicks his lighter open and closed, click, click, click, the red spider lilies catching the light each time.

then finally:

“nah.”

the guy hums. “girlfriend?”

he huffs a little, amused. “not that either.”

he sets the lighter down on the table beside him, keeps his eyes on the screen.

“she’s just,” he pauses, then shrugs, soft and slow, “her. y’know?”

the artist side-eyes him. “deep.”

choso smiles again, eyes unfocused. “nah, i’m just fuckin’ high.” the guy presses the warm stencil into choso’s arm, smooths it into place.

“you sure you wanna do this while you’re, uh,” he glances at choso’s glassy expression, the faint grin still tugging at his mouth, “clearly not sober?”

“i’m not wasted,” choso says lazily. “and i’m not dumb. it’s not a mistake.” the artist nods once, respects it. “alright, man.” he flips on the machine again, lines it up.

“you done this before?” choso grunts a laugh. “y’think i got these in my sleep?” he gestures vaguely at the black ink already crawling across both arms, jagged, abstract lines, constellations and waves, some faded with age. some done in basements like this one. “first time sober was the weirdest one.”

the guy snorts. “fair.”

the needle hits skin.

choso exhales slow. doesn’t flinch, doesn’t shift, doesn’t even blink hard. just stares at the wall across the room, jaw slack, hoodie sliding off his shoulder, the buzz settling into the meat of his arm like a low hum of intention. “you ever tattoo someone like this before?” he murmurs after a beat.

“like what?”

he shrugs again. “someone who’s… y’know.” the guy doesn’t answer right away.

choso elaborates, voice softer this time. “she’s not mine. i don’t want her to be. not right now. it’s not like that. it’s just…” he trails off, brows furrowing a little, tongue tucked against the inside of his cheek.

“she just means somethin’. don’t got a word for it.”

the artist doesn’t look up from his work, but his tone’s gentler when he speaks again. “yeah. i’ve seen that before.” choso sinks deeper into the chair, breathing even. the pain’s dull and constant, but it grounds him. keeps his thoughts from spiraling too far out, keeps his high in this exact moment.

“you think she’d be mad?” he asks, voice airy. “if she saw it?”

“dunno,” the guy says. “you gonna tell her?” he blinks slow, head rolling back against the headrest.

“nah.”

another pause.

“not now. it’s just for me.” the tattooer gives a small nod. “that’s real.”

a silence settles between them, the steady hum of the needle, the sound of someone vomiting into a bush outside the window, a muffled scream from the beer pong table two rooms over.

“looks good,” the artist murmurs, wiping excess ink from the forming lines of the eyes. “she’s got crazy lashes.”

choso huffs out a small laugh. “she’d fuckin’ love that you noticed that.”

“yeah?”

he smiles again, softer now. “talked about lash serum for like a week. gave me a whole presentation.”

the guy chuckles under his breath. “sounds like she talks a lot.”

choso closes his eyes.

“she talks just enough.” the buzz continues. the lines take shape. her eyes, right there, etched into his skin. not to claim. not to confess. just to remember.

just for him.

~

the buzz dies down gradually, tapering into a low hum before the artist finally flicks the switch and pulls back. the sudden quiet settles like a heavy blanket over the both of them, just the soft thud of bass from the next room and the subtle scrape of latex gloves against skin.

“alright, man,” the artist says, leaning back with a stretch. “done.”

choso blinks slow, still slouched deep in the chair like he’s been there for hours, like the cushion molded around his bones. he lifts his head, eyes hazy but laser-locked on the strip of bandage being pressed to his upper arm.

“yo, hold up, lemme see it before you cover it,” he says, voice low and hoarse from either weed or reverence, maybe both.

the guy lifts a brow, but obliges. carefully wipes the skin one last time, blood and excess ink coming away in soft red-black smears. the room’s fluorescent lights hit the raw lines at an angle, shining off the freshly tattooed skin like it’s something holy.

and fuck.

there it is.

your eyes.

wide and soft and open, curved lashes sweeping upward in a way no stencil should’ve captured but somehow did. that quiet way you look at him, like he hung the stars, like he’s yours even if the two of you never say it out loud. inked permanent on the soft part of his bicep, nestled between a set of waves and the jagged edge of a half-finished constellation.

for a second, he doesn’t speak. doesn’t move.

he just stares.

it hits him slow, like a good edible, starts behind his eyes, low and warm in his chest, then spreads.

yo.

he’s obsessed.

like fully, all the way, brain-meltingly obsessed.

he turns his arm slightly under the light, eyes tracing the lines, the slight curve of your upper lid, the detail around the corners like you're mid-laugh or mid-thought or both. it looks exactly like you, his favorite version of you. the version that looks up at him like nothing else exists in the room.

god.

you look good on him. not in the possessive way. not even close. it’s not that.

it’s something else. something way quieter. something he can’t even name when he’s sober, and definitely not now, baked out of his skull with his arm still tingling and his hoodie falling half off.

but still, he’s wearing you now. and it feels like something that’s always been true, just waiting for the ink to make it real.

“you good?” the artist asks, half amused, already reaching for the plastic wrap again. “yeah,” choso says, slow, mouth crooked into a lazy grin. “looks fuckin’ sick, dude.” the guy chuckles under his breath. “kinda figured you’d say that.”

“you killed it,” choso adds, finally dragging his eyes off the tattoo. “like, actually.”

the artist nods, pleased. “appreciate it. was fun as hell to do, honestly. you sure you don’t want her name or somethin’? under it?” choso snorts. “nah. that’d make it weird.”

“fair.”

he watches the guy gently press a clean dressing over the fresh ink, tape it up. the sensation’s a dull sting under his skin, not quite pain, just awareness. a reminder that it’s real now. that it’s his, for good.

she doesn’t know. you might never know. and that’s kinda the whole point. he’s not gonna flash it at you mid-party or say anything slick when you sit beside him later like you always do, throwing your legs over his lap and stealing his drink.

nah.

this one’s just for him. a secret under his sleeve, tucked into the curve of his body like a memory.

“you gonna keep it under wraps?” the guy asks, like he can read choso’s whole plan off his face.

“yeah,” choso mutters, grabbing his hoodie and tugging the sleeve back down with a practiced flick. “at least for now. don’t need her freakin’ out or nothing.”

“bet,” the guy says with a short laugh. “i get it.”

choso stands slow, body still heavy from sitting too long and smoking too much. he sways a bit but rights himself, shaking out his arms like he’s just come up from underwater. the whole basement smells like blood and rubbing alcohol and resin, but it’s warm, and the energy buzzes low and steady around him.

he digs in his pocket for a few bills, slaps them into the artist’s open palm.

“appreciate you, man.”

“anytime, bro. take care of that, don’t go dunkin’ it in a keg or anything.” choso grins. “no promises.”

he walks out with his hoodie draped low, sleeve tugged all the way to his wrist despite the heat and the crowd and the chaotic press of bodies funneling in from the hallway. music floods back in slow, a pulse of bass syncing up with his own heartbeat.

but he can’t stop thinking about it. every step he takes, every time the sleeve brushes against the fresh ink, it reminds him.

not of what they are.

but of what you mean.

upu didn’t need to give him that lighter. you didn’t have to think about him in that little quiet way you always did, like he’s more than just a weed plug or the guy you party with every weekend. that little moment, just you in your dorm, painting red spider lilies on a bic you knew he’d never throw away? that shit went straight to his chest. and now you're on his skin. maybe you'd freak out if you saw it. maybe you'd cry. maybe you'd laugh.

maybe you'd get real quiet and never say anything again. or maybe you'd look at him the way you did in that photo. maybe you'd look at him like you knew.

but all that’s for later. for now, he’s just stoned as hell, arm warm and throbbing, and so unbelievably content that it’s almost embarrassing.

he spots gojo again across the room, already perched on the arm of someone else’s couch with a red solo cup and a grin like he owns the house. choso veers toward him, slips back into the noise like he never left.

sleeve tugged down.

lighter in his pocket.

eyes on his arm, just for him.

~

later that night you navigate yourself back to choso after your banter with the girls.

you spot him sunk deep into the cushions, hood half up, curls falling into his face, a bottle of water in one hand and his eyes half-lidded and sleepy with that lazy high he wears better than anyone. he’s surrounded, gojo splayed on one armrest like he owns the place, sukuna lounged sideways with his feet on the table, and suguru perched on the edge, nursing a half-finished blunt.

“yo, look who it is,” gojo grins as you walk up, already clocking the way you move like you’re headed home, not just to a guy. “princess finally found her prince.”

you don’t say anything, just slide right into the little space at choso’s side like it was made for you. his arm shifts automatically, pulling you in like it’s instinct, and you tuck your face into his shoulder, letting out the softest exhale. you can feel the thrum of his voice in your cheek when he speaks.

“hey, ma.”

his hand’s warm against your hip, steady, grounding. he smells like weed and cedar and the faintest trace of paint from the lighter you gave him. it’s in his pocket now, safe like something sacred.

“so anyway,” suguru picks back up like you didn’t just crash-land in choso’s lap, “i’m telling you, the guy had no idea what he was doing. tried to roll with a swisher, no guts, just dumped the weed in and twisted the end like a fuckin’ lollipop.”

“god, not the lollipop roll,” sukuna groans, dragging a hand over his face. “freshman?”

“of course it was a freshman,” gojo says, grinning. “those little guys think watching one youtube tutorial makes them bob marley.”

“yo, remember that one dude at the delta party?” choso says, head tilting back slightly. “rolled a joint with a bible page.”

“amen,” sukuna snorts.

“nah, for real,” choso laughs, hand tightening just slightly where it rests on your side. “he said it made the high holier.” you huff against his hoodie, and his fingers flex like he felt it, like it was the best sound he’d heard all night.

they keep going, weed stories, party war stories, the dumbest shit they’ve ever seen in a frat house at 3am. it’s relentless, loud, chaotic, but you stay quiet, tucked against choso’s side like he’s the only still thing in the room. his thumb runs in slow circles against your waist through the fabric of your top, and you feel the way he laughs before you hear it.

“yo,” gojo says, leaning across suguru to point at choso. “what’s the craziest thing you’ve ever done at a party?”

“besides adopt a girlfriend he doesn’t kiss?” sukuna adds. choso blinks slow. doesn’t rise to the bait, doesn’t even twitch.

“probably that time at theta when i fell asleep in the bathtub and woke up with a raccoon in my lap.” suguru chokes. “you serious?”

“deadass.”

“was it… alive?”

“bro. it was chillin’. just vibin’ with me.”

“you probably hotboxed the tub,” gojo says, wiping tears of laughter from his eyes. “raccoon was just tryna get high.”

choso grins, soft and slow, and you nudge your nose into his hoodie like you’re hiding your own smile. “what about women?” sukuna says suddenly, eyes glinting like he’s fishing. “y’all ever hook up at your own party?”

“you’re disgusting, that's against reg” gojo tells him cheerfully.

“don’t lie,” sukuna drawls. “you know you have.”

“alright, once,” gojo admits. “but i kicked her out after because she tried to name my bongs.” “you’re heartless,” suguru says, deadpan.

“you don’t name the bongs,” gojo insists. “they earn names. it’s sacred.”

“what about you, choso?” sukuna’s gaze cuts sideways. “you got bodies stacked in your stoner dungeon?” choso hums, slow and easy. you feel the low sound in his chest, pressed flush to your cheek.

“nah,” he says. “i don’t hook up with girls who don’t know how to roll.” the boys howl, gojo nearly falling off the couch.

“that’s so on brand,” suguru laughs. “you need standards,” choso mumbles, amused, and leans his cheek briefly against the top of your head.

the lighter’s still in his pocket. his arm’s still over your shoulders. and beneath the sleeve of his hoodie, hidden from the world, your eyes are inked into his skin.

you shift a little, just enough to tuck your legs under yourself, settling more fully into him, and he adjusts without thinking — arm around you tighter now, palm spread warm across your ribs, thumb grazing your side through the fabric. he’s careful. doesn’t let the hoodie ride up. doesn’t let anyone see. the tattoo’s still fresh, still tender, and it’s just for him.

“yo, you good?” suguru asks, nodding at him. choso blinks slow. “yeah man’.”

“that weed hit hard,” gojo says. “i feel like i’m seein’ sounds.”

“you ever tried dabs?” sukuna asks. “that’s when shit gets spiritual.”

“you tryna kill someone?” suguru laughs. “every time i hit one, i feel like my soul’s leaving my body.”

“shit’s a rite of passage,” sukuna shrugs.

“nah, a rite of passage is hosting a rager with a cop at your door and acting like you live there,” gojo grins. “have you?” choso asks, amused.

“bro, i’ve answered the door in a bathrobe before,” gojo says proudly. they all crack up again. you don’t say anything, but your smile’s pressed right into choso’s chest, and he dips his head for a second to nuzzle his nose into your hair.

“she’s real quiet tonight,” suguru says, noticing. “nah, she’s just comfy,” choso says easily. “she don’t need to talk when she’s like this.”

you don’t. not when you’ve got his warmth, his arm around you, his voice rumbling low in your ear with every lazy joke. it’s always like this, like no one else in the room really matters, like you could fall asleep right here and he’d keep the world spinning while you did.

“that’s love,” gojo says mock-serious.

“shut up,” choso mutters. but he doesn’t stop smiling. and the lighter’s still warm in his pocket.

and your eyes are still inked into his arm, safe and secret beneath layers of cotton and smoke.

~

the house is still going when you two finally get up. it’s past 2am, maybe closer to 3, but the music hasn’t let up and there’s still people on the floor, drinks in hand, voices loud and slurred over each other. someone’s passed out with a sharpie mustache, another guy’s making out with a pillow. classic kappa chaos.

choso’s the one who moves first. you feel it in the way his arm shifts, in the soft brush of his thumb against your side like a nudge. he leans in close, voice barely above a murmur.

“you good to dip?”

you nod into his hoodie, eyes half-lidded, heart heavy with warmth and weed.

he helps you up slow, palm steady at your back. when you stand, the cold air from the open back door hits your legs and you shiver a little, instinctively leaning back into his side. he shrugs his hoodie higher and throws an arm around your shoulders like he already knew it’d happen.

“yo,” choso calls out over the couch, voice scratchy and low. “we out.”

gojo perks up from where he’s still posted with a half-spilled drink, eyes bright. “tell your girlfriend goodnight for us.”

you don’t say anything, just press your face into choso’s shoulder again, and he laughs under his breath.

“night, man,” suguru says with a nod, already halfway into rolling another blunt.

sukuna lifts a hand lazily. “text if you end up in a ditch.”

“if i do, i’m takin’ you with me,” choso mutters.

they all laugh again, and it follows you both out the front door, the porch light buzzing weak and yellow above you. the night’s cooler now, quiet in a way that makes everything feel soft around the edges. your heels click against the pavement as you walk, but only for a second, choso notices and without a word, crouches down in front of you, glancing back over his shoulder.

“get on.”

you blink, amused. “seriously?”

“c’mon, ma,” he mumbles, tugging at your wrist. “your feet hurt.”

you climb onto his back with a little laugh, arms wrapped loose around his shoulders, and he stands like it’s nothing, steady under your weight. his steps are slow and sure down the sidewalk, the frat house lights shrinking behind you, the sounds of the party fading with every step.

“you always take care of me,” you mumble against his neck.

he hums low. “’course i do. you're my.. best friend.”

you walk like that for a while, his hoodie soft against your cheek, his hair brushing your face every time the wind shifts. he doesn’t say much, just hums sometimes or comments on dumb shit you pass, a traffic cone in a bush, a raccoon on the curb that freezes when it sees you, like it knows choso somehow.

he sets you down once you’re close, only when his own building’s steps are in sight. his hand stays in yours as he leads you inside, up the stairs, past the other bedrooms where people are either passed out or definitely not sleeping. his door clicks shut behind you with a soft thud, and everything goes quiet.

his room’s the same as always, warm, dim, the faint smell of weed and whatever incense he burned earlier in the week still lingering in the corners. one sock on the floor, a hoodie thrown over the back of his chair. you’ve been here a hundred times, maybe more.

but tonight feels different. softer. warmer.

he pulls his hoodie off slow, careful of the sleeve, and tosses it toward the desk chair. the bandage underneath catches the light for a second, but he turns before you see too much.

you toe your shoes off and crawl onto the bed without thinking. he follows, slower, body still heavy with high and heat and something else he can’t name.

you’re both under the blanket when he finally speaks.

“hey.”

you look over, curled on your side facing him.

his eyes are half-lidded, soft. one arm tucked behind his head, the other stretched toward you, palm open on the comforter like he’s offering it.

“i really fuckin’ love that lighter.”

your heart stutters a little. “yeah?”

he nods, slow. “like… a lot. been using it all night. even switched pockets for it, kept checking to make sure it didn’t fall out or get swiped.”

you smile, something small and full blooming in your chest. “good. it’s supposed to be yours.”

“feels like it.”

he looks at you for a long second. the space between you shrinks until his arm slides around your waist and pulls you in close.

you go easy, always do, settling into him like he’s your own bed, your own pillow, the place you always end up no matter how far you drift.

he breathes in slow, his nose brushing your hair.

“the flowers… why’d you paint those?”

you press your face into his chest.

“they reminded me of you,” you say quietly. “red spider lilies. they’re kind of… complicated. people think they’re about death or goodbye, but they also mean memory. rebirth. starting over. they grow in all the places nothing else does.”

choso’s quiet for a second.

then, soft, “you think i’m like that?”

you shrug against him, voice even softer. “i think you’re the kind of person who sticks. who stays even when shit gets hard. and you don’t always say how you feel but… you’re steady. like those flowers. like fire.”

he exhales slow.

“fuck, ma.”

“what?”

“you’re gonna make me cry or some shit.”

you laugh, a quiet huff against his chest. he wraps both arms around you now, tucking you into the space beneath his chin, his hand sliding up into your hair.

his fingers stroke slow, gentle. again and again.

“you can cry,” you mumble. “i won’t tell.”

he chuckles low, the sound vibrating through you.

“nah, i’m good. just… i dunno. not used to someone thinkin’ about me like that.”

you don’t say anything. just curl closer, your fingers fisting lightly in the fabric of his shirt.

the room settles into silence. soft and slow. your breaths even out together.

his hand keeps stroking through your hair, steady and grounding. like he could do it forever. like maybe he will.

his voice comes again, quieter this time.

“gonna keep that lighter forever.”

you smile, eyes fluttering shut. “good.”

“not even gonna let gojo touch it."

“definitely good.”

his lips brush your hair, a ghost of a kiss.

you feel it all, the warmth, the safety, the way his body curls slightly to fit around yours like a shield, like a home.

his heartbeat’s slow against your cheek.

“night, ma,” he whispers, already half-asleep.

you murmur it back, voice slurred with sleep, breath syncing with his.

his fingers keep moving, slow circles through your hair.

and in the soft dark, beneath the blanket, beneath the silence, his arm curls around you just enough to press the fresh ink on his bicep to your side, a quiet secret. a permanent truth.

just for him.

just for tonight.

just for you.

~

~

it’s been a chill afternoon, sun’s out, classes dragging, brain fried. choso’s walking out of the lab building with his earbuds in, hoodie half-zipped, replaying your last message in his head. a pic of your shoes kicked off under a library table, captioned come save me, three broken hearts. made him smile. still does.

he’s almost past the quad when a shadow cuts across the sidewalk.

“yo, choso.”

doesn’t need to look up to know who it is.

that voice, too smooth. familiar in the kind of way that feels like smoke curling up your back.

he pulls one earbud out and slows.

toji’s leaned against the trunk of an oak tree like he’s been waiting. sunglasses on, black tee snug across his chest, arms crossed like he’s got all day. his smirk’s already half-there.

“what’s up?” choso mutters.

“you got a sec?”

choso gives him a long look. he knows toji. knows the kind of calm that means something’s coming.

“…yeah,” he says anyway.

they walk.

they’ve done this before, that time a few weeks ago before his lab, once or twice after parties, when everyone else was loud and drunk and messy. toji’s always been different. sharper. like he watches the room just to see where it bleeds.

“how’s life at delta mu?” toji asks after a few steps. casual. fake.

“same shit.”

“yeah?” he smirks. “you still throwing those weed parties with your little mascot?”

choso’s jaw ticks. “you mean y/n?”

toji chuckles. “yeah. her.”

he tosses a glance sideways. too casual.

“she’s got some energy, huh? always bouncing around, arms all over you. she like that with everybody or just you?”

choso doesn’t answer. toji doesn’t need one.

“nah, i’ve seen it,” he continues. “always tucked up next to you. on your lap. wrapped around your arm. clinging to your hoodie like it’s the last blunt in the world.”

he laughs under his breath. “kinda cute.”

choso’s fists go deep in his pockets.

“she’s just like that,” he says flatly.

toji hums. “you sure?”

choso looks over.

“what’s your point?”

“just wondering,” toji shrugs, still smiling like it’s harmless. “you’ve told me before, you two aren’t dating.”

“we’re not.”

“but you hang out every day.”

“yeah.”

“sleep in the same bed sometimes, right?”

choso’s mouth tightens.

toji grins like he caught something.

“so she’s single?”

choso stares straight ahead.

“…yeah.”

“good to know.”

silence.

the wind brushes through the quad. students chatter behind them. someone’s playing music from a bluetooth speaker in the grass, something smooth, almost romantic. it doesn’t help.

“she’s just real… open, you know?” toji says. “like, warm. sweet as hell. makes you feel like you’ve known her forever.” choso stays quiet.

“i ran into her the other day,” toji adds like it’s nothing. “outside the gym. we talked for a sec.” his tone is lighter now. teasing. like he’s digging.

“she remembered my name. smiled real nice, too. said she was headed to meet you.”

no surprise there. you always say where you're going. always talking about choso like he’s the center of your world. and maybe that’s why this stings. and toji knows it.

“you ever wonder if she does that for you?” he asks. “tells other guys she’s headed to see you. uses your name like a shield.”

he doesn’t wait for a reply.

“or maybe it’s just habit. maybe she’s comfortable. you ever think about that?”

“don’t do this.”

choso’s voice is low now. warning. toji just smirks.

“look, man. i’m not trying to piss you off. just… trying to understand. ‘cause you act like you’re her boyfriend, but then you say you’re not.”

he tilts his head.

“so which is it?”

choso breathes slow through his nose.

“we’re close. we’ve always been close. that’s it.” toji nods. like he buys it.

but he doesn’t.

“damn,” he says. “you got more patience than me.”

“what’s that mean?”

“means if a girl like that was pressed up on me every night, i wouldn’t be wasting time calling her my friend.” he says it with a grin, but there’s something sharp underneath.

“you really never tried?” toji asks. “never kissed her? not once?” choso doesn’t respond. he can’t. he kisses you all the time, on the head, never on the lips.

because the truth’s stuck in his throat, the way you fall asleep in his arms, the way you hold his lighter like it means something, the way you always come back to him like he’s home. and he’s the dumbass who never claimed you.

“so she’s single, then?” toji repeats.

“yeah,” choso says, quieter than the first time, barely above a whisper.

toji gives him one last nod.

“fairs,” he says. “just wanted to be sure.” and then he walks away. choso doesn’t move. not for a long time.

just stands there, fists clenched, teeth gritted, watching toji’s silhouette disappear down the path like it’s a threat, because it is. he knew.

he knew before he asked.

and now he’s coming.

because choso left the door wide open.

and you?

you’re free to walk through it.

~

choso’s room, late in the afternoon.

your legs are curled under you on choso’s bed, hoodie three sizes too big hanging off your shoulder, his, of course. the windows are cracked open, letting in the soft hum of birds and the echo of some guys yelling down at the basketball court. his room smells like incense, sage and something deeper, something him, warm, sleepy. you’ve been here a hundred times like this. maybe more.

his hoodie sleeves keep sliding past your wrists as you text, thumbs quick, quiet smile pulling at your lips. he’s across the room, digging through a drawer for his rolling tray. you can feel his presence without even looking. you always do.

“yo, did you move my grinder?” he calls, glancing over his shoulder.

“nope,” you answer, distracted, fingers still flying over your screen. your phone lights again.

toji [3:04pm]: you looked cute at that mixer last night.

you bite your lip. thumbs hover.

then you type:

you [3:07pm]: oh, so ur stalking me noww?

you don’t see choso pause. you don’t see how long his eyes linger on your phone. you don’t realize he saw the name, until he speaks.

“who you texting?”

you blink up, tone of his voice unfamiliar.

“hm? oh—” you shift your phone in your hand, instinctive. “just… someone.”

he tilts his head.

“someone, huh.”

you laugh a little. “why do you sound like that?”

he doesn’t answer. he crosses the room instead, slow steps. plants himself at the edge of the bed, arms folded. you look up at him and that warm energy’s gone. replaced with something colder. sharp.

“that toji?”

your breath stalls.

“…yeah.”

choso stares at you. unreadable.

“why?”

“what do you mean why?” you ask, eyebrows tugging. “he messaged me. we were just talking.”

he hums, low.

'not buying it.'

“just talking,” he echoes. “what about?” you sit up straighter. “what’s going on?”

“what’d he say?”

“choso—”

“lemme see.”

he gestures at your phone. you clutch it instinctively. like muscle memory. like guilt? “are you serious right now?” he doesn’t answer. jaw’s tight. eyes dark.

“what’d he say?” he asks again. your fingers squeeze your phone. you feel a flush crawl up your neck. not from embarrassment, but shock.

“you’re not serious,” you say again, this time quieter. he just looks at you. so you speak.

“he said i was cute, that's it.”

his jaw ticks.

“you flirting with him?”

“what?”

“you heard me.”

you scoff. “no. i wasn’t. it wasn’t even- i didn’t mean it like that.” choso steps back, runs a hand through his hair. pacing now.

“you texting him while you’re in my bed?”

“what does that matter?”

“it matters.”

his voice is sharper now. rough around the edges. not loud, but tight, like it’s fighting to stay inside his chest. “you know how i feel about that guy.”

“choso, he’s been nothing but nice lately—”

“he’s not nice. he’s not interested in being friends. he’s waiting, he’s circling, you don’t see it?”

you blink.

“so what, you’re mad ‘cause i texted him back?” he looks at you like you just spit on the floor. “i’m mad ‘cause you’re in my fucking hoodie, in my bed, telling some other guy he’s got a shot.”

you freeze.

the silence that falls is loud.

so loud.

your eyes widen. you stare at him, lips parted. unsure if you heard that right. unsure if he meant to say it.

“a shot?” you echo. he looks away. exhales hard.

“never mind.”

“no,” you say, voice firm now. “say it again.”

he doesn’t. but you both feel the truth echoing off the walls.

you look down. suddenly too warm. like the hoodie’s burning your skin. “…i didn’t know you’d care,” you say, almost to yourself.

choso swallows. “i do.” you glance back up.

“why?”

he doesn’t answer, but you already know. and now the air is thick with it. the unspoken thing. and for the first time, it’s not sweet. not warm. it hurts.

because it means everything he’s never said, everything he’s been, came with conditions you never agreed to. came with borders he never drew, but expected you not to cross.

you breathe slow. he watches you. you speak first.

“if you wanted to be the only one texting me like that, you should’ve said something.” choso’s face shifts. his mouth opens like he’s going to say something, defend himself, maybe, argue the way he always stays quiet because he doesn’t want to lose you,but nothing comes out.

instead, his brows knit together, lips pressed in a tight line. his fingers curl at his sides.

“you really think i don’t wanna be that?” he says, voice rough. “you think this shit’s been casual for me?” you blink at him. your breath catches.

“you’ve never said it was anything else, choso. what was i supposed to think?”

“fuck,” he growls, pacing again. “you were supposed to know. i thought you knew.”

his voice rises, not yelling, but loud with frustration. he’s unraveling in real time, and it’s shaking something loose in you, too.

“how was i supposed to know?” you shoot back. “you flirt but you never say anything. you touch me like i’m yours but act like i’m just your best friend—”

“you are mine.” your voice dies in your throat.

he stares at you. and when he speaks again, it’s quieter, but no less intense.

“you’re mine,” he says again, like a confession. like a curse. “always been mine.” your stomach flips.

“then why—” your voice cracks — “why didn’t you say anything?”

choso runs a hand through his hair again, like he’s trying to physically hold himself together. like it hurts.

“’cause i was scared,” he snaps. “scared that if i said it out loud, it’d fuck everything up. that you’d look at me different. that you’d leave.” you stare.

“so you’d rather let someone else have me?”

he stiffens. you rise onto your knees on the bed, fire lighting behind your ribs now. “you’d rather let toji of all people try it?”

his jaw clenches. “he’s not gonna have you.” your heartbeat skids.

he moves in fast, faster than he ever has, and grabs your wrist, firm but not rough, like he can’t bear to let the distance exist any longer.

“i’m not letting him have you,” he mutters.

you’re still frozen, looking up at him. something between fear and thrill curling in your gut.

“choso,” you whisper. he doesn’t stop. he pushes you back gently onto the bed, one hand catching your waist, the other bracing against the mattress. he hovers over you, breath heavy, eyes searching your face like he’s begging you to see it, really see it this time.

“i’m fucking in love with you.”

your heart punches into your throat. his forehead dips, pressing against yours, voice hoarse.

“i’ve been in love with you since you showed up to my first party and we listened to that dumb song together.”

you let out a shaky laugh, but your eyes are wet his thumb brushes your cheek.

“i never said it ‘cause i thought this was enough. thought just having you close was better than risking it all. but i can’t—” he pulls in a breath, voice shaking now too — “i can’t sit quiet while other people try to take you from me.”

you’re blinking fast now. breath catching. every inch of your skin feels like it’s on fire beneath his touch.

“you’re my girl,” he says again, softer this time. “you’ve always been mine.”

you don’t answer right away. your chest rises and falls beneath his, shallow and unsteady. your palm is still on his cheek, but your eyes have shifted, staring past him now. unfocused. wet.

“you’re only saying that,” you murmur, “because someone else finally had the balls to go after me.”

his breath catches. your voice is quieter, but sharp now, like you’re trying to convince yourself. like you want to believe it, but the cracks are there, and they’re splitting open.

“you didn’t say anything until he got involved. until he started asking about me. texting me. seeing me.” your hand falls away from his face. “and now suddenly, i’m yours?”

his eyes widen. “no—”

“you had so long to tell me, choso. so many chances.”

“y/n, it’s not like that—”

“then what is it like?” you breathe. “’cause i don’t get to be the girl you only want when someone else does.”

choso stares at you, heart hammering. like you just ripped something raw and bloody straight out of his chest.

he swallows.

and then, slowly, he pushes back, just far enough to sit up on his knees beside you. the mattress dips with the weight shift. his hands fumble for the hem of his hoodie.

he pulls it up and over his head in one quick move. your breath stutters.

there, inked into the inside of his upper arm, where he’d hidden it every time you curled up against him, is a tattoo.

of your eyes.

staring straight back at you.

your real breath, the one stuck in your throat, finally punches out of you.

choso watches your expression shift, eyes flicking from the ink to his face and back. he swallows once, hard, and says:

“got it the night of the party. when you gave me the lighter.” you blink.

“you were curled up on me. whole time i was talking with the boys, i couldn’t stop thinking about you. how close you were. how you looked at me like that was your home.” he swipes a thumb under his nose, like he doesn’t know what else to do with his hands. “so i got up, high as fuck, to the guy tatting people in the corner. told him to ink your eyes on me.”

your lips part, but nothing comes out. his voice softens.

“i didn’t say anything ‘cause i thought it was enough. just having you near. but it’s not. not anymore.”

your heart pounds so hard you feel it in your ears.

he looks at you like you’re the only thing in the room. like he needs you to believe it. really believe it.

“this isn’t about toji. it’s never been about him. i wanted you long before he ever said your name.”

you’re still staring at the tattoo.

he moves closer again. his hand brushes your knee, gentle.

“you think i’d get your fucking eyes tatted on me just ‘cause i’m jealous?” you blink fast.

his hand finds your face again. tender. grounding “you’re it for me.”

his voice is low, raspy. not just from the emotion, but from how hard he’s holding it in, like if he lets go, everything he’s ever felt for you will come spilling out and drown him.

but he lets it go anyway.

“you’re all i think about,” choso says, brushing his thumb over your cheek again. “when i’m high, when i’m sober, when you’re across the room and laughing at someone’s stupid joke, when you’re asleep in my bed, wearing my shirt, you’re in my head all the time, ma.” your breath catches.

“every song reminds me of you. every little thing you do drives me crazy. you don’t even know how much of me you’ve got.”

he leans closer, forehead nearly touching yours.

“you gave me that lighter and i wanted to kiss you right there in the middle of that party. when you paint your nails i stare at your hands for hours. when you fall asleep on me at parties, i sit still like a statue so you don’t move. i’m always lookin’ at you like ive already lost you, and it kills me.”

his hand finds your jaw, warm and steady, fingers curling behind your ear. your breath hitches, and he’s close enough to feel it.

“you’ve had my heart since freshman year. and i didn’t say anything ‘cause i thought maybe you didn’t want it. or maybe you already had it and didn’t need to hear it out loud.”

you swallow, shaky. lips parted. cheeks flushed.

and choso looks down at them, your lips, like he’s been holding himself back from kissing you for a lifetime.

and then he doesn’t anymore.

he crashes into you like he’s starving.

the kind of kiss that drags a sound out of your throat before you even realize it, all heat and pressure and ache, all the months and years and everything he’s shoved down, poured out into the way his lips mold against yours. he kisses you like he’s afraid you’ll pull away, and like he knows you won’t.

your hands claw at his shoulders, winding into the mess of his hair, tugging him in even closer. and choso groans, deep in his throat, pressing you down into the bed, slotting his hips against yours.

his mouth moves fast, desperate, lips, tongue, teeth, like he can’t get enough. like the taste of you is something he needs in his lungs.

“fuck,” he breathes against your mouth, dragging his lips down your jaw, “you don’t get it, do you?”

your back arches, lips parting when he sucks lightly under your ear.

“how bad i’ve wanted this. you.”

his hands roam, over your waist, under your shirt, up your sides like he’s trying to memorize all of you at once. and every place he touches leaves a trail of fire.

you moan his name, soft and shaky, and he loses it a little more, bites your bottom lip as he grinds his hips down into yours, heavy and hot and so there.

“say it again,” he mutters, eyes half-lidded, forehead pressed to yours. “say my name.”

“choso.”

he shudders.

“again.”

“cho!.”

he kisses you so deep it knocks the breath out of your lungs. kisses you like he owns you, like you’ve always belonged to him, and like he’s finally letting himself claim what’s already his.

and fuck, you let him.

you’ve wanted this just as long, you've needed him just as bad.

and now, with your limbs tangled, your body burning under his, your heart thudding like a war drum in your chest, there’s no more pretending.

you’re his. he’s yours. and it’s written all over his face.

choso looks at you like you’re the only thing he’s ever wanted, like he’s starved for you, but still savoring the moment. his eyes are dark, heavy-lidded, but soft. reverent. he cups your cheek with a hand that’s just slightly trembling, brushing his thumb along your skin like he can’t believe you’re real.

he kisses your forehead, slow and grounding, like a promise. then your nose. then your lips, and that one lingers. warm, aching, deep enough that it steals the air from your lungs. it’s not just desire. it’s everything he’s never said until now.

“please let me see you, ma." he whispers, voice hoarse, like he’s been holding back forever.

you nod, lips parted, eyes locked with his. your breath stutters as his fingers ghost over the hem of your shirt, lifting it inch by inch like he’s unwrapping something precious. he tosses it aside, only to pull you in again. his palms spread wide across your ribs, thumbs brushing just beneath your chest.

“fuck,” he breathes, low and to himself. “so fucking beautiful.”

he leans in, mouth dragging hot and open along your neck, kissing and breathing you in, his lips trembling against your pulse like he’s drunk off you. he murmurs something there, a soft, almost desperate, “mine,” before he undoes your bra with one practiced flick.

and when it falls away, he doesn’t touch you right away. he just stares, like the sight of you has knocked the wind out of him.

his hands come up slow, palms warm as they cup you like he’s afraid to break something delicate. “been dreaming about this,” he says. “about you. here. like this. in my bed. lookin’ up at me like you already know i’d give you everything.”

you shiver under the weight of it all, his voice, his gaze, his touch. and then his mouth is on your chest, lips sealing around your nipple, tongue flicking before he sucks. slow, deep, just enough to make you arch into him with a needy whimper.

“choso…”

he groans, hand sliding lower, fingers hooking into the waistband of your shorts. he pulls them down with your panties in one motion, dragging his palms down your thighs on the way. and when he sits back, just to take you in, bare, breathless, flushed, his eyes go wide, like he’s trying to commit you to memory. “look at you,” he murmurs, chest rising with each ragged breath. “you don’t even know what you do to me, do you?”

you reach for him, tugging his shirt up and over his head, palms skating down the strong lines of his chest, stopping only when your fingers find his arm. your breath catches.

your eyes. inked in black and red over his skin, etched like a confession. you won't ever get sick of seeing it.

he watches you take it in, sees the exact moment you understand, and he doesn’t say anything. not at first. he just leans in, takes your hand in his, and presses it over his heart.

“see?” he whispers. “been yours. always.”

your eyes brim, chest tight with something that has no name. and then he kisses you again, slow and deep, tongue stroking yours, hand sliding between your thighs. he groans into your mouth when he feels you, warm, wet, already trembling.

“so wet for me,” he mutters, lips brushing yours. “all this for me, huh?”

his fingers dip into you, one at first, then two, slow and deep, curling just right. your back arches, mouth falling open with a gasp as he starts to move them, watching every twitch and shiver you give him like he’s memorizing the way you come apart. “fuck, baby,” he breathes. “you feel so good, been wantin’ this for so long. just wanted to take care of you. make you feel good.”

his lips trail back down, mouth closing around your nipple again as his fingers keep working you open, the room echoing with your broken gasps and soft moans. he kisses your sternum, your ribs, every inch of you he can reach like he’s trying to make up for every second he didn’t have you.

and when your legs start to tremble, when your thighs squeeze around his hand and you whimper his name into the crook of his neck, he groans, low and sexy, and pulls back just enough to strip the last of his clothes.

his cock is flushed, hard, already leaking, and still, he pauses.

he leans in, pressing his forehead to yours, breathing hard. “you sure you wanna do this hun?”

“i want you,” you whisper, voice cracking. “i want all of you.”

and when he slides in, slow, deliberate, it’s overwhelming. your nails dig into his shoulders, mouth open in a silent gasp, and he just groans, long and low, burying his face in your neck.

“fuck, sweetheart… you feel so fuckin’ good, made for me, huh?”

his hips rock into you, slow and deep, dragging along every sensitive inch inside you until you’re trembling again, mouth parted in helpless moans. he kisses you through it, messy and uncoordinated, full of teeth and tongue and need.

he doesn’t hold back anymore. not his body, not his voice. he’s everywhere, his hands, his mouth, his words, and every thrust is rougher, deeper, hotter than the last.

“been yours since the day i met you,” he breathes against your skin. “you’re mine, baby. mine. no one else gets to have you like this. no one else even fuckin’ compares.”

you believe him. how could you not, when he’s saying it like he’s been waiting years to let it out?

you fall apart first, clenching around him with a strangled moan, whole body trembling as your orgasm crashes through you, and choso follows, grinding into you with a low growl, holding you close as he spills into you.

he doesn’t let go. not even after. he stays buried deep, forehead to yours, one hand cradling your jaw like it’s fragile.

“not lettin’ you go,” he whispers. “not now. not ever.”

~

raging music throbs and the party’s already in full swing when you two walk in. the bass thrums under your feet, bodies packed tight in the kappa house. familiar faces flash by in strobes of color and sound, solo cups raised, someone laughing too loud, gojo shouting across the room with a bottle in each hand.

and then you and choso step into the chaos like it’s nothing. except tonight, it’s not nothing. it’s everything. your hand is in his. his thumb strokes over your knuckles like it’s second nature, and you’re tucked into his side like you’ve always belonged there. he’s wearing that hoodie you love, and you’ve got it slung off your shoulder like it’s yours now. he hasn’t let go of you since you walked through the door, and he doesn’t plan to. people notice.

gojo sees first. his mouth falls open around the mouth of a beer can, and he drops it on the counter with a dramatic gasp. “oh my god.” choso raises an eyebrow, smirking. “no fuckin way,” sukuna mutters, eyes narrowing. “this for real?” you don’t say anything. just smile, nuzzling into choso’s chest. and choso, god, he melts. his arm tightens around you like instinct, like he’s not even thinking about it. “you’re kidding,” maki blurts from across the room. she’s half-drunk and squinting, pointing her beer bottle at you two like she’s trying to make sense of a mirage. “you finally fucked?”

“maki,” shoko hisses, slapping her arm, but she’s already grinning. “i knew it. i knew it.” suguru lifts his drink with a slow, knowing smile. “took you long enough.” gojo, meanwhile, is spinning in a circle like he just witnessed a miracle. “wait wait wait,” he says, pointing between the two of you. “you’re telling me this entire time, we’ve been watching you two eye-fuck each other across every frat house on campus, and now you’re just casually showing up like this?”

“what can i say,” choso murmurs, pulling you even closer, “i figured it was time.” “look at his hand placement,” shoko says, leaning into maki. “that’s not friends. that’s boyfriend hand placement.”

“yeah and look at her,” maki laughs. “she looks like she just got dicked down and praised like a goddess.” you duck your head a little, embarrassed, but choso leans in and kisses your cheek, then your temple. it’s so soft, so easy, and when he pulls back, he looks straight at toji who’s staring wide eyed, steady, calm, but with a flicker of challenge in his eyes.

“don’t look at her like that,” he says, voice low. “not tonight. not ever.” toji scoffs, raising his hands in mock surrender, but his grin is sharp. “damn. someone’s possessive now.”

“been possessive,” choso mutters, like it’s not even up for debate. he turns his attention back to you instantly, brushing your hair behind your ear.

“you okay?”

you nod. “i’m perfect.” and then he kisses you. not a peck. not for show. it’s slow, unhurried, with his hand cupping your jaw and his lips moving with the kind of tenderness that makes your knees weak. the room could be burning down and he wouldn’t stop. you don’t even hear gojo’s dramatic screech until you break apart.

“yo this is crazy,” he says, spinning around and yelling to no one in particular. “choso is off the market. choso kamo, resident stoner-lover of no one but his weed and his hoodie collection, is now cuffed.”

“what’s it feel like,” suguru asks with a smirk, raising an eyebrow at choso, “to be someone’s boyfriend?”

“feels like i shoulda done it years ago,” choso says. you blink up at him, heart catching in your throat. “yo,” yuuji calls from the other side of the room. “does this mean we’re finally allowed to say you two have been in love since freshman year?” “i always said it,” nobara yells, shoving through the crowd with a drink. “don’t act like y’all didn’t see them cuddled up at every party like an old married couple.”

“wait does this mean she’s moving into his room?” gojo asks, visibly spiraling. “what’s gonna happen to the guest bed? who’s gonna roll for me when choso’s too busy being in love?”

“die mad,” choso says flatly, and everyone laughs. but even through all the noise and teasing and attention, his focus never strays from you. his hand stays on your waist. his eyes keep dropping to your mouth like he’s remembering exactly what it feels like.

“you good?” he murmurs again, like he just wants to hear you say it.

you press your nose to his chest and nod, smiling. “more than good.”

he kisses you again, slower this time, like it’s just for you. like no one else is in the room. like he’s exactly where he’s always wanted to be.

and the thing is, he is.

he’s yours. fully, finally, publicly.

© 2025 sixxels. All work belongs to @sixxels Do NOT repost, modify, translate or plagiarize in any way on ANY platforms.

awe wasn't that sweet 👩‍❤️‍💋‍👨 m.list

guys look at this beautiful art @ryololart did inspired by this fic i love her go like it rn omg this is the perfect visual.