Welcome to my Tumblr blog. Call me K11ty or w331o_00009.
+ not posting new fics for a while cuz of work/studies.
— If you scroll through my page you will see that I don't write that much anymore, or at least post. I found out that no one actually read or saw some of my fics. However, on ao3 I get comments and hits, which is motivating.
— I write smut (rough) and age regression fics, these two are completely different and I don't really want them to collide and get others to think I sexualize age regression (which is for coping). I considered making a separate account for the age regression fics because it does not fit with the other stories I write. I don't use Tumblr that much so I haven't done it yet.
— Everyone is allow on this blog, for now, if I see any negativity from specific groups of readers, the rules will change. This blog is at least 16+, cause of the smut and dead dove do not eat parts.
You can find me on ao3 --> w331o_00009 | Archive of Our Own
You talk back. You tease. You don’t know how to shut up — and Sukuna’s going to fix that. He doesn’t need chains to keep you in line — just a handful of hair, a cock down your throat, and a reason to remind you who’s in charge. Brats get broken. And you’re already halfway there.
Includes:
Oral sex. Face-fucking, Brat tamer dynamic, Degradation / dirty talk, Breathplay, Impact play (slapping), Power play / dom-sub themes, Overstimulation, Praise kink, Bratty Male!Reader
✦ Part 1: You’re Not Scared of Him — And That’s the Problem
“You done staring?” you said, lounging on Sukuna’s bed like you owned it. “Or are you waiting for me to get naked first?”
He didn’t respond right away.
Just watched you with that sharp, red-eyed gaze — a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth like he wasn’t sure if he wanted to laugh or throw you into the wall.
You lifted your arms above your head, stretching on purpose. Arched your back a little too much. Let your shirt ride up.
“Come on, King of Curses,” you said mockingly. “I thought you were supposed to be scary.”
Sukuna’s eyes narrowed.
“Keep running that mouth,” he said. “You’ll be drooling into the floor by the end of the night.”
“Ooooh.” You sat up slowly, exaggerated. “So mean. I’m trembling. ”
He stepped closer. You didn’t move. Not even when his fingers curled around your jaw and tilted your head back.
“You think being cute lets you get away with acting like a little shit?” he growled.
You licked your lips. “I think you like it.”
There was a flicker — just a flicker — of something dangerous in his eyes.
But then he laughed.
Not a cruel laugh. A genuine one.
“Oh, I do. ” His grip tightened slightly. “I like it even more when I get to ruin you for it.”
“Talk talk talk,” you said sweetly. “You gonna fuck me, or just monologue about it?”
That did it.
In a blur, he shoved you back onto the mattress, hand already slipping under your waistband.
“You’re gonna regret that,” he growled.
You grinned up at him like you’d just won.
“Not yet. But I’m looking forward to it.”
✦ Part 2: Talking Shit with a Dick in Your Face
Your pants were off. Your shirt was bunched under your arms.
And Sukuna stood between your legs, already hard, already looking like he wanted to ruin you and throw you out a window — in that order.
But you?
You were still smirking.
“I expected it to be bigger,” you said casually, eyes on his cock.
His gaze went flat.
“You’re a brave little shit.”
“I’m a realist. ” You shrugged. “You’ve got the attitude of a monster god, but the dick of a very angry bartender.”
Sukuna didn’t reply. He grabbed you by the hips and dragged you closer to the edge of the bed in one motion, making you yelp.
You opened your mouth to say something else—
Slap.
His hand smacked your thigh, sharp and hot.
“Mm,” you said. “One out of ten. Try again.”
Slap.
Other thigh this time. Harder.
“Better.” You tilted your head. “Now do my ass.”
“You’re going to regret that mouth,” he muttered.
“No I won’t,” you said immediately. “Because you love it.”
He shoved two fingers into your mouth — not gently — and forced your jaw open until your lips stretched around the digits.
“Suck.”
You did. Slowly. Deliberately. Like you wanted to piss him off.
He watched the way you wrapped your tongue around his fingers, how your eyes stayed locked on his the entire time, defiant even with your mouth full.
“You’re impossible,” he muttered.
You popped off his fingers with a wet slurp and smiled. “But I’m pretty.”
“Unfortunately.”
“Rude. You’re lucky I don’t walk out right no—”
Smack.
This time it was your cheek. Not hard enough to hurt — just enough to shut you up.
You blinked.
“Oh,” you breathed. “Kinda hot.”
Sukuna rolled his eyes.
Then he grabbed your legs, shoved them apart, and lined his cock up between your cheeks — heavy, hot, just resting there, not pressing in yet.
You looked down at it, then back up at him.
“…Still think I was right about the size.”
Sukuna exhaled slowly.
“You’re gonna be so sorry,” he said, and this time his voice had that low, dangerous lilt.
You grinned up at him with teeth.
“Promise?”
✦ Part 3: Use Your Mouth for Something Useful
“You talk too much.”
That’s what Sukuna said just before shoving two fingers past your lips again, this time with less patience and a lot more intent.
You grinned around them, sucking slow and exaggerated — just to be a brat.
“Still smug?” he asked, already unamused. “You’re sitting there, ass out, mouth full, and you still think you’re in control.”
You nodded.
Wrong answer.
He pushed you flat on your back, grabbed a handful of your hair, and dragged your head off the edge of the mattress so your throat was exposed — open and waiting.
“You wanted to talk?” Sukuna growled, towering over you, cock heavy in his fist. “Let’s see how well you speak with your mouth full.”
Before you could sass him again, his cock slapped against your cheek.
You blinked, caught between a curse and a moan.
“You gonna be a good little mouth now?” he asked.
You opened up in response — not because you were obedient, but because you were challenging him to shut you up.
He took it.
He didn’t start slow. He didn’t ease in.
He shoved his cock deep, past your lips, down your throat — and held it there.
Your eyes watered instantly, your hands clenching at the sheets as your gag reflex flared. But you didn’t pull back. You didn’t whine.
You looked up at him.
Defiant. Messy. Mouth full.
He groaned.
“Fucking filthy, ” he muttered, pulling back just to thrust again — harder this time. Your head rocked with each pump of his hips, his cock driving into your throat like he wanted to erase the attitude from your spine.
And still, you took it.
Gagging. Drooling. Eyes leaking.
He used your mouth like it was nothing more than a warm hole to fuck, hand locked in your hair, hips relentless.
“Not so talkative now,” he sneered, looking down at the strings of spit dripping down your chin. “Where’s all that smartass energy? Gone already?”
You couldn’t answer — obviously.
So he slapped your cheek while you gagged on his cock.
“Say something, brat. I dare you.”
Your only reply was a choked gurgle around his length.
He laughed. Dark and amused.
“Thought so.”
Then he fucked your face harder.
✦ Part 4: You Don’t Need to Breathe — Just Obey
Your throat was raw.
Your nose was running.
Your eyes had long since stopped blinking back tears.
And still — still — Sukuna didn’t stop.
He stood over you, hand wrapped tight in your hair, dragging your face back down on his cock over and over again like you were nothing more than a cocksleeve with a pulse. The back of your head bumped the mattress edge each time his hips snapped forward.
You couldn’t breathe.
And that was the point.
He knew. You knew. It was part of the game — part of the punishment for being a smug little brat who wouldn’t shut up.
“C’mon,” Sukuna growled. “You were so mouthy earlier. What happened?”
He shoved his cock deep again, pressing past your gag reflex with practiced ease. Your throat spasmed around him, and he moaned — moaned like your struggle was his reward.
“You wanted this,” he hissed, fucking into your mouth like he owned it. “Wanted to be used. Wanted to be put in your place. ”
You clawed weakly at his thighs — not in protest, not truly — just to hold on, to feel something while your lungs screamed for air.
And Sukuna didn’t stop.
He watched you.
Watched your face go red.
Watched your spit bubble around his cock.
Watched your eyes roll slightly, unfocused and glossy.
Then — just when you thought you’d black out — he yanked you off by the hair with a loud, wet pop.
You gasped like a drowning man. Spit and drool ran down your chin and neck in thick strands, your tongue lolling out slightly as your chest heaved.
You didn’t speak.
Couldn’t speak.
But the smirk was still there, twitching weakly at the corners of your soaked lips.
Sukuna looked down at you with fire in his eyes.
“Still smiling?” he said. “You’re insane. ”
You coughed — a wet, wrecked sound — and whispered hoarsely:
“…wasn’t that deep.”
Silence.
Then—
He laughed.
A real, rough, thrilled laugh.
“You little bitch. ”
He shoved you back down.
And the game started again.
✦ Part 5: Mouth Shut, Legs Open
You couldn’t remember the last time you spoke.
Not because you’d been gagged — not physically.
Just… ruined. Fucked too deep, too hard, too good. Sukuna had replaced every smart remark with breathless moans and brain-melting overstimulation.
He had you on your hands and knees now, ass in the air, cheeks sore from slapping skin. His hands were bruising your hips as he drove his cock into you over and over — fast, punishing, raw.
“You done mouthing off?” he grunted, fucking you harder.
You didn’t answer.
Couldn’t.
Just a strangled cry from your spit-slick throat.
“No comeback?” he sneered. “Where’s that sharp tongue now, huh?”
You gasped, your legs buckling beneath you as he hit something devastating inside you — the kind of angle that made your toes curl and your mind go blank.
“Yeah,” Sukuna growled. “That’s what I thought.”
He didn’t stop. Not even when your arms gave out and you collapsed chest-first onto the bed, face shoved into the mattress, moaning like a ruined toy.
“Look at you. Didn’t even need to gag you — just had to fuck the attitude out of you. ”
You whined. Loudly.
Sukuna leaned over you, chest pressed to your back, lips brushing your ear.
“You gonna behave now?” he asked darkly.
You nodded. Or tried to.
“Say it.”
You whimpered, hoarse and broken:
“Y-yeah. I’ll b-be good—f-fuck—I’ll be good—”
He rewarded you with a deep, slow thrust, then another, his hips grinding into you as your whole body trembled.
“That’s right,” he purred. “Good boys get filled.”
You came untouched — body tensing, crying out as you spilled beneath you, cock twitching uselessly against the sheets.
Sukuna chased his own climax a second later, groaning as he emptied inside you, filling you deep with heat and pressure that made your back arch again.
He didn’t pull out right away.
He just stayed there, cock buried to the hilt, his breath hot against your ear.
“See?” he whispered. “All you had to do was shut the fuck up.”
You let out a weak noise — not quite a whimper, not quite a laugh.
Because you knew you’d do it all over again.
Another part of my Sukuna x Male!Reader One Shot Series on ao3
summary. you are the best thief in the country and leave a trail of stolen hearts wherever you go. gojo satoru knows everything about you – you name, your face, your modus operandi. he refuses to become just another pretty face you kiss and don't miss.
wc. 11.7k
tags. smut | top reader, bottom gojo, thief/curse user!reader, flirty!reader who's implied to get around + have several casual fwbs, occasional 'sir' kink (r. receiving). gojo basically drugs himself (purposely) w a cursed tool that amplifies emotions; he's pathetic & obsessive ("job-related" stalking). blowjob (r. receiving), deepthroat + facefucking, come swallowing, slight corruption (idk reader's a criminal & he likes it), taking photos during the act, boot riding/humping, untouched orgasm, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, praise + degradation, crying, fingering, bent over the desk, almost getting caught, coming on his ass/back, no aftercare
notes. god i wanna make fun of him so bad its not even funny anymore
"We want you to steal a cursed tool from the Gojo estate."
At the familiar deadpan voice behind you, the suave, flirty smile on your face freezes. You turn your head slowly, your hand tightening around a bottle of whiskey and a woman's empty glass. The woman in front of you – dark-haired, smoky-eyed, an absolute bombshell in a tight navy dress and heels sharp enough to kill – simply raises an eyebrow, less than pleased at the sudden interruption.
"Pass. I am currently indisposed," you drawl, and the woman's pink lips curve up into a satisfied smile. She leans closer to you across the bar, trailing stiletto nails up your hand and under your folded white sleeves.
Behind you, your boss stands in a pristine white suit, mouth twisting with its usual scowl when it comes to dealing with you. While you are constantly employee-of-the-month in terms of the prizes you ferry back to him, you are less than ideal in every other aspect. Lazy, arrogant, and flirtatious towards anything with a pretty face, you are everything except reliable. Conditioned by your good looks, perfectly-suited cursed technique, and staggering ability to never get caught, you have become something of a local star in your boss' underground bar. Everyone wanted a piece of you, and you welcomed it with open arms.
"This request is different," he reveals. "The payout's more than your last four customers combined."
That gets your attention – and the attention of everyone in hearing radius. Everyone's looking at you now.
The woman you were chatting up leans closer, switching her crossed legs. "More than the last four?" she whispers to you, and you tilt your head towards her. "That's, what, twenty million yen – at least?"
"You're the one who's good with numbers, honey," you reply. With a casual motion, you pour her whiskey on the rocks, and her fingers brush yours as you slide the glass over the countertop. "Mm... Stealin' from the Gojo clan. Not sure how much I want to risk fucking god himself noticing me where I shouldn't be."
"Aw, baby," she trails her fingers over your hand, lifting her glass and smirking behind it, "you scared?"
"Healthily, I think."
"Maybe slightly more than necessary," she teases.
"That blue-eyed bitch can spot a rat twitch from across the city," a patron shouts, probably one too many drinks in. Your other bartender, however, looks completely checked out of her job, probably nursing her own hangover. The man slams his beer down, making it slosh. "Don't fuckin' take it, buddy! You're our best guy – 'thout you, what'll the rest of us schmucks do? Scrape by, stealing wallets and watches? Pah!"
"Agreed," another patron chimes in, lifting her fruity cocktail. "The other Big Families are a walk in the park compared to the Gojo clan. You can't rely on its head being elsewhere for a set amount of time, nor can you fight your way out if you get caught – and you will be caught, it's Gojo fucking Satoru. Anyone who accepts is downright suicidal."
You hum, bobbing your head from side to side indecisively. "Oh, but twenty million yen... that number's absurd. Who'd even have that kinda cash lyin' around? You sure this ain't a trap, boss?"
"It came from a verified client. They've always been generous and the money is clean. It's real."
You whistle lowly. "Twenty million... for some hokey little toy? I can't say I'm not interested."
"No!"
"Baby, I was joking. You're not serious."
"C'mon, man, you'll fuckin' die!"
"You all shut it!" you bark, though there's no real heat behind it. The woman with the cocktail gives you the finger. "Listen, I came from goddamn nothing. If someone says my life is worth twenty million yen, even a loss is a gain. I've already made it far above my station." You turn to face your boss and toss your towel onto the counter, giving him a firm nod and a sharp smile. "Alright, big man. Walk me through it."
—
When you warp onto the high walls of the Gojo estate, it is disturbingly silent. The Zen'ins and Kamos had servants for every little thing, constantly working throughout the night even if it was just to fix the caulking or patch a scratched shoji door. Here, however, the only movement is the wind through the lantern-dotted engawas and the only sound is the trees rustling gently over the eaves.
Dressed in tight, dark tactical gear that's more fashion than function, you jump short distances by warping through space, an utterly silent pop of cursed energy splitting the air itself whenever you land. Even as you venture deeper into the estate, closer to the personal quarters of the clan's esteemed head, the grounds remain conspicuously, suspiciously empty.
Along the outer rings of the family home, you felt the cursed energy signatures of dozens of servants and unimportant clan members, huddled together and tense as bricks inside buildings. With each warp, you leave more and more of them behind, until the inner circle is completely deserted, a ghost town lit with swaying paper lanterns. Completely deserted...
Except for one.
You find the slender figure of the Gojo clan head resting against the edge of his desk, wearing dress slacks and a crisp white shirt even at midnight. The scene is like something straight out of a noir movie. The only light is from a tall lamp in the far corner of the room behind the desk, draping everything in a soft golden glow – the panels of the lamp cast sharp shadows that stretch across the ceiling. There's a prism in his hands, casually tossed from hand to hand and spun between his thin fingers. It's a twenty-sided icosahedron, bright white, with spikes on every vertex gilded brassy-gold.
It's the exact cursed tool you had been sent to retrieve, and it is sitting in Gojo Satoru's palms.
He tosses it into the air and catches it. Spins it like a basketball. He tilts his head in your direction – not enough to look, just enough for his voice to carry. "Took you long enough."
His voice is high, airy, careless. Playful.
"I call it being fashionably late." You step through his open doors and shut it behind you, your smirk widening as you rake your gaze appreciatively over his figure. Broad shoulders, tiny waist, legs that go on for miles. Now all that's missing is a pretty face – but, to your disappointment, he wears that infamous blindfold.
You lean against the solid wood doorframe. His quarters are built differently to the rest of the estate – here, the wood is darker, the walls heavier, the shoji doors patterned with gilded paint. It looks regal, distinguished, and completely, utterly boring.
"So," you chuckle, voice thick with amusement and a dark, drawling accent that no high-born descendant should ever like to hear. It speaks of common roots with a criminal twang. "You're my mysterious benefactor. What a strange turn of events this is, hm?"
"Not strange at all, really." Satoru stops playing with the cursed tool, turning around for the first time and setting the prism in the centre of the desk. "You're YN, right? You break into the other Families' warehouses, bedrooms – even their bathrooms, so I've heard. But never mine. Why is that?"
"Oh, you can call me whatever you like, pretty." You smile with an edge like a blade. "I never got paid for anything Gojo-related. Don't take it personally, sweetheart. You bought me for twenty million yen a few days ago and I accepted within ten minutes of hearing the offer. Not my fault nobody's brave enough to even ask about what you might have squirrelled away in this place."
You cross your arms over your chest, the black long-sleeve making your arms look huge. Same thing with those tactical pants and your thighs. His eyes are obscured by his blindfold, but by the way you snicker and lean back against the wall with a smug grin, something else must be showing.
"So, sweetheart, what was your plan? To let me steal that little toy and give it back to you later? I'm all for the easy money, don't get me wrong, but this just feels a little..." You waver a gloved hand mid-air. "You feel me?"
Satoru shrugs with an unreadable smile, idly pushing the cursed tool back and forth with the tip of his finger. "Word along the grapevine is that LN YN is handsome and debonair, with a strong moral compass. You don't kill anyone. The 'gentleman thief' made real."
You get the impression that he's watching your every move in razor-sharp clarity. His attention is almost suffocating, even through the blindfold. He tracks you like a wolf tracks a deer, every step you take measured and catalogued with a tiny twitch of his head.
You tilt your head and chuckle. "No, no. Ain't a gentleman, sir. I don't even think I have a birth certificate. And I certainly steal for myself, rather than for the thrill or with a Robin-Hood flair. Money makes the world go 'round, you know? Still..." You push off the wall and approach him with a lazy, cat-silent swagger. You hook your thumbs into your belt when you're directly next to him – on his side of the desk. "I like the rest of what you said. Now that you've seen me in the flesh, do I measure up to your dreams, Gojo Satoru?"
"Never said I believed what they said. Just that your reputation precedes you." He stiffens slightly at your proximity. He hadn't expected you to cross the implied boundary of the desk with such ease – now you are just a few inches away, smiling crookedly at him with a glint in your eye that promises trouble.
"You don't seem particularly worried about how you, as a curse user, are standing right next to me," he says, black blindfold giving nothing away. "You're not concerned about how I know your real name, either."
"Curse user, schmurse user. I like taking things that aren't mine – I'd be doing the same thing regardless of which side of the political world I'm on. If all I want is money, they give it far more generously than your side does, and without all the bureaucratic nonsense. Neither do they care for my history, which tends to be a bit of a job-stopper in polite society. " You wave a dismissive hand. "Anyway, I like it when you say my name – sounds much better coming from a mouth like that." Your smile widens as your eyes trail down his slender throat and his exposed, pale collarbone. "Mm. Closer up, you're a pretty little thing, aren't you? I could just eat you up."
His cheeks flush pink. He crosses his arms over his chest – protection, you realise with a grin. The golden light shimmers and bends around his figure, so it's not like you could genuinely do anything to him, but you realise with delight that you've made him self-conscious. What a brag this will be!
You decide to push a little more.
"Need a hand with something, clan leader? My skillset goes beyond petty theft, but I'm sure you already know that," you purr, playfully leaning closer. You reach out, as if to touch his waist, but all you do is roll the cursed tool beside him back and forth, spinning it like a top. "I would be a wonderful trophy husband – dashing, clever, appropriately egotistical. Plus, I'm great with kids. If you need an heir at your big age, I could help with that, too."
"Only if the kid commissions it. But that's only happened once." You pluck the white prism off the desk and inspect it casually, noting all the glowing runes etched into each bone-white face. You've never seen them before. "Now, if I take this, will you resist? My actions will change depending on your answer, so choose wisely, pretty."
His smile takes on a cocky edge. "What, you wanna fight me? You'll lose, you know."
"Maybe," you reply, tracing one of the runes. Your sharp gaze notices the way Satoru immediately shifts, as if jolted but playing it cool. "But not many can say they've seen Gojo Satoru fight and live to tell the tale."
"Who said you'd live?"
"Well, you've commissioned me in particular several times, according to my boss. You've never met me at any of the locations except this one, which, incidentally, is the one you've paid the most for." You step closer and continue:
"I don't think you want to intercept me or bring me in, or you'd have done that somewhere more... low-key, where I'd be both more likely to accept and less likely to suspect foul play. Showin' up in your estate's personal wing, offering me a number I can't refuse... Well, I feel a proposition incoming. One that is, perhaps..." You press your hand against the desk near his hip, twirling the cursed tool in your other hand and brushing the strange, glowing runes. He shifts his weight and his knuckles tense. "Related less to my professional expertise, and more to something personal."
You lift your gaze from the prism to his obscured features, a sharp smile spreading across your features. "Am I right, Satoru?"
He stares back at you, unreadable. You press harder against the runes, making them glow brighter, and you watch, fascinated, as he stiffens visibly, catching himself on the edge of the desk before his legs give out.
"Maybe you should take a seat, sweetheart. You don't look too good." You reach out, and you are absolutely delighted when your fingers touch the smooth cotton blend of his high-quality dress shirt. With a pointed shove, he collapses into the chair, jumping slightly as you slam your boot down on the seat in the space between his thighs. His legs jolt apart and he lifts his head quickly.
Your smile widens into something wicked. You lean down, bracing against your knee. "Wanna tell me what this cursed tool does, baby? You seem... very sensitive."
He stays silent, his chest rising and falling shallowly. His lower lip pushes out into a pink pout. "Don't call me 'baby'."
"Why not? Not your style?"
"You call everyone that." He pauses regretfully, then, as your amusement grows and reveals itself in your smile.
"Oh?" you say lowly, squeezing the prism and adjusting your boot closer until the steel toe presses against his crotch. He jerks and grabs your ankle, grip tightening as you lean down and intrude on his space. Your gaze flickers down to his parted lips. "Now… how do you know that, sweetheart?"
He swallows. You hum.
"Has someone been watching me?" you lilt. "What a surprise. The untouchable golden boy has a dark secret. The strongest of our time, the peak of sorcery... dabbles in stalking."
His teeth grit together. "It's not stalking," he argues. "I was – I was watching your whole group of curse users. Reconnaissance."
"Oh, I'm not one to laugh, so don't get so defensive. You can call it what it is without lying. A man's gotta have hobbies." You take his chin in your hand, lifting his face. His pronounced Adam's apple bobs, and you gently press your thumb against it, feeling it shift. "Reconnaissance... for the man who could erase half of Tokyo with a yawn. Sweetheart, you're not subtle at all."
Your grip tightens and you tug him closer until your lips nearly touch. You know where his eyes are – you can see his brow furrowing under the blindfold. You stare into the deep black cloth with half-lidded eyes and a lazy smirk.
"You want me, don't you?" you whisper, shifting your boot to dig into the front of his slacks. He sucks in a breath and your hand moves to the back of his head, stroking the short shaven hairs of his white undercut. His hair is silky. "You orchestrated all this over months, gave millions of yen to the criminals you're supposed to eradicate, all to get my attention... Maybe I should have worked at a host club," you tease, sliding your fingers through his cloud-white hair. "Pity I'm too set in my ways to change professions now."
You lift your other hand, and his luxury silver watch gleams in it, unlatched. The mechanisms within are silent, and the face is a deep, opulent emerald green. It's the sort of watch that's styled like a bracelet, with a rectangular face in line with the edge of the band and an understated logo. Only rich-rich people wear this sort of thing – most, when buying a high-end watch, want to show it off as a high-end watch, not let it vanish into their silhouettes.
You lick your lips. You just love it when wealthy people become infatuated with you.
You tuck the watch into your pocket and Satoru doesn't even fight. He noticed, of course, as a press on the edge of his mind, but he couldn't tear his gaze from your face to even acknowledge it consciously.
His head spins. You're looking at him. You're finally looking at him.
His tongue feels clumsy in his mouth. "You don't need to work. Steal. I can... I can sponsor you."
"Hm?"
"If you only align yourself with curse users for the money," he repeats, "I can sponsor you. Pay you more. As much as you want."
"Really? As much as I want...?" You trail off, and your eyes gleam wickedly. You don't stay quiet for long. "Thirty million yen instead of twenty. Then I'll think about it."
"Done," he replies instantly, and you reward him with a firmer press of your boot. He gasps, hips jerking. "Mmh—"
You chuckle and rock the toe of your boot against his clothed cock, leaning back slightly. "Good boy."
Satoru's grip tightens on your ankle – not pulling, just holding. His face flushes dark at the pet name, his lips parting, and he slides his hand up your calf, clutching your trousers. "Yes, fuck," he whispers, and it descends into a pathetic, whining keen as you step harder on his visible bulge, his knuckles going white. "Yeah..."
Oh, how adorable. The cutie has a thing for praise.
It's also hilarious. This guy is the one all your co-workers are deathly afraid of? The one you were afraid of? He's just a man. A man with a strange, misplaced obsession over little old you.
You feel like laughing, so you do. It's sharp, mocking. He looks up at you, teeth sinking into his lower lip, and you remove your foot from the chair, standing in front of him with folded arms. He sucks in a sharp breath when you relieve the friction on his cock.
"No, wait," he gasps, digging the heel of his palm into his bulge to mimic your boot. "I was—"
"What, close? Already? I didn't know Gojo Satoru was so fuckin' easy. Go on, then," you chuckle. "Take your cock out. Let me see if it's even worth my shoe."
Biting his lip hard, he fumbles with his belt, slipping his hand in his fly and wrapping his fingers around himself. He's stiff as rock, arousal and desire creating a wet spot inside his underwear, and he pauses with a sudden clarity of his actions, hesitantly glancing up. What is he doing...?
You just arch a brow at him. "Well? I don't have all night."
Biting his lip, he pulls himself out with a sharp breath as the cool air hits his hot skin. His loose fist bobs instinctively up and down his length.
He's slender here, too, though decently long, and his length is a sweet, dusky pink. The vein on the underside is the most visible, but he's otherwise quite smooth. His white curls are neatly trimmed, and as he tugs his dress shirt out of his waistband, you catch sight of a lovely white happy trail disappearing under the hem of his shirt.
"Ah," you purr, dropping your arms and grabbing the back of his chair, leaning down to inspect him. You're close enough that he can count your eyelashes, the press of your presence against his own like a physical, radiating heat. He's sharply aware of every move he makes. "How pretty. You're just so pretty, Satoru."
He bites his lip so hard he tastes blood. His cock trembles, a thick white bead bubbling at his slit and sliding down the underside. "Th-Thank you..."
And he's awkward. You laugh aloud again. His throat bobs. You reach up and clamp the edge of your glove between your teeth, tugging it off and tossing it onto the desk. You wrap your bare hand around his cock, your palm rougher than his, and he nearly knees you in the back of the leg with how hard he jolts.
"Easy, tiger," you murmur, beginning to stroke him slowly. His hand falls away and you take over, sliding teasingly from base to tip and back again. He gasps, sounding winded. "There we go. Like that, sweetheart?"
He bobs his head, gripping the edges of the chair. You rest a knee on the outer edge of the seat and he reaches automatically for it, hand gliding up your thigh and twisting in the tactical straps wrapped around your leg. These straps actually have a function – they hold up the sheath to a dagger, also clipped to your belt to spread the weight.
Is he trying to ground himself? Cute. You lean in and press your lips against his, relishing the sharp gasp he lets out as your lips meet. He grips your thigh tighter.
His hips jerk as you nip his lower lip, hard enough to snatch an involuntary noise out of his throat. You soothe over the spot with your tongue and push it between his teeth, smiling as he willingly lets you in with a wrecked moan. Your tongues slide together, wet and dirty. Your lips smack. He leans up into you, chasing you.
"Ever gonna tell me what this cursed tool is?" you murmur, pulling back slightly to glance down at his cock in your hand. It twitches under your attention, already slick and dripping. "I'd love to know how it makes you so... responsive to my touch."
He swallows, tongue darting out over his pink pout. His chest rises and falls quickly, and you can see the furrow of his brows in the shadows of his blindfold. "Why'd you stop...?"
"C'mon, tell me. I can keep a secret." You peck his lips. "I'll keep moving if you tell me."
He gulps, gnawing his lower lip as you press your thumb into his leaky slit. "I-It's, um..."
Hesitantly, he reaches up and yanks the mouth of his shirt open, unbuttoning it down the centre. He pulls it apart and stares up at you, his lips bitten and parted.
Seared into his chest is a circular sigil. Strange ancient kanji line the inside, three layers of them, and each old-fashioned stroke glows with a supernatural golden light. They're written in the sort of calligraphy you'd see in museum pieces where the dynasty gets progressively more and more 'artistic' until the ink strokes resemble black rivers more than anything else.
You stare at the characters etched into him, fascinated, as the glow ebbs and flows with his breaths.
Below the markings, he's lean – muscular the way a dancer is, a gymnast. Strength in motion, the kind that never stops until it meets an equal and opposite force. You trace the character for 'heaven' with a finger and his breath hitches violently, his cock jolting in your fist.
"Oh, you're naughty," you whisper, playful and dangerous all at once. "Emotion enhancer, huh? The Prism. I looked it up some three years ago when it still belonged to the Kamo clan. It's meant for manipulation, good for politics the same way poisons are. You, though... you're using it wrong."
"I-It's not wrong if it doesn't come with a stated purpose—"
You grab his cheeks, yanking his head to look at you and not the floor. Your eyes trace his pretty features, a smile spreading uncontrollably across your face. "You're using it to make yourself fuckin' horny. Ha! Its creator must be rolling in the grave right now – to think their magnum opus of political control is being used to overload your brain with pleasure." You shake him slightly by the jaw, fingers digging in until his lips are forced into a cute fishy pout. "Slut."
He whimpers.
Honest-to-god, he whimpers.
"Oh?" You coo, endeared. "You like it when I'm mean to you, sweetheart? How sweet..."
Your cock twitches in your pants. You lean back, palming your bulge, and Satoru tries to follow you. You shift, straddling him on the chair while standing. He slides his hands up your thighs, staring up at you, watching your every move.
He hooks a finger into your belt loops. "Hnn..."
You chuckle. "Yes? What do you want, sweet thing?"
He exhales harshly, reaching down to stroke his throbbing cock. His head rests against your stomach. His body twitches. "I want... I-It's not fair that I'm undressed and you're not."
"Fair? Hey, you lured me here with the promise of lifechanging money. That's not fair. Why should I be nice to you in return?"
He swallows, another finger hooking into your belt and tugging ineffectually. "C'mon, 'm paying you..."
"So I should do everything you say because you're desperate enough to pay me for my body?" You continue to lazily palm yourself, and Satoru gasps as you twist your hand in his hair and pull him forward into it. His fingers stutter up your body, gripping your hips. He strokes himself faster, to your amusement.
"No, I just—"
"If you want me to do something, beg for it." You pet his hair. "Maybe I'll go easy on you."
Gulping, burning with equal parts shame and desire, Satoru opens his mouth. He squeezes his length in his fist. "Please. Please let me see you. I-I'll suck your cock if you let me," he whispers. "Please."
Fuck, it's a thrill to have Gojo Satoru actively begging for you. He's a far cry from the untouchable god everyone makes him out to be. He actually seems more touch-starved than anything – he leans heavily into your palm as you stroke his hair, gripping your leg to keep you close. His pout is pink and glossy, often trapped between his teeth, and his cheeks redden when you look at him, even more visible on him than any other person.
Man. You've always been a sucker for pretty criers. You have a gut feeling Gojo Satoru is one of them.
"Alright," you agree, kind. "Go on, sweetheart."
His hands shoot up and he fumbles with your belt and tugs open your fly. His throat bobs roughly as he glances up at you, his palm pressed against the heat of your bulge. You offer an encouraging nod and his teeth sink into his lower lip as he reaches in and fishes you out.
His face is so close it almost smacks him in the cheek. He stares at it for a long moment – lips parted, throat bobbing repeatedly. Carefully, reverently, he wraps his fingers around your base, his other hand around his own.
His head spins. You're bigger. Heavier.
"Does it measure up to your fantasies, Satoru?" you ask, smirking. He nods, small and embarrassed, and you pet his hair before gripping it tight, tugging his head to slide your cock under his blindfold. He gasps, whimpering softly as your cock glides back and forth against his cheekbone, pinned by the blindfold.
"Got a dirty mouth on you." You drag his face towards you, your fat cockhead dripping into his pristine white hair as it pops out the top of his blindfold. You hold him there for a moment, letting him squirm and gasp at the heft and heat of you pressed firmly to his skin, before pulling back and reaching down, tapping your tip against his parted lips. "Open."
Obediently, he opens up. You feel him tense as you push your thick cock into his warm, wet mouth, filling all the space from behind his teeth to the back of his throat – he gags slightly when it brushes his uvula, but he quickly swallows to suppress the reflex, choking more of you down. You groan lowly at the feeling of his throat closing around you, letting him bob his head at his own pace.
His soft tongue swirls around your length, and saliva gathers in his mouth as he moans and squirms in the chair. He sits in this chair when his clan's elders come in to ask things of him or update him on family politics. But now, after three months of learning your name and... and monitoring you at a distance, he finally has you, and he's sucking you off in the same chair where he is formally petitioned for aid like some king.
A shudder runs through him. The thought bounces around in his head. He's sucking off a thief – he's touching himself while being used by a criminal. He nearly comes early.
He pops off with a wet slurp and a shaky exhale. Before you can say a word, he slides off the chair and kneels at your feet, grabbing your cock and opening his mouth to take it in again. You stop him with a slight tug of his hair.
"Aw, cute – I like your initiative. But if you're not going to sit in your fancy chair..." You step around him and drop into it as if it's a throne, a gleeful smile stretching across your face. You settle down and curl a finger in the air, beckoning. "Hm. Comfy."
His cheeks darken and he shuffles between your thighs, reaching for your glistening length, and lowers his head.
His lips, warm and soft, envelope your dick with more urgency. He savours the taste, masking the pause with needing time to adjust, and the salt of your skin tastes even better than he could have imagined. You're warm and hard and real and the joy almost makes him delirious.
He licks your shaft from base to tip and swallows it down again, two-thirds of your cock disappearing in one smooth motion. You groan in pleasure and tilt your head back, combing your fingers through his hair and widening your legs. Greedily, he takes advantage of the extra room to shift closer, bobbing his head and determinedly choking down your cock.
The sound is loud in his large room, though muffled by the woven tatami mats and natural wood that make up the larger part of it. In a more modern room of a similar size and layout, the hard surfaces would only make his sounds clearer.
You keep yourself relatively quiet just to hear Satoru's breathy noises whenever he lifts his head and rests your thick tip behind his lips. One of his hands is curled in your open fly, and the other shallowly strokes the base of your cock which he cannot fit. His pink tongue curls around your tip, sliding along the leaking slit with a wanton moan.
Shit, you never want to forget a sight like this.
"Hold still, sweetheart." You reach into a pouch strapped to your chest and pull out your phone, smirking as you unlock it and swipe to the camera app. You lift it. "Smile, pretty."
To your immense amusement, he does – he pops off your tip and presses your length to his cheek with a flushed, shaky grin, pink tongue peeking out.
The camera flashes.
You let out a low whistle as you lower your phone onto the desk, a smirk on your lips. "Worthy of a lockscreen, I think."
He lets out a sharp, shaky moan at the idea your fellow curse users might take a cursory glance at your phone and see him like this. He wraps his lips around your tip again. He balls his fists in your pants and bobs his head faster, deeper, desperately. One hand disappears between his legs, and you laugh at him as he jerks himself off like something piteous.
But you are nothing if not magnanimous.
You shift your leg between his thighs, slotting your boot under his weeping cock. He pops off with a stuttered breath, squeezing your ankle.
"Hump it," you order, voice low with husky amusement. "Don't touch yourself."
Muscles taut with desire, the restraint to hold himself back, Satoru gingerly shuffles closer, pressing his tip to the smooth leather of your shoe. It glides back and forth, the leather smooth and cold, and he lets out a trembling noise as his cock drags against the laces, catching and pulling. Shamelessly, he watches his pre drip into the rough cords, soaking into them. Unless you swap your laces you'll be carrying him around everywhere you go.
That thought makes him so fucking horny he gets dizzy. The markings on his chest gleam cruelly.
He rocks his hips messily against your combat boots, quick and needy. His moans hum on his tongue, making you groan at the vibration. In response, his sounds only pitch higher, more frequently, as if getting off on your unabashed groans alone.
You comb your fingers through his hair and pull him down firmly, swiftly, to the base of your cock. His bottom lip presses against your hot, heavy balls as he gags wetly, choking slightly. His shoulders tremble as his nails sink into your thighs, shoving his hips forward against your rough laces.
Your head tips back with a low, pleased rumble, slightly breathier than the previous ones. You shift, legs widening an inch, and your fingers tighten in his hair as his hot, tight throat convulses around you each time he swallows you down. Saliva drips from the corner of his lips, stretched white around your length.
He's basically limp when you grip his hair with both hands and begin to fuck his throat, one hand curled around the back of his neck.
His blush disappears under his blindfold. That thing is such a pain... You can't even tell where he's looking. You want to be able to look him in the eyes while he unravels.
Hey, aren't you're the best damn thief in the country? You always take what you want. This should be no different.
You tuck a finger beneath his blindfold and pull.
His hands fly up a second too late.
His eyes are blue – as blue as they say, though speckled with silver when the light catches just right on his thick white lashes. They are also slightly red and puffy, and his blush goes all the way up to his temples – the colour makes his eyes stand even more from proximity alone.
He covers his face with square yet slender hands, a loud whimper vibrating up and out of his chest. He's still got your cock in his mouth and you hiss in pleasure, dick throbbing hotly as he grips your hand holding his blindfold. You can feel him trembling in shock, his palms warm and soft.
"Aw, don't want me to look?" you coo sweetly, and he just moans. "You gonna cry, pretty thing?"
He shakes his head as well as he can with your fat tip stuffed in his mouth. His tongue presses against the underside, licking and tracing your veins with his tongue. Discreetly, he hooks his finger over the top of his blindfold and tries to slip it back down.
You grab his wrist. "Trying to distract me? You know, I'm disappointed you even thought that would work. What's so scary about showing me that pretty face, hm? Or are you just shy?"
He sniffles, pressing his hand lower over his eyes. Your brows shoot up and the laughter that escapes you is loud and mean. He curls into himself.
"Shit! Are you actually crying?"
He can't say anything with your cock in his mouth, and you feel him shuffle closer to your leg, rubbing against your boot with renewed vigour. Every stroke is long and lingers against its peak. It's desperate, and you can feel his hips jolting short and shallow like he's trembling. You can't help but coo at him as you twist your hands back into his hair.
"C'mon, sweetheart. I'll fuck you properly if you let me see your face." You lean closer to his ear, lips curved into a mischievous smile, and pet his hair like a puppy. "I'll make you come as many times as you want, however you want."
His hips jerk against your leg. A hitched breath, a staggered pause.
He lowers his hands.
It takes your breath away. His face flushes an even darker shade of red, and his eyes are glassy with unshed tears. He fists your pants tightly, his soft little moans travelling up your cock and settling in your lower stomach.
"Oh, Satoru."
What a fucking view. He blinks up at you, trembling, trying to make himself look small, and his eyes widen slightly as you twitch in his mouth and pull him all the way to the base of your cock in one sudden, ruthless motion.
His eyelashes flutter and the whites of his eyes show as he chokes on your cock, gagging and twitching as he nuzzles slightly deeper into the front of your pants, trying to fit more in even when there's very little left. Eager thing.
You begin to fuck his face again – or use him to fuck yourself, more like. You drag him back and forth, hands twisted firmly in his hair, and his moans grow louder, more desperate, as saliva drips from the corner of his stretched-white lips and sweat gathers at his temples and the small of his back. Your touch is electrifying, your low groans and muttered praise only serving as a positive feedback loop that makes him need more, more, more.
He struggles to think. Your cock just fills his throat so well, as if you're made for him! How can you be more perfect? You couldn't if you tried.
His saliva drips down your hot, thick cock and soaks into your clothes. He's so wet. He can't control it anymore. He can't control anything anymore.
You twitch in his mouth. "Gonna come, baby," you husk, voice low and rumbly. It's rougher than your usual syrupy purr, perhaps closer to your real voice, and Satoru's heart and cock throb so hard it hurts. "You're going to swallow it all."
He nods fervently, leaning in, relaxing his jaw even more. His dick is soaked in his own pre, and another spurt spatters your laces as you thrust up into his mouth. You grunt, sharp and hungry, and Satoru feels you twitch as you stuff his throat with your fat cock one last time.
Hot come bursts down his gullet. He lets out a loud, high-pitched moan, almost a cry, that's cut short as he works on gulping it down, gasping between each swallow. His throat convulses greedily, sucking you down, and his nails dig painfully into your thighs. You pull him close, his nose brushing against your stomach, and the tears finally begin to roll down his cheeks.
He's shaking so hard you can feel his tremors in your own bones. The markings on his chest glow in central, rapidly-pulsing patterns. His thighs clamp around your calf, grinding messily.
When you finally exhale, leaning back, Satoru stays put with your cock between his lips. He swallows, bobbing his head dazedly, and thick white come trickles from the corner of his slick mouth, glazing his lips with it. Tears track down his high, aristocratic cheekbones.
With a wicked smile, you pick up your phone again. You whistle and snap your fingers, and like clockwork, Satoru's glossy eyes trail up to the dark eye of the phone.
You don't have to say anything. He does it all himself, even lifting his hand in a shaky peace sign in a motion that seems thoughtless, automatic. Probably his go-to pose in front of a camera.
The camera flashes. He suckles on your cock slowly.
You look at the picture with a laugh, turning it around to show him with a smirk. "Shit, you look like a fuckin' slut, Gojo Satoru."
His hair is a mess, bangs pinned back by his blindfold. His face is deep pink, eyes dazed and pupils blown so wide there's only a sliver of blue left ringing them. There are tears on his cheeks and creamy come smeared on his lips – lips wrapped tight around a thick cock that looks pornographically big when contrasted against his fine, pretty features.
And the peace sign... Fucking hell. Satoru whimpers softly.
You pat your thigh lazily, turning away to lock your phone and pop it back into its little pouch. You don't even look at him when you speak, careless and casually cruel. "Pants off, then come here."
He obeys as if he was waiting for your order. He scrambles to shimmy out of his dress slacks and sit in your lap. After making sure your phone is secure, you finally raise your gaze to Satoru, who actually quivers when your eyes meet his. It makes you smile.
"Look at you," you murmur almost affectionately, reaching down to wrap your fingers around his cock. He jolts with a whimper. It's swollen and rubbed raw and red, almost painfully so, and coated in sticky warmth. You tilt your head with a growing smirk and pull him closer as you lean forward to look over his shoulder at your boot, almost hugging him.
Your boot is covered in come. The black leather gleams under the light, streaked with milky white. Your eyes gleam when you pull back to laugh in his flushed face. The sudden proximity of your bodies, the lack of space between them, had his head spinning, the indulgent scent of your cologne invading his brain. He presses his nose into your neck, gasping breaths inhaling your scent of leather oil and rich, almost chocolatey cologne.
You tug his hair playfully, making him moan. "You came from sucking me off, huh? Shit, you're even more pathetic than I thought! You can't get much lower than paying your enemy to spend time with you, but somehow, you managed to do it. Aren't you embarrassed, Satoru? Aren't you going to apologise for ruining my shoes like a fucking whore?"
He makes a choked sound like he's about to cry. You pull his hair warningly and he gasps sharply, pressing his hot face into the crook of your neck.
"'M sorry," he whines, voice high and shuddery, "I'm sorry! C-Couldn't help it, jus' felt too good—"
You slap him across the thigh with a sound like a gunshot. He flinches and moans your name. "Did I ask for excuses?"
"No," he blubbers, grinding his cock pathetically against yours. It leaks so much. "No, 'm sorry, 'm sorry..."
"Good," you praise, and Satoru shivers, fingers curling in your shirt. "Want me to make you feel even better?"
His eyes widen. He nods hard, swallowing and leaning closer as if to kiss you again. You indulge him, meeting him halfway, and he lets out a happy little moan that's so cute you almost squish his cheeks. You satisfy yourself with squeezing two handfuls of his smooth, firm ass.
You slide a hand lower, your middle finger gliding against his rim. You feel him clench around nothing as you circle his hole, letting him whine into your mouth as you tease him lazily.
He pulls back with a sharp gasp as your fingertip dips past his rim. Your finger pushes into him, slick with his own come, and he arches his back and presses down against your body, trying to get that perfect arch to get your fingers against that sensitive bundle of nerves.
Knowing what he's doing takes away much of the secrecy, though. You pull back when he arches, follow him when he grinds against you, and it isn't long before he dissolves into pitiful whines that go straight into your ear.
"No, no, c'mon, please," he whimpers, trembling when your stroke the markings glowing on his chest. Each line is hotter than the rest of him, as if heat had split him open along every brush stroke and oozed from him. It was so raw, so beautifully vulnerable. You like this version of Satoru a lot more.
You hum. "Why should I listen to you? Convince me."
He bites the inside of his cheek to mask his growing frustration. His dick is so hard it arcs up towards his stomach, drooling from the tip with every beat of his heart. Every time your thumb brushes his rim, it twitches.
"You need to s-stretch me for your cock," he whispers, the words foreign in his mouth and so sweetly humiliating. "You're too big. You need to... You need to prep me so you can fuck me as hard as you want. Please put your fingers in me. I won't come, I promise, sir, I won't – o-oh..."
His voice falls abruptly off a cliff as two fingers slide into his ass. His eyes roll back as they curl and push into him, stroking his hot, gummy walls experimentally. He clamps around them, his jerking, trying to fuck himself on them.
You grin, sleazy. "'Sir'? Oh, I like the sound of that. I'm not usually important enough to have a title like that."
You like it. You like it. Satoru files it away in the hot mush of his brain for later. For now, he tries to concentrate on not bursting early. It's easier said than done when you begin to grind against him, pushing your cocks together until his drooling tip leaks against yours, wet strings of pre joining his to yours.
He's so much wetter than you – not for your lack of arousal, but anything even close to normal pales in comparison to whatever he's going through. He's trembling on just two of your fingers, and when you add a third, he nearly sobs. His lower lip quivers and he gnaws on it to focus on the pain and not the pleasure of the burn, the stretch. You kiss his tears away and his head spins with syrupy desire.
"More," he croaks, gasping shakily as you pump your fingers in and out of him steadily. His hole squelches. "Please, more, more, gimme more so I can fit your cock inside me already," he nearly cries, fists bunching in the leather holster across your chest. He wiggles his hips messily against your thick cock, smacking them together. "I want it, I need it, please—"
"Yeah? How bad?" you tease in a low, husky voice, moaning as he slides his cock between your balls. It's delightfully filthy, and his tip spurts threateningly as you slap his pale thigh. "Answer me, slut."
"So bad!" he hiccups, body shaking as you tease your pinky finger against his tight hole. He pushes desperately against your knuckles. "I want it so bad, I want your cock, I want you – I've wanted it for months, please, I can't control it anymore, jus' need you to fuck me already," he moans, and his breath hitches violently as you press the first joint of your pinky inside him. He buries his face in your shoulder, hips rocking against you. It's like once he's started talking, he can't stop. "Yes, yes, yes, stretch me open for your cock, I-I'll make you come, you can come inside, i-if you want! Please, oh, fuck, y-you're stretching me...!" he gasps, hips jolting as you press four fingers inside him, curling and uncurling. Your fingers scrape his sensitive walls.
"You're so chatty," you chuckle, pressing your fingers in deep. He lets out a choked moan as you avoid that swollen button inside him that makes him come apart. His cock is throbbing hard, and you don't want him coming just yet. "And you talk like you're in a bad porno. You don't sleep around much, do you?"
Satoru whimpers. He doesn't respond, which is just as much of an answer as words would be.
You work him open steadily, though your hand quickens in the middle of your next sentence and leaves him gasping for air as his hole squelches loudly in the open bedroom. "That's okay – you must be a busy man, right? Not a lot of time to spend looking for connection." You curl your fingers, your palm slapping his skin with each gunshot-rapid pump of your wrist. He shoves his face into your neck, arms tightening around you.
You kiss his cheek absently, curling a hand in his hair. "That's the reason you're mixing business with pleasure, isn't it? You can't mingle with non-sorcerers 'cause of your Six Eyes. 'Babe, why do you wear sunglasses inside? Why do you wear a blindfold?' And that's not even mentioning exorcisms and your day job. 'If you're rich, you must have a good job, what do you do? Oh, it's old money? What's the family business, what's their name so I can google them, how'd they strike it rich?' If you can't answer all that, you'll just look like a yakuza with sensory deprivation and exhibitionist kinks."
He can't keep up with your words plus the hot sensation of your fingers pumping in and out of him. He moans.
"Funny that you chose me out of all people," you muse, relishing in the way he claws at your clothes like a desperate little puppy. "You could have your pick of sorcerers… yet you've decided the one you'll have is the criminal. Tsk-tsk-tsk. Naughty little thing."
"'S not my fault," he whines, hips jerking up with a stutter. He shifts higher on his knees and his hand flies to the nape of your neck as you dip your head and kiss his pink-flushed chest. You chuckle against his skin and run the flat of your tongue over his hardened nipple. His grip tightens. "Wait, n-not there—!"
You trace part of the sigil carved into his chest with your hot tongue. He drops his hips sharply and turns his face into his forearm as he bites down on it, muffling the cry that shakes through his frame. His body aches with a marrow-deep need, and he blinks back stinging tears. His chest heaves, every exhale punctuated by a breathy, pathetic noise.
You pull away from his nipple with a soft pop, licking your lips. You trail kisses up his collarbone and neck, ending up underneath his ear and making him shiver and lean into your embrace. He holds you close, cradling your head against his neck to keep you kissing right there. His skin tingles, and the harsh scrape of your teeth so close to his jugular vein turns his thoughts into static.
He barely reacts when you stand and lay him instead on his desk, pushing folders and unsigned reports aside. He parts his thighs and stares dazedly up at you as you lean down to kiss him – he props himself up on an elbow and wraps his legs around your waist, hooking his ankles over your ass. He whimpers, head tipping back, as you press your thick tip against his puckered hole.
"Please," he gasps against your lips, leaning up to chase your lips whenever you part for breath. His breathing is heavy, growing uneven when you tease his entrance with your tip – you never push in deep enough for it to pop past his rim, and his wet cock throbs with need, jerking against his stomach. "Please, I need it, sir, need it so bad, fuck me—"
In one firm motion, you slide your cock all the way inside him. Your balls press against his ass with a soft smack.
His lashes flutter. His lips part. His legs lock tightly around your hips.
His whole body jolts – once, twice, and then the first sound escapes him. It's tiny, broken – more of a hiccup than anything else. He buries his face in your shoulder.
He comes.
From the simple act of pushing your cock into him, he comes. You support the arch of his back, cooing condescendingly over him as his cock jerks and splatters thick ropes of white over his stomach, dripping down his sides in thick rivulets. It soaks into his white happy trail and he can barely speak, every inch of his brain imprinted with nothing but pleasure. It's like it's being carved into him.
"Oh my god," he whimpers, breathless as he presses his hand to his mouth. His legs tighten around you as you start to move, his leaky half-hard cock flopping onto his stomach. You flick the tip and his teeth nearly bite straight through his lip. "God! Fuck!"
"You can cry if you like," you chuckle, fucking him lazily. You shift your hands to rest on his hips, hiking his thighs higher whenever they slip. "I won't tell anyone. Promise."
The pictures are more damning than whispers that Gojo Satoru might cry during sex. Without proof it just sounds like jealousy or petty rumours, because why on earth would the big, strong, capable Gojo clan head cry at all? He's blessed.
Fuck, he can't imagine everyone's faces if they ever saw those photos. Him on his knees, happily sucking the dick of the criminal he's supposed to bring to justice. 'Justice' for curse users usually takes the form of immediate death, and Satoru is distraught at the idea that a cock like yours would go away just because you stole the elders' toys once or twice... a day.
Staring into your eyes, looking at those perfect kissable lips curved into a smirk, he promises himself that this is just to satiate his curiosity – and his need. One and done. With the addition of his little Prism, this single event could, theoretically, satisfy him for the next ten years – his memory's damn near perfect, so the mere recall of it would be like reliving a porno he starred in. Great!
Less great, however, is the fact that you're fucking him so deep that it's melting his brain, and he can't exactly remember something if there's nothing to put the memory in. He struggles to retain it all, the overstimulation even worse for someone like him. He's panting hard, clutching your shoulders, as you angle your hips and drag your cock against his prostate.
He makes an inhuman noise and his arm buckles under him. He slumps against his desk, arms swinging wide, scrambling for grip – and an ornate porcelain pen cup – probably a gift from some event he can't be bothered remembering – tips off the edge and shatters with a sound that cracks the sex-thick air like a whip. You cock plunges into him and he squeezes the edge of his desk, knuckles white as your thighs smack rhythmically against his ass.
"Why'd you go and do that, huh?" you pout, dragging your hands down his chest and stomach, caressing him. You run your hands down his thighs and hook them smoothly over your elbows, leaning forward. He moans sharply as you press into him at the new angle. "What a mess you've made."
You run a finger through the creamy glaze splattering his stomach. His cock jumps.
"Guess it just means I'm doing a good job, then," you hum, and he nods emphatically, his head feeling heavy and dumb. He whines, sniffling, as his body begins to feel the burn. When you glance down, leaning back, his rim is puffy and red, thoroughly fucked open. If he wasn't able to heal himself, he'd be walking funny for days.
"Feels good," he gasps, "feels so good..."
You look delighted. You lean down and kiss him deeply, and his moans grow louder, like wounded little whines, when you nibble a trail of hickeys down the side of his neck. His nails scratch stinging lines into your back as you grind your hips into him, letting him feel the entire length of you filling him up.
"Doing so well for me, sweetheart," you murmur as your cock twitches inside him, pressing against his slick, gummy walls. "Yeah, just relax. If you wanted pleasure, I can give you that."
Suddenly, Satoru's head lifts and he tries to prop himself up on an elbow, pushing at your chest. He tries to speak, but all that escapes are gasped little moans.
A knock at the door.
"Gojo-sama? Do you need anything?"
A servant. They must have heard the cup shatter.
Satoru nearly bites through his lip. He presses a shaking hand to his mouth, pushing more insistently at your chest, but you do not give – you slow your movements into something torturous, leaning down to whisper in his ear.
"Answer them, baby."
His brow furrows in adorable dissatisfaction at the petname – what he considers your 'default', if you will. He opens his mouth to refuse, but you knock his voice from his lungs and he instead lets out a tiny, swallowed squeak, legs tightening briefly before trying to get you to pull out.
He swallows roughly, nails digging into your skin as he meets your amused gaze, his face burning with heat.
"I'm fine," he calls back, his voice breathy but otherwise shockingly steady. "You can leave."
You lower your head back to his throat, pleased by his farce. You kiss along his jaw, beginning to move your hips again. His breath stutters in your ear.
"Are you certain...? I thought I heard something break."
You grab him by the waist and turn him over, bending him over the desk. He stares back at you, wide-eyed and pink-cheeked, as you slip your cock back in with a silent exhale. Relishing in each tight, silky stroke, you fuck into his ass slowly, making him slap a hand over his mouth and his grip turn white-knuckled on the edge of his big desk.
Another knock. "Gojo-sama?"
You pick up the pace, huffing softly as you press your palm to the small of his back – his pale, flushed skin shines with sweat. Life is so unfair – you would love to lick it off him, but you can't if you want to remain buried in his hot, tight hole.
"D-Don't worry about it!" he bites out, blue eyes fluttering shut when you kiss the nape of his damp neck. His thighs quiver as you use your body and press him into the wood, your dick sinking deep into his eager hole with a soft squelch. "I'll clean it up. Just go!"
You grab his wrists and pin them beside his head, making his eyes widen further. He shakes his head fervently, unable to swallow his sharp gasps each time your cock kisses his swollen prostate. He presses his thighs together and squirms, bucking back onto your cock. You chuckle quietly into the crook of his neck, nipping dark bruises into the thin skin.
"I can send for someone to clear it for you. Such a menial task does not befit you."
Tightening your grip on his wrists, you slam your cock in with a startling wet plap of skin-on-skin. You press him into the desk and he lets out a choked gasp, eyes rolling back as his knees buckle – he tries to catch himself but only manages to push himself deeper on your cock. His heart pounds like a war drum as his weak knees knock together with your thrusts, all too rough and hard when someone is right by the door.
Oh, god. Oh, god.
The floorboards creak as if they're stepping forward to open the door. Satoru flails slightly, hands groping for purchase – he only manages to make you bite his shoulder in punishment. He whimpers through kiss-swollen, pressed-together lips.
"Don't come in!" he shouts, panicked. "I – I have a migraine! Just leave."
"Gojo-sama—"
"Now!"
A pause, then hurried footsteps receding down the hall. As soon as they turn the corner at the end of the hall, Satoru lets out a cry and jolts forward, releasing a string of pained, relieved moans as copious amounts of come splatters the desk below him. His moans turn high and whiny as you pick up the pace, fucking him hard enough to shove his dick into the hard desk surface and smearing his spend all over himself.
"Y-You asshole," he sobs out as his bliss peaks, trembling as his eyes well up. He sniffles, hair bouncing with every thrust. "Oh, oh, oh – no, stop, 's too muh-much...!"
"The view from up here says it's not enough," you tease, and he moans in distress. "You did so well, sweetheart. Such a good boy f'me... so good at being pretty and quiet, hm?"
The praise goes straight to his dick. It spurts again, one thick distinct rope of white, and he starts to sniffle, quivering every time your cock bullies his prostate, your thick tip punching it relentlessly.
He can barely moan, let alone think. Your hot, velvety balls press against his skin, and he feels them twitch as you grind against the curve of his ass.
"C-Can't breathe," he whimpers, his cock drooling a puddle onto his desk. "'S too big – oh fuck, oh, fuck—! Sir!"
"What, am I gonna fuck you to death?" you laugh, groaning as he tightens around you. You grab the meat of his ass, slapping it cruelly, and curl a fist in his white hair to yank his head back. You wrap your hand around his bared throat, making his body arch prettily against you, his ass pressing higher. "Think you can come again?"
"No," he cries. "Ah, ah... Too much..."
You kiss him over his shoulder. His white lashes flutter as you pound him into the desk, his ass rippling obscenely. His back is a broad, flushed, sweat-slick canvas, defined muscles flexing beneath the skin. Blank – for now, you think, amused.
You slide your hand up his throat, gripping his jaw, forcing his spine to arch further. Every time your cock slams into him, his cock leaks and his glowing markings pulsate so deep it burns in his marrow. His moans are constant, breathy, hiccupped.
"I think you've got one more in you, sweetheart," you murmur as you lean down, voice rough with lust. His hand grasps blindly at your hip, nails digging into you. "I want you to come for me."
"I can't," he moans, creamy pale thighs shaking with every jolt of white-hot bliss you send up his spine. "'M done, nnh, I can't anymore—!"
"Aw. Your pretty little cock's running empty? You can do one more. Just one more," You pout and reach down to grab it, making him sob as you tighten your fist and begin to stroke it – up and down, up and down. He's a mess of precome and his creamy spend, splattered on his tummy and the grand desk below him. Tears glitter along his lashes as you pump his throbbing dick and fuck him deep at the same time, leaving him nowhere to run to escape. Forward into your fist, backwards onto your cock, and your warm lips on his. He squirms helplessly, the muscles of his defined back rippling with the effort to keep himself up.
His lips are swollen and sticky like a summer dream. He makes even this debauchery look pretty. When your finger slides down his slick slit and presses into the hole, he starts to cry.
It's not loud, like you'd expected. His shoulders shake as he gasps and moans your name, greedily pushing back onto your length and whining through his tears when his skin meets yours with a filthy obscene clapping. He's cute – trying to muffle his sobs, pressing his hand to his mouth as he blinks glassily up at you, brows furrowed in the sweetest little teary expression. You shift your hips and ram into his slick hole, and the way his slender fingers slip and part over his pink lips is something straight out of an art gallery. Tears run down his blazing cheeks.
You smirk. You were right. He is a pretty crier.
When your pace grows heavier, hungrier, he realises through a distant haze that you're close. His hole is raw and achy, so deliciously sensitive, and you groan against his skin, dipping your head to bruise the shape of your teeth into his red-flushed neck. The pleasure is pain, and the pain is pleasure. He sniffles weakly, punched-out little gasps and moans all that he can manage as the feeling engraves and buries itself directly across his snap-firing neurons.
His voice is slurred. "Mmgh – c-c'mming—"
He jolts against you as he spurts over your palm, fucking the wet hole of your fist. He's messy, greedy, dizzy, and you whisper husky praise into his ears that soothes the white-hot burn of overstimulation behind his teary eyes.
Those blue eyes roll back as you slam him into the table, letting out ragged groans that carve themselves a home in his consciousness. His arms buckle, and his fine wood desk is cold against his fiery cheek. Your panting is hot and sharp against his ear. He won't be forgetting these any time soon.
With a sharp, heavy succession of thrusts, he feels you pour inside him, thick and creamy and searing-hot. He can barely whimper before you pull out abruptly and spurt thick ropes over his ass and back, fisting your cock with the hand dirtied with his come. His puffy, abused hole winks up at you, his hips weakly canted up to display the stretch of him. A thin line of white dribbles from his rim, and he grips the edge of his desk to keep himself from collapsing as his knees give out without your hands to keep his hips up.
A wide, blissed-out smile stretches across Satoru's flushed, tear-streaked pretty face. Loose, lazy moans slip from his silky pink lips with every spurt of your cock across his ass and back, claiming him as yours. His chest heaves, his expression almost giddy as he lays his head on the cool wood, his body aching adoringly with the remnants of your affection.
He hears you rustle around behind him, fixing up your clothes. He lies there, spent, shaking, trying to remember how his tongue works in his mouth. He presses a trembling hand to his chest and smears the pine-soot ink off his chest, breaking the seal – with just a few rubs, the circle breaks and its entire molten-gold appearance sputters and flickers out like a snuffed candle. What remains is simple black ink, the sort used for calligraphy, painted onto his toned torso in the shape of each circle and rune.
"Fuck," he whispers hoarsely, every gasping inhale making his muscles tense. "Holy fuck…"
"Was it?" you tease, pressing yourself over the line of his body. You curl your fingers in his hair, tugging his head up to roll back against your shoulder, and Satoru's eyes glitter as you extend your phone in front of you. You kiss him deeply, making him let out a ragged moan as his tongue runs along the line of your teeth, and the phone camera lets out a cheerful snap. You let the kiss linger for a moment longer before you pull away, lips smacking with a wet, pornographic sound.
"You're just perfect, aren't you?" you whisper with a growing, fascinated smile, admiring him. He lets out a raspy laugh and kisses you again with a lovesick smile, reaching out to personally take a burst shot of photos on your phone.
"For posterity," he whispers, stroking your cheek. You kiss his neck with a chuckle and he lets you slide out of his grasp, his raised hand falling gently to the desk with a soft thump. He watches through half-lidded eyes as you fix your harness and slide your gloves back on, and you step into his blind spot, passing over his other side.
"Wait."
You pause a few steps away with the Prism in hand, almost perfectly composed except for your untucked shirt and kissed lips. "Yes, sweetheart?"
He pushes himself up, lazily draped over his desk. "Where are you taking that?"
You flash him a sharp smile. "Out. Quick vacation never hurt anything." You tap it gently with your knuckles. "I still have a contract to fulfill. It needs to travel from the Gojo estate into the hands of my client… and I do so love a personal hand-off." You wink and step backwards away from him, tossing the Prism over your shoulder and not bothering to catch it. A large violet portal opens up directly behind you on the floor and swallows it whole, vanishing with a soft burbling murmur.
You offer a lazy two-fingered salute, continuing to walk backwards until the heel of your boot tips over the abrupt ledge of the portal. "So don't worry, darling. I'll be seeing you around far sooner than you think."
With that, you tip backwards into your portal, and you vanish from sight with nary a whisper. The portal closes without so much as a ripple of cursed energy, and Satoru is left alone and naked in his quarters, another man's seed dripping from his hole and down the curve of his ass. Lazily, he sinks his teeth into his lower lip as he pulls his phone out of a drawer, turning it on to see a red dot residing in a downtown area of Tokyo, blinking slowly.
A soft, breathy laugh echoes in the traditional room. His eyes gleam with a silvered infatuation, his lashes fluttering as he presses the nail of his thumb against his rosy, kiss-swollen lower lip in a caricature of shyness. "Yes," he murmurs, his tender gaze sharpening into something like obsession as the dot blips four blocks over to a bar and restaurant street in a single pulse. "You will be."
You were paired with the popular "nerd" of the business department for a group project. Unbeknownst to you, he has been pining over you ever since you first talked. So, the moment you stripped off the quiet facade you always wore and showed him your bare desires, he didn't hesitate to pounce on you.
Explicit Sexual Content, Male Bottom Reader, Possibly OOC, Modern AU, Overstimulation, Creampie, Hotel Sex, Fingering, Rimming, Rough Sex, Anal Sex, Use of the term boycunt, Edging, Nipple Play, Nipple Piercings, Back and Spine Tattoo, Male Squirting
Word Count: 5,7k
You once thought that in college, seeing as everyone is a mature adult now, you wouldn’t be meeting any deadweight anymore. Unfortunately, they still do exist, and they are still immature. You couldn’t tell if they had just grown backwards, but you clearly ended up with the worst group on this important project.
Finals were nearing, and one of your professors decided to turn the traditional closed-book exam into a group project. Things would have been better if your professor had allowed you to choose your members, but he decided that wouldn’t be happening and gave you deadweights instead.
That includes Suguru Geto, the popular “nerd” in the business department. Sure, he might be awfully smart and hot and all, but he tends to shove most of the work to the “more” capable one. He didn’t like working with people, and neither did you, but both of you really don’t have a choice.
Well, you don’t, and he does, as you’re simply relying on scholarship. Although whether this one ends up a failure or not… well, Suguru Geto knows you wouldn’t let that happen, which is why he’s all about teasing you whenever the group gets together.
Do they attend? Sometimes it was just Suguru.
“Looks like they won’t be attending for the third time,” Suguru stated as he put down his bag on the chair beside you before taking a seat. You sighed, bringing a hand to your temple, rubbing it to ease the headache already forming at the moment.
“I wish I could just kick them out,” you mumbled, opening your laptop with one hand while keeping the other at your temple with your brows furrowed.
Suguru chuckled softly, shaking his head. “The professor doesn’t like that, does he? You’ll end up being blamed for your lack of… assertion or responsibility,” he remarked, tilting his head toward the laptop to check the progress of the document.
To his surprise, it was already halfway done. He turned to you and noticed the tired look on your face; your under-eye bags were evident, and you didn’t seem as stable as you had when he first spoke to you at the start of the project.
Yet, for some reason, you looked really good like this. Your bangs framed your face, your glasses sat nicely on your cute nose, and your lips… Wait, what?
“Stop staring…” You murmured, your ears flushing slightly at the intensity of his gaze. His stare felt piercing, and it was quite close.
Suguru cleared his throat and shifted his focus back to your laptop. “Right, sorry. It’s just… You look…”
“I know,” you replied, letting out a sigh as you pushed your laptop closer to him. “Don’t mind me. Could you finish the rest?” Suguru simply nodded, feeling a bit guilty for not attending the second meeting. Thankfully, he had done his part at home based on the message you sent, so transferring the information he knew to the document was smooth and easy. Since finals were just around the corner and you still had to deal with your two groupmates, you both decided to discuss the remaining details of the project.
It really wasn’t so bad. Talking with Suguru was enjoyable, especially when he wasn’t teasing you for being strict and “timid”. Although you didn’t say much, as you weren't very talkative, you managed to contribute a significant amount of information about the project. Suguru also provided valuable insights. By the time you finished, you both had a good understanding of the project and decided to meet up again after you’d convinced your two group members to attend.
Well, you should have expected it. It has been a week since you tried convincing them to participate, and while they did attend a few times, they’d just leave after a while with barely any use.
You were at your wits' end, trying to keep up with stress and studying for your other subjects, and you don’t think you’ll be able to keep holding it in. Thankfully, your professors didn’t give a lot of activities this time around, so aside from studying, you'd get some fresh air every once in a while.
“Your professor put you in a tough spot, huh?” Nobara asked as she munched on her sandwich. Yuji, who had just arrived, sat next to you while carrying two iced coffees, Megumi following behind and sitting beside Nobara.
“Weren't you ranting about how useless your groupmates were in your IG notes?” Yuji snickered, handing you the iced coffee you requested. A sigh escaped your lips, pouting a little as you leaned your head against Megumi's shoulder, who was already used to the physical touch.
“Yeah… even Suguru just attends whenever he wants, so I'm sometimes left alone handling the freeloaders.” You huffed as you grabbed your coffee and took a sip of it. Though the mention of Suguru's name sparked Nobara's interest.
“Swuguru? Ash in tat pwopular senior in your dwepartmwent?” She asked with food still in her mouth, muffling all her words. You rolled your eyes and nodded.
“Don't eat with your mouth full.” You scolded as you straightened your posture. “Anyway, yeah. I was paired with him too.”
“Woah?! Really?! Isn't he likeee, Gojo-san's best friend? They're both really famous in Nobara's department!” Yuji exclaimed with such enthusiasm.
“They're famous in the university. Not just in any department.” Megumi said, ruffling your hair that was on his shoulder. You didn't bother lifting your head up, nor did you really mind. You did take care of the two boys, after all, especially whenever they went into your house to play with Nobara, your little sister.
“Hmp. That Satoru guy is pretty famous when it comes to flirting with women. They're the partygoers of the seniors, right? Don't get involved with them, brother.” Nobara said as he huffed, stealing Yuji's coffee, who yelped and tried to reclaim it.
“But Suguru's his type,” Megumi stated. You gasped at the assumption (not so much) and stared at Megumi as if he had just offended you. He merely shrugged.
“That's not—”
“Even if he is your type!” Nobara scolded, pointing at you accusingly before taking a sip of Yuji's coffee.
“Talking about parties, didn't Maki invite us to a party tonight? I don't know whose, though.” Yuji said with a shrug.
“Really?! Let's go then! I just bought a new outfit, you know? I'm going to show off!” Nobara proudly stated, her face sparkling at the idea of posting another ton of pictures on IG with her new outfit.
“I still have a lot of assignments to finish, so I can't come. What about you?” Megumi asked as he turned to you, and you merely hummed. You planned to have a late-night movie in your apartment tonight, but it seems you'll have to postpone it. You haven't gone out in a while, haven't gotten a good time either.
“I'll go.” You nodded.
“Alright! I'll go too! We can contact Megumi if we all end up getting drunk!” Yuji exclaimed with a thumbs-up. Megumi sighed, facepalming as he realized that whether he likes it or not, he'll end up entering that hell of a party…
“Suguuuruuuu!” Satoru called, wrapping an arm around the long-haired boy's shoulder, who sat on the stool by the counter, a whiskey in his fingers.
“Satoru.” Suguru sighed. “What now?”
“Mhm, what're you doing over here? I invited you here to have some fun, you know.” He sighed, taking a seat beside him and asking for a sweet drink.
“You could've just invited your fangirls,” Suguru replied as he took a sip of his whiskey. Satoru chuckled at his reply before nudging him.
“Hey, your groupmate is here.” Satoru grinned, yet Suguru only rolled his eyes.
“My groupmate? They’re a bunch of freeloaders. Couldn't care less about any of them.” Suguru shrugged as he turned to face him. “Your birthday isn't here yet, so what's up with the party?”
Satoru patted his back with a wide grin. “Because the final's around the corner! It ain't bad trying to make sure everyone's not going crazy with their studies, no?”
“Making it sound like you're doing a good deed, huh?” Suguru snickered before asking for another shot the moment the bartender gave Satoru his drink.
Satoru laughed. “Anyway, I'm talking about that 'timid' guy. The nerd?”
His words made Suguru's attention spark, turning to him before glancing around behind them. “Where?” He asked. He didn't even bother hiding his interest.
“Heh. I knew it. You're into him!” Satoru chuckled.
“Who's into who?” Shoko asked as she appeared behind them, placing a hand on Suguru's shoulder.
“Suguru! He's into the timid nerd of his department.” Satoru stated, and Suguru sighed.
“How'd you even come up with that idea?” Suguru asked, taking a sip of his non-alcoholic beverage while Shoko sat in the other empty space beside Suguru.
Satoru rolled his eyes as he crossed his arms. “I noticed. You always end up staring at him whenever you guys come across each other, you know? Like how your gaze instantly falls upon him or how your attention span immediately turns to him the moment you hear his name! You've been pining for him for weeks!” Satoru proudly stated as if he had just made the wildest discovery in the whole world.
“Hmm. MC?” Shoko asked, gesturing for the bartender to whip up something for her. “Hate to break it to you, but doesn’t he sleep around?”
“Eh?”
“What?”
The two men turned their heads to Shoko in shock, eyes wide and mouths agape. Well, it shouldn’t be that surprising, but you were a timid guy—well, at least you appeared to be one—so they never had the impression of you sleeping around.
“Are you for real? Likeeee, for for real real?” Satoru asked, blinking several times as if this was just a dream. Although he should be scratching his ears instead of blinking from what he heard.
“Why so surprised?” You popped up from behind them and asked, a playful grin on your face. “Everyone’s got a little secret, right?”
The trio turned their heads to you, surprise evident in their eyes. Satoru cleared his throat, his hand playfully patting Suguru on the back as he downed his drink in one go. “My ladies need me, eh? I’ll leave my best friend to you, man!” He winked at you, a cheeky glint in his eye, before slipping away into the crowd.
Shoko offered you a warm smile, standing up and grabbing her glass. “See you, man.” She followed Satoru, leaving you and Suguru at the table.
You slipped into the seat next to Suguru, who signaled to the bartender for your drink, his face still a bit flushed. You glanced over at him. He was staring at you with a mix of curiosity and something else, maybe surprise. It felt like there was no point in hiding what you saw in his eyes anymore.
“So much for participation,” you sighed, propping your elbow on the table and resting your chin in your palm, your eyes sparkling with mischief.
“How many times did you attend the group meeting? I sure do hope you counted, seeing as you’re spending your time away here,” you teased, your smile playful yet a bit exasperated.
Suguru’s cheeks turned a shade redder as he fumbled for words. It was his first time seeing you like this. “No, ah, I don’t go here often—”
“Well, you’re here now,” you replied as the bartender slid your drink toward you. Taking a sip, you raised your gaze, locking eyes with Suguru. Without your glasses covering your eyes, he found it hard to look away, captivated by the warmth and depth in your irises.
“Satoru invited me. It’s his party,” Suguru said, trying to sound casual as he took a sip of his own drink, but you could sense the nervous energy buzzing from him. “Why’re you here anyway?” he asked, genuinely curious.
“To get some air,” you replied, a hum escaping you as you absorbed the bitter aftertaste of the drink Suguru had chosen for you. “Thanks,” you remarked.
“Yeah…” Suguru nodded and cleared his throat. “So… it’s true?” he asked, suddenly recalling Shoko’s words. Now that he looked at you more closely, under the colorful yet dim lights of the bar, he could clearly see the different energy you had.
“I can’t believe this is the same timid guy,” Suguru chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Do you do this often? Sleep around, I mean.”
“Nope,” you said, shaking your head. “Just when I’m overwhelmed.” You huffed and began to drink the rest of your alcohol.
“Because of your groupmates?” he asked. You nodded and momentarily looked away from him, leaning over the counter with your arms crossed.
“Don’t make it sound like you’re not a part of it,” you scoffed, a small pout forming on your lips—the habit you’d had since you were little. Suguru noticed, mainly because it made you look especially cute… and kissable.
Suguru found himself staring at your lips for a moment before turning his gaze back to meet yours. “I am?” he stated casually, a grin finally forming on his lips as his nervousness began to subside, replaced by his usual teasing attitude.
“Yes, you are,” you sighed, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. If Suguru didn't know better, he’d have thought you were naturally seductive, but that wasn't the case. With your back arched against the counter, your plump lips slightly parted in a smile, and your eyes meeting his with such intensity and warmth, you looked captivating.
“Well, should I make it up to you?” Suguru asked as he leaned closer, placing a hand on the edge of the stool behind you. He could smell your sweet scent, reminiscent of rich caramel and vanilla, from how close you were.
Suguru was never one to sleep with people—he only did so on very rare occasions. But somehow, this felt like one of those occasions.
“I don’t sleep with the same guy twice,” you murmured, tilting his chin up until your faces were only inches apart. Your gaze lingered on his lips as a faint smirk tugged at the corner of your mouth. “You sure you want to?”
“I’d like to find out what this so-called timid guy can do,” Suguru replied, his eyes flickering down to your lips.
“They’re just rumors,” you said with a quiet sigh. “I’m not timid—just quiet.”
Before he could answer, you closed the distance between you, your lips meeting his in a slow, deliberate kiss. The moment your tongue brushed against his, Suguru’s eyes widened—not at your boldness, but at the cool metal piercing nestled against it.
Recovering almost instantly, he slid a hand to the back of your head and deepened the kiss, drawing you closer with quiet confidence. A soft whimper escaped your lips before you finally pulled away, wearing a satisfied grin as you looked up at him.
“So,” you murmured, giving his bottom lip a playful nip, “want to get out of here?”
A low hum rumbled from his throat. “Yeah.” He lingered for another second before stepping back. “Alright, timid boy.”
You rolled your eyes with an exaggerated sigh, slipping your hand into the one he offered. “I’m not timid, you prick.”
Suguru only laughed, intertwining your fingers as he led you toward the exit. It was an act you never thought you’d receive from the man.
Suguru backed you into the hotel room, his lips already claiming yours the moment the door clicked shut. The kiss was slow at first, then deepened as his tongue brushed against yours while his hands moved to unbuckle his belt. Your arms looped around his neck instinctively, a shiver running through you as his tongue continuously clashed with yours.
He finally broke the kiss with a quiet breath, his forehead resting against yours for a fleeting moment before he caught your lower lip between his teeth in a teasing nip. His fingers found your belt next, undoing it with practiced ease.
“You’ve had the piercing this whole time?” he asked, his thumb brushing across your lips before guiding you gently onto the edge of the bed.
“Got it four months ago,” you replied, leaning forward to press a trail of light kisses along his neck as your fingers worked open the buttons of his shirt.
“Hm.” Suguru shrugged the loosened fabric from his shoulders, a curious smile tugging at his lips. “Worth it?”
You chuckled softly. “I’d say so.”
He laughed under his breath, slipping out of the rest of his clothes as you helped peel his shirt away, his gaze never leaving yours.
“Don't you like it?” you asked as you stuck your long tongue out, wet and hot, the piercing on your tongue lying cool and sensual. Suguru never thought he'd find a tongue piercing hot.
He pressed his thumb against your tongue, and you broke eye contact, your gaze falling to his toned body. Big chest you could smother your face in, arms that could lay you in a headlock—well, everything beneath those clothes was big. You had never really noticed.
“Eyes up here,” Suguru murmured before shoving two fingers into your mouth, catching you by surprise. You choked slightly before regaining your composure, your tongue swirling around and sucking on his fingers.
“Good boy,” he whispered, his voice rough and deep. God, that voice was going to drive you fucking crazy. It was enough to have your blood running down on your dick, throbbing painfully in your underwear. Even that nickname has you trembling already.
You whimpered against his fingers, tongue lapping up the saliva before he pulled it out. He slid his hand into your underwear, fingers prodding your hole before gently pushing a finger in. You groaned, hands moving up to grip his shoulders.
“I'll try… to be gentle,” he said softly before pressing his lips against yours, his other hand pulling down your underwear all the way down. With his other hand, he spread your legs open and settled between them. However, contrary to his words…
SHLICK!
“HnnngHhh?!”
He was not gentle at all.
Well, if Satoru was rumored to be the sex god, then what of his best friend? Surely, Suguru wasn't as poorly experienced, and boy, you were right.
“Fffuck?! Y-you said— hhAaah! Hnggaah!~”
Pleasure and pain wreaked indescribable chaos throughout your body. With the roughness of a ravenous beast, which contrasted heavily with his earlier demeanor, he finally shoved two fingers right past your ring of muscle, constantly hitting your prostate at every thrust.
“Haha… sorry. I did say I’ll try…”
You weren’t even trying, you sick prick!
Suguru smiled when he said that, lifting your other leg up to his shoulder, wherein he began to nuzzle his nose into your leg, nibbling on the soft, supple skin of yours.
Fuck. No way. It's too much. Why is he sooooo fucking good? How can he keep his balance in this position?
You can't even control the volume of the moans that spill from your mouth. Every deep thrust pushes out a loud moan, a whimper, and a yelp all at once. He just pushes his two fingers deeper… and deeper… and deeper into your sweet spot, abusing it as if he knew nothing besides that bundle of nerves.
“Suguuuuruuu!” You whimpered, your back arching as your eyes rolled back. No one has ever brought you in this state of pleasure, nor have you ever heard yourself in this pitch before. But with how he's circling the tips of his fingers around your sweet spot, you'll be hearing new things from yourself soon.
“More?” Suguru grinned, nibbling on your bottom lip before shoving a third finger. Now, all three fingers stretch you wide, shoving in and out of your wet and tight hole.
“Too muchhh..! Fffuck! Fuck! Sugu—Hnngmfff~!” You mewled, your fingers slipping from his shoulders. You grip the bedsheets, drool escaping past your lips and sliding down your chin. Your moans and the wet sound of his fingers shoving in and out of your hole—SQUELCH— were the only thing he could hear.
“Cum— Cumming…! I'm—Hngh?!” You gasped the moment Suguru pulled out his fingers. Your head snapped down, a whine escaping your lips, but it was immediately replaced with a gulp the moment you saw him pull out his throbbing cock from his underwear.
His cock, standing straight and tall, pink like a rose at his glistening tip, slapped against your thigh heavily from its sheer weight, girth, and length.
“No way…” You gasped, covering your face with your mouth as you questioned your decisions. Fuck. He was big. You've never had someone like his cock fuck you before.
“Oh, come on,” Suguru purred. “I'm sure my timid boy can take it, hm? You've done it plenty of times before.” His words were mocking, but it just made your dick twitch because of how rough and deep his voice was.
“Never had one as big as yours…” You huffed as Suguru grabbed your wrist and removed it from your face. Your cheeks were red, your eyes on the brink of tears, and your lips wet with drool.
“...Damn it.” Suguru cursed, his cock throbbing hot against your bare thighs. Pushing down the aching desire to shove his cock inside, he pulled back and manhandled you on your stomach, raising your hips as he knelt down behind you.
“W-wait. What are you doing— Hngggh–!” You gasped the moment Suguru spread your cheeks and kissed your puckering hole. His tongue slid around your rim before pushing his tongue inside, making you whimper as you gripped the bedsheets.
SLURP!
“Mnnfh—! Hnn~!”
His tongue prodded your insides, swirling his tongue around, pressing sloppy kisses against your rim, and eating you out messily like a hungry man who hasn’t eaten for days. Even his tongue was a work of art as it shoved deep inside, savoring the taste of your pulsing, warm hole, leaking slick and his saliva. It was sloppy, creamy, and just a few strokes of his tongue, you were already close to cumming again, but it was never enough.
“P-pweaaasee…” You pleaded, shifting a hand behind you as you tried to push Suguru’s head away. You can’t take it anymore. You wanted to cum already. It wasn’t enough. Your dick was throbbing, already so close, but Suguru always kept you on edge, stopping the moment you were about to hit your release.
“Swuguruu…” Your voice was muffled against the pillow, back arched and legs spread as Suguru finally pulled out, giving you mercy. He plunged two fingers in your sloppy hole, spreading it before spitting on it, making you whimper.
You never imagine you’d have sex like this, covered in sweat and spit, and soon in cum. As Suguru’s fingers stretched you just a little more for his cock, he began to unbutton the front of your shirt, pulling your top off your body. His eyes widened, however, at the ink tattooed on your back—a large angel wing that covered your back, connected to a spine tattoo with intricate details he couldn’t care less to decipher, if it had a meaning. Oh boy, you’re truly full of surprises, aren't you? He was so focused on trying to fuck you that he never noticed.
“What other secrets do you have, boy?” he asked as he pulled his fingers out from your hole and finally slammed his hard, throbbing cock inside your slobbering boycunt. You shrieked, tongue lolling out as he arched your back even further, his hands finding themselves on your thin waist. His cock was dribbling copious precum inside you, and it felt like you were already being filled with more than his huge cock.
“Hmmmffff…. W-Why don’t you… find out?” You panted, a grin forming on your lips as you slightly turned your head to face him, your face flushed deep. Suguru grinned, licking his bottom lip, before grabbing both your arms and pulling you to a sitting position, forcing you deeper into his cock.
“HhhAaaaAhhh?!~” You moaned loudly, eyes rolling back as drool dribbled down your chin. Suguru moved his arms to wrap around you as he began to shove his cock in and out of your soppy hole, which made a squelching noise that made an interesting background noise alongside your moans. It turned Suguru on even harder, his cock throbbing deep inside you, hitting the bundle of nerves that made you crazy on repeat like a balloon ready to pop.
You were so lost in pleasure at this point, your cock throbbing and leaking precum, leaving sticky splotches every time it thuds against your stomach from Suguru’s harsh thrusts. His huge cock makes you feel soooo full in the best way, feeling him claim your deepest depths, jackhammering his thick cock in and out of your slobbering, aching hole. It all feels so unreal, and he fucks you with so much energy, going balls-fucking-deep into your boycunt, only to take it out all the way and shove it back in. Even his groans mixed with yours in an erotic duet, the hotel room full of skin slapping, moans, and squelching, you could only hope that their walls were strong and thick.
Your cock twitched, and you whimpered loudly as you began to feel your orgasm forming in your stomach, grinding your hips back as you tried to push through your orgasm. However, the moment you did so, Suguru stopped.
“N…nooo..!” You groaned, turning your head behind to look up at him. Suguru felt himself twitch at the sight—face flushed, drool on your lips, eyes hazy, and tears practically threatening to spill. He bulged deeper inside you, making you whimper, and he pulled out before manhandling you on your back this time.
“…You had your nipples pierced too?” Suguru’s breath hitched as his eyes landed on your nipples, pierced and perky, sweat dripping down your body. You whimpered, hand moving down to push his cock back inside, which he so generously did by shoving it back in. You mewled, eyes rolling back once more as you shook your hips, eager for him to start moving. Yet, he didn’t—instead, he bent down and began to tease your nipples, tongue sloppily swirling around your pierced nipples, and boy, the pleasure was fucking heavenly.
No one has ever touched your nipples. You never knew you were so sensitive. You whined and whimpered at his slobbering tongue, sucking and licking your nipple while his other hand played with the other one, giving it the attention it needed. You couldn’t take it anymore. Your slick, warm hole tightened around his thick cock, prompting him to shove deeper into you, and your dick finally spurted ropes of cum, splattering on his and your stomach. He let go of your nipple with a plop and grabbed your waist, this time, finally pounding into you as if he wanted to breed you.
“Fuck, why is my timid boy… hnGhh… such a damn slut?” he groaned, the headboard of your bed slamming against the wall and the bed creaking from the inhumane strength Suguru suddenly pulled out of nowhere. You cried out from the speed of his pounding, the room becoming humid and steamy from the way he fucked you, your bodies slick with sweat and cum that serves as evidence of how good he was railing you—good as you’ll ever have.
At the sight of your secrets fully exposed to him, he doesn’t think he can let go of you either. While all he can think right now is fuck you sooo hard you can’t walk anymore, he also wanted to make sure that his cock is the only thing you’ll ever know and crave in the future.
“Fffuck, baby, you're.. taking me so goood...” Suguru groaned, nuzzling his head against the crook of your neck as his powerful and confident thrusts began to feel more clumsy and shaky, though never losing their strength. He spread your legs wider before biting on your neck, which made you shriek, tears running down your face at the overwhelming pleasure that’s coursing through your head and body. His hold on you, which used to feel strong, began to waver in a way that his fingers trembled slightly against you.
Again, you feel the impending orgasm, but this time, it feels even wilder. You couldn’t describe it, but it was too much. It was coming to you fast, like a tsunami that grows larger as it draws closer, your entire body trembling as you arched your back and covered your face with your arms.
“Suguuu…! Pweaseee! D-don’tttt… gotta pull..hmMffh! I have to— I’m gonna— HnggGahhhhh!!!”
Your eyes rolled back as your dick squirted fluids of cum, watering you and Suguru together, and the sight of you—wrecked and broken beneath him—was enough to send him over the edge.
“Fffuuuck, ffuck... ahh.. Hngg..!” Suguru grunted, his grip on your waist tightening, his balls churning with obscene amounts of cum before powerful waves finally crashed over his body, burying himself inside you as balls deep as humanly possible as the first loads of cum erupted from his throbbing, huge dick like a volcano. His thick jizz floods your insides instantly, some of it leaking past the ring where his cock was still connected to your warm hole.
“Ahhnnn… ffuck… what… hngh…sniff.. part of this… is fuckinggg gentle?” You blabbered, eyes shut tight as your body lay limp on the wet bedsheets. You couldn’t even muster up the energy to be embarrassed, but you were sobbing. Suguru’s eyes widened, face flushing, as he pulled out and began to wipe your tears.
“I— sorry, damn. You were just so hot, I couldn’t help myself.” Suguru explained, pressing soft kisses on your cheeks, his hand ruffling your hair. You let out a whimper as you turned your head and opened your eyes, glancing at him for a moment before wrapping your weak arms around him and pulling him close to your slick and sweaty body.
“Mmh…” you hummed as you closed your eyes, tired and hazy, and eventually fell asleep. It was so quick he didn’t even realize you were already asleep.
“MC?” he asked.
“MC… fuck. Can’t you just… be mine?” he murmured as he pulled you impossibly closer, his arms wrapping tightly around you. Oh, he just knows he’s doomed. He’d been pining over you for weeks ever since he first talked to you, after all.
Morning sunlight filtered through the curtains, its warmth spilling across your skin. You stirred with a sleepy blink, only to freeze as a dull ache spread through every muscle in your body.
A quiet whine escaped your lips.
“…Ow.”
Grimacing, you forced yourself upright, wincing at the protest from your legs. Looking down, you realized you’d already been cleaned up. Fresh clothes—ones you definitely didn’t remember owning—had replaced yesterday’s outfit. Your gaze drifted toward the coffee table, where neatly arranged takeout waited alongside a folded note.
With another groan, you hobbled over and collapsed onto the couch before picking up the slip of paper.
Sorry, I wasn’t there when you woke up. I finished the documents and convinced everyone else to send in their completed parts too. I also extended your stay so you can rest. Just don’t overstay past 6 p.m., alright?
“…Seriously?”
A quiet laugh escaped you as you hugged your knees to your chest, warmth creeping onto your cheeks. It certainly didn’t help that he happened to be your type. Nor did it help that he’d somehow managed to be both an absolute gentleman… and an absolute menace in bed.
Still, one question lingered. Why had he left so early? The note didn’t explain.
You reached for your phone beside the food and scrolled through your contacts until you found Suguru’s number—the one you’d saved from the group chat. As you unpacked breakfast with one hand, you tapped the call button with the other.
The line rang only twice.
“Hello?” Suguru answered. “Who’s this?”
Your lips formed an exaggerated pout.
“So that’s how it is?” you sighed. “Here I was thinking you were interested enough to save my number.”
There was a brief pause.
“…MC?”
“Mhm.”
Another beat of silence.
“Wrecked me all night and you don’t even stick around to say goodbye?” you teased.
“MC?” Suguru repeated, sounding as if he had just realized it was really you.
“Issss that MC?” Satoru’s unmistakable voice echoed loudly from somewhere in the background.
Suguru cleared his throat, and judging by the muffled complaints that followed, he was probably walking away before Satoru could eavesdrop any further.
“So…” he began once things quieted down. “Why’d you call?”
You smiled to yourself. “I could ask you the same thing. Why’d you leave?”
A soft hum came through the speaker.
“I wasn’t sure you’d want to see me afterward.” He let out a sheepish laugh. “…And honestly? I didn’t trust myself not to ask you for more.” There was a hint of disappointment beneath his lighthearted tone.
“Because I said I don’t sleep with the same guy twice?”
“…Yeah.”
You looked back toward the breakfast he’d ordered and the clothes he’d apparently gone out of his way to buy for you.
“…Yet you still bought me breakfast,” you said, unable to hide your smile. “And new clothes.”
A laugh slipped from your lips. You wanted to tell him you were just as interested, but you really weren't the type to say how you felt in moments like this. There was a small pause before you added, “Maybe you’re actually the timid one between us.”
“…Then…” Suguru spoke again, quieter this time. “Is it safe to assume you’re interested in me too, seeing as you’re calling me for no reason at all?”
“Mhm.”
The sound of his relieved chuckle made your own smile widen. “Can I take you out next Sunday?”
“Of course.”
Before either of you could say anything else— “LET’S GOOOO!” Satoru shouted somewhere nearby. “Suguru finally got a date after his long single life!”
You blinked.
“…Wait, what?”
“Sorry,” Suguru said in a hurry, followed immediately by what sounded like him shoving Satoru away while the white-haired man loudly protested. “I’ll explain later. I’ll message you, alright?”
You blinked before muttering. “See you.”
The call ended, leaving the room quiet once more. You stared absentmindedly at your breakfast. Maybe breaking your ‘I don’t sleep with the same guy twice’ rule wasn’t such a bad thing after all.
Besides…
It hardly counted if he ended up becoming your boyfriend in the end… Although it did quite surprise you to realize that Suguru Geto has never dated anyone.
…What a lucky man.
Then again, once Nobara found out you’d ignored the warning she’d given you and hooked up with the very man she’d told you to avoid…
Puppy who won’t stop everything. Poor thing, it’s not even horny it just has so much energy, ya know? All cooped up inside all day. Owner comes home and finds the little fucker whining and howling while humping their pillow. Obviously owner has to do something, right? This can’t continue.
Poor puppy who gets leashed to the bed, arms tied down too and ass up in the air. Leaky puppy parts dripping all over the nice sheets. And puppy’s tail is wagging, this is how owner puts them when they’re gonna fuck them. They love feeling they’re so deep inside them, they just roll their hips at just the thought.
Owner doesn’t walk in alone though. Puppy is straining to turn their neck to look back, hearing voices.
“You really sure about this? My boy can be kinda rough, and yours is just a pup after all.”
“I’m sure. Pup needs it, I can’t keep washing the blankets.”
Another pup is face to face with them, they both look at eachother unsure what to do. But then the other pup is between puppy’s legs, shoving his face into puppy’s parts and lapping at the wetness there. Puppy whines, trying to push their hips back and yelping when the other pup bites their thigh.
“Aye! Be gentle with the puppy or I’ll muzzle you, ya hear?”
“Don’t worry about it, man. Maybe it needs to be bitten up alittle. I’ve been too lenient.”
Puppy is confused when owner and their friend walk away, leaving them all alone with the big mean doggy who’s already growling and panting in their ear while mounting them.
ft zenin naoya! btw lowk i need more ideas..i cant js write naoya all the time(unless) LOL send some reqs ok? ok
MDNI MDNI MDNI synopsis: Naoya loses a not-so-friendly fight against you,loser does what the winner wants. FEMINISATION FEMINISATION FEMINISATION YES YES YEGS YS YES
PROCEED WITH CAUTION forced feminisation(naoya receiving),slight misogyny,naoya still got that bitch attitude but he becomes yo bitch in the end ok kind of,reader is a lil mean(condescendingly nice)(but in a sexy way),restraints and a harness on naoya,coming untouched
DOM!TOP!MALE!READER x SUB!BTM!NAOYA | IMPLIED RELATIONSHIP (rival clans/enemies w benefits)
art,dividers do not belong to me!
Insufferable,cocky,sexist.
That’s what Zenin Naoya always was.
He had never begged for anything in his privileged, miserable life. Not for his dad’s approval. Not for the clan’s respect. And certainly not the mercy of the man who wants to see him in a miniskirt.
“You’re insane.” Naoya hissed,his tied wrists struggling weakly behind his back. The restraints were silk,delicate and tied into a cute small ribbon— You could almost mistake him for an early birthday present like this. A skirt with lace not even long enough to cover his ass,black thigh highs hugging him just right and a tight harness showing off his bare upper half.
He was bent over his own bed, soft mattress touching his chest,behind him stood you— The man he’s supposed to hate,the man who he’s supposed to be better than. And yet,knowing his strength; He could easily get out,yet he didn’t. “If you lay a finger on me again,I swear I’ll–”
Before he could even finish his sentence,he felt a light squeeze on his upper thigh,his eyes slightly widened as he let out a quiet,short gasp. “You’ll what? Try and kill me?” You’d interrupt,nails digging into the area where the stockings weren’t covering. “We already know how that went,Naoya. Now look at you. All soft and compliant.”
Naoya cringed at that sentence. Him? Soft? Compliant? His jaw clenched as he replied,“Don’t talk to me like- Like I’m some weak fuckin’woman.” A small frown appeared on your face,an eyebrow cocking before your hand reached out and pulled on the harness,forcing his back to arch as you leaned down to whisper in his ear. “Not a woman,hm?” Cold breath hitting his neck,sending shivers down his spine. “We’ll see about that,sweetheart. Now,you gon’ behave like a good lil’girl or I’m not gonna bother to prep you at all.”
Naoya stayed silent before speaking,“..Not a girl.” The blonde muttered quietly before you let out an empty chuckle,letting him fall back on the bed once you let the harness go. “Mhm? Then I’ll untie you,’kay?” Your voice is mockingly gentle,hands finding their way to the heir’s wrists to untie them— The restraint falling on there bedsheets once you loosened it. “Lift up your skirt.”
”What?”
“Lift it up.”
From this position,you couldn’t exactly see Naoya’s face,but you knew his face was burning with embarrassment,burying himself into the bed as he did what you told him— Up to his waist. Mumbling about ‘maintaining some dignity’ as if he had any left. A lazy smirk forming on your face as you praised him before grabbing the small bottle of lube,pouring a generous amount on your fingers and his bottom. Naoya bit his lip,refraining from making any noises.
You slowly inserted a digit,carefully wiggling it around. A whine escaping his throat,hands gripping the skirt even tighter. Your free hand got curious,making its way to Naoya’s cock,thumb going to smear the tip before your eyes widened just slightly from how turned on he actually is,“Damn,baby. Y’re leaking so much.” Your head tilted to the side as you watched him squirm,“Fuck you—! Don’t ever- Mmf—..!” He got cut off by his own moan once you added a second finger. Your hand moved away to grab his hip,“Yeah? You gonna come untouched from me? Jus’from my fingers?”
Naoya didn’t say anything,only letting out quiet noises before your fingers curled against a spot inside him he didn’t even know existed— Sending a jolt of pleasure,letting out a loud moan. A cocky grin on your face as a low whistle could be heard from you,“Oh? This the spot?” You’d coo,“N-no..Don’t- Hah..~ Don’t do that-” before he felt pressure against his prostate again. His eyes rolling back before a small whine escaped yet again. “But you feel so nice here.” Adding a third finger,“And you got so reactive,you sure you don’t want me to touch there?” You asked in patronising tone,rubbing against the prostate,he shook his head frantically as he uncontrollably whimpered each time your fingers pressed against the spot.
Before he even realised— He felt a familiar feeling in his tummy,a line of his white junk spurting from his cock. His pupils blown as he let out a cry,back turning into a C. “Woahohohohooo~” You let out a playful snicker,“You came so fast,it almost surprised me.” You slowly pulled your fingers out,“Now,how you gon’handle all of me if you’re that sensitive,hm?"
⋆⁺₊⋆
Naoya didn’t have enough strength to hold up his little skirt anymore— New position,his back pushed against the bed while you thrusted against that spot non-stop. Skirt swishing slightly each time you make a slam against his hips. “Aww,aren’t you cute..” You murmured just loud enough for him to hear it,Naoya could only reply with a bunch of quiet garbles and whimpers before finally,“Fuckin’..Gon’murder you when this is o-over,fuckin’worm~..” His threat didn’t hold anything at all,rather it sounded lovely when you heard it. You only replied with thrusts targeted to that gummy spot inside him with a brash smile.
“You feel so warm,Naoya..” You purred,hands wrapped around his waist to hold him still. Eyes only focused solely on his drool-stained face. “..So warm ‘n tight that you feel like a girl.” You said,knowing it’d absolutely enrage him,and yet he didn’t seem to hate that name at all,from your point of view. Naoya sobbed uselessly,overwhelmed by the stimulation. “So,so pretty like this,Naoya. My pretty thing.” The Zenin wanted to land a punch on you,wanted to kick you away from him. How dare you compare him to women? “Takin’it so sweet. You like this? Like me ruining you?” Naoya didn’t answer,only making ‘uhuhuh’ noises and moans. His hands gripping the bedsheets.
A finger grabbed his chin,forcing him to look at you,leaning down just a little. “Reply,dollface. Or I’ll stop.” Naoya’s eyes were glassy as he made eye contact with you,tears streaming down his cheeks,bottom lip glistening with saliva. God,he’s so lucky he’s beautiful.
“Y-..yeah. Whatever— I-..Nghgg~♡..Like it. Like it a lot.” He finally mumbled,his voice tiny. You let out a hum of approval. “Atta’girl.”
You kept going,noisy sounds spilling from his lips constantly. “Think I’ll keep you. Use you whenever I wanna,would you like that?” Naoya didn’t say anything,too blissed out by the pleasure you were giving him. Sliding out until just the your head remained and quickly going back in.
Naoya let out a shaky exhale,his legs trembling as he spoke,“M’bout to come..” You raised an eyebrow,amused. “Again? Y’re so easy,Naoya..C’mon,come for me then.” You say as you bullied his prostate relentlessly,Naoya was practically seeing stars.
A sob from Naoya before the nth orgasm,earning an even louder sob. You giggled quietly at the sight.
Naoya is unbelievably annoying,but also he’s such a good girl when fucked out. <3
@cupidrealistic 2026. Do not copy, plagiarize, or repost this writing to other websites or other platforms without my explicit permission. Do not use this work to train AI models.
batch. . .୧(＾ 〰 ＾)୨. . .🍌 stoner bf x good boy reader
batch ingredients. . .୧( ˵ ° ~ ° ˵ )୨. . .🧀 being high 24/7 , bf used to sleep around , drug dealing , weed , small arguments , blow jobs , hand jobs , excessive pre-cum , imagine him as a sort of metal head but less metal , hair pulling , marking , he makes you cry(he really does love you he's just not in the right mind) , reader is literally a cry baby though it's kinda cringe , THEY ARE SENIORS IN HIGH SCHOOL!!
something to know about the batch. . .🥜୧| ͡ᵔ ﹏ ͡ᵔ |୨. . . the two of you met as a coincidence. his mom forced him to go to church(high off of his ass). saw you, thought you were cute, fucked you on a tree nearby after church. you. couldn't forget him so he agreed to be your boyfriend
owners note. . .🥞ᕙ( ~ . ~ )ᕗ. . . i never proofread. this was so fun
sometimes your mother couldn't believe you. she had no issue with you dating a man, but couldn't it be a nice church boy with slick backed hair and a good reputation? you had to beg her to let you date him , you begged her while he was right in front of her! "please mama! he's really sweet i promise." you hung onto his arm, and your mother had a look of confused mixed disgust on her face. the guy wasn't even with the world right now.
but she loved you. so she said yes.
but dating him was so much more different than you thought having a lover would be. he was clingy , loving , never showed any signs of cheating and you loved that! but christ only time he was sober was when he felt something warm around his dick. but that was still one of the best moments as well. you could see who he really was that wasn't a giggling goofball.
"mhm..there you go baby, such a good boy." you were better at giving head than you thought. your baby hairs were wet and stuck to your forehead due to wiped off cum from a few minutes ago. your jaw was numb and slacked , slurping noises echoed off the schools bathroom stall.
"look at ya baby..suckin' me so sweetly where'd you learn to do it so good?" you hummed, and shook your head as if to say 'no one but you' he chuckled, hand on the back of your head as he adjusted his hips and leaned back— his saliva covered piercing nudging the back of your throat.
you gagged, pulling your head back and leaning your cheek between his thigh and your hand moving up and down his shaft. "love you.." you mumbled , big glossy eyes blinking up at him. he hummed, thumb caressing your cheek. this is where he could always really see you.
—
your entire house smelt like vanilla bean and puppies. there were literal rules for him if he wanted to stay over. no smoking , no cursing especially if your mom was home , no "demonic" music , and he had to wash his clothes each time he came over so he didn't smell like weed or a vape flavor. but he would smoke something or take some sort of gummy beforehand and it was almost impossible to communicate with him.
"and then i had..hello?" you scoffed, waving your hand in front of his face. he had a stupid smile that seemed to be stuck in his face , eyes red rimmed and hooded. you pouted slightly , vision downcast. "are you even listening to me?" he flinched, blinking as if he had just woken up from a long nap. "what— what? no, baby im listening." you felt your eyes burn, and you looked away completely. you weren't trying to cry, because you knew it could be annoying but you couldn't help it. he came to your house high! "hey, hey. no, no, no, no, baby don't cry don't cry im listenin'." "no you're not!"
he'd shush you and his hands would come to your face. "shh , no baby don't do that. you know what it does to me." everything you did, did everything to him. how focused you were in class, the way you spoke, the things you wore which made you look like a fucking muffin. "you always do this.." "i know, i know." his lips came to your cheek, salt tears touching his lips as he moved his head lower.
"im listenin' baby, keep talkin' to me."
—
he'd try to get you to at least hit a vape once , hell he tried to get you to have some shrooms. he personally liked to eat them but he tried to make you have the liquid version of it. usually when someone said no to wanting a hit , he would understand– but you were his goody two shoes of a boyfriend. "oh please baby , you ain't even smoke a cigarette before. no seas coño." you shook your head, brows furrowed angrily. "no! smoking is bad for you , you could get lung cancer!" he tutted , "shrooms don't get ya cancer baby." he was incorrect , on some drug logic.
"that's completely untrue and you know it." he shrugged, arm wrapped around you as you leaned onto his shoulder. it was a comfortable , loving silence for a while. he was comfortable , smelt like himself , and warm.
genre: swapped sexes, supernatural, smut, crack, college au
pairings: sub bp ! YouTuber student! beomgyu x gn dom ! student ! reader
synopsis: You wake up with a dick. Beomgyu wakes up with a vagina. This could possibly have something to do with the dodgy ouija board beomgyu got for free from a sex shop…
warnings: beomgyu has a pussy !! reader has a dick !!, ghosts, mentions of death, ouija board, this isn’t meant to make any sense, pretty taboo, the consent could be considered a tiny bit blurry, piv sex, fingering, eating out, pussy slapping, crying, squirting, creampie, rough sex, calling beomgyu a girl, spanking
word count: 10k
“Yo, I’m coming over right now.”
“Like, right now?” You were just in the middle of cleaning up your desk with your antibacterial wipes and all the rest of the mess that had piled up from the start of the week - some uncleaned dishes, empty ramen cups, all of your clothes that were thrown on your chair, the small bin that was pretty full by now. You’d managed to neglect tidying and doing the house chores right up until the weekend when you really couldn’t ignore it for any longer.
“You’re being in my youtube video.” Beomgyu states matter-of-factly over the phone. You can hear his footsteps, the sounds of cars and the outside winds from his end, which means he quite literally was coming over to yours right this moment.
You tiredly sigh, pulling out another wipe from the packet with aggression, your phone on speaker. “Why do I need to be in it?”
“Your building’s the haunted one right?”
“Supposedly.”
“Thennnn it’s perfect! I’ll be there in ten.” He hangs up.
You close your eyes briefly and shake your head, one hand on your hip, then, opening your eyes to survey your half cleaned room. Dealing with beomgyu, however, was an even greater effort than cleaning your entire messy student accom times ten.
He’s not exactly your best friend. That title belongs to taehyun. Taehyun is unfortunately both of your best friends which is how you met beomgyu. And even more unfortunately, taehyun is traitorously abroad for the semester at the moment, so now beomgyu has redirected his full energy and badgering onto you, because ‘you’re the next best thing’ apparently, beomgyu’s words.
You won’t lie, you were apprehensive of beomgyu at first, didnt quite like him. Taehyun was your childhood best friend. It was only ever you and him from the beginning. Taehyun has always just got you. He thought in the same way as you, a mutual understanding ever since you were four, when everyone else on the playground was wailing over the smallest of things like getting their knee a little scraped and missing their mothers after forty minutes of being in school, both of you unimpressed by the dramatics of the other four year olds, and you’ve been stuck together like gorilla glue ever since. He’s been with you from primary school, the same secondary school, all the way up until you were applying to university together. You’d ended up naturally picking the same one, the same subject, both of you inevitably stem based people.
You’d falsely assumed it would simply be just the two of you once more, navigating adulthood together. But, when you started university, he suddenly got super close to this one dude named Choi beomgyu. To be honest, you had hated his guts. Whenever taehyun talked about him, mentioned him in passing, you gained an overwhelming amount of ugly jealousy at hearing his name.
“Oh, beomgyu this, oh, beomgyu that.”
“Oh, I can’t, I already made plans with beomgyu.”
“Oh, beomgyu says blah, blah, blah.
“Oh, I’m too busy making out with beomgyu that day.”
Alright, he didn’t exactly say that last part, but he may as well have. It was like he was in love with him or some shit. They even had their own inside jokes that you weren’t a part of already.
Now, you’re a pretty good people reader, priding yourself in being a good judge of character. You like to think you can mostly already tell whether you’ll like someone’s vibe and whether they were cool and nice and genuine from first meeting them. In your head, you’d already made up in your mind that this choi beomgyu guy was some slimy bitch trying to steal your close friend away from you. You just thought taehyun had terrible perception and couldn’t see how much of a snake this beomgyu guy really was. So, you were already adamant that once you met him, it’d only validate all the feelings you had towards him and then, you could tell taehyun he was evil and not to be trusted and taehyun would realise you were right and stop being friends with him. Balance restored.
Because, well, you were terrified. Terrified that you could lose the sole person who had always been there and understood you without translation, afraid of having to go through the rest of this scary adult life with that being taken away. This had never happened before. Beomgyu threatened all of that for you.
And then, you finally actually met beomgyu on the campus cafe one day. And you do admit, it was hard not to like him even when you absolutely didn’t want to at all. He wasn’t slimy or snakey or fake. He was alas, very likeable. Annoyingly, infuriatingly so. Warm and friendly and all unadulterated smiles.
He was genuinely delighted to meet you, like you were some kind of micro celebrity. “So you’re the famous childhood friend. Taehyun talks about you all the time. It’s so nice to finally meet you!” Beomgyu's eyes were shining.
You soon realised it was all one sided, all the territorial resentment was of your own invention, that he wasn’t trying to steal your best friend away from you, that taehyun wouldn’t replace you, and that you were being totally, completely childish. Beomgyu always greeted you kindly if he ever saw you on campus alone, he went out of his way to become friends with you too, whenever it was the three of you, he made sure to never exclude you, having this habit of always checking your expression mid conversation to see what you were thinking, and he remembered the smallest things you mentioned only once in passing. He soon wormed his way into your life too. You got it. You guess you liked this choi beomgyu guy as well now.
You concluded it wasn’t the case of taehyun being taken away from you, but that there was now one more person who loved taehyun unconditionally just as much as you did. And you definitely wouldn’t hate that person, because taehyun deserves an abundance of love. ‘Sharing is caring’ or whatever shit they say. In short, you got over it. You embraced choi beomgyu in your life too. But there’s still a limit to just how much choi beomgyu doses you can take in one go.
There’s loud banging on your door nine minutes later.
You open it and unsurprisingly, it’s beomgyu, a little breathless from the flight of stairs he had to go up, hair windswept and cheeks and nose slightly tinted pink from the cold, but he's clearly very excited. He breezes past you and throws his dirty backpack onto your desk, which you had just sanitised, and immediately starts pulling objects out of it, a tripod, a small camera, a ring light. Then, he pulls something else out of his bag with dramatic flair, some kind of obnoxious, glittery, pink box, holding it up proudly in front of you.
“Ouija board.” Beomgyu grins, breathing still heavy, wiggling his eyebrows.
Your gaze travels from the box to his face and back again. “And where’d you get that from?”
“I was at that shop on Croft Street.” He’s entirely pleased with himself.
You furrow your brows, trying to place what he’s talking about in your head, and then you nod. “Ohh,” you think you can picture it now, “the vintage antique place?”
Beomgyu hesitates for the tiniest second, rubbing at the back of his neck, gaze flicking away just briefly. “Erm, no. The one next to it.”
“There’s only the…-Wait, the sex shop??” Your voice jumps an octave. “What? I thought it closed down.”
Beomgyu shrugs, trying to maintain his facade of confidence. “Well anyway, the lady, she gave it to me free with my purchase! Isn’t that so nice?”
“You bought something from there?”
He tilts his chin up in defence and puffs out his chest, expression shifting into a look of totally exaggerated dignity and defensiveness. “I can if I want to. I’m an adult. None of your business.”
Alright, fair. You shrug. “Why the hell would they be giving out ouija boards though? And why would you take it?”
“Beats me. But what’s free is free! Look how cool it looks!” He shoves it more into your face, beaming, waiting for you to agree too.
To be honest, nothing beomgyu does can surprise you that much anymore.
You let out the biggest, melancholic sigh. “I miss taehyun.”
“So do I. At least he’d be giving me way better reactions than you are right now.” Beomgyu points a brow at you, disappointed with your lack of enthusiasm, but then his grin creeps back. “Anyway, this is going to be such a good video for my channel.”
Yes, his channel. A new interest of beomgyu’s, his most recent endeavour. He was now an aspiring youtuber. He'd already gained ten thousand subscribers actually, which he mentions a lot, but it was pretty impressive. People thought he was handsome, apparently, he also mentions that a lot. His goal though has been to get more followers and take the crown of the campus youtuber which currently resided to some other choi. Yeonjun, is his name you think.
Truthfully, beomgyu is pretty good at making entertaining content, you've watched a few (all of them. You wouldn't tell him that though.) he was naturally so very hilarious and quick witted, you wondered how he managed to come up with such funny things to say at the right moment unscripted.
“What’s that gonna be?” You already had an inkling, you just wanted to hear it from his dumb mouth.
He’s pulling out his camera, setting it on the tripod and adjusting its height. “I’m holding a seance in your room. Okay the title,” he turns around to you, continuing excitedly with his hands in the air like he was presenting the headline right there. “We Contacted a Real Ghost in the Most HAUNTED Uni Accommodation Building. NOT clickbait. What d’you think?”
“It’s not actually haunted.” You snort.
“Didn’t some guy die like, years ago?” Beomgyu counters, “some fratboy going up the stairs drunk, slipped, and fell all the way down. Dead. That’s why everyone’s always scared to take the stairs after a night out.”
That is how the story goes. You’re pretty sure it’s fake. An urban legend recycled every year by the first years to scare each other. There’s no real news or evidence for it. “Yeah, but those are just rumours though.”
“Well, we’ll find out for sure today.” Beomgyu declares. “Now, do you have any candles?”
Both of you now sit cross-legged on your carpet floor with a circle of all the candles you own, the strong scents of all of them, mixing together and making your room have a strange amalgamation of smells that doesn’t really go well, the glittery pink ouija board placed in the middle of it and your room dimly lit, lights off, curtains drawn too for the aesthetic.
Beomgyu approves, satisfied and picks up the camera, shoving it into both of your faces. “Okay, make your most scared face. It’s for the thumbnail.” You comply, both of you making theatrical frightened faces, beomgyu fully committed to it, his features entirely contorting and making such a silly face like he was crying, which you can’t help but giggle at a little.
He mounts the camera back onto the tripod, adjusting the lens with careful precision and then checks himself out, running a hand through his hair, content with how he looks. “Let us begin.” Beomgyu says in a weird, deep voice. He deviously smirks and presses play.
“Hey guys!” Beomgyu starts, switching into that slightly agitating content creator voice, his demeanour shifting. “Today we are investigating a real haunted university accommodation building! The legend goes that a student was walking up the stairs drunk after partying, slipped, fell all the way down and unfortunately died. Now they haunt the stairwell and all the students ever since…Today we’re here with one of the victims who has to endure all these hauntings on a daily basis. Tell me, how often is it that you hear strange noises and sounds? See figures?”
“Oh, uh, never.” You reply, staring blankly.
Beomgyu sighs exasperatedly at you, shoulders sagging, whispering. “You can’t just say that. This is content. Make some shit up!”
“Right, sorry.” You try again, clearing your throat and straightening your posture. “All the time. I’m so terrified.” You say gravely into the camera with widened eyes. “I can never fall asleep. I can hear their footsteps and breathing outside my door every single night.” You lean closer to the camera with a crazed face.
“oohh that’s good,” beomgyu says, delighted by your performance, clapping. “You’re actually a better actor than taehyun.” Beomgyu slowly pans the camera across your room. “Guys, just look at this place,” he whispers, “This room is definitely haunted. Look how old and musty it is. Woahh.”
You narrow your eyes at him, crossing your arms. “It’s not musty…” You mutter bitterly, taking offence. You just spent a long while trying to clean it too.
After beomgyu is done with his talking and grand introduction, briefly reading the rules it came with before tossing it away carelessly, you both stare at the ouija board, placing both your fingers on the planchette.
“If we get possessed, make sure to like and subscribe! Oh, and comment down below right now in five, four, three, two, one!” Beomgyu then turns to face you. “I’ve never used an ouija board before. Have you?”
You shake your head. “No.”
“Remember when it was trending back in the day? My mum never let me. I missed out big time.” he says faux solemnly, shaking his head, “but I’m reclaiming what was denied to me,” You have no idea what he’s going on about. “Okay,” he begins theatrically. “Spirits of this building. If you are here, please give us a sign.”
For a moment, nothing happens. You tilt your head despite yourself, trying to listen out, if you can hear anything abnormal, anything out of the blue.
“Is anyone here with us?” Beomgyu asks hopefully.
More silence. It stretches for long enough. The planchette remains perfectly still and the red recording light from the camera is still naively blinking like it was hoping to catch something too. You raise a brow unimpressed, but knowing this would obviously happen. You feel ridiculous, this whole thing is. You sigh, ready to give up already, not sure why you agreed in the first place-
But then, you feel a force, moving the planchette, dragging it beneath your fingers. Beomgyu gasps. As do you. The small triangular piece glides and stops over two simple letters.
H
I
Beomgyu’s jaw drops. “Oh my god! Guys, there’s someone with us! Hello! Thank you for joining us. Who are we speaking to?” The planchette moves again, dragging both your fingers along with it.
C
H
A
D
It spells out. You blink. Beomgyu blinks.
“Chad…” beomgyu says slowly. “Woah. Nice to meet you, chad.”
“How did you pass away?” You ask, sceptical, furrowing your brows and leaning forwards to the board.
S
T
A
I
R
S
Beomgyu slaps a hand to his mouth. “Holy shit, guys! It’s true. This is chad the fratboy! He really did slip and fall going up the stairs oh my god! This is crazy! We’re speaking to a fratboy ghost!” Beomgyu’s eyes sparkle with excitement, looking into the camera.
It slides once again, something else supposedly pushing the planchette.
U
2
S
I
N
G
L
E
?
You stare at him flatly, warning, “Beomgyu.”
“What? I’m not doing it.” Beomgyu then laughs awkwardly. “That’s a pretty weird thing to ask, chad. Haha…”
No, it’s obviously beomgyu doing this for the views. You narrow your eyes at him suspiciously, untrusting, but he’s looking down at the board with those pure glittering eyes of his with genuine fascination and awe. It’s not the first time you’ve assumed the worst of him when he’s been anything but. Still, maybe he’s just a good actor.
Chad, the ‘ghost’ tugs the triangular piece and moves across letters for another time.
I
M
H
O
R
N
Y
…
You pull your hands back immediately with a scoff, getting up from the floor in sheer disgust. “That’s it. You’re absolutely moving it.” This whole thing was ridiculous. You don’t know why you almost even believed it for a split second. Damn that boy with his sparkly eyes that almost fooled you.
“I swear it’s not me!”
“It’s literally you.” You grab a pillow from your bed, throwing it at beomgyu. He’s definitely messing with you.
He collapses onto the floor, cackling, throwing the pillow back at you. “Why the hell would I deliberately move it to ‘I’m horny’ ?”
“I don’t know. Maybe because you’re a very strange, very weird person?”
All of your candle flames in the circle suddenly flicker violently, causing both of you to snap your head back and look at the scene of the abandoned seance. The planchette begins to move, but on its own, erratically.
I
D
I
O
T
S
It feels as though there’s an immediate gust of chilling, cold wind in your room, but your window is firmly closed shut. The candles go all out, vanishing. It is all pitch black.
You scramble blindly for your light switch near you, flipping it on, the sudden flood of brightness stinging your eyes but relieving. You tremble, genuinely frightened and creeped out by whatever just happened.
Beomgyu swallows slowly. “….okay see?” He raises his hands in surrender. “It was not me.”
You reach over and flip the board upside down, absolutely done with it. “Seance over. Goodbye, chad.”
“That was…so sick!” Beomgyu blurts out, eyes wide. “I can’t believe we got that on video!”
You bite your nails, unsure what to do, freaking out, trying to process. That was weird. Super weird. Beomgyu, in comparison, seems pretty fine about it, just shocked and very thrilled at the prospect of catching a real ghost on camera, probably thinking that he’s definitely going to go viral with this.
The ghost didn’t seem that particularly threatening, it was just a fratboy, and some ghosts don’t have to be evil. But still, you’re pretty spooked out. Even more so since you’ve never believed in the supernatural. It never made sense to you, no actual proof, no logic to it. But you’d just seen that board move by itself with your own eyes. And even though you’ve never believed in it, you still never loved the horror genre, never a fan. You remember the first time you ever watched a horror film with taehyun at the age of ten. Both of you were scared shitless, deciding to sleep together with the lights on all night in the same bed because neither of you wanted to be alone. And you didn’t really want to be alone in your room now, knowing there was some spirit floating around in your building. You don’t think you’d be able to sleep at all. There’s no taehyun. But asking beomgyu to stay would be too humiliating for you.
It seems beomgyu notices your expression though, studying and checking you carefully. That attentive, perceptive, annoying habit of his where he can tell what somebody is thinking. He softens at the sight of you. “You know,” beomgyu says slowly, thoughtfully, “I’m…pretty creeped out right now.”
You look at him, surprised. “You are?”
“Totally.” Beomgyu scratches his head. “So uh…is it alright if I stay the night with you? I don’t really wanna go back by myself.”
“Yeah,” You nod instantly, without question, alleviated, the reply coming out of your mouth far too quickly. You clear your throat, trying to salvage some kind of dignity, “I have an air mattress.”
Beomgyu presses his lips together, trying not to smile. You really are so similar to taehyun in certain ways.
You lie in bed, flat on your back, restless, looking up towards the ceiling, still scared and paranoid.
Beomgyu is lying on the air mattress that you had inflated. It’s been three hours now. You still can’t sleep. You’re grateful that beomgyu is in the same room as you but you can’t see him at all since he’s below you, your bed frame raised higher. You still feel slightly alone. You kind of want him on the same bed as you. It would be a lot more comforting. But, you definitely cannot ask that.
An hour passes of you contemplating whether to ask beomgyu but it’s way too embarrassing.
Another half an hour passes by painfully slow, still not being able to sleep and thinking whether you should just ask beomgyu. You huff. You’ll just have to do it. Nobody else is going to do it for you. You cannot continue lying here all night having an internal debate with yourself, you think you might go crazy. You’ll just have to swallow your pride and simply say something.
“Beomgyu.” You call out lowly.
There’s a faint shift from the floor. “Hm?” You hear his response coming down from below, his voice deep.
“Are you awake?”
“I wouldn’t have replied if I was asleep now, would I?”
You roll your eyes even in the dark. “Shut up.”
Beomgyu quietly chuckles. “What do you want?”
You brace yourself. You hate this. “Will you…will you…sleep on the bed with me?” Ew. You recoil and immediately consider wrapping yourself in your blanket and throwing yourself out the window.
There’s a pause. Then rustling as beomgyu gets up. “Okay.”
Surprisingly, he doesn’t make fun of you. But, it’s not like your scared behaviour is unreasonable. The ghost was real. Not the most intimidating, a weird one named Chad, but still. It was creepy. Especially since you had never believed in them before.
Beomgyu just quietly lifts the covers up and lays beside you once you scoot towards the edge near the wall, making space for him. Your bed isn’t the biggest, so his shoulders bump gently against yours. You feel his warm presence and body immediately, feeling better and less jumpy.
“Thanks,” you mumble, a little sheepishly.
Beomgyu shifts slightly beside you, getting comfortable under the covers. “It’s alright,” he whispers gently.
You manage to get the littlest of sleep, a sliver of sleep, but at least it was something. You wake up in the morning to the faint sound of your bathroom door opening and closing, beomgyu had just gone in, space beside you empty, you feel the absence of his body on your mattress instantly. It’s colder.
You yawn and stretch your limbs from how cramped you were last night, but you immediately sense something strange. You feel some kind of weird…weight between your legs. It must be something from your shelf that fell off onto your bed and made its way under your covers, or something. You reach down, grabbing to pick it up, but it doesn’t move. It’s attached to you almost. You’re still tired and drowsy, eyes still bleary. You don’t know what the hell is going on and why this weird feeling object won’t move. You sit up, still confused. You try to pull it again, harder. It’s somehow attached to your skin? With a frown and a growing sense of unease, you move the covers off you and lift the waistband of your pyjama bottoms. You think you see something.
WHAT
THE
HOLY FUCK?!
You scream out in pure terror at what you see. At the exact same time, beomgyu screams from the bathroom, high pitched and shrill-like. The both of you screaming simultaneously for a very, very prolonged time.
This isn’t real. This can’t be real. You’re definitely still dreaming. This is not real. It can’t be. There’s no way in hell this is real. It’s impossible!
Beomgyu slams the bathroom door open with a bang, running out. His face is pale, disbelieving, mortified. “MY DICK. IT’S…I-IT’S GONE!” He looks like he’s seen a ghost, but that was yesterday and this is far worse somehow.
“I HAVE A DICK!”
You stare at each other dumbfounded, eyes wide and mouths dropping to the floor.
“WHAT?!” Both of you say at the same time again.
“I woke up with a penis!” You tell him, gesturing downwards, seeing if any of this exchange of information would help and make this make sense.
“I went to go piss and…a-and there was nothing there! I-i I have a-a vagina!” Beomgyu’s voice cracks, he looks like he’s about to weep.
“Right.” You rub your temples, trying to digest any of this, inhaling deeply, seeing you had to step in as the calm one, “Okay. Okay. We have to think about this…logically.”
Beomgyu gapes at you like you’ve lost your mind, “there’s NOTHING logical about this! At all!” He lets out an anguished cry.
You pace around your room, trying to think hard. “What did we do? What have we done that’s different?”
“The ouija board…”
Oh, right. That is really the only thing both of you have done that is different. And if ghosts existed now, you’re not that surprised if any of this can happen too. This has to be connected to it. “Do you think Chad cursed us or some shit?”
Beomgyu also frowns, deep in thought with a pout. “Nah, it can’t be. Why would he do that to us? He seemed nice.”
“He called us idiots.”
“As a term of endearment!” Beomgyu defends passionately for some reason. “I really don’t think we did anything to anger him. Maybe because I got it from a sex shop, it’s like a sex ouija board. It’s...freaky? Freaky…magic? Maybe it’s not actually chad. Chad seemed pretty nice. Just a horny guy. But hey, he hasn’t been able to have sex in years.”
You groan and flop back onto your bed in a crisis. “Shit, man. What should we do?”
Beomgyu ignores you. He’s too busy clasping both his hands together, eyes shut and whispering hysterically near your window. “I have a dick I have a dick I have my dick back I have a dick. I have my dick back I have my dick back I have a dickihaveadickihave a dickihave a dick.”
You sit up slightly to watch him, eyebrow raised. “What the fuck are you doing?”
He shoots you a glare, “I’m manifesting my precious organ back,” then he returns back to his desperate affirmations, repeating the words so intensely like a mad man.
“I don’t think that’s how it works.”
“I say we call taehyun.” Beomgyu suggests, crazed, turning around to your already defeated form, laying spread out on the bed.
“Uh, why?” That sounds like a terrible idea.
He shrugs. “He’s good at magic tricks and all that magic shit. He’ll know what to do.”
“WHAT the fuck, no. He’s not going to know. I’m not asking him. He wouldn’t even know. We are not telling him any of this.”
“He might!”
You give beomgyu an incredulous look. “He does card tricks, bro. That shit’s not going to help.”
You knit your brows and grab your phone, frantically typing into the search bar different variations of your situation. Seeing it written out is beyond absurd and unsurprisingly, no matter how many ways you try to word it, there’s just nothing there. There’s no explanation and this has never happened to anyone else online ever.
From time to time you glance down at it, checking to see if it is still really there and not just both you and beomgyu experiencing some mass hallucination. It is always still there. Your anatomy is still switched.
Beomgyu also taught you how to piss standing up in the meantime, which was a lot harder than it looks to be honest.
The two of you sit on your bed in stunned silence in the aftermath of the discovery and shock, staring off, lost in doomed thought. Because, genuinely what were you supposed to do? What if this is permanent?
“Here.” You snap out of it, refusing to spiral, reaching into your drawer and pulling out one of your lacy, pink frilly panties, handing it to beomgyu.
Beomgyu raises a brow at you, staring at them like they’re going to blow up in his face.
You roll your eyes. “Oh my god, just take them. They’ll be more comfortable.”
He slowly reaches out and hesitantly takes them. Beomgyu’s entire face heats up, turning the colour of a ripe tomato, it’s almost impressive how quickly it happens. He clears his throat. “Do you want my boxers?”
You glance down at him and then back up. “The one’s you’re wearing?”
He nods.
You gag. “Eugh. No, that’s disgusting.”
“What? Why not?”
“Because you’re wearing them!”
He opens his mouth to argue but stops and sighs. “Ugh. Fine, i’ll get you new ones…”
Beomgyu rushes back to his place, running out with his hands covering in between his legs as if anyone would notice and quickly gets some boxers for you, returning swiftly. They’re much more comfortable and they fit better for your new organ at least, but were you supposed to just accept this now? No, you’re just adapting. You’ve always been an adaptable person. You just have to adapt to this situation for now, yes. It’s the best way to react.
Beomgyu comes back from using the bathroom, cheeks dusted pink. “Peeing is still super weird…” he mumbles.
He pulls up his jeans, tugging and wriggling them into place with a small frown, but from the way your underwear is resting on his hips, they’re still so visible, the lacey fabric being seen.
You get distracted by the sight. The way the soft pink fabric sits against his hips, delicate and out of place against his usual style. It does something weird to you. A flicker of something passes through your mind, uninviting, you sharply look away, swallowing. But, you form some kind of sick idea, gears turning in your brain. It’s not a good idea, you know it isn’t.
“Okay, I’m going to be honest. And you need to hear me out…” You start slowly, testing, cautious.
“What?” Beomgyu asks, curious, but very suspicious.
You shift awkwardly on the bed, trying to think of a way to say this out loud that sounds less insane than it currently does in your head.
You take a breath, hesitating. “I think…”
Beomgyu watches you with narrowed eyes, waiting for you to continue saying whatever it is you have to say, “Go on.”
“…We should fuck.”
There is a long silence where he just stares at you blankly as if he didn’t quite hear you right, then his face twists into absolute bafflement.
“Excuse me?! Are you mental?!” Beomgyu squawks.
You hold your hands up in defence at his reaction. “Not because I want to!”
His eyes widen. “That’s not much of a reassuring clarification!”
“I-i mean-not that I don’t want to—!”
“WHAT?”
Fuck. You grasp at straws, trying to defend yourself. It made sense in your head! “Maybe it will be reversed like that! You said it yourself, maybe this is like…freaky magic!”
“What if it makes it permanent?!” Beomgyu shoots back instantly, making a horrified expression at the thought.
You pause. It’s not a possibility you had considered. Your eyes flicker around your room in thought, falling down to the pink glittery board still on your carpet floor. “Wait, we can ask chad! He has to know something.”
You pull out the ouija board and the two of you impatiently set up everything for it, sitting crosslegged once again. You place both your fingers onto the planchette and ask for the frat ghost once more.
“Are you with us, chad?” Beomgyu asks.
There’s a few minutes of silence, finally, he appears.
Y
E
S
You exhale slowly through your nose. “Did you curse us, chad?”
N
A
H
“Then who did?” You turn to beomgyu’s face with an exasperated sigh. “Do you know how to reverse it?” The planchette drags slowly across the board, almost playfully if that were possible.
M
A
Y
B
E
It’s not entirely an answer. You and beomgyu exchange an irritated look, trying not lose your temper over this dead frat boy. “If we…” you clear your throat awkwardly, “fuck, could we possibly go back to normal?” It moves immediately over the letters this time, almost enthusiastically.
Y
E
S
You take your fingers off with resignation. “There’s our answer…”
The planchette suddenly starts moving on its own again, something chad clearly likes doing. Both of you flinch.
F
U
C
K
“Oh my god…I hate this chad guy.” You mutter.
Beomgyu folds his arms across his chest with a grimace. “I’m beginning to hate him too now.”
You fold the board up and shove it into one of your drawers on your desk, wanting it out of your sight. The room falls uncomfortably quiet and heavy. Beomgyu does not make eye contact with you as he fiddles with the sleeve of his hoodie. You can tell he’s thinking about it though and you’re thinking about it more too. You bite your nails, turning to look at beomgyu, at the soft pink sitting across his cheeks, at the strips of lace still visible above the waistband of his jeans, resting high over his hips. Honestly, you are curious. And apparently it will work if you both do it so…it’s worth a try. There’s nothing else you can do. This seems logical to you, or as logical as it can get in this situation.
“I’ve lowkey always wondered what it would be like to have a dick.” You cut through the silence.
Beomgyu finally looks up at you, scandalised.
“What? I have.” You shrug. “Come on,” you continue, sitting up straighter. “You’ve never been curious to what it feels like? What sex feels like from the other side?”
He looks deeply conflicted. “This is the weirdest shit…” beomgyu murmurs.
“Well, yes, but no one has ever had this opportunity before.”
Beomgyu chews the inside of his cheek as he contemplates. You leave him to it. Because, whilst you are sort of strangely game to this, you know beomgyu is not. It’s his call.
You wait for a while to see what beomgyu will decide as he still chews the inside of his cheek, staring down at his lap. Then finally, he gives a tiny, nervous nod. “Fuck it. Let’s just do it. Let’s have sex,” he’s looking at you now with a strange mix of embarrassment and determination.
“Okay,” you reply, exhaling a breath you didn’t realise you were holding. You sit up a bit straighter, like that might make you seem more composed than you feel. “Okay.”
Beomgyu nods again, slower this time. “Okay,” he echoes, though it sounds less confident.
“Maybe we should…kiss?” You suggest, wincing almost.
“Why?”
“To…get us going?” you offer, even less certain now, your voice trailing slightly at the end. You clear your throat.
“Oh, uh, okay.”
“Okay.”
The two of you move onto the bed awkwardly, sitting opposite one another on top of the duvet. And suddenly everything feels much stranger and worse. Because it was one thing when it was all hypothetical, but now, actually sitting here, knees nearly touching, looking at each other like this and so close, is different. You don’t think either of you have ever really looked at each other like this before. You’ve never looked at beomgyu this up close and so intimately before, close enough to see the pretty mole near his mouth and another on his cheek. The pair of you sit there for a few seconds in unbearable silence doing absolutely nothing, both of you too scared to actually start anything.
You eventually make a move first, mostly because if you do not, you think the two of you might actually stay frozen here forever. Your hand lifts awkwardly to his heated cheek, fingers brushing lightly against his skin. Beomgyu goes very still. You stare down at his lips and he does the same, nervously wetting them and then swallowing.
Awkwardly, hesitantly, you press your lips with his, brief, testing. Your lips barely brush before both of you pull back a little too quickly, recoiling. You try to kiss again before you can overthink it. It is so awkward, obviously, in the way that comes with clearly crossing a line between the both of you. But his lips are soft, very soft, perfectly soft. Yet, it’s not that surprising, they’d always seemed like it whenever you’d watched beomgyu’s lips move in a pout when he talked passionately or argued back about something, fascinated by it. His lips had an annoyingly pretty shape to them.
Gradually, some of the awkwardness thins out, dissolving and melting somewhere between some kisses and the next kisses. Until you’re not really thinking about it anymore, starting to get a little lost in beomgyu’s soft lips, your mouth caught between kissing his plush bottom lip, deeper, becoming much easier. Now, you’re making out with Choi beomgyu. Making out with your best friend’s other best friend. Never would you have thought this would happen, but maybe kissing beomgyu wasn’t the weirdest thing right now. Seriously, how did the most unlikely events manage to happen to you in the span of less than twenty four hours?
It’s getting to the both of you now, all the messy kissing, your faces tilting and moving in opposite directions continuously as you move your lips against each other, both of you kiss-drugged. It’s certainly getting you worked up, increasingly harder to think through, more fervent, your hands are in his hair, beomgyu is pulling you in closer by the back of your neck, then his hands go to your waist, gripping. You can feel the warmth of his breath between every kiss and the way he exhales shakily whenever you kiss him with more intensity. Making out with beomgyu is surprisingly very, very pleasant.
And when your mouth drifts from his lips, down to his jaw, brushing softly against the side of his neck, you feel him shiver. You start kissing his neck instead, sucking, leaving sloppy open mouthed kisses, beomgyu tips his head back, very into it, all of it going to his pretty little head, letting out little whimpers as you suck more and more, kissing the same sensitive spots on his pretty neck over and over.
His fogged up brain allows you to unbutton his jeans, unzipping them and letting you put your hand down them, slightly, slowly rubbing at his pussy through the lace underwear he's wearing, still focused on completely attacking his neck too. The effect is immediate, beomgyu positively squirms and lets out a shy little noise, grabbing to hold onto you more, hiding his face in your shoulder as he continues to whimper shakily the more you rub his folds through the panties. It doesn't take long at all until you can feel the material completely soaked, even catching on your fingers.
You pull away to tug beomgyu's jeans completely off him, leaving him only in your pink panties and his grey hoodie. The second he realises how exposed he is, he shuts his legs closed, his entire face completely red, his neck and ears too.
"Are you gonna let me see? Please?" You ask and tilt your head, cooing softly at how embarrassed beomgyu is. "I'm sure it's pretty." That doesn't really help, beomgyu just lets out an annoyed whine at you and his face somehow becomes even more red.
You place your hands onto his milky, smooth thighs instead, moving back and forth over them. "Come onn, gyu. I'll play with your pussy right. I’m the one who’ll know better. Don't you wanna know what it feels like? Your vagina needs me. She's drenched. She wants me." You can't help but burst out laughing.
"Oh, shut up.” Beomgyu rolls his eyes despite how embarrassed he is, voice going all high and whiny, playfully kicking you away. But after a moment, he quietly speaks up, “f-fine…touch me.” He brings his hands to his face to hide.
“You’re okay with it?”
Beomgyu nods slowly, still hiding his face. “Feels like I-i need it, need something…” he mumbles quietly, confused. It’s so cute.
“Okay,” you gently part beomgyu’s legs, he covers his face even more in his hands at this, slightly closing his legs on instinct but you push them wider. And you’re right, he’s completely soaked your panties, they’re so wet that you can see the outline of his folds through them, they’re basically transparent now.
You suck a breath at the sight, desperate to see fully. You push the cloth to the side, beomgyu’s newly attained pussy on display and you’re almost in awe, because it’s the prettiest thing you’ve ever seen, with delicate folds and a small clit peeking out from under it’s hood. It’s glistening, almost shining with slick too. You can’t take your eyes off beomgyu’s pussy. You swallow hard, mouth watering like you’ve just stepped into a forest clearing with a beautiful, sparkling, waterfall before you. It’s so pretty just like the rest of him.
“So perfect…” You gently trace his pussy lips with your fingers, grazing the entrance and then circling his clit but not touching it directly. Beomgyu takes in a breath, trembling at the light touching, horrified with shame, trying and failing not to react so strongly. He feels a throb inside, at the bottom of his tummy, some kind of itch he knows he himself can’t scratch, he feels this overwhelming kind of feeling, needing it to be taken care of. He peeks just to look a little at you through his fingers, stomach heaving erratically, his body reacting so needily.
You watch him as he does this. “Are you going to keep hiding?”
“It’s embarrassing.” Beomgyu groans dramatically and drops his head back against the wall behind him.
“It’s not that embarrassing. You’re not the only one with your sex swapped here. Take your hands away.” He does actually take them away from his face with a grumble, unsure what to do with his hands now, keeping them balled up on the mattress.
You tug the panties off him. As much as they do look good on him, they were irritating you now. You wanted to see more of him, all of him. Once they’re finally off, you trace gently once more and beomgyu exasperatedly sighs.
“Do something more!” Beomgyu complains, bucking his pelvis into your hand, whining.
“Chill, dude. I’m just trying to get you used to the feeling of having a vagina. It could be too much.”
“Well, I’m used to it now.” Beomgyu snaps back.
You sneer at him, mouth twitching but slightly amused by how he can talk back even with how embarrassed he seems. “Tch, you’re annoying as hell.”
“So are you.”
“I’m just helping you.”
“Helping me? We need to fuck to be normal again! It’s not like I want this.”
“I don’t know, kinda seems like you want it.”
“I-i don’t.”
You raise a brow. “Your pussy says different.” You lightly give it a slap and then rub the folds soothingly. Beomgyu yelps, wide eyed, shuddering, but it’s clear it arouses him. You see his hole clenching and unclenching at that.
You can’t help but grin a little. Mangled, startled mewls slipping out from beomgyu as you continue to lightly slap at his wet pussy over and over again until his clit is fully throbbing and his folds are so puffy and pink. He looks absolutely wrecked already, despite how little you have actually done. His cheeks are flushed a deep pink, chest rising and falling in uneven little breaths beneath the oversized hoodie, slipping off one shoulder and exposing the tank top he’s wearing underneath.
“Please. Need something in it. Please.” Beomgyu gasps, a singular tear falling slowly, elegantly down one of his cheeks. Maybe you are being a bit too harsh with the teasing. With your thumb, you brush the tear away looking up at beomgyu’s teary, simmering, gorgeous doe brown eyes, some of his lashes clumped with unshed tears. You feel almost sorry.
“Aww, sorry. Just can’t help but play with the pretty doll.”
“Y/nnnn.” Beomgyu whines out heavily at you, pleadingly, brows scrunching up frustratedly. So finally, you bring the pads of your fingers to circle his hole, dipping one finger slowly into him, moving the littlest in and out. Beomgyu lets out a soft whimper and when you’re bored of just one, you add a second finger inside him. It slides easily in with an audible squelch, beomgyu winces, embarrassed at sounds he didn’t think his body would produce. You carry on pumping your fingers in at a pleasant pace, watching beomgyu’s reactions intently, loving how sensitive and reactive and new he is to all of this. It’s a lot for him already. But you’re also curious to taste his magical pussy. So bad.
“Why’d you do that—ahhhh!”
You remove your fingers completely out of him in one go, grabbing under his thighs and shoving your face into him instead, taking in the scent of his sweet, magical pussy and then sticking your tongue flat out, licking a sudden stripe on his slit, lapping at the stickiness. It’s like honey. Beomgyu tastes so good, you want to eat and eat and lick until you physically can’t, until your teeth rots from how sweet and yummy and addictive he tastes.
You tongue fuck him too, twisting, trying to reach deep. Every time your tongue drags over him, his body jerks. You decide to pay attention to beomgyu’s currently neglected clit, flicking your tongue over and over rabidly. Beomgyu nearly jumps out of his skin at this, not anticipating the raw nerves there and it is so intense, more than anything he’s ever experienced.
You decide to wrap your entire lips around the bundle of nerves instead, harshly sucking until they’re even more swollen.
“O-oh my godd- !” Beomgyu cries, flustered, taking a sharp intake of breath, screwing his eyes shut at the overwhelming sensation, his hands immediately flying to cover his face yet again. You bring the two sticky fingers back, stuffing them back into beomgyu’s cunt, pistoning them in and out and continuing to suck on beomgyu’s overly sensitive clit. His full lips are parted in an ‘o’ shape, mouth agape, prettiest choked up cries coming out of them, brows knitted together, head reeling back as well as his eyes. Beomgyu is sopping, you feel the new wave of slick every single time you push your fingers back in him. Every slight curl of your fingers making his thighs twitch. You also start a scissoring motion with the two fingers inside, spreading him open, making him squirm so much, he doesn’t know what to do with himself. There’s something almost helpless about him now.
Beomgyu shifts restlessly against the bed, shaking, clearly trying to deal with the strange, feeling building inside him. “I-I I think I’m gonna come!” You’re obsessed. You drag beomgyu down even more to eat him out at a closer, better angle, feasting on his pretty cunt, hungrily, mouth, tongue moving frantically, making your own muffled groans against his flesh that no doubt send vibrations through his already overwhelmed body, going out of his mind with need.
Beomgyu falls apart easily with a strangled cry, tears spilling over his red apple cheeks, fighting against your hold. His hips buck so much into your face as he orgasms, you think he nearly breaks your nose, but you don’t care, his legs trembling and clenching at the sides of your face, a slush of juices gushing and flooding out of his already drenched cunt. You’re genuinely mesmerised by it all, lapping all the juices up, slurping it all clean.
“T-too muchh!” Beomgyu shakes at the overstimulation, squealing and whining slightly painfully. Reluctantly, you pull your face out from in between his legs.
The sheer intensity of it leaves beomgyu breathless and in shock, utterly undone as he pants, and pants in a daze, red in the face, having never felt like that before. “Jesus fucking christ. People with vaginas have orgasms like this?”
You huff out a quiet laugh. “Yeah lol. Why? It’s much more different?”
Beomgyu nods, still panting, trying to breathe regularly. “Uh huh.”
You push your soaked fingers out of his cunt, tapping them together to watch the thick strings connect like webs.
You bring them to beomgyu’s pretty mouth. “Wanna taste your pretty pussy?” Beomgyu does so without a fight, wrapping his swollen, plump, glossed and round lips to them, sucking your fingers dry, looking up at you with those pure sparkling eyes through his doll-like lashes, fluttering his eyelids like a slut. You don’t know if it’s purposeful.
It’s only now you notice the rush of blood to your dick. You’re hard as hell, you were too focused on beomgyu to think of anything else. But it feels even heavier, aching, straining. You need to fuck him so bad.
“Can we fuck?” You ask him.
“A-alright.” Beomgyu gulps, adam’s apple bobbing in his throat.
You rid yourself of your own clothes, taking ahold of your length in your hands, bringing yourself closer to beomgyu’s body. You close your eyes and inhale and exhale a number of times, trying to calm yourself, firstly, slapping the length lightly on his folds. Beomgyu seems to be in the same predicament, trying to calm himself down too, he’s staring down at the scene carefully, feeling his face heat up, cheeks burning.
You start to rub your cock on beomgyu’s cunt, rubbing the slitted tip from his entrance and up to his clit, focused more on the friction with the head and clit together. The tip now stuck with strings of beomgyu’s sweet slick, is much more sensitive than the rest of it and you shiver at the feeling, both you and beomgyu gasping at them rubbing and sliding slippery against each other.
“Okay…I’m gonna put it in. Is that okay?” You brace yourself, mentally preparing for it. Suddenly, you’re reminded that this is actually a one of a kind, very awkward situation to be in.
Beomgyu nods, bottom lip caught between his teeth, he’s bracing himself too. “Yeah, okay.”
Slowly, you bring the head of the cock to his wet, eager hole, pushing it in, stretching out the delicate ring of skin at the entrance until it pops completely in with a small, moist, squelching noise, both of you gutturally groaning out. You wait a little until attempting to push in the rest of the girth inside, inch by inch, watching his face attentively as you carefully ease the rest in. You stop once you do this, allowing him and you to get used to it.
“You okay?” You brush the strands of messy hair away from beomgyu’s eyes.
Beomgyu is stuffed. He nods, blushing so hard and face flushed so much he practically looks feverish, whole face somehow going even redder, which just shouldn’t be physically possible at this point at all.
It’s so warm and soft and slippery, the length being fully tucked inside.
“You can move.” Beomgyu breathes out eventually.
So, apprehensively, you begin to test the waters. You pull all the way back out and then sheath it all the way back in the tight but softly delicate space, the searing friction at this causing you to shudder, lips parting at the feeling. “Oh…”
“Fffuu.” Beomgyu dulcetly whimpers too, it’s hard to get used to, stretched out so much, feeling everything side, every ridge of the length.
You begin a pace of leisurely rocking in and out of beomgyu’s cunt, watching the way the pretty pussy swallows your new dick whole, enveloping it each time, the motion of pushing and pulling creating more intense feelings for you.
“You’re taking it so well,” you murmur lowly and strained, trying not to lose yourself in the pleasure of fucking slow into beomgyu’s goopy, gorgeous, spongey pussy.
He’s still quietly whimpering and you can practically see him trying to make sense of what he is feeling until his expression changes as he realises just how good it feels, allowing himself to relax and succumb to it.
It’s a new sensation. Being the one to fuck into rather than fucked into. You try to hit further, deeper inside beomgyu at a different angle, giving an experimental thrust. He instantly moans out loud and pretty to your ears, his toes curling.
“How does it feel, gyu?”
“Weird. I-i feel so full. Feels good.” Beomgyu barely squeaks out. His pouted lips stay parted, the prettiest little sounds spilling out every few seconds with each push in no matter how much he tries to hold them back, spreading his legs thoughtlessly even wider, both of his hands now coming to rest underneath his thighs, holding them apart for you.
“H-how does it feel for you?” Beomgyu looks up at you, curiously, thick eyelashes fluttering every time you move just right, voice trembling.
“Mm. Feels really good too.” You nod, knitting your brows, lips pressed together in concentration, gritting your teeth, fucking into his gummy walls, deeper, harder, staring down where your bodies connect, his ripe pussy just sucking you in, seeing how deep it goes every time, so greedy and hungry, growing more wet and sticky between you both.
You start to move more confidently without realising it, hips snapping into his with sticky sounds that follow. You’re sweating, it’s tiring, but it feels so good. It’s so hard to think about anything else anymore, it’s just alll consuming. You can see it on beomgyu’s pretty little face too, so debauched, glistening with sweat too, mellifluously whining continuously.
“Fuck, y/nn!-ughhhgh!”
You lift one of beomgyu’s legs up by his dainty ankle, holding it straight against you, the new angle allowing you to bury yourself even deeper in his mystical cunt, against his cervix, sickeningly enjoying the way he cries out at this. The position is far more vulnerable for him and beomgyu looks so hot like this, flustered, body jolting and bouncing along with every ram into him, your dick splitting him open. You love it.
Beomgyu is so fucked out, eyes hooded in ecstasy, dumbly drooling, soft long hair messy and splayed, red, sweaty, button nose scrunched up, biting his glossed full lips raw, you can feel the one leg you have up, shaking, like a pretty fawn. He makes another helpless sound.
“Such a—mhmm-pretty girl…” Fucking beomgyu like this is getting to you, your brain is so pussydrunk, you’re just murmuring any shit as you pound beomgyu’s obscenely puffy, glistening pussy. It’s taking everything in you not to cum so soon.
Beomgyu whines with furrowed brows and a tremor. “I’m not a girl!”
“Come on. You already look like a—hahhh-girl, beomgyu. Maybe you should have a pussy all the time, keep you fucked all the time. I wouldn’t mind.” You meanly laugh.
Beomgyu cries, embarrassed, shaking his head, but he’s quite literally moaning out like a girl right now, so incredibly loud and high pitched and airy compared to his usual deep voice.
You grin suspiciously wide at him, and then you grab a hold of his other leg, folding them both over his chest to plow into him even more, your dick carving and curving up inside of him beyond deeper, hitting such a sweet spot for him, tearing a sudden, alarmed moan to rip out from beomgyu’s mouth.
“Look at you…you love this, beomgyu, being fucked and full like a girl. Don’t you?” You cruelly slap his mushy clit raw and red as you fuck him faster, barely holding off your orgasm. You’re not used to how quickly the sensation builds, immediate. You’re not going to last long. You quickly bring your thumb to beomgyu’s clit, rubbing over it fast, knowing it will do it for him. “You love having a pussy, don’t you?”
Beomgyu’s body arches, writhing, hands twisting in the sheets, full on sobbing, pretty tears streaming down his hot face. “I do, I do! Shitshit-ohhmygod!” Beomgyu completely convulses, spasming, eyes rolling to the back of his head, pussy fluttering and clamping down so hard on your cock, long waves of pleasure completely crashing over him as you watch his pussy give out and squirt all over, juices surging, flowing, cascading out of him gorgeously and wondrously. The sight of beomgyu squirting and clenching around you completely does it for you as you moan out too, cursing, giving one last, hard ram into his cunt until you feel yourself go over the edge too, his magical cunt making you cum so hard you genuinely see stars, filling beomgyu’s hole to the brim, overflowing, stuffed with your cum that you can see a white creamy ring around your dick.
You pull out with a shudder, watching the way your cum oozes and gloops out from his sensitive hole, his pussy completely wrecked. You don’t think his hole can give out anymore cum but it still slowly drips out of him like pearly beads, like pretty pearls from clam shells. You’re so entranced. “Holy fuck…”
Beomgyu completely melts into the sheets, drained, exhausted, boneless, dry tear stains on his pink cheeks. He’s looking up at you so dreamily, so content and satisfied from being fucked.
“I think that was like, the most intense orgasm I’ve had in my entire life. What the actual fuck.” Beomgyu states with very laboured breathing.
You can’t help but kiss his soft lips sweetly again and he kisses you back. “You genuinely did so good, beomgyu. I got a bit carried away, sorry.” You sheepishly tell him.
Beomgyu hides his face in his hands again, tips of his cute ears turning red. “It’s okay. I…liked it.” For a moment, both of you just pant, laying on the bed, but then beomgyu speaks up timidly. “If we go back to normal tomorrow, should we…fuck again?”
Your eyebrows raise in surprise, before you’re grinning again. “Hell yeah,” having absolutely not had your fill of his pussy just yet. You figured you may as well if it will all disappear in the morning.
Now, you’re pushing beomgyu’s face into your pillow, his ass up in the air as you spread his pretty pussy apart, watching the way it’s still dripping, you push your thumb a little in the hole, watching it still twitch and clench, still wanting more, so greedy. Beomgyu’s head is tilted, one side of his cheek smooshed into the pillow to look at you from behind eagerly.
“Come onnnn.” He whines out brattily, so impatient, arching his back even more seductively.
You lightly spank his small ass before digging your nails into his hips and slamming your dick inside once more, pounding into his delicious, succulent, messy cunt once again as beomgyu cries out muffled underneath, drooling onto your pillow, rocking his hips like a whore to meet your thrusts, fucking your cum and his juices back in.
You don’t know how long you guys go at it for but you’re ripping multiple, countless orgasms out of beomgyu, pushing his delicate body into different positions like the pretty doll he is, spurting cum multiple times inside his pussy and all over his pretty body, because you may as well, it’s quite a once in a lifetime thing, savouring how it feels to fuck his cunt and every pretty noise that comes out of his mouth, continuing to fuck the daylights out of him.
Both of you wake up in the morning to your genitalia, thankfully, or perhaps unthankfully, indeed, back to normal. Chad the ghost was actually right.
Both of you go back to Croft Street to return the freaky ouija board to the sex shop beomgyu purchased it from, not wanting to deal with anymore paranormal activity, fine with what experience you have. But, when you stand in front of the sex shop with beomgyu, it has in fact, been closed for months now, boarded up and was definitely not open because you found out the owner had died a while back, hence why it was shut down, even though beomgyu swears down they were the one who served him. Neither of you try to think about that.
Instead, you sell it to the vintage antique place next door, someone else can deal with it. You also make sure not to reapply to that accommodation building next year and to go elsewhere. Beomgyu uploads the YouTube video with the salvageable footage he had left and it goes viral. He becomes the number one famous campus youtuber like he wanted and gains many more subscribers. He doesn’t stop talking about it. Not once.
When taehyun finally returns back from his semester abroad, you and beomgyu decide to surprise him at the airport together, running to hug taehyun’s shocked face once he comes out of the arrivals terminal. He’s so touched he nearly cries, but taehyun swears he didn’t even have tears in his eyes.
Now, all three of you are sitting in a cafe at the airport with drinks.
“I watched the video you guys did together. It was super good. It’s a funny skit. Love how you guys managed to make it look so real.” Taehyun says, watching you both.
“Haha! Thanks.” Beomgyu forces a laugh, slurping his milkshake.
“So you guys had some bonding time whilst I was gone then?” Taehyun asks, curiously.
Both you and beomgyu splutter on your straws. Beomgyu starts actually choking so much that you have to hit at his back. “Y-yeah…!” He manages eventually, eyes watering.
You rub at your neck. “You could say that..”
Please actually reblog !!!!!! and leave comments !!!! guys 😭 if you like the fic. It’s really appreciated and so nice tysm !<3🙏💕🌷🌷! It’s incredibly discouraging and disappointing when fics have such little reblogs. At least send an anon in the inbox if you don’t want to rb, don’t just like. Feedback is always appreciated it makes writers want to actually write more :)
A/n: idk how this reads i didnt proof read I wanted to be more creative 😭 it was very interesting and fun to write smut with the reader having a dick since ive never written that before, I’ll admit I had a bit of difficulty trying to write in that pov 😭😭 but it was so fun !! upside down kiss - txt is absolutely the song for this fic 😼😼 I recommend. Babygirl let’s get freaky.
╰┈➤ overview ; "Hey guys," you say cheerfully, leaning into the frame so only your face shows, though the camera dips just enough to capture his twitching dick and torso. "Today I'm trying out different condom flavors to see if they actually taste good! With the help of my boyfriend, of course!"
( ! ) Sub male character (your fav <3) x dom gn! reader , edging , bdsm , condoms , handjob , blowjob , crying and whimpering , teasing , praising , dacryphilia, video
MASTERLIST
( ✎ ) ENGLISH IS NOT MY FIRST LANGUAGE. Had to post this juicy story before it disappears from my brain 💔💔💔 also pls help me find the source of the header, i forgot to save it ;(
You smirk at the camera, the red light blinking steadily as you adjust the angle one last time.
Your boyfriend sits bound to the sturdy wooden chair in the center of the room, his arms pulled back and secured with thick leather straps around his wrists and the chair's arms. His broad chest heaves with anticipation, those defined abs flexing under the soft lighting. His thick cock already twitches against his thigh, half-hard from the thrill of being exposed to your fans. You've got him stripped naked, legs spread and ankles tied to the chair legs, leaving him completely exposed and at your mercy.
"Hey guys," you say cheerfully, leaning into the frame so only your face shows, though the camera dips just enough to capture his twitching dick and torso. "Today I'm trying out different condom flavors to see if they actually taste good! With the help of my boyfriend, of course!" You grin wickedly, glancing over at him. He shifts in the restraints, his cock jumping visibly as your words sink in.
You kneel between his spread thighs, the cool floor pressing against your knees as you reach for the first condom on the tray beside you—a strawberry one. His eyes lock on yours, dark with need, but you just wink and tear the wrapper open.
"Let's start with strawberry," you announce to the camera, holding it up briefly before rolling it down his hardening shaft. The latex stretches tight over his girth, the faint fruity scent hitting the air as you grip the base and give it a slow pump. He groans low, hips bucking slightly against the bonds.
Leaning in, you wrap your lips around the tip, sucking gently at first. Your tongue swirls over the flavored surface, tasting the artificial sweetness mixed with his salty skin beneath. You take him deeper, bobbing your head steadily, hollowing your cheeks to create that tight suction he loves. His cock throbs in your mouth, growing fully rigid as you work him with wet, slurping sounds that the mic picks up perfectly. You hum around him, the vibration making his abs clench and his thighs tense.
"Mmm, good boy," you murmur against his length, pulling back just enough to praise him before diving down again, taking him to the back of your throat. He whimpers softly, the first sign of his building orgasm. You speed up, hand twisting at the base in rhythm with your mouth, feeling him swell and pulse. His breaths come ragged, breaths turning to pants as he nears the edge.
Just as his hips start to thrust weakly against the restraints, you pull off with a pop, strings of saliva connecting your lips to the glistening condom. "Strawberry's sweet, but a bit too fake," you say casually to the camera, licking your lips. "Not bad, though. What do you think, babe?" He whines, cock bobbing untouched, a bead of pre-cum smearing inside the latex. You ignore his pleading eyes and grab the next one—banana.
"Next up, banana," you declare, carefully sliding the strawberry one off and tossing it aside. His shaft glistens with your spit, twitching harder now from the denial. You roll the new condom on, the yellow tint contrasting his veined length, and waste no time sucking him back in.
This time, you go slower, teasing the underside with flicks of your tongue while your hand strokes lazily. He moans louder, head falling back against the chair as you build him up again, lips sealed tight around him.
You praise him between slurps, "Such a strong man, taking this so well for me." His muscles strain against the straps, abs contracting with each denied orgasm.
When he's thrusting up into your mouth, breaths hitching, you pull away once more. "Banana's smoother, almost creamy," you comment, wiping your mouth. "Tastes better than I expected." He lets out a frustrated groan, cock jerking in the air, but you just pat his thigh and move to the grape flavor.
The pattern repeats, each condom a new torment. Grape's tartness coats your tongue as you deepthroat him, gagging slightly for the camera's benefit while he whimpers your name. "You're doing amazing, love," you coo, fingers digging into his hips to hold him still. He gets closer each time, body trembling, but you deny him relentlessly, pulling off right at the brink, offering your tasting notes like it's a casual review.
By the fourth one—mango—his whimpers turn to full cries. Tears well in his eyes as you suck him hard, your hand pumping the base furiously.
"Please," he begs hoarsely, voice breaking. "Need to cum... fuck—please." You hum around him, ignoring the plea, feeling him throb desperately. When you finally release him, his cock slaps against his abs, the condom slick and shiny. "Mango's sweet, a little tangy," you say to the lens, as if he isn't sobbing softly now.
You switch to cherry, rolling it on while he shakes, pre-cum leaking steadily. Your blowjob is merciless this round, throat relaxing to take every inch, nose brushing his groin. He cries out, tears streaming down his flushed cheeks, body arching as much as the bonds allow.
"Let me cum, baby, please— I-I can't..." His voice cracks into sobs, his frame quivering with both overstimulation and denial.
"Look at you, so perfect and ruined for me," you praise softly, even as you pull off again. "Cherry's my favorite so far! bold and juicy." He's full-on sobbing now, chest heaving with ragged breaths, cock twitching violently without touch.
Begging spills from his lips in broken pleas, "Please, please, I'll do anything! just let me cum... hurts so good..."
Finally, you relent, peeling off the cherry condom and discarding it. His bare cock stands rigid, veins bulging, tip flushed dark. "Alright, you've earned it," you say with a grin, both to him and the camera. Wrapping your hand around his slick length, you stroke firmly from base to tip, thumb circling the head on each upstroke. He bucks into your grip, sobs turning to relieved moans as you pump faster, twisting your wrist to hit every sensitive spot.
"Cum for me, good boy," you urge, leaning in to whisper praises against his thigh. "Show everyone how much you need this." His abs tighten, whole body seizing as he cries out one last time. Hot spurts of cum shoot from his cock, coating your hand and splattering his abs in thick ropes. You milk him through it, slowing your strokes until he's spent, whimpering softly in the aftershocks.
"That's all for today, I hope this video helps!" You sit back on your heels, smiling at the camera as his chest rises and falls. "See you guys on part two! Thanks for watching! <3"
His eyes widened "W-wait! there's a next pa—"
The red light blinks off, ending the video.
175 comments:
@user33550336 — this is soooo hot, when will part 2 come out???
↳ @mynameis[name]— soon...
@49to51commented — men whimpering>>>>
@Ieattrashcans — MORE PLSPLSPLSPLSPLSPL
@user4900051 — Can we see his face?
↳ @mynameis[name] — no sorry <3
See more...
MASTERLIST
( ✎ ) guys i actually don't know what condoms tastes like LMAOAOA
male reader, suggestive, slight degradation, age gap, bratty Jabber, blood.
A/n: First time doing anything smutty, enjoy (*≧д≦)
The Raiders weren't supposed to be like this.
When Zodyl himself had let him join, (Name) was surprised. Not because he lacked confidence, he knew his worth, but because his values were always focused on intelligence than fighting. He wasn't good at it, his mind was smart enough to get through any problem.
That's what he told himself, anyway.
He had "backup" in case something went wrong. The "backup" Zodyl assigned him was a different problem.
Jabber, of all people.
(Name) pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaling slowly through his nose. The day barely started and already the younger Raider was following after him like some irritating, annoying stray dog, his grins and comments seemed to test his patience.
"Ya know..." Jabber's voice cut through his thoughts, it was the type of voice that made (Name)'s eye twitch every few seconds. "You should really start fighting more, get pumped up!" The boy moved around him in a show of quick energy, dancing seemed to be a 24/7 thing.
His dreadlocks swung in each movement, and (Name) found himself watching before forcing his attention back to the task at hand.
Don't say anything, he'll get bored.
"Hey, hey." Jabber was at his left elbow, then his right, suddenly in front of him, forcing (Name) to stop walking or collide with the shorter male. "Do you even fight? Or is it 'cause you're too weak?" (Name) stared at him, Jabber stared back, the same grin stretching wide across his face.
Don't give him the satisfaction, he told himself over again.
He stepped around him, for a moment, there was silence, it was a wonderful moment of peace until a long, exaggerated sigh was heard behind him. "Boooring," Jabber walked off, (Name) could hear him muttering to himself about "old men" and "sticks up asses."
He was many things: annoying, reckless, unable to understand the topic of "personal space" but persistent was mostly the trait that defined him the most. He didn't know how to quit, couldn't back off, neithier knowing when to leave people alone.
The missions themselves went smoothly. (Name)'s calculations were right, his strategies great. Even Zodyl commended on his work, a quiet compliment meaning more than he would ever admit out loud, it was ovbious from (Name)'s sudden bright energy.
It was the moments between missions that bothered him.
The sly comments, how Jabber seemed to pop out of thin air whenever (Name) was trying to be left alone, all the words made specifically to poke away at him. You'd think he'll get bored doing this, he thought bitterly, you'd think he'll go to someone else.
Jabber was nothing if not focused on his goals.
The door slammed open with enough force to make the walls shake. (Name) didn't look up from his desk, he knew that sound all too well by now.
"Jabber, I'm working."
"Wow, really?" The voice dripped with a mocking surprise. "Can't tell with all the nothin' you've got goin' on in here."
(Name) kept writing, if he didn't notice him, Jabber would get bored and leave, it usually worked out like that. Today, he seemed to have an objective. The sound of papers made his head snap up to catch him stealing a document, holding it up with exaggerated interest.
"Ooo, you're handwriting is super neat!" He chirped, barely glancing at the paper itself. His eyes were fixed on (Name) instead, a familiar glint coming back to life, a look meant he was about to cause trouble. "All these little lines and numbers...looks important."
"It is important, give it back."
The words came out sharper than what (Name) intended, he saw Jabber realizing it, those red eyes slowly narrowing at his voice, a warning. The older male removed his glasses with a huff, his expression was stern, patience slipping away everytime Jabber shows up.
"Give it back, Jabber. I can't play one of your stupid games tonight."
Bingo.
The flash of predatory on his face made (Name)'s stomach drop. He'd shown it, he let him see this is what actually got under his skin, it was all the papers he planned out, the organization.
"Who said I'm playin'?" Jabber tilted his head innocently, hair swaying. The paper waved in front of (Name)'s face, too close for comfort. "Oh c'mon, old man, you work too much. Too scared? Scared someone could see you're not as smart as you pretend to be?"
It was such a small taunt, such a small thing, yet it was enough.
The snap was almost clear.
One moment, Jabber was grinning down at him, the next, a strong hand wrapped around his throat, pulling him down with force to send papers flying everywhere. Jabber grunted as his back hit the desk, causing it to scrape on the floor. Pain went through him, good pain, the kind that made his vision sparkle.
He didn't apologize or scream, his grin only widened.
"Fuckk!"
(Name) glared down at him, clicking his tongue in disapproval. The older Raider's grip tightened, and Jabber's whole body jolted at the sensation.
"Why can't you ever just keep your mouth shut?" (Name) growled, squeezing harder. He gasped, a breathless, desperate sound that should have been a plea for mercy. Instead, his hips bucked upward, blood started to drop from his nose. "Ooohh...sh-shit, baby," he managed, voice low with a purr.
"This...this feels too good!"
Damn, who knew this guy could snap him in half?
The thought flickered through his mind, it was gone by the raw pleasure of being pinned so easily. Having someone strong enough to really put him in his place, doing whatever he wanted. This guy...this boring, stuffy, infuriating old man was stronger than he looked, Jabber never expected it.
His eyes rolled back, imagined being thrown around, beaten, used. Better than his leader's "rewards" and anyone else's half-hearted attempts to control him.
(Name) scoffed, the sound dripping with disgust. "Sick fuck."
Yes.
Yes, yes, yes-
The words hit him like a physical blow, Jabber felt a twitch in his pants. Fuck. He was getting hard. He was getting hard from being choked and called names by a man who wanted nothing to do with him. Suddenly, the hand was gone, Jabber blinked, disoriented while the pressure dissappeared.
He sat up quickly, gasping for air, his body aching from a sudden emptiness, wanting to feel it again.
"Hey! Hey! Hey!" His voice cracked embarrassingly, a small grin still on his face. "You can't just leave me here like this!? C'mon, just-" He was babbling, he knew he was getting desperate and he couldn't seem to stop, his body screaming more of the attention.
(Name) didn't spare him a glance when the door slammed shut behind him, it echoed through the quiet room. Jabber groaned, slumping back against the desk, licking his lips automatically to taste the copper tang of his own blood dripping down into his mouth.
"Damn..." he breathed, hand moving unconsciously into his pants. His hips bucked again, chasing a friction that wasn't there anymore. "That felt good."
He needed more, he wanted more.
Once Jabber set his eyes on something, he decided he was going to have it, there was no way someone was going to stop him now.
I know, realistically, that we meant for Lohen to be the one who's fucking, but may I offer my poorly hidden kinks and a second hear me out? There's barely any characterization, I just wanted to write about him getting fucked. I was not expecting to finish this so fast, truly, hell hath no fury like a woman scorned and horny.
Contains: Dragon reader, reader has a dick, oviposition, male squirting, Lohen gets called mama twice. Italics indicate the past.
Reversal to this fic
You let out a sigh, your breath so hot that a plume of smoke escapes into the open air before swirling into nothing. Something akin to a purr vibrates loudly in your chest, accidentally jostling the man in your arms and drawing a quiet whine from him. You chuckle softly, hunching down to rest your head in the curve of his neck as you nibble at his skin. Too many bloody marks from your teeth already litter his pale skin, but it doesn't hurt to add a few more. You've always thought he looked pretty in red.
"What are you complaining about now? You were the one who started all of this, don't tell me you're quitting now? That doesn't sound like you, Vice-Captain." You mumble, pressing your nose closer to Lohen's throat. Your tongue flicks out to catch the tiny droplets of sweat gathered along the hollow of his throat, and his vocal cords vibrate with a weak attempt at a cry when you shift too much, "Haha, who knew all it took for you to shut up was a dick to sit on?"
Your hand rubs the curve of Lohen's now-rounded stomach, so different from when you first started. Your eyes dilate, and your smile stretches wider until you feel your fangs press into your lower lip.
"You really wanted to be a mama that badly?"
"So, do you lay eggs?"
Lohen, the bastard that he is and always will be, only smiles and patiently waits for you to recover from the attempted murder currently taking place as you choke and sputter over what was supposed to be a nice, quiet tea party. You immediately turn toward Klee, who is thankfully still in the other room preparing more imaginary refreshments. If she had heard him, you would bet your entire hoard that Alice would have appeared out of thin air just to scorch both of you and drag your corpses to the Abyss herself.
"What? Who even starts a conversation like that? I just sat down!" you hiss under your breath, grabbing Lohen by the collar so you can snap your teeth at him, "You'd better thank Barbatos himself that Klee didn't hear you."
Lohen only laughs it off, patting your hand until you release him from your death grip. Reluctantly, you let go and sink back into your seat with a huff. He smooths out the wrinkles in his clothes and readjusts his cape before leaning an elbow against his knee, surrounded by miniature Dodocos that you sincerely hope are not actually bombs.
"It's just a scientific question born from curiosity. Why were you thinking of something indecent?" He places a hand over his chest and fakes a scandalized gasp, "And in front of a child, no less. Tsk, tsk."
This is it. This is the moment you're going to break your pact and torch Mondstadt to the ground. How else were you supposed to interpret that question?
"I may have happened to overhear your conversation with Albedo about Durin. Purely by accident, of course, please put your claws away," Lohen doesn't so much as flinch beneath your glare, "It made me wonder how you came to be. Did you have a mother? Or did you simply appear?"
He never breaks eye contact, and you can see that familiar spark of excitement swirling in his eyes. Annoyingly enough, he means it when he says he's just curious. Which, you suppose, is fair enough; humans have always been fascinated by the unknown. Still, he could have led with that instead of asking whether you... laid eggs. Sure, Albedo had asked similar questions before, but those had been entirely different circumstances. That conversation had been professional, if slightly awkward, comparing the differences between you and Durin. Dvalin, the only other dragon nearby, had made it abundantly clear that he had no interest in discussing the topic.
You glance toward the doorway to check whether Klee is coming back anytime soon. You are fairly certain Albedo would not appreciate you jump-starting her education on dragon reproduction.
"If you were just curious, you could have worded it better," You let out a long sigh, "But I suppose it depends on the region and the type of dragon, much like any other subspecies of animal. Some, like those in Liyue, can be born from nature itself. Rocks, water, that sort of thing."
You gesture vaguely to yourself, fixing Lohen with a pointed look, "As for me, I'm probably the closest thing to an ordinary animal. I reproduce through eggs. So yes, Lohen. I lay eggs. Does that answer your question?"
Lohen nods, looking entirely too pleased that you did not dismiss him outright or attempt to throw him out the window. Though with Klee explicitly asking for both of you to attend her tea party, there is no way you could have. The bastard. That's probably why he decided to spring the question on you now. If you and Albedo had not spoken recently, maybe you would not feel quite so willing to share, but at least with Lohen, you can trust that he is not going to go on some misguided crusade and decide your eggs need to be destroyed.
“Then, can I ask…” Lohen does not bother hiding the way his gaze drifts downward before returning to your face, “What exactly happens when you do?”
“Why are you so interested in this?”
“Like I said, just curious.”
“Well, if there is no '"incubator", they usually dissolve and return to elemental energy,” You glance toward the doorway, “Now, seriously, stop asking. Klee is coming back.”
You dip your fingers down, careful with your claws so you don't accidentally nick yourself when you touch the area you're both connected. Lohen's hole is stretched wide around your cock, nearly pulled white, and you almost want to feel bad. You both haven't even gotten to the hard part yet.
"Shouldn't you be a bit more embarrassed at how wet you are?" you say, slouching further back so Lohen is only supported by your hands and cock. Tiny moans and sobs pulled out of him as he trembles, as your cock nudges that one spot in him that makes him scream. Your fingers hook around the opening, pulling his hole wider until you can slip them in. Slick and cum start spurting out, coating your fingers and trailing down in a sticky mess onto the floor and up your wrist.
"I..I can't..I can't," Lohen openly cries, head too heavy to hold as it flops back onto your shoulder. He truly looks like he's at his limit if he wasn't wearing that smile and that wild look in his eyes. You scowl before smoothing your expression into something softer, tilting your head to press a kiss against his sweaty bangs. He's about to carry your eggs; you can play pretend for a bit. You buck your hips up, rubbing that one spot deeper mercifully, bouncing him up and down as you fuck into him.
"You can, Lohen, you have to. You'll look so good as a mama, don't you think?" You thrust your fingers deeper, twisting your wrist so your claws briefly scratch him. You have to use your other hand to wrap around his waist so he doesn't accidentally throw himself off as he cums again, hissing as he squeezes tighter against your sensitive cock. He's still shaking and crying, his chest rising up and down as he tries and fails to catch his breath. He looks more wrung out than when he rushed into back-to-back hilichurl camps on his own because he was "bored".
You squint a bit, easing your fingers out to spread them in front of you. They're a lot...wetter than you expected them to be, the usual white stringy cum more watery than it should be. You brace your hand against the ground, gently moving Lohen's knee to the side to see the fucking puddle pooling between his trembling thighs.
"Huh, did you squirt or something?" you let out a laugh in disbelief, though you don't expect him to respond, not when his eyes are rolled to the back of his head. You pat his inner thigh, settling them back into a more comfortable position, "See, you're a natural."
It's a testament to Lohen's stamina that it only takes him a few minutes to calm down. In between you massaging his legs, still sitting heavy on your cock, he lets out a series of coughs before a shiver runs down his spine. With his hands laid loosely at his sides, he reaches out to your tail, wagging back and forth. He gently pets it, and you let out a happy yip. It quickly turns into a pained gasp when Lohen clenches his fist tightly, holding your tail hostage.
"Hey. Why are you stopping?"
You blink past the tears in your eyes when you feel a hand gripping your cheeks, easily going along when Lohen drags your head down until you're eye level with him. Up close, his expression is nothing like calm.
Sometimes you think the Fifth Company exaggerates when they talk about how dangerous their Vice-Captain can be. He is battle-hungry, yes, and stubborn to a fault, but you have lived long enough as a dragon to know what real destruction looks like. Compared to that, he is just one persistent human with far too much confidence.
Still.
"You said you needed an incubator for your eggs, right? I'll make you feel so good, so put it in! Hurry! Give me your eggs!" Lohen's eyes go crazy, and it's almost frightening, and you can physically hear his heartbeat jump louder in your ears until there's nothing but the sound of him.
Ba-dump. Ba-dump. Ba-dump.
"You're a real piece of work, you know that?" You push forward, settling Lohen back onto his hands and knees, and you clamp your teeth into his shoulder. The iron taste of blood fills your mouth as you grind deeper, as close as you both can be without melting together into one body, as you feel your eggs travel down. The first one is always the hardest, swelled at the base of your cock, and you attempt to push it in. Lohen is tight, even with your cock and fingers inside him; he's stretched to the max, and it's starting to hurt holding your eggs. You grunt, shaking your head as your tail thumps against the ground, irritated. Your hands come back, settling on his hips, and with one forceful yank, you manage to squeeze the last bit of your cock into him.
"Aahh!! Wait- Wa- Not all at once..! I'm-" Lohen flails as much as he can in your grip as the second and third egg follow right after, popping inside him and filling him until his usually flat stomach starts to descend. There's a tell-tale splatter of something wet on the ground, and you can't help the little snicker even when you're pushing more eggs into Lohen to make fun of him. You can feel your cock twitching, bumping against his sensitive walls with each egg that bullies itself into the cramped room. It feels... really fucking good. You thread your hands into his hair, pressing his face into the ground as you pull out as much as you can and thrust back in until the head of your cock bumps against your egg.
"You'll- hah- make room for it right? Here we go, take a deeep breath," you snake one hand up to his belly, rubbing gently as to not jostle them. Your fingers walking up and down as the fourth and fifth eggs finally drop, and you can breathe a sigh of relief. You press a soft kiss to Lohen's back, gently easing him upwards to sit back properly on your lap so you can hold his stomach better. You press another kiss to the nap of his neck, gently coaxing him to turn his face towards you. Lohen looks…pretty fucked out to be honest. Eyes glassy and hazy, his cheeks splotty and wet from his tears, his mouth open as he drools down to his chest. You can't help but kiss him, sucking on his tongue while he lies listlessly in your arms. Lohen is giggling like a madman as you swap spit, his hands rubbing and squeezing at his stomach. The small bumps of your clutch nestled deep inside him, safe and warm. Little mumbles of delusional thoughts of babies spilling out with how badly you've fucked his filter.
It is a shame in its own way. You weren't expecting this so soon, so the timing is off, so the eggs are wrong. Yet he looks so certain, so pleased with himself.
You sigh faintly, watching him spiral.
Well. No point correcting him while he is like this. They still need to be pushed out anyway. When Lohen has settled down, you can both practice for the real thing.
i adoreee platonic omegaverse (and idc if its boring or something) i just love the concept of protective alpha Satoru Gojo and his first year student reader that still reeks of a pup scent.
Satoru already wants to protect the youth, to keep them safe from the harsh reality of jujutsu world, so i can imagine he feels extremely protective over all of his students, practically seeing them as his pups in a way.
And i can imagine him being extremely overprotective over one of his students, reader, because of their scent that is way much stronger than others, but instead of it being the second gender it’s still just the pup scent, maybe they are a late bloomer for example.
So i can totally see him being hesitant with sending reader onto their missions, and when he does finally send them he definitely either stalks them or rigs the missions beforehand to make it more safer. Don’t get him wrong, he does want them to be strong, but his instincts just scream to wrap the reader in a soft blanket and never let go.
He definitely invades the reader’s personal space, acting like they’re a helpless pup rather than an actual teenager who defeats curses on a daily basis. He would probably also cry if the reader saw him as a parental figure or even has something of his in their nest.
He tries to deny the plain favoritism, but it’s clear to everyone including the reader that he is indeed playing favorites, and they are currently winning.
Ugh oh my god the most recent post. Damn. Thats some good shit. Reader gotta buy a dick pump, and have him get so overstimulated when his knot pops, but he keeps pumping so it gets bigger
-🐺
OUGH. OUUUU. Dennis pins you and finally makes you settle by tying you up and putting you in a dick pump, helping Robby relax after you’ve tired him out. You’re heaving and growling and moaning, straining against your binds but there’s no escape from the pump. Your cum is soaking the bed at this point, four knots popped over the course of two hours after a mind numbing amount of orgasms.
“Dennis- please- please- ‘m sorry- ‘m sorry I touched your ‘mega just- please! Please- m’ teeth hurt so bad- please? Please?” You howl and whine, drool dripping from your jaw like a wounded animal. Your legs writhe and kick to no avail, with Robby sprawled out and snoring like an old man on the couch and very far away from your jaws.
Dennis finally comes back into the bedroom, rubbing the sleep from his eyes as he takes in the sight of your poor little tdick throbbing inside the pump. Swollen, desperate and begging for his attention- the alpha’s soft gaze lifting to your fucked out face. “How many times did you knot?” He asks softly, coming to sit by the bed and tap the pump. You buck your hips, biting your lip so hard your fangs prick blood.
“Four- f- I knotted four times,” you hiss, snapping your jaws on instinct. “Please? Please? Lemme- lemme bite- need you- need you, just- just wanna bite down- c’mon!” Your growls of desperation fill his ears sweetly, funny how alphas begged like it was a threat.
Dennis’s fingers traced down to your soaked cunt, watching you yelp and grind helplessly against his digits. Sucking him in with ease, his poor little cock jumping in his sweats at the sight. Good thing he took his suppressants the moment he got a call from abbot about you fucking the daylights out of his day shift attending- laughing at the sounds of the car rocking back and forth.
“Hmm. I don’t think you’ll be nice if I let you,” the man says softly, gentle hands pressing upwards to kiss your g spot inside of you. Your back arched, instinctive snarl on your lips as you chased Dennis’s thin fingers- pupils blown and moans fluttering out of your chest.
“I- I will! I will, I will- just- please? Just your wrist- or your shoulder! Promise I won’t bite your nape-“ you try, only to grunt when Dennis’s fingers scissored your poor entrance wide open, the mind numbing stretch making your legs kick out.
“That’s right, you bit Robby’s nape, didn’t you? Tried to mark my favorite chew toy, hm? You’re lucky you were too sloppy to hit his mating gland,” the doctor’s voice hardens, inserting another finger in just to help stretch your little cunt open. You drooled against the pillow, trying to thrash but failing to find the effort to.
“Didn’t- wasn’t going to-!” You whine, but Dennis seems to be having none of it as you grow closer and closer to a fifth peak. Your knot was already starting to inflate- a record speed that likely marked the top of the hill before a cool down, and you could feel it.
“I don’t know if I believe you. We play together, but we don’t share toys anymore, okay? Cause if I come around and find my old omega marked by the likes of a slutty little alpha like you? I’m marking you. And then you’ll be stuck with both of us forever, bitched the fuck out. Do you understand me?” Dennis’s voice is like ice now, or maybe- molten hot, with how roughly he’s fucking your hot cunt with his fingers. Pounding at the exact rhythm you like, the pump unbearable in combination as you try to nod.
“Yes! Yes! ‘M sorry- please! Please- please let me bite you! Please!” You sob, nearly wailing when he shoves a pillow between your teeth instead. Listening to the way the fabric ripped and shredded under your jaw’s force, fingers pounding your poor g spot as your knot pops inside the pump. You spasm and kick against the bed, his fingers never stopping no matter how hard you whine and cry through your last orgasm.
By the time your knots fully deflated, you’re exhausted- covered in sweat and tears as the pillow is slowly removed from your jaw, and Dennis’s soft kisses press ever so gently across your face.
Something something the group is talking about sex lives some something reader mentions very proudly about how hes never bottomed, never wanted to cause hes just not a submissive person (or whatever reason you see fit to give them for not bottoming and beinga sub) only for the guys to take that a challenge that ends in reader getting absolutely fucked up
Is this something?? Do we like?? Hopefully this is actually something new and not just something I was unaware you wrote already
If you do- this is proudly the same anon who only found you today. If you dont- then its not me 🫣
This is my exact kink so it skipped the line
Tw: rimming, cnc, pup play, trans reader, bitching reader out for a change
Soap clocked it first, when you were tipsy enough to get a little sloppy. You let it slip, bragging to him when Johnny told you about how Ghost fucked him so hard he struggled to walk after a hard mission.
“Funny comin’ from you, big tough guy. Couldn’t be me- nobody’s ever won with me, so I always end up topping,” you say it loosely, struggling to try and keep your head up against the table. Empty glasses circle the pair of you, a rough day drowned with enough alcohol to numb the pinches in your muscles at Price’s fancy condo.
Soap’s ears perk, too blue eyes finding yours even as you lean against your half empty glass.
“Won? What, ye fight every bastard you fall into bed with and win? Ye must only be fuckin civvies then, with arms like that,” the sergeant snarks, pinching your bicep and making you sit up straight with an annoyed look.
“Tell that to my strap, I fuck men twice your size with that thing on my hips,” now THATS interesting, makes Simon suddenly perk up in his seat in curiosity.
“Strap? You? Since when?” Gaz finally inserts himself, grinning and leaning into your space as you squawk and push at him. “Wh- hey!! Since always! I’ll have you know I am always the top and! I have great satisfaction scores!” Your joke makes Price finally cough up a laugh around his cigar smoke, staring at you and tilting his head like he’s deciding something.
“Do you?”
You quirk an eyebrow at that, pausing in your attack to eye your captain and his very obvious tone, the same tone he uses when he’s in an interrogation, or on the field- the one that intimidates, that gives anybody self doubt.
“Are you seriously fucking testing me?” You snap before you can stop yourself, your own eyes widening at your tone. Price was basically your boss- you couldn’t talk to him like that-!
But he doesn’t seem angry. Instead, he just glances at Soap again- two pairs of those creepy ass blue eyes meeting and exchanging something in silence- before the Scot turns back with a grin.
“Yeah. Prove it.” The sergeant says. You scoff, standing immediately to give them both a piece of your mind when Gaz shoves you down with a laugh. Your world turns sideways, and the instant struggle is real- your kicks are harsh, your loud snarls and snaps are intimidating- but you can’t fight off two men at once.
Pinned down over the couch, snapping your teeth as your foot meets Soap’s gut- he lets out a wheezed laugh. It gives you just a second of an advantage though, and you shove yourself up even under Gaz’s weight pinning you- but Johnny’s hands are quick to yank your feet out from under you just as you yank yourself out.
“Woah pup- don’t hurt your little head! We need you aware, don’t we? Silly little thing, I can’t believe he thinks he can top,” Gaz’s deep voice comes out in a false cheerfulness- scratching with desire at the edges of his tone. Your cunt pulses in something you can’t quite admit, even as you shove Johnny into a headlock. He’s laughing even as he gasps for air, like you’re nothing more than the pup Gaz just called you-an overeager dog.
Your quick victory is snuffed by a third pair of hands, suddenly ripping you off of Soap and onto your back- black sweatshirt blocking your field of vision as you slam into hardwood.
“Stupid mutt- thought you’d be a better fight than this,” Ghost taunts in your ear, someone else pinning your legs with his weight. You struggle, but the lieutenant has the upper hand at this angle keeping your hands pinned tight.
“Shut up- this- this isn’t fair! It’s three on one! I would’ve beat you all if you hadn’t CHEATED-!” You snap back, only to let out a loud squeal when your shirt is promptly ripped up. Chest scars on display to your own embarrassment, but the men around you all hum appreciatively at how they’re healing.
“If you didn’t want this, you would’ve kicked me in the jaw and broke it,” Soap says with that same rough grin, your eyes widening as you try to yank away from him on top of your legs. Gaz pulls your chin upwards to look at him, stuck between two brutes as he gives you a sweet smile.
“You like having attention on you for once, don’t you? Naughty boy, look at you. Why would you dom when you could just be my sweet little puppy, hm? Doesn’t that sound nicer,” the sergeant murmurs, dark toned hands tracing along your quivering jaw. You snap your teeth at his fingers, only to have ghost wrench your jaw tight to look at him again.
“Watch it, mutt. You try that again, and I break this pretty jaw. Thought you knew how to dom, mm? Bratty fuckin thing, that’s the real you,” Ghost snarls, his fingers shoving their way into your mouth instead. You gag on the thick digits, squirming and trying to kick your feet- fuck, Soap is still on your legs! And his hands are yanking down your cargos, boxers going along with it. Simon’s hand rips out of your mouth, leaving you gasping and yelping at the sudden cold.
“Aye, thought you said you strapped down men twice my size, lad? All I see here is a cute little cock, that’s funny,” Johnny pipes in, and the men all take turns cooing at your throbbing little t dick- the way it pearls against your wet pussy lips. Gaz swipes a thumb against it, soap’s already forcing your legs apart and leaving all your dignity dangling off your leg- too busy laughing at the way your hips try to buck and wrench out of their grip.
Simon’s pre splatters against your cheek suddenly, making you snap your attention to the massive cock that is now dangling over your face as he sits beside your head. Hands still pinned tight, helpless to the way the head smears against your face. Guess that’s why he pulled his fingers out of your mouth- your spit covering his now slick cock. It’s foul, it’s fucking insulting- fuck, it’s hot.
“Where’s that strap, huh kid? You leave it at home? Is it big like this?” Ghost taunts, letting his heavy member rub against your wet lips. You try not to let your mouth open, but well placed fingers prodding at your holes make you gasp out loud. His head hits the blunt of your teeth first, and Simon groans breathily- masochistic freak.
You lean your head back, glaring daggers up at the man as his cock slips into your mouth fully. You suck the head in fully- halfway down just to try and make him hiss in overstimulation; but Simon seems far too excited to give a fuck at your attempt to throw him off.
“Fuck me,” Price says from his chair, but you can’t be arsed to care as you bob your head. Sucking as hard as you can; fast and rough as the lieutenant shivers and squirms at your mouth’s quickness. Fuck- you’re so hot, and wet-
“Christ, mutt- wait-“ Simon starts, before you’re snatching him by the waist and swallowing him to the hilt- holy SHIT. It’s a struggle, but you’re determined as you start to pull up- teeth grazing his head and making the man let out a breathy whine. It’s working- it’s fucking working, the worthless trout-
An overeager tongue lathering itself against your cunt has you sputtering and coughing for air. That control snatched so quickly out of your grasp, flinching and twitching as Soap’s tongue slobbers over both your holes all the way to your little cock. Gaz laughs openly at the way you’re suddenly struggling and whimpering, and at the way that Ghost has to pull his fat cock from your lips and desperately squeeze the base just to keep his load in.
“Fuckin’ twat- thinking you could make a fool outta me?” Simon snarls, roughly gripping your hair and slapping his cock against your cheek again. You growl and try to speak- but warm hands are suddenly pinching at your nipples and making you writhe.
“He just needs a little training, Simon. Don’t you remember how much it took to make you nice and sweet?” Kyle’s voice cooed over your head, and you feel the way the Lieutenant’s cock pulses against your face. Fuck- but it’s hard to pay attention when Soap’s lips have suctioned around your dick and are trying to suck you off the bone.
Your loud whine gets their attention, and Simon takes the chance to shove his cock back down your throat again- this time, with your hair firmly in his grip while Gaz kissed up the side of your head, traced your poor sore pecs from his punishments. “There we go, that’s better! You’re just a dumb pup, just need a bit of correcting, that’s all,” the sergeant murmured, nipping at your ear.
Spit dripped down your chin, salty pre on your tongue and Simon’s angry thrusts are starting to be in time with Johnny’s insatiable tongue. It’s insane, and your hands are useless trying to scratch at Simon’s thick thighs- not when you’re moaning around his cock down your throat. Your thighs squeezing desperately around Soap’s head- closer, closer-
Until you choke out a loud whine and tremble through your first orgasm, the group of men cooing and laughing at how tightly you clung to Simon now. He rips himself out of your throat finally, yanking Gaz up from beside you- and rolling the man onto his belly in your face. Yanking sweet Kyle’s pants down as the sergeant laughed and struggled slightly- until his perfect ass was pressed against your face.
“Y’ got two options while we fuck this little hole of yours. Rim him, or suck his cock,” Simon growls down at you, making you growl weakly at him. “I- I’ve never been- you can’t fuck me- you’re too big!” You try to argue, throat still sore from the Lieutenant’s rough treatment.
Soap’s sharp spank sets you straight, flinching against Gaz’s ass before rutting his cock against your poor cunt. “I’ll break you in, mutt- you’re getting fucked though, so pick- ass? Or cock?” The Scotsman says far too cheerfully for your taste. You openly scowl, before finally licking a long stripe up Gaz’s heavy balls- peeking at the way he shivered and groaned.
Simon shoving your face into his ass harder makes you finally relent, whining out a quick “fine- fine! Ass! I’ll eat his ass!”
“Just- just be careful, I’m not- I don’t do this-!” You whine, jumping at the feeling of Soap’s cock notching against your pussy. “Aye, aye- just lick him up, pup- relax.”
Your tongue slowly starts moving, increasingly paying more and more attention to how sweet Kyle sounded against the couch cushions. Simon rubbed down the sergeant’s broad back, pale fingers a pretty contrast to his warm skin.
“Fuck- Simon-“ Kyle whines, and you can’t help the way you pout, at the way Simon gently shushes the other man while he was so rough with you. “Good boy, both of you just relax, let him love on you,” the lieutenant said gently, a distant laugh from Price ringing out.
The first push inside of you robs you of all your focus, loudly yelping as your walls are breached. Sure- you’d used dildos to jerk off in the past- but this was different! This was power, power stripped from you until you were desperately whimpering and crying against poor Kyle’s rim, the vibrations making the man writhe against your mouth. His long pretty cock twitching from where it hung between you two, lost and desperate for attention.
“Christ- Savin this wee cunt, were you? So fucking- tight-“ Johnny groans, and you’re forced to hold your breath and slobber against Kyle’s ass while the sergeant breaks you in one slow thrust at a time.
“Fuckin’ joke, you are. Never bottomed, I don’t believe it for a second,” Price mumbles in the corner, his cock angry and red as the older man stares the scene down. “Johnny- pick up the pace, or else you’re not cumming tonight.”
The Scot whines, his thrusts quickening to match his boss’s desired pace. It’s maddening, and you can’t stop the quick grunts of pleasure rumbling from your chest- Gaz grinding back against your face in approval at the delicious vibrations.
“Fuck- that’s it, soap- Simon- please-?” Kyle sighs so so sweetly, and it’s absurd how quickly Ghost drops to his knees to roughly jerk him off. His other hand shoving you harder against the whining sergeant’s wet hole, the other gasping and sighing at the sight of you three.
“C’mon, lovie- you’re so pretty, ain’t you? Go on, show the mutt how to feel good- come on, come for us,” Simon speaks so gently that your heart twists, a loud whine leaving your throat that’s interrupted by another harsh thrust. Feeling so pitiful, tears dripping from your cheeks as Kyle comes apart against Simon’s fist, cum drooling into his palm and slathered back over his pretty cock.
“Fuck- fuck-!” Soap growls out, yanking his cock from your wet heat just to splatter cum all over your back. You’re pulled from Kyle’s ass, only for Simon to roughly yank your jaw open and shove his cum stained fingers down your throat- laughing at the way you gag and whimper at the sweet taste.
What the fuck? Kyle’s cum tasted good as hell-his ass was so clean and well trimmed too! When did he even have the time-?
“Finally broken, little pup? Ready to accept your place? C’mon, look how happy Gaz is- bottoming is fun, ain’t it?” Ghost says in a scratchy voice, his fingers slowly leaving your mouth until your wet lips made a cute pop!
You blink slowly at him, trying to come up with something mean to say. Maybe something harsh and cruel- but Gaz has rolled over to lean against the couch- and fuck, he looks so good all sweaty with a smile that you feel your brain turn to mush.
“Look at that- your fat ass made him dumb, Kyle,” Soap says with a laugh, rutting his still hard cock against your t dick- gripping your hips to keep you still when you buck.
“Stupid thing. Johnny. Move.” Simon grunts, ignoring the man’s whine. “Wh- Ghost! Ah’m still hard, need another go-“ he tries to argue, only to instantly heel at a mouth click from Price.
At his side in an instant, like your hot cunt didn’t even exist as he looks down eagerly at his captain. You swore if he had a tail, it’d be wagging- fuck, that was so hot. Price’s thick hand reaching up and slowly jerking off the needy cock next to him. Ignoring Soap’s pitchy whines, the way he twitches with every slow tug.
You let out a choked noise, only brought back to focus by the sharp slap against your ass by Simon as he stepped behind you, yelping and collapsing into Kyle’s stomach. Pressed up against the couch now, between the sergeant’s legs and so dazed, so fucking overwhelmed.
Kyle’s gentle hands pull you up from hiding in his stomach, cooing and brushing the cum off your lip. “Oh, poor puppy. This is all new for you, huh? Your little cunt didn’t even come on Soap’s cock- how sad! You want Simon to fuck you now, pretty boy?” The sergeant murmurs, smiling at the way you shudder. You feel almost drunk, nodding your head so so pitifully with tears in your eyes- fuck!
“Words, sweetheart,” Gaz says so softly, gently squishing your cheeks in his hand. “Wanna- just wanna cum-“ you finally whimper, your poor soaked hole clenching around nothing. It’s pathetic, it’s humiliating, you’ve never felt so small in your life. The sergeant’s gaze flips up to Simon- pointed. Commanding, communicating something.
Then he’s notching his massive cock against your wet hole. It’s cold- Simon lubed himself at some point, and it makes the new slide much easier- groaning and heaving for air as Simon slowly ground his way inside. Every slow push is restrained, you can feel him twitching against you like he wants to slam his hips into yours- fuck you into the couch.
“There we go, mutt- fuck. Just- needed to be broken in, that’s all. Look at you- haven’t tried to bite me in a whole five minutes,” the lieutenant says dryly, but he’s obviously effected by your pussy- trying to push you along, reaching down to jerk off your throbbing t dick between his fingers.
“Si- ah! Ah fuck- fuck!” You babble, eyes rolling into the back of your head as that wave finally crashes over you, only exacerbated by Simon seemingly losing control and starting to thrust into you. He’s slower than Soap, thank god- but he’s got a solid two inches of extra length and thicker too. You can’t help but bite down against Gaz’s shirt, the fabric straining against your jaw.
“Bloody hell- that’s it, milk this fucking cock- better then the bloody brat over there; ay?”
Soap openly laughs, finally released by Price while the old man licks the second load off his fingers. You try to open your eyes, but every thrust has them rolling back- unable to do anything but finally let out the most pathetic moan, half wheezed out. Everyone’s eyes snap down to you, Ghost’s massive hand clamping down around your throat to yank you against his chest- freeing your mouth.
“What was that? Was that a bitch moan, huh? Come on- louder slut, show us how good of a bottom you can be,” he snarls, and Gaz is looking up at the two of you practically with stars in his eyes. His dripping cock is hardening again just from the sight, jaw hanging open at the sight of you both.
You can’t speak, can’t do anything but moan again- hands trying to grip at Ghost. You feel out of your mind, you feel like his dick is almost in your throat- you feel like you’re going to cum again with the way Simon’s other hand is still jerking your cock-!
“Fuuuuck, that’s it. Squirt on poor Gaz, so cute,” Price groans when you suddenly gush, squirting against the couch- soaking Kyle’s stomach as Simon’s hips stutter and shoves themselves to the hilt- finally ripping up his mask to dig his teeth into your throat. You keen and writhe, but it’s no use. Your blood is in the man’s mouth, his cum now making a ring around where his cock is plugging up your cunt.
A distant whine tells you Kyle came again just at the sight of you, all of you collapsing against each other on the couch as Soap starts pressing slobbering kisses against all of your cheeks. It’s- oddly comforting, these bodies pressing against your own, sweaty and warm and soothing now that they’re not fucking you like they’re trying to kill you.
“Good puppy,” Kyle sighs.
“Sweet mutt,” Simon grunts with a bloody kiss to your jaw.
“Perfect lad- so good, so good”, Soap coos at you, leaning over to kiss Gaz.
“Maybe next time, we’ll let you put on the strap before testing you,” Price says in the back.
To be completely, unfiltered, absolutely and a hundred percent truthful,
Yuuji can be kind of scary like this.
Scary-- scary when he's focused, and calculated, and so insanely devoted and concentrated on something that nothing can stop him. In any other scenario you would've been less afraid, maybe more-so-appalled, giggle, and give him some sort of sweet treat or maybe simple affection as a reward later on for working so diligently on something.
But in this scenario, with Yuuji between your spread legs, thick, callused fingers dragging against the gummy slick walls of your hole, with his free hand expertly stroking up and down and up and down the shaft of your cock, it's a bit hard (no pun intended) not to be scared.
"Yu-uji, s'-- knock it off, s'not g-gonna... nuthin's gunna..."
"Shhh,"
Yuuji gently kisses the tips of his fingers against your swollen sweet spot, a small groan fluttering from his lips as he watches your spine bow and your toes curl.
"I got this. Y'don't believe me, baby?" His words come out slurred and hot, mingling with the sounds of your moans and whines. "Have I ever failed you when it comes t'..."
Yuuji presses a warm, sloppy, wet kiss to the sensitive tip of your cock, practically making out with the poor swollen thing before sucking hard, then pulling off with a filthy slurp followed by a loud 'pop!'.
"...makin' you feel good? Hm? Baby? My baby?"
All you can do in response is whine. Yuuji isn't wrong, and you both know this. It's just...
A few hours ago, everything was perfectly fine. You guys hadn't had sex in a few days, and besides getting handsy here and there, Yuuji seemed fine. In absolute mint condition, if anything. And then, miraculously, he just happened to scroll across some stupid reddit post talking about men squirting. And instead of behaving like any rational person, and just continuing to read through the strings of posts and comments, he just immediately decides that using you as his personal guinea pig is the best course of action.
So, you've been sitting here, legs forced open over the width of Yuuji's shoulders, fluttering hole stuffed with fingers with your poor cock forced to come for what's been maybe the fourth time tonight. in the past hour and a half.
You've tried everything just to try and get a break. You've squirmed, you've kicked, you've cried, you've tried to physically get up off the bed and crawl away, but nothing seems to work. It's just... nothing seemed to get through that thick skull of his.
You can't say you'd like to completely stop, but a break... a break would be nice.
While he's so dead set on making you squirt, you're adamant nothing is going to happen.
You let your head drop back, hips jerking and rolling uncontrollably when he angles his fingers and thrusts right into your prostate, his other hand wrapped around the base of your cock-- rough thumbpad gently petting the seam of your balls.
"Hm."
You let your eyes flutter shut, letting out a little moan of relief when Yuuji's free hand gently releases your cock. Your hips buck at the loss of stimulation, but ultimately, you're relieved. You let your thighs open wide and fall lax, unbothered to how absolutely debauched and utterly lewd you might look from Yuuji's point of view. Not that he'd care, anyways.
Lidded eyes watch the way your puffy rim swallows up the thick of his fingers, drooling and soft and oh-so-warm-- and, suddenly,
Yuuji gets an idea.
"Baby... baby," Yuuji practically purrs. Hesitantly, you lift your head to look down at him.
"'Need y'to be really, really good for me, okay? yeah?"
Yuuji tuts and coos when you drop your head back with a whine, thighs trembling and beginning to shut before he wrenches them open again.
"Oh, don't be like that, babe. S'just... just sit still, and I'll make you feel really good, okay? really good. Jus'..."
Yuuji doesn't wait for a reply-- instead, he spreads your thighs wide for easier access, slips his digits in just right and angles them so they dip against the soft of your sweet spot, and settles the thumb of his free hand against the silky skin of your perineum. Your cock twitches and jerks, dribbles of precome swelling at the tip in little pretty pearls.
He starts with light little taps, then small, tight circles-- then lastly, progresses to firm but gentle up and down petting motions against your perineum-- a weird, indescribably good feeling coiling deep in your gut and causing you to squirm. Meanwhile, his fingers lavish attention on your sweet spot from the inside as well, causing that same delicious feeling to intensify what feels like a thousand times more.
it feels so weird.
You try to buck away from the feeling but Yuuji just shushes you and applies a fraction more of pressure, not letting you escape the onslaught of weird, weird, so fucking weird but undeniably good sensation.
... Suddenly, another odd... but new sensation settles. Not in your tummy this time, but in your bladder.
"Yuu-- Yuuji, Yuuji--"
"Hmm?"
"G-Get it out-- get them o-out, need'ta, need t'pee, I th-ink, need--"
"No, no, sweetheart. You don't need to pee. S'not pee. It's working, you're close. S'okay, jus' let it happen, 'kay?"
Yuuji leans forwards to kiss you, his eyes fluttering shut, but you crane your neck away before he can land a successful kiss-- which, he grumbles at.
"I'm s-serious Yuuji, I ne-ed to pee, m'not fuckin' a-around--"
"Shut up n' listen to me, baby,"
And you do. Save for the occasional incoherent whines and cries.
So you sit there and take it. Just... just take it, despite this overwhelming pressure in your bladder, despite the waves of pleasure rolling off your spine, despite the over sensitivity of your hole and your cock and your body just begging for a break.
And you're so distracted by your own thoughts that when you do (finally fucking) squirt, it hits you hard. Really hard.
With a mangled shout your body curls in on itself, hands scrambling for Yuuji's shoulders as you try to force him away from you-- yet, he keeps up his gentle ministrations alllll the way through your orgasm.
It's like-- It's like that pressure in your bladder releases itself in a way that feels so fucking good, your sloppy, messy hole fluttering and clenching tight around his still pumping fingers, the muscles in your tummy tightening and contracting in such a satisfying way as you experience what doesn't feel... quite like an orgasm, but something different, and just as intense.
Something wet, something clear, but not quite as thick and sticky as come, but not pee-- shoots from your cock in messy spurts, soaking Yuuji's wrist and the sheets and leaving a little puddle on your tummy.
"O-Oh fuck, fu-uck--"
"Told you that'd feel good, hm?"
Gasping and heaving, you barely manage the beginnings of a sentence before your eyes flutter shut and you immediately pass out.
𝓲𝗻 𝘄𝗵𝗶𝗰𝗵 ♰ satoru’s been obsessed with you for years, but when another model tries to steal your attention, he finally decides to make you his.
✿ ◞◟) gojo satoru 𝓍 male!reader
𝓬𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘁 18+ [ MDNI! ], explicit sexual content, obsessive behavior, makeup artist!male reader, model!satoru, one-sided pining (not for long), handjob, blowjob, multiple orgasms, cum eating, jealous & possessive!satoru, heavy overstimulation, softdom!satoru, creampie, body worship, praise + dirty talk, semi-public sex, marking / biting, big dick!satoru, power play, satoru is really freaky, unprotected sex (p in a), lots of kisses everywhere, yearning, orgasm control / edging, aftercare.
you don't notice the way satoru looks at you.
that's the thing; that's always been the thing. you, with your steady hands and your calm, focused expression, never once look up from your work long enough to catch the sheer, undiluted want burning in gojo satoru's eyes. you've been his makeup artist since the very beginning, back when he was just a lanky, too-pretty teenager with a dream and a portfolio full of half-blurry polaroids, back when his name didn't open doors and his face wasn't plastered on every other billboard in tokyo.
you remember those days; you remember the cramped shared studio apartments and the hustle, the frantic panic before castings, the way satoru would sometimes fall asleep in your chair after a fourteen-hour shoot and you'd let him, because he was just a kid, really, and you've always had a soft spot for him. you remember thinking satoru had something special, something that would carry him far.
and it did. god, it did.
now, gojo satoru is a household name — he is the highest-paid male model in asia, the face of three major luxury brands, a man whose cheekbones could cut glass and whose smile could sell ice to an inuit. but satoru is still the same person underneath all the designer clothes and the flashing cameras. at least, that's what you tell yourself; he's still the same person who sends you ridiculous memes at three in the morning and who always, always sneaks you expensive snacks from the craft services table. satoru is still your friend.
satoru is still your very good, very famous, very straight (you assume) friend.
so when you lean in close to his face, brush in hand, dabbing a precise line of highlighter along the sharp bridge of his nose, you don't think anything of it. you're way too focused on the task; the photoshoot for today is for a high-end fragrance campaign — something moody and black-and-white, all shadow and suggestion, which means satoru's makeup needs to be flawless, poreless, and almost inhumanly perfect.
you hum a little under your breath, a random tune you heard on the radio this morning, and you don't notice the way satoru’s breath catches. you don't notice how his long, pale fingers curl around the armrests of the chair, knuckles going white. you don't notice the way his ice-blue eyes, usually so aloof and unreadable in front of the camera, have softened into something dangerously close to adoration, tracking every micro-movement of your face.
you're beautiful. you have no idea you're beautiful. that's the second thing about you that drives him absolutely insane.
you're not model-pretty. god, no. model-pretty is sharp and angular and intimidating. you're something else entirely; you're warm, your skin has a healthy glow that doesn't come from highlighter, your hands are veined and strong but impossibly gentle, and when you're concentrating, you bite the inside of your cheek. it makes you look a little younger, softer, and satoru wants to kiss that little spot on your cheek so badly it's a physical ache in his chest.
"hold still," you murmur, not looking at him. "you're twitching."
your breath fans across satoru’s cheek, smelling faintly of coffee and mint.
"i'm not twitching," he lies, his voice a low, pleasant rumble. he's got a good voice for voiceovers, deep and honeyed, and he knows it. he uses it like a weapon. "you're just being fussy."
"i'm being thorough," you correct, dabbing a tiny bit of concealer under his eye.
the dark circles are almost nonexistent — the man sleeps like the dead when he's not working — but the photographer wanted a specific kind of hollowed-out, tortured-artist look. you think it's silly, but you're not paid to think; you're paid to make satoru look good.
you're also, secretly, paid to be close to him.
not in a weird way, not in the way a fan would be, but satoru has had four other makeup artists in the past two years, each hired by agencies or magazines when you weren't available. all of them were pretty good; technically proficient, efficient, professional, and all of them lasted exactly one day before satoru threw a tantrum that would make a toddler really proud, insisting that only you could do his makeup, that only you understood his face.
his manager, ijichi, had called you, sounding frazzled;
"he says your 'energy is non-negotiable'," ijichi had relayed, looking pained. "whatever that means."
you'd laughed it off, of course.
satoru is dramatic. satoru is a diva. but you'd shown up, packed your kit, and gotten back to work. because honestly… you missed him too. the other models are fine, but they're not satoru; they don't make you laugh between touch-ups, they don't bring you hot chocolate from the coffee cart without you asking, they don't look at you like you're the only person in the room, in the universe, who matters.
( well, you don't notice that last part. )
today's shoot is in a huge warehouse studio in shibuya, all exposed brick and polished concrete floors.
satoru's private dressing room is a small annex off the main floor, with a large mirror, a comfortable leather chair, and terrible overhead lighting that you've learned to work around. you've got your rolling cart of products next to you — brushes of every shape and size, powders, foundations — and you're so focused on perfecting the contour on satoru’s jawline that you don't hear the soft knock on the door.
satoru does, though. his eyes flick towards the door, and something in his expression hardens for a fraction of a second before smoothing back into pleasant neutrality.
the door opens, and a head pokes in; it's fushiguro toji.
toji is another model, a competitor in the same tier as satoru, though with a rougher, more masculine edge. where satoru is ethereal and untouchable, toji is all muscle and swagger, a little scar at the corner of his mouth that makes him look more dangerous. toji is also, unfortunately for satoru's blood pressure, an unrepentant flirt.
"hey," toji says, his voice a low drawl. he's not looking at satoru, he's looking at you. "didn't know you were working today."
you glance up, brush pausing, and you offer toji a small, friendly smile.
"oh, toji. hey. yeah, it’s just a quick gig. satoru's got the fragrance campaign."
"right, right."
toji steps further into the room, invading the space with his presence. he's wearing a simple black t-shirt and jeans, his usual off-duty attire, and his hair is a little messy, like he just rolled out of bed. it looks good on him.
"you free after this? i'm doing a test shoot down the hall, and the makeup artist they booked is a nightmare. i could use someone who actually knows what they're doing."
your cheeks flush a little at the compliment.
"oh, i don't know. i'd have to check my schedule—"
"he's not free," satoru cuts in, his voice light, almost airy, but there's a thread of steel underneath.
satoru hasn't moved from his chair, he hasn't even opened his eyes fully, but there's a tension in his shoulders that wasn't there a moment ago.
"he's with me all day. exclusivity clause."
you frown, turning to look at satoru.
"i don't have an exclusivity clause with you, satoru."
"you should," he says, finally opening his eyes. that brilliant, piercing blue fixes on toji, and for a moment, the room feels a little colder. "i pay better."
toji snorts, unimpressed.
"i'm sure you do."
toji looks back at you, and his gaze is appreciative, lingering on the curve of your neck, the line of your jaw. you're wearing a simple cream-colored sweater, sleeves pushed up to your elbows, and you're completely unaware of how the soft fabric drapes over your frame.
"think about it, yeah? i'll make it worth your while."
toji winks at you, and then he's gone, closing the door behind him with a soft click.
you simply shake your head, a little bewildered by what just happened, and turn back to satoru.
"weird guy," you comment, picking up your foundation brush again. "he's not usually that friendly."
satoru doesn't answer.
he's staring at the closed door, his jaw tight, his hands now gripping the armrests so hard the leather creaks. you notice the tension, finally, because it's impossible to miss; his whole body is rigid, coiled, like a spring about to snap.
"hey," you say, frowning. "you okay? you're all tense. i need you to relax your jaw or the contour will look weird."
satoru's gaze snaps to you, and for a second, just a second, you see something raw and hungry in the man’s expression, something that makes your stomach flip, a strange, unfamiliar heat pooling low in your belly. but then it's gone, smoothed over by that familiar, dazzling smile.
"sorry," satoru says, but he doesn't sound sorry at all; he sounds off. "just thinking."
"about what?" you ask, leaning in to blend the contour along his cheekbone.
you're close again, close enough to see the individual lashes framing satoru’s beautiful eyes, close enough to smell his cologne — something sweet and expensive, mixed with the clean scent of his shampoo.
"about how long i've been wanting to do something," satoru murmurs, so quietly you almost don't hear it.
your brush pauses. "what?"
satoru slowly reaches up, his long fingers wrapping gently around your wrist. it's not a harsh grip, it's almost tender, but it still stops you completely and holds you in place. satoru’s thumb brushes over the thin skin on the inside of your wrist, feeling your pulse jump.
"do you have any idea," he says, his voice low and deliberate, each word dropping like a stone into still water. "how hard it is to sit here, day after day, while you touch my face like it's nothing? while you smile at other men like fushiguro toji and offer them your time?"
your heart is doing something weird in your chest, a staccato rhythm that has nothing to do with caffeine.
"satoru, what are you talking about? i'm your makeup artist."
"exactly," he breathes, and the word is almost a sigh. his thumb is still stroking your wrist, slow and hypnotic. "you're my makeup artist. not his. not anyone else's. only mine."
satoru pulls you gently, guiding you to stand between his widely spread legs. you go, because you're too stunned to resist, your mind a blank slate of confusion and something else, something you don't want to name.
you're now face-to-face with him, close enough that your knees are brushing his thighs.
"i've been patient," satoru continues, his free hand coming up to rest on your hip, a warm and solid weight. "so fucking patient, you have no idea. i've dropped hints. i've flirted. i've literally sent you memes with the caption 'us' and you just sent back a thumbs-up emoji. a thumbs up, baby. do you know what that did to me?"
"i thought you were joking," you whisper, your voice coming out embarrassingly small. "you're always joking."
"i'm not joking now."
satoru’s blue eyes are so dark, no longer the bright, icy hue you're used to. they're the color of a deep winter sky, heavy with unshed snow.
"look at me. really look at me. and tell me you don't feel this."
he presses your palm flat against his chest, right over his heart; it's pounding a hard, frantic rhythm that matches your own. you can feel the warmth of his skin through the thin fabric of his t-shirt, the firm muscle beneath. he's not just a pretty face. he's solid, real, and he's looking at you like you're the only thing in the world that matters.
"i—" you start, but your voice cracks.
you don't know what to say. you've never thought of him this way. you've never allowed yourself to think of him this way. he's satoru. your client. your friend. the boy who fell asleep in your chair all those years ago.
"you're beautiful," he says, and the word is reverent. "you don't even know. you walk around with your pretty face and your kind hands, and you have no idea what you do to me. every time you lean in, every time you bite your lip, every time you laugh at one of my stupid jokes—i fall a little more. and i am so. fucking. tired. of falling alone."
satoru’s hand slides from your hip to the small of your back, pressing you closer until you're standing flush between his thighs. you can feel the heat radiating off him, can smell his cologne more strongly now, can see the slight flush high on his cheekbones that you didn't put there with your brushes.
"satoru, you're a model," you manage, your voice a shaky whisper. "you could have anyone. why would you want—"
"don't," he interrupts, sharp and sudden. his fingers tighten on your wrist, just a fraction. "don't do that. don't pretend you're not exactly what i want. don't make this about anyone else."
satoru leans in, his forehead resting against yours. his breath fans across your parted lips, warm and sweet, and your eyes flutter closed instinctively.
"i've been good," he murmurs, the words a soft, desperate confession. "i've been so good. i've watched you. i've waited. i've let you be professional and friendly and completely oblivious. but then he came in here and looked at you like that, and i realized—i'm done waiting."
satoru’s lips brush the corner of your mouth, barely a touch, and it sends a shiver down your spine.
"i need you to understand," satoru slowly whispers against your skin, "that you belong to me. you have for years. you just didn't know it yet."
you open your mouth to reply — and to say what? you have no idea — but he doesn't give you the chance.
satoru kisses you.
satoru kisses you, and it's the kiss of a man who has been starving for years and has finally been given permission to eat. his mouth is so hot and so demanding, slanting over yours, and his warm tongue sweeps along the seam of your lips, asking, begging, taking.
you gasp, and he swallows the sound, pulling you closer, one hand fisting in the soft fabric of your sweater at your back.
oh, you should push him away. you should remind him of professional boundaries, of the shoot in an hour, of the fact that you're employees, not lovers. but your body isn't listening to your brain. your hands, traitors that they are, come up to grip satoru’s shoulders, and you kiss him back.
it's clumsy and desperate, teeth clashing, tongues sliding. he tastes like mint gum and something uniquely him, something so addictive. satoru groans into your mouth when your fingers curl into the hair at the nape of his neck, and the sound vibrates through you, settling low in your groin.
satoru pulls back just enough to breathe, his forehead still pressed to yours, his lips swollen and wet. his eyes are blown wide, pupils completely dilated, the blue almost completely swallowed by pure black.
"fuck," he breathes, and it sounds like a prayer. "fuck, i've wanted to do that for so long."
you're trembling, and it’s an actual, full-body trembling; your knees feel embarrassingly weak, and if satoru weren't holding you, you might just slide to the floor.
"satoru, we can't—"
"we can," he insists, and there's no room for argument in his voice. it's a command, a decree. "we can, and we're going to. i'm going to take care of you. i'm going to show you exactly what you mean to me. and then, when i'm done, you're going to look in the mirror and see the marks i left on you, and you're never going to forget who you belong to."
satoru stands up, and because you're still pressed against him, you stumble back a step. he steadies you with hands on your hips, then guides you backwards until your legs hit the edge of the makeup table. the metal legs scrape against the concrete floor, and a few brushes clatter to the ground, but neither of you pays them any attention.
"lie back," satoru says, and it's not a request.
you hesitate for half a second, your mind screaming at you to stop, to think rationally, to remember the shoot. but then he looks at you — with that raw, desperate hunger — and all your resistance crumbles.
you lie back on the table.
it's cold and hard against your spine, but you barely notice; your entire awareness is focused on satoru, on the way he looms over you, all six-foot-something of lean muscle and sharp angles. he's beautiful. achingly, impossibly beautiful. and he's looking at you like he wants to devour all of you.
satoru brackets your body with his strong arms, leaning down to kiss you again.
this time, the kiss is slower, more deliberate; satoru takes his time, learning the shape of your mouth, the give of your lower lip between his teeth. he kisses the corner of your mouth, your jaw, the sensitive spot just below your ear, and you gasp, your back arching off the table.
"so responsive," satoru murmurs against your skin, and you can hear the smile in his voice. "i wondered if you'd be like this. i've imagined it so many times. you, underneath me, falling apart because of me."
satoru’s huge hands are everywhere; one slides under your sweater, palm flat against your stomach, and his long fingers are cold, making your muscles jump. the other works at the button of your jeans, deft and impatient.
"is this okay?" satoru asks, pausing with his fingers hooked in your waistband.
his voice is still low, still so hungry to devour you completely, but there's a thread of genuine concern there, a check-in that makes your chest ache.
"yes," you breathe, because it's the truth.
it's terrifying and overwhelming and probably a terrible idea, but god, you want it. you want him.
satoru's whole body goes rigid above you — not with tension this time, but with something that feels like relief. his eyes, those ethereal deep blue eyes that have stared down cameras and conquered runways, are wide and almost vulnerable for a split second. then satoru’s mouth is on yours once again, and vulnerability burns away into something ravenous.
he kisses you like he's trying to memorize the shape of your lips by touch alone, like he's afraid you'll disappear if he doesn't hold on tight enough. satoru’s tongue slides against yours, wet and insistent, and you taste the faint bitterness of the coffee he drank this morning mixed with the sweetness of the lip balm you applied an hour ago.
it's dizzying; it's too much and not enough all at once.
your hands, still gripping his shoulders, feel the coiled strength in his muscles beneath the thin fabric of his t-shirt. he's not just lean and pretty — there's power there, the kind that comes from hours in the gym because his agency demands it, and you feel that power now in the way he cages you against the cold makeup table, in the way his thighs press against the outside of your legs, trapping you in place.
satoru pulls back just far enough to break the kiss, and a thin string of saliva connects both of your lips for a little moment before it slowly breaks. satoru stares down at you, chest heaving, and you watch his gaze travel across your face like he's seeing you for the first time.
"look at you," he murmurs, and his voice has dropped an octave, rougher now, almost gravelly. "already a mess and i've barely touched you."
you want to say something clever, something that proves you're not completely undone, but then satoru’s hand — the one that was resting on your stomach under your sweater — slides upward, dragging the fabric with it.
his fingers are cold against your heated skin, and you gasp as they brush over your nipple, not quite touching, just passing close enough to make you shiver.
"sensitive," satoru observes, and there's a smile in his voice now, something dark and pleased. "god, you're sensitive everywhere, aren't you? i've watched you for years, you know. i watched the way you shiver when someone touches your neck, the way you bite your lip when you're concentrating. i've imagined what sounds you'd make."
satoru’s hand keeps moving, pushing your sweater up until it bunches under your armpits, exposing your chest to the cool air of the dressing room. you're not built like him — you're softer, less sculpted — but the way satoru looks at you makes you feel like you're the one on the cover of a magazine.
"beautiful," he breathes, and the word is so sincere it makes your chest ache. "so fucking beautiful."
then satoru ducks his head and takes your nipple into his mouth, and coherent thought evaporates.
his tongue is hot and wet, circling the sensitive peak with a precision that speaks to experience, and his teeth graze the flesh just enough to send a sharp jolt of pleasure-pain straight to your groin. you cry out — yeah, you actually cry out, a sound too loud for a semi-public space — and your back arches off the table, pressing yourself further into his mouth.
satoru hums against your skin, the vibration making you whimper, and his free hand slides down your stomach, fingers tracing the waistband of your jeans.
"shh," satoru murmurs against your chest, switching to the other nipple with the same devastating attention. "you have to be quiet, sweetheart. unless you want the whole studio to hear what i'm doing to you."
you bite your lip, hard enough to taste copper, and satoru looks up at you through his lashes.
his lips are wet, swollen from kissing and sucking, and his eyes are almost completely black now, the blue reduced to a thin ring around blown pupils.
"there you go," satoru says softly, and his long fingers start working at the button of your jeans. "such a good boy for me. always have been."
the button easily comes undone with a soft pop, and then the zipper, and satoru doesn't hesitate — he shoves his hand past the denim, past the elastic of your boxers, and wraps his fingers around your cock.
you gasp sharply, hips jerking upward into his grip, and satoru groans like he's the one being touched.
"fuck," satoru hisses, his forehead dropping pathetically to your shoulder. "you're so hard. you're—god, you're dripping, baby. is this all for me?"
you can't answer.
your brain has short-circuited, overwhelmed by the sensation of satoru’s hand — those long, elegant fingers that you've watched hold champagne glasses and sign autographs — wrapped around your most intimate part. his palm is warm and slightly rough, calloused in a way you didn't expect, and when he strokes slowly from base to tip, spreading the wetness that's already gathered there, you see constellations.
"answer me," satoru says, and his voice is soft but there's an edge to it, a command wrapped in honey.
he squeezes gently, just this side of too tight, and you moan.
"y-yes," you gasp, the word cracking in the middle. "yes, yes, it's—it's always been—"
you don't finish the sentence because you're not sure what you were going to say.
it's always been him? it's always been like this? both are true and neither captures the enormity of what you're feeling.
satoru lifts his head and kisses you once again, swallowing whatever sounds you were about to make. his warm tongue slides into your mouth at the same time his hand starts moving in earnest, stroking you with a steady, unforgiving rhythm that has you clawing at his shoulders, leaving red marks on his skin through his shirt.
he's everywhere — his mouth on yours, his hand on your cock, his body pressed against you from chest to hip, the rough denim of his jeans rubbing against your bare thighs. you're pinned to the makeup table, completely at his mercy, and the helplessness of it makes you even harder.
"that's it," satoru whispers against your lips, his strokes never once faltering. "let me hear you. i want to hear every single sound you make."
you're already embarrassingly close, the pleasure building low in your belly like a coiled spring.
it's been sooo long since anyone touched you like this, and never — never like this, never with someone who looks at you like you're the center of their universe.
"satoru," you whimper, and his name has never sounded like this before; raw and desperate. "satoru, i'm going to—"
but satoru stops.
his hand goes still, still wrapped around you but no longer moving, and the sudden absence of friction is almost painful. you whine, high and needy, and your hips try to chase his hand, but he pulls back just enough to deny you.
"not yet," satoru says, and his voice is strained, like denying you is costing him something aswell. "not yet, sweetheart. i'm not done with you."
you want to cry. you want to beg.
but satoru is already shifting, sliding off the table and lowering himself to his knees between your spread legs, and the sight of him there — gojo satoru, the highest-paid model in asia, kneeling on a dirty concrete floor in his designer clothes — steals the breath from your lungs.
he looks up at you with those dark, hungry eyes, and then he pulls your jeans and boxers down your hips in one rough movement, freeing you completely. the cool air hits your flushed, leaking cock and you shudder.
"so pretty," satoru murmurs, and his voice is reverent now, almost worshipful.
he wraps his hand around you again, but satoru doesn't stroke; he simply holds you, watching the way your cock twitches desperately in his grip.
"i knew you'd be pretty. i knew it."
then he leans forward and licks a broad stripe from the base of your cock to the tip, and you lose the ability to form words.
satoru’s tongue is so hot and wet and impossibly soft, and when he reaches the head, he swirls around it, collecting the bead of precum that's gathered there. he hums, low in his throat, and the vibration makes your thighs tremble.
"you taste good," satoru says, like he's commenting on the weather, like this is completely normal. "sweet. i could get addicted to this."
then he takes you into his mouth, and the world narrows to nothing but heat and pressure and the obscene, wet sounds of satoru sucking your cock.
oh, and he's not gentle with it — he's eager, desperate, like he's been starving for this for years. satoru’s cheeks hollow as he sucks, and his tongue presses against the underside of your cock, and his hand cups your balls, rolling them gently in his palm. you're making sounds you've never heard yourself make before, high and broken, and your fingers tangle in his white hair, pulling without meaning to.
satoru moans around you, and the vibration shoots straight up your spine.
he pulls off with a wet pop, and a string of saliva connects his lips to the tip of your cock. satoru’s face is completely flushed, his lips swollen and slick, and there's a smear of your balm on his chin from earlier.
"look at me," satoru commands, and when you force your eyes open, he's staring at you with an intensity that pins you in place. "i want you to watch. i want you to see exactly who's making you fall apart."
then satoru takes you back into his mouth, deeper this time, until the tip of your cock hits the back of his throat. he doesn't gag — he just swallows around you, and the sensation is so overwhelming that you actually sob, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes.
satoru's hands grip your hips, holding you down against the table when your body tries to buck upward.
he sets a rhythm — deep, slow strokes of his mouth, his tongue curling around you on every retreat — and you can't look away. you watch satoru’s lips stretch around you, you watch his eyes flutter half-closed in pleasure, you watch the way his throat works when he swallows.
you're not going to last.
"s-satoru," you gasp, tugging at his hair. "satoru, p-please, i can't—i'm going to—"
he pulls off just enough to speak, his lips brushing the head of your cock with every word.
"do it," he says, and his voice is wrecked. "cum for me, baby. i want to taste you."
then satoru takes you deep again, and that's it.
your orgasm crashes over you, violent and all-consuming. your back bows off the table, your mouth opens in a silent scream, and you spill down satoru's throat in hot, pulsing bursts. he doesn't pull away — he swallows everything, moaning around you, his throat working to take every drop, and his hands grip your hips so hard you know there will be bruises tomorrow.
the pleasure goes on and on, drawn out by the way satoru keeps sucking your cock gently, coaxing every last bit from you until you're twitching and oversensitive, whining and pushing weakly at his head.
finally, finally, satoru pulls off.
his face is flushed, his lips are swollen, and there's a smear of your release on the corner of his mouth. he wipes it with his thumb and sucks it clean, his eyes never leaving yours.
"fuck," satoru breathes, and then he laughs — a breathless, disbelieving sound. "fuck, you're perfect."
you can't move, and you can barely breathe; your entire body is trembling, and the makeup table is cold against your sweaty back, and you're pretty sure you just came harder than you have in your entire life.
satoru rises to his feet, his joints popping from kneeling too long, and he leans over you, bracing his hands on either side of your head. his weight settles over you, so warm and so solid, and the supermodel boy kisses you deeply, lazily, like you have all the time in the world.
you taste yourself on his tongue — salty and sharp — and the intimacy of it makes your head spin.
"we're not done," satoru murmurs against your lips, and your heart stutters. "i told you. i've been waiting years. one time isn't going to be enough."
his hips roll against yours, and you feel him — hard and thick through his jeans, pressing against your thigh — and a fresh wave of want curls through your exhausted body.
"i'm going to fuck you," satoru says, and the words are soft, almost gentle, which honestly makes them infinitely more dangerous. "i'm going to fuck you on this table, and then i'm going to carry you to that chair and fuck you there, and then maybe — if you're good — i'll let you rest before i take you home and fuck you in a real bed."
satoru’s hungry mouth trails down your jaw, your neck, biting and sucking marks into your sensitive skin that you'll have to cover with concealer later.
"but first," he says, pulling back to look at you with those dark, possessive eyes, "i need to hear you say it."
"say what?" you manage, your voice hoarse.
"that you're mine."
your heart pounds, your body aches, and somewhere in the back of your mind, you know that this is the point of no return; that once you say these words, you'll never be able to pretend this was just a mistake, just a moment of weakness.
but looking up at satoru — at his completely ruined makeup and his oh so desperate blue eyes and the way his huge hands shake slightly even as he tries to seem in control — you realize you simply don't want to pretend.
"i'm yours," you whisper.
satoru's smile is blinding.
"such a good boy," he says, and kisses you again.
you're still trembling when satoru's mouth claims yours once more, and this time the kiss is different — slower, deeper, less like a starving man finally being fed and more like someone savoring a meal they've waited years to taste. his lips are soft and insistent, moving against yours with a confidence that makes your head swim, and his tongue slides along your lower lip before dipping inside, tasting every corner of your mouth like he's memorizing the shape of you from the inside out.
your hands, shaky and uncertain at first, slowly find their way to satoru’s chest.
the fabric of his designer tshirt is really soft under your palms — some expensive blend you couldn't name if you tried — and you can feel the warmth of his skin through it, the firmness of the muscle beneath. satoru has always looked lean in photographs, all sharp angles and graceful lines, but up close like this, with him pressed against you from hip to chest, you realize how solid he actually is. his shoulders are broad under your hands, his pectorals defined in a way that isn't showy but definitely exists, and when your fingers curl into the fabric, bunching it around his collarbones, he makes a sound.
it's a small sound at first, a quiet exhale that ghosts across your cheek, but then you pull the shirt upward, exposing the smooth skin of satoru’s stomach, and the exhale becomes something else entirely.
satoru moans, low and almost embarrassing, and the sound vibrates against your lips and sends a shiver straight down your spine, because gojo satoru, the man who has millions of people screaming his name, is pathetically whimpering into your mouth simply because you're taking off his shirt.
"please," satoru breathes, and the word is so unexpected, so naked in its desperation, that your hands actually pause.
satoru never says please; satoru demands, satoru teases, satoru acts like the whole world exists to serve him. but here, with his designer shirt bunched around his neck and your palms flat against his bare ribs, the man is begging.
"please, baby, keep going. i need—i need you to touch me. i've wanted you to touch me for so long."
oh, well, you don't make him wait.
you push the shirt up over his chest, over his shoulders, and satoru has to break the kiss to pull it over his head, which means you get to watch him — the way his arms flex, the way his hair falls messily back into place, the way his chest rises and falls with quick, shallow breaths.
satoru is beautiful, of course he's beautiful, but it's a different kind of beautiful now, stripped of the carefully curated styling and the professional lighting.
there's a faint line across his stomach where the waistband of his jeans sits, and a small mole just below his left collarbone that you've never noticed before despite spending hours in his face every day. his skin is pale and smooth, dotted with barely-there freckles that you want to trace with your tongue.
so you do.
you lean forward, still on the cold makeup table, and press your mouth to that little mole. satoru shudders above you, his hands flying to your shoulders to steady himself, and when you drag your lips across his collarbone to the base of his throat, his fingers tighten almost painfully.
"fuck," he whispers, and his voice cracks in the middle of the word. "fuck, that's—your mouth, god—"
you don't really know what you're doing. you've never been with someone like satoru, someone who looks at you like you're the one doing him a favor by letting him touch you. but satoru’s reactions are so honest, so unfiltered, that you feel bolder than you have any right to feel.
your hands slide down his sides, feeling the dip of his waist, the flare of his hips, and every inch of skin you touch makes him shiver. when your thumbs brush against satoru’s nipples — soft, unpierced, surprisingly sensitive from the way he gasps — he makes a sound that's almost a whine.
"sensitive?" you ask, and your voice comes out rougher than you intended, hoarse from the way he kissed you.
satoru laughs, breathless and a little unsteady.
"shut up."
but satoru doesn't pull away when you do it again, dragging your thumbs in slow circles around the peaked buds, and his hips jerk forward instinctively, pressing his hardness against your thigh. even through the thick denim of his jeans, you can feel how much he wants this — the heat of him, the length of him, and your stomach does a slow, anxious flip because you're going to have to take that inside you.
well, not yet, though.
satoru pulls back just enough to look at you, and his eyes are almost completely black now, reduced to a ring around pupils that have swallowed everything else. his chest is heaving, his lips are swollen and slick, and there's a flush creeping down his neck that you've never seen on him before.
he looks wrecked, and you've barely done anything.
"you're so fucking beautiful," satoru says, and the words are rough, scraped raw. "lying there on the makeup table, looking at me like that. you have no idea what you do to me."
before you can respond — not that you have any words left — satoru hooks his hands behind your knees and pulls.
you slide across the table with a startled gasp, the cold surface shocking against your bare thighs, and then he's spreading your legs wide, stepping between them so there's nowhere for you to go. satoru’s hips press against the backs of your thighs, and even through both layers of clothing, you can feel how hard he is, and how desperate he is.
"i want to prep you properly," satoru says, and his voice is lower now, almost clinical despite the hunger in his eyes. "i'm not going to hurt you. i need you to tell me if anything feels wrong, okay? promise me."
you nod, because your throat feels too tight for words, but satoru shakes his head and cups your face with one warm palm, forcing you to meet his gaze.
"words, sweetheart. i need words."
"yes," you manage, and it comes out as barely a whisper. "yes, i promise. i'll tell you."
satoru's expression softens for just a moment, something tender flickering across his ethereal features before it's swallowed by want again.
he leans down and kisses you once more — quick, reassuring, a promise rather than a demand — and then he pulls back and looks down at where your bodies are pressed together.
"you already came once," he murmurs, almost to himself. "but i think you've got more for me, don't you, sweetheart? you've been so good, letting me touch you, letting me taste you. i want to use what you gave me to open you up. do you understand what i'm saying?"
your breath catches.
you understand, all right — the idea of your own release, still cooling on your stomach and smeared across satoru's chin, being used to prepare you for him — and it's so dirty, so intimate, that you feel heat rushing to your face.
"yeah," you say, and the word comes out strangled. "okay."
satoru smiles, slow and satisfied, and then he reaches down between your bodies.
his fingers find the mess you made earlier — the sticky, cooling evidence of your orgasm that's pooled in the hollow of your stomach and dripped down your hip — and he scoops it up with two long fingers, holding them up so you can both see the way it glistens in the dim dressing room light.
"look at that," satoru murmurs, almost reverent. "look what you gave me."
then… he brings his fingers to his mouth and sucks them clean, slowly and deliberately, his hungry eyes never leaving yours. the sight makes something hot curl low in your belly, a fresh pulse of want that you didn't think you were capable of after coming as hard as you did.
"still tastes like you," satoru says, pulling his fingers out with a soft pop. "but i need more. i need your mouth to help me."
he doesn't wait for you to ask what the hell he means.
satoru brings his hand to your lips, pressing those two long fingers against your mouth, and you understand directly; you open obediently for him, letting him push his fingers past your lips, and you taste yourself again — salty and a little bitter, mixed with the lingering mint of satoru's gum and the faint metallic taste of your own skin.
you suck, because it seems like what satoru wants, and the moan he lets out is downright filthy.
"that's it," satoru breathes, watching your lips close around his fingers. "get them nice and wet for me, sweetheart. i'm going to use them to open you up, and i need you to be ready. i need you to be so ready for me."
so you suck harder, swirling your tongue around his knuckles, trying to coat every single inch of satoru’s hot skin with as much saliva as you can.
satoru watches with heavy-lidded eyes, his hips pressing against your thighs in involuntary thrusts, and you can feel the way his whole body trembles with the effort of holding back.
"enough," he finally says, pulling his fingers from your mouth.
they're slick and shining, coated in a mixture of your saliva and the remnants of your release, and satoru brings them down between your legs without hesitation.
you flinch when you feel satoru’s long fingers brush against your needy entrance — not from pain, just from the strangeness of it, the vulnerability of being touched there by someone else for the first time.
satoru notices immediately, his free hand coming up to rest on your hip, thumb stroking small circles against the bone.
"hey," he says softly, and his voice has lost some of its urgency, replaced by something gentler. "hey, look at me. we don't have to do anything you don't want to. we can stop right now, and i'll still be happy just because i got to kiss you. okay? you're in control here. not me."
the words settle something in your chest, some anxiety you didn't even know you were holding. satoru — commanding, possessive, i-belong-to-you satoru — is giving you an out, and the fact that he's offering makes you want this even more.
"i want to," you say, and your voice is steadier than you expected. "i want you to. just... go slow?"
satoru's answering smile is soft, almost boyish, so different from the sharp, smoldering looks he gives the camera.
"always slow. i've got you, baby. i'm not going to hurt you."
his finger — just one, just the tip — presses against your entrance, circling gently, spreading the slickness around the tight ring of muscle. the sensation is strange, unfamiliar, but not unpleasant; it's just wet and warm and present, a new kind of touch that makes your thighs tense involuntarily.
"relax for me," satoru murmurs, his thumb still stroking your hip. "breathe, baby. you're doing so good. just breathe."
you try. you take a shaky breath and force your muscles to unclench, and satoru rewards you by pressing a little deeper, the first knuckle of his finger slipping inside.
the feeling is — woah, it's a lot. it's pressure and fullness and something almost invasive, but satoru's hand on your hip is grounding, and his voice is a steady murmur of praise that keeps you from panicking.
"that's it," satoru says, his finger still, giving you the time to adjust. "see? you can take it. you're doing so good for me, sweetheart. so fucking good."
satoru waits until your breathing evens out, until your hips stop trying to squirm away, and then he pushes deeper. his finger slides all the way in, slow and careful, and you feel yourself clench around him involuntarily, your body unsure whether to push him out or pull him in.
"feel that?" satoru asks, and there's wonder in his voice, like he can't believe he's actually inside you. "feel how tight you are? god, baby, you're gonna feel so good around my cock."
the dirty words should make you uncomfortable, but instead they send a bolt of heat through you, and you feel yourself relax further, your body accepting the intrusion. satoru notices immediately — he notices everything, the little bastard — and he starts to move, pulling his finger almost all the way out before pushing it back in, slow and deep.
"t-toru," you gasp, and his name comes out broken, fractured.
"i know," he says, and there's something almost smug in his voice now, hidden under the tenderness. "i know, baby. just wait. wait until i add another one."
satoru does, eventually, once your body has stopped fighting the first finger.
he pulls out completely, coats his fingers again — this time with a fresh layer of saliva, leaning down to spit on them because the slickness from before has started to dry — and then he presses two fingers against your entrance.
this time, the stretch is real.
even with the preparation, even with the saliva and the remnants of your release, two fingers feel like so much more than one. you hiss through your teeth, your hands gripping the edges of the makeup table, and satoru pauses immediately, his forehead dropping to your shoulder.
"breathe," satoru reminds you, his voice muffled against your skin. "breathe through it, sweetheart. i've got you. i'm not going anywhere."
you breathe. you breathe and you focus on the weight of satoru's body above you, the warmth of his breath on your neck, the way his thumb is still stroking your hip in that steady, grounding rhythm.
slowly, the too-full feeling starts to fade, replaced by something that might be pleasure, if you let it.
"okay," you whisper. "okay, you can move."
satoru lifts his head and looks at you, and the expression on his face is so raw, so full of want and relief and something that looks terrifyingly like devoted love, that you have to look away. but satoru doesn't let you — he catches your chin with his free hand and turns your face back toward him, holding your gaze as he starts to move his fingers.
he goes slow at first, just shallow thrusts that barely push past the tight ring of muscle, but each time he goes a little deeper, a little faster, until he's fucking you open on his fingers with a steady, relentless rhythm.
the sound is truly obscene — wet and squelching, mingling with your breathless gasps and satoru's quiet groans — and the feeling is like nothing you've ever experienced in your whole life. it's pressure and fullness and heat, and somewhere deep inside, satoru's fingers brush against something that makes your whole body jolt.
"there," satoru says, and his voice is triumphant. "found it."
he presses against that spot again, deliberately this time, and you cry out — loud, too loud, the sound bouncing off the concrete walls of the dressing room. satoru shushes you with a kiss, swallowing your moans, but he doesn't stop pressing against that spot, he doesn't stop curling his fingers just right until you're seeing stars behind your closed eyelids.
"that's it," he murmurs against your lips. "that's it, sweetheart. let go for me. let me take care of you."
you're hard again — you don't even remember getting hard, but you're achingly erect, leaking against your stomach, and every thrust of satoru's fingers sends sparks of pleasure straight to your cock. you're babbling, saying things you don't remember thinking, begging for more, begging for him, and satoru just shushes you and keeps fingering you open with that steady, devastating rhythm.
"please," you hear yourself say, and you don't even know what you're begging for. "please, satoru, please, i need—"
"i know what you need," satoru says, and his voice is dark now, possessive. "you need me inside you. you need my cock stretching you open, filling you up. don't you, baby?"
"yes," you sob, because it's true, and you're too far gone to be embarrassed about it. "yes, please, i want—i want you to fuck me, satoru, please—"
satoru pulls his fingers out, and the sudden emptiness makes you whimper. but he's already moving, fumbling with the button of his jeans, and the sound of his zipper lowering is the loudest thing you've ever heard.
"you're sure?" he asks, pausing with his jeans open, his cock straining against his boxers. "last chance to say no, baby. after this, i don't think i'm going to be able to stop."
you look at him — at his flushed face and his swollen lips and the desperate, hungry way he's looking at you — and you know, with absolute certainty, that you want this.
"i'm sure," you say. "fuck me, satoru. please."
the words barely leave your mouth before satoru is moving, and there's something almost frantic in the way he shoves his jeans down his hips. the denim catches on his thighs for a moment, and he makes a frustrated sound low in his throat, something between a growl and a groan, before he kicks them off the rest of the way. satoru’s boxers go with them, a tangle of black fabric pooling around his ankles, and then the man is standing between your spread legs, completely bare from the waist down, and you forget how to breathe.
because gojo satoru is beautiful everywhere, apparently. of course he is. why wouldn't he be?
his cock is — god, it's a lot.
it's long and thick, curving slightly upward, flushed a deep pink at the tip where a bead of precum has already gathered, glistening in the dim light of the dressing room.
you'd been so focused on the impossibility of this whole situation, on the weight of his fingers inside you and the heat of his mouth on your skin, that you hadn't really let yourself think about this moment. but now it's here, and satoru is stroking himself slowly, almost absently, spreading the slickness along his length, and you can't look away.
"see what you do to me?" satoru asks, and his voice is rough, scraped raw at the edges.
his eyes are fixed on your face, watching your reaction, and there's something vulnerable beneath the hunger, something that looks almost like fear.
"i've never—i don't—this is just you, baby. only you."
you want to say something reassuring, something that tells him you're not scared, that you want this just as much as he does, but your throat feels tight, and all that comes out is a shaky exhale, your hips shifting on the cold makeup table, an unconscious invitation.
satoru steps closer, his thighs pressing against the edge of the table, and the heat of him radiates against your bare skin.
he's so close now that you can easily feel satoru’s cock brushing against your inner thigh, so hot and so velvety soft despite how insanely hard he is, and the contrast makes your head spin. satoru’s hands find your hips again, those long fingers curling around the bone with a grip that's firm but not painful, and he pulls you toward him until the curve of your ass is flush against the edge of the table.
"i'm going to go slow," satoru says, and it sounds like he's reminding himself as much as he's telling you. his forehead drops to yours, and his breath is warm and uneven against your lips. "so slow, baby. i need you to tell me if it's too much. i need you to be honest with me, okay?"
you nod, because words still feel impossible, but satoru shakes his head slightly, his nose brushing against yours.
"words, sweetheart."
"okay," you manage, and your voice sounds strange to your own ears; breathless and high, stripped of any pretense. "okay, i'll tell you. i promise."
satoru kisses you then, soft and sweet, a stark contrast to the way his hips are pressing forward, lining himself up against your entrance. you feel the head of his cock — huge, impossibly huge — nudging against that tight ring of muscle, and your whole body tenses in anticipation.
"shh," satoru murmurs against your lips, and one of his huge hands leaves your hip to softly cup your face, his thumb stroking along your cheekbone. "just breathe, baby. i've got you. i'm not going to hurt you."
he doesn't push inside yet.
instead, satoru rocks his hips gently, sliding his cock along your crack, letting the head catch against your entrance before slipping past, over and over, coating himself in the slickness that's still there from his fingers.
the sensation is maddening — the heat of him, the weight of him, the way he's so close but not quite there — and you find yourself pushing back against him, trying to take him inside.
"awh, so eager," satoru says, and there's a smile in his voice now, something fond and almost teasing. "you want it that bad, sweetheart?"
"yes," you gasp, because there's no point in lying, not when you're spread out on a makeup table with his cock sliding against your hole. "yes, please, satoru, i want—i need—"
"mhh. i already told you; i know what you need."
and then satoru pushes.
just the tip at first — just the very head of his cock, breaching that tight ring of muscle with a pressure that instantly makes your eyes water. it's been years since you've done this, and even then, you'd never taken anything this big. the stretch is immediate and overwhelming, a burning fullness that steals the breath from your lungs.
satoru stops forthwith, his whole body going rigid above you.
"breathe," satoru says, and his voice is so strained, like holding himself back is taking him every single ounce of his self-control. "breathe, baby. just breathe through it. you're doing so good. you're taking me so well."
you try to focus on satoru’s soft voice, on the warmth of his hand still gently cupping your face, on the way his thumb is stroking your cheek in slow, steady rhythms. you breathe — in through your nose, out through your mouth — and slowly, gradually, the burning starts to fade, replaced by something that feels almost like pleasure.
"okay," you whisper. "okay, you can—you can move."
satoru pushes deeper, another inch disappearing inside you, and this time the stretch is more manageable, still intense but no longer unbearable.
he's watching your face with an intensity that makes you feel seen in a way you've never felt before, his blue eyes searching for any sign of discomfort, any reason to stop.
"that's it," satoru murmurs, his hips pressing forward again, another inch. "that's it, sweetheart. you're taking me so well. you feel so good—god, you feel incredible—so tight and so warm, i could stay inside you forever."
you want to tell satoru that he feels incredible too, that the weight of him inside you is like nothing you've ever experienced, but the words simply won't come. instead, you just lie there, gasping, as satoru continues his slow, inexorable push, filling you inch by inch.
satoru pauses halfway, his forehead pressed to yours, both of them breathing hard.
you can feel him trembling, his muscles shaking with the effort of holding back, and something about that, about the fact that gojo satoru is barely keeping himself together, makes you feel powerful in a way you didn't expect.
"satoru—more," you say, and your voice is steadier now. "i can take more."
satoru groans, a low, desperate sound, and then he's pushing again, the last few inches of his huge cock sliding home until he's buried completely inside you, his hips flush against the backs of your thighs.
the feeling is… well, there aren't words for it.
it's fullness and heat and pressure, and you're so achingly full, stretched around satoru in a way that feels almost too much but also exactly right. you can feel every inch of him, you can feel the way his cock pulses inside you, you can feel the slight curve of it pressing against your walls.
satoru isn't moving yet; he's just lying there, his body covering yours, his face buried in the curve of your neck. his breath is hot against your skin, each exhale a shaky, uneven thing, and his hands are gripping your hips so hard you know there will be bruises there tomorrow.
"look at me," satoru says, and his voice is muffled against your neck. "please, baby. look at me."
you tilt your head back, and satoru lifts his face, and the expression you see there immediately makes your heart stutter in your chest.
satoru is looking at you like you're the most precious thing in the entire world; like you're the answer to every question he's ever asked, the solution to every problem he's ever had. there's no trace of the cocky, untouchable supermodel in his gaze — just a man, just satoru, looking at you with an adoration so raw and so real that it makes your chest ache.
"i've got you," satoru says softly, and his voice cracks in the middle of the words. "i've got you, sweetheart. you're mine. you're finally mine."
then he starts to move.
slow at first, just a gentle rocking of his hips, barely pulling out before pushing back in. the sensation is overwhelming, your body still adjusting to the size of him, and every small movement sends sparks of pleasure shooting up your spine.
satoru watches your face like he's cataloging every expression, every twitch, every bitten-off moan, and he adjusts his angle based on what he sees, tilting his hips just slightly until—
"there," you gasp, your back arching off the table. "right there, satoru, please—"
"yeah?" he asks, and there's a note of triumph in his voice, buried under the tenderness. "that the spot, sweetheart? that where you need me?"
he thrusts again, hitting that same spot, and you cry out, your fingers scrabbling for purchase on his shoulders. he's still going slow, still careful, but each thrust is a little deeper, a little harder, and you can feel yourself opening up for him, your body finally accepting what it had been resisting.
"you're doing so good," satoru murmurs, punctuating each word with a thrust. "taking me so well, sweetheart. feels like you were made for this. made for me."
satoru leans down and kisses you, and it's so messy and so desperate and so perfect. his tongue slides against yours as his hips pick up speed, the thrusts becoming longer, smoother, the initial resistance gone. the makeup table creaks beneath you, the metal legs scraping against the concrete floor, but neither of you cares.
all that matters is the heat of his body and the weight of his cock and the way he's looking at you like you're everything.
"faster," you beg, because you're past caring about pride or dignity or any of it. "p-please, satoru, i need—i need you to —"
"faster?" he asks, and there's a smirk in his voice now, even as his eyes remain soft. "you want me to fuck you faster, baby? you think you can take it?"
"yes," you gasp. "yes, please, i can take it, i want it, i want—"
satoru doesn't make you wait.
he pulls back until just the tip is inside you, and then he slams forward, burying himself to the hilt in one sharp, brutal thrust. the sound you make is something between a scream and a sob, and your whole body convulses around him, your nails digging into his shoulders hard enough to draw blood.
"there you go," satoru groans, and his composure is cracking, his voice rough and dark. "there you go, sweetheart. that's what you wanted, isn't it? you wanted me to fuck you properly. to stop being so careful and just take what's mine."
he sets a rhythm then; deep, hard, punishing thrusts that drive the breath from your lungs.
the makeup table is sliding across the floor with every impact, and you can hear things falling off it — brushes, palettes, a glass bottle of setting spray that shatters somewhere behind you — but you can't bring yourself to care. all you can do is hold on, your legs wrapped around satoru's waist, your hands fisted in his hair, as he pounds into you like he's trying to carve out a space inside you that belongs only to him.
"look at you," satoru says, and his voice is wrecked, broken into pieces. "look at you, taking all of me. you're so beautiful like this. so fucking beautiful. i've dreamed about this—about you—every single night for years."
satoru is not exaggerating.
you can see it in his eyes, you can feel it in the way his hands are shaking even as they grip your hips, you can hear it in the desperate edge of his voice. this isn't just sex for him — it never was. this is something deeper, something that's been building since the very beginning, and now that it's finally happening, he's barely holding himself together.
you lean up and kiss him, and it's clumsy and off-rhythm because he's still thrusting into you, but neither of you cares. you kiss satoru and you taste salt — tears, maybe yours, maybe his — and you hold him as close as you can, your arms wrapped around his neck.
"i'm yours," you whisper against his lips. "i'm yours, satoru. i'm not going anywhere."
satoru makes a sound — a broken, desperate sound that's almost a sob — and then he's kissing you again, harder this time, and his hips are slamming into yours with a ferocity that borders on desperate.
the pleasure is building now, coiling low in your belly, and you know you're not going to last much longer.
"m’close," you gasp, pulling your mouth from his. "satoru, i'm close—"
"not yet," he says, and the words are a command, even as his voice shakes. "not yet, baby. hold on for me. i want you to cum when i tell you to."
you whimper, because it feels impossible, the pressure building inside you with every thrust, but you try; you try to hold back, to focus on anything other than the way his cock is hitting that spot inside you with every stroke.
satoru's hand wraps around your cock — you didn't even notice him reaching down — and he starts stroking you in time with his desperate thrusts, and that's it.; that's the very end of your resistance.
"please," you beg, your voice cracking. "p-please, satoru, i can't—i can't hold it—"
"look at me," he says, and his voice is soft now, gentle, even as his hips keep moving. "look at me, sweetheart. i want to see your face when you cum."
you force your eyes open, and satoru is staring down at you with that expression again; that terrifying adoring, reverent, i-would-burn-down-the-world-for-you expression, and it's too much. it's all way too much.
"now," satoru says, and his voice is barely a whisper. "cum for me, sweetheart."
oh, you certainly do.
your orgasm overtakes you completely, violent and all-consuming, and you don't even have the breath to scream. your mouth opens, but no sound comes out, just a silent, gasping sob as you spill over satoru's hand, your release painting both of your stomachs in hot, pulsing stripes.
your body clenches around satoru's cock — once, twice, three times — and that's what pushes him over the edge.
he groans, low and guttural, and you feel him pulse inside you, feel the heat of his release filling you up, deep and hot and seemingly endless. his hips stutter against yours, grinding in small circles as he rides out his orgasm, and he's saying something — your name, over and over, mixed with words that might be i love you or might be just sounds, you can't tell.
for a long moment, neither of you moves.
satoru is still buried inside you, his body completely covering yours, his pretty face pressed into the curve of your neck. his breath is warm and uneven against your skin, and you can feel his heart pounding against your chest, a frantic rhythm that slowly, slowly begins to steady.
the makeup table is cold beneath you, the shattered glass from the setting spray digging into your back, and you're going to be sore tomorrow in ways you can't even imagine. but right now, with satoru's weight on top of you and his warmth seeping into your bones, you can't bring yourself to care.
satoru lifts his head, and his eyes are red-rimmed, his lashes wet. his makeup is completely ruined by now — highlighter wiped away, lipstick kissed off entirely. he looks wrecked, and beautiful, and so unbearably drunk that your heart aches.
"holy fucking shit," satoru says, and his voice is hoarse and rough and perfect.
you laugh.
it's a small, breathless thing at first, more exhale than sound, but then it grows, bubbling up from somewhere deep in your chest, because yeah — holy fucking shit.
what else is there to say? your body is still trembling, still pulsing around him in tiny aftershocks, and satoru’s cock is still buried inside you, softening slowly but not gone yet. the cold of the makeup table is seeping through your back, and there's shattered glass somewhere behind your shoulder, and gojo satoru — the gojo satoru, the one whose face launches a thousand magazine covers — is looking at you like you've hung the moon with your own two bare hands.
so you laugh, and it's shaky and disbelieving and maybe a little hysterical, but it's real.
satoru's eyes widen for a fraction of a second, and then his own mouth curves into something soft and wondering, like he's never heard you laugh before even though he's heard it a thousand times over the past years. but this is different, and you both know it; this is after.
"there you are," satoru whispers, and his thumb traces along your cheekbone, softly wiping away a tear you didn't know you'd shed. "there's my boy."
satoru leans in and kisses you again, and this kiss is nothing like the desperate, hungry ones from before; this one is slow and savoring, his lips moving against yours with a tenderness that makes your chest ache all over again.
his tongue slips past your teeth lazily, like he has all the time in the world, like there isn't a photoshoot waiting and a shattered bottle of setting spray drying sticky on the floor. you melt into him, your fingers curling into the damp hair at the nape of his neck, and you feel him smile against your mouth.
"i'm not done with you," satoru murmurs, and the words vibrate against your lips. "i told you. i'm going to fuck you on that chair, remember?"
you do remember.
you remember him saying it, his voice soft and dangerous, and you'd thought it was just talk, just the heat of the moment. but satoru is already pulling back, already wrapping your legs around his hips, and the movement shifts his cock inside you, still half-hard, and you gasp at the sensation.
"hold on," satoru says, and then he's standing.
he lifts you like you weigh nothing — and you're not small, you're not light, but satoru is all lean muscle and core strength from years of posing and gym routines, and he handles you like you're made of feathers. your legs lock around his waist automatically, your arms tightening around his neck, and his cock slips out of you as he stands, leaving you suddenly completely empty and aching.
you whine at the loss, high and needy, and satoru shushes you with a kiss to your temple.
"patience, sweetheart. i've got you."
the walk to the makeup chair is only a few steps, but it feels like an eternity. satoru's hands are splayed across your bare ass, fingers dimpling the flesh, and every step jostles you against him, his half-hard cock pressing against your thigh.
you can feel satoru’s release — yours too, probably — sliding down the inside of your leg, warm and sticky, and the sheer filth of it makes your face burn.
satoru lowers himself into the chair, the leather creaking under his weight, and you settle onto his lap without needing to be told. your knees bracket satoru’s hips, your hands rest on his shoulders, and you're face to face again, close enough to count the individual lashes framing those ethereal blue eyes.
the chair is much more comfortable than the table, but that's not why you sigh. you sigh because satoru's hands are running up and down your sides, warm and grounding, and because satoru is once again looking at you like you're the only thing in the room that exists.
"there," he says softly. "that's better, isn't it?"
you nod, because words still feel heavy and clumsy. but satoru wants words — he's made that clear many times — so you clear your throat and try.
"yeah," you manage. "yeah, it's—it's better."
satoru's smile is slow and satisfied, and his hips shift beneath you, his cock twitching against your stomach.
he's getting hard again, you realize, or maybe he never really went soft. maybe he's just been waiting, patient and wanting, for you to catch your breath.
"remember what i said?" satoru asks, and his voice has dropped back into that low, honeyed register, the one he uses when he's about to get exactly what he wants. "i said i was going to fuck you on this chair. but i think—" he pauses, his hands sliding from your sides to your hips, thumbs pressing into the soft flesh there. "i think i want you to do all the work this time, sweetheart."
your heart stutters.
"what do you mean?"
satoru's grin is sharp and bright and just a little bit wicked.
"i mean you're going to ride me, sweetheart. you're going to sink down on my cock and fuck yourself on it until you can't move anymore. and then—" satoru leans in, his lips brushing the shell of your ear, his breath hot and damp. "and then i'm going to take over and finish us both."
a shiver runs down your spine, settling low in your belly, and your cock, which had only just started to soften a little , gives an interested twitch.
"i—i don't know if i can," you admit, and your voice comes out smaller than you intended. "you're so—satoru, you're so big, and i'm already—"
"you can," satoru interrupts, and his voice is gentle but firm, leaving no room for argument. "you already took all of me once, sweetheart. you can do it again. and i'll help you. i'm not going to let you fall."
satoru’s hands guide your hips, shifting you forward until his cock — fully hard now, thick and flushed and curving up toward his stomach — presses against your entrance. the head nudges teasingly against you, still slick from before, and you softly gasp at the contact.
"there you go," satoru murmurs, his eyes fixed on where your bodies are about to meet once again. "just like that. take your time. i've waited years for this, remember? i can wait a few more minutes."
you want to tell him that you're not sure you can wait, that the ache inside you is already building again, that the pressure of him against your hole is driving you slowly insane, but instead of speaking, you just bite your lip and sink down.
just the tip at first, because even after everything, even after satoru’s fingers and satoru’s cock stretching you open on the makeup table, the initial breach still steals your breath. his hands are steady on your hips, not pushing, just holding, and his eyes are soft with encouragement.
"that's it," he breathes. "that's it, sweetheart. you're doing so good. just a little more."
you take another inch, then another, the stretch burning in a way that's already starting to blur into pleasure. your thighs are shaking with the effort of lowering yourself slowly, and your hands grip satoru's shoulders like he's the only thing keeping you tethered to the earth.
"fuck," you whisper, and the word comes out strangled. "fuck, satoru, you're so—you're so deep—"
"not yet," he says, and there's a smile in his voice. "not all the way. but you're getting there, baby. you're taking me so well."
you sink down another inch, and another, until finally your ass meets satoru’s thighs and you're seated fully on his lap, his cock buried to the hilt inside you.
the sensation is overwhelming, just like before, but different too. on the table, you'd been lying down, passive, letting him take control. here, straddling him, you feel every inch of him in a new way, the angle different, the weight of your own body pressing down and driving him even deeper.
satoru's head falls back against the chair, his eyes fluttering closed, and a pathetic sound escapes his lips — low and guttural, almost pained.
"oh my god," he says, and his voice cracks. "oh my god, you feel—you're so tight, baby, i can't—"
satoru can't finish the sentence, and somehow that's the hottest thing you've ever heard. gojo satoru, pathetically reduced to fragments, because of you.
you start to move.
it's tentative at first, just a small rise and fall of your hips, an experimental lift that pulls satoru almost all the way out before you sink back down. the drag of him against your sensitive walls makes you moan, loud and obscene, and satoru's hands fly to your waist, gripping tight.
"yes," satoru hisses. "yes, just like that. fuck yourself on me, sweetheart. show me how much you want it."
so you do.
you find a rhythm, slow and deep, rising until just the head of satoru’s cock remains inside before dropping back down, taking all of him in one smooth movement. it's not graceful; your thighs are already burning, and your movements are a little unsteady, but satoru doesn't seem to care.
his eyes are open now, watching you with an intensity that makes your skin prickle, and his mouth is parted, his breath coming in short, sharp gasps.
"look at you," satoru murmurs, and his voice is thick with wonder. "look at you riding me like you were made for it. you're so beautiful, baby. so fucking beautiful."
his praise wraps around you like a second skin, warm and encouraging, and you find yourself moving faster, chasing the pleasure that's building low in your belly.
each time you sink down, satoru’s cock hits that spot inside you — that perfect, devastating spot — and you cry out, your nails digging into his shoulders.
"there," satoru says, and his voice is darker now, edged with something far more hungry. "there it is. keep going, sweetheart. don't fucking stop."
you don't stop. you can't stop. your body is moving on its own now, rising and falling, rising and falling, again and again, and the sound of it — the wet, slick sound of you taking him over and over — fills the small dressing room.
satoru's hands are all over you, sliding up your chest, pinching your nipples, gripping your hips hard enough to bruise. his mouth finds your neck, your collarbone, your shoulder, biting and sucking marks into your skin that you'll have to hide later.
"you're mine," satoru says against your throat, the words vibrating through you. "everyone's going to see these marks and know you're mine."
you want to tell him that you don't care who sees, that you'd walk out of this room right now with his bruises painted across your skin and dare anyone to say a word. but you can't form sentences anymore, can't do anything but feel the heat of him inside you, the drag of his cock, the press of his mouth, the way his hands are shaking even as they hold you steady.
but then your thighs start to burn in earnest, the muscles screaming with fatigue, and your rhythm falters.
you try to keep going, you try to push through, but your body simply won't cooperate; your movements become more jerky, uneven, and you whine in frustration, your forehead dropping to satoru's shoulder.
"c-can't," you gasp. "satoru, i can't—i can't move anymore, it's too much—"
satoru's hands tighten on your hips, stilling you.
"shh," he says softly, and his lips press against your temple. "i've got you, baby. i told you, didn't i? i said i'd let you ride me until you couldn't move anymore, and then i'd take over."
you nod against satoru’s shoulder, way too tired to speak, way too overwhelmed to do anything but cling to him.
"look at me," satoru says, and you lift your head, meeting satoru’s blue eyes.
they're dark again, the blue almost swallowed by black, and there's something in them that makes your stomach flip — not hunger, exactly, or not just hunger. but something deeper, something that looks like reverence.
"hold on," he says, and then he moves.
satoru plants his feet on the floor, braces his hands on the armrests of the chair, and thrusts up into you.
the force of it punches the air from your lungs, your body bouncing on his lap, and you would have fallen backwards if satoru’s hands weren't already there, one on your lower back, one cupping the back of your head. satoru holds you close, your chest pressed against his, as he fucks up into you with deep, punishing strokes.
"yes," you hear yourself sob, the word torn from somewhere raw and primal. "yes, yes, yes—"
satoru doesn't answer with words. he answers with his body, with the relentless rhythm of his hips, with the way he drives into you again and again and again. the chair creaks beneath them, the leather squeaking in protest, and somewhere in the back of your mind you're vaguely aware that someone might hear, that someone might come knocking, but right now, you can't bring yourself to give a fuck.
all that matters is him. all that matters is the way he fills you, the way his cock stretches you open, the way his breath is hot and uneven against your cheek.
"you feel so good," satoru grunts, and his voice is wrecked, shattered. "so fucking good, baby. i'm never going to get enough of you. never."
you're crying, you realize distantly. tears are streaming down your cheeks, not from sadness but from sheer overwhelming sensation — the pleasure so intense it's crossed over into something almost painful, something that makes your whole body shake and your vision blur.
satoru notices immediately.
"hey," he says softly, and his thrusts slow, but don't stop. "hey, sweetheart, look at me. are you okay?"
you nod, because you are, you're more than okay, you're flying apart and he's the only thing holding you together.
"it's just—" you try to explain, but the words won't come. "it's so much, satoru. it's so good, i can't—"
"awh, i know," satoru says, and he kisses the tears from your cheeks, his lips warm and gentle despite the way his hips are still moving, still driving into you. "i know, sweetheart. you're doing so well. you're taking me so well. just a little more, okay? can you give me a little more?"
you nod again, because you'd give him anything. you'd give him anything at all.
satoru's hand slides between your bodies, wrapping around your cock, and you sob at the contact. you're already so close, the pressure building and building, and his hand on you is going to push you over the edge.
"cum with me," satoru says, and his voice is desperate now, pleading. "please, baby, cum with me. i want to feel you—i want to feel you around me when i—"
he doesn't finish the sentence, but he doesn't need to.
you can feel satoru getting close, his thrusts becoming erratic, his cock swelling deep inside you. your own orgasm is right there, hovering just out of reach, and satoru's hand strokes you once, twice, three times—
and then you're falling.
your orgasm crashes over you, violent and consuming, and you cry out again — a broken, ragged sound that echoes off the concrete walls. you spill over satoru's hand, over his stomach, over your own chest, and your body clenches around him, gripping him tight.
that's all it takes.
satoru groans, low and guttural, and you feel him pulse inside you, you feel the hot rush of his seed filling you up. his hips stutter against yours, grinding deep, and he holds you there, buried to the hilt, as he empties himself into you.
it seems to go on forever, wave after wave, and by the time he finally stills, you're both trembling, both gasping for air, both completely undone.
satoru's forehead is pressed to yours, his breath warm and uneven against your lips. his hands are still on you — one on your hip, one cupping the back of your neck — and his thumbs are stroking small, absent circles against your skin. you can feel satoru’s heart pounding against yours, a frantic rhythm that matches your own, and you can feel the evidence of what you've just done leaking out of you, so warm and wet, dripping down onto his thighs.
"woah," satoru whispers, and his voice is soft, almost shy.
satoru smiles — not the sharp, camera-ready smile, but something smaller and way more vulnerable, something that crinkles the corners of his beautiful eyes and makes him look so freaking prepossessing.
for a long moment, neither of you moves.
satoru is still inside you, softening now but not gone, and the weight of him is warm and grounding in a way you didn't expect. his forehead is pressed against yours, and every time he exhales, his breath fans across your lips, smelling faintly of mint and something sweeter underneath.
your legs are still shakily wrapped around satoru’s waist, your arms still looped around his neck, and you're acutely aware of every single place where your bodies touch — his chest against yours, his hands splayed across your lower back, his thighs warm beneath your own.
the dressing room is quiet now, save for the sound of both of you breathing, slowly returning to something that resembles normal. somewhere behind you, the shattered glass from the setting spray bottle crunches softly as satoru shifts in the chair, and you make a mental note to apologize to whoever has to clean that up later.
but later feels impossibly far away right now.
right now, there's only this; satoru's heartbeat against your chest, the stickiness cooling on your stomach, the way his thumb is tracing small, absent patterns on your hip.
"hey," satoru says after a while, and his voice is still soft, still a little wonderstruck. "you're crying."
you slowly blink, and sure enough, your cheeks are damp. you hadn't even noticed.
"i'm not crying," you say, but it comes out thick, and satoru's smile widens, fond and a little teasing.
"okay," satoru says, easily, like the man is humoring you right now. "you're not crying. you're just... leaking from your eyes. very different thing."
you laugh despite yourself, a wet, shaky sound, and satoru's hands tighten on your hips, pulling you closer even though there's no space left to close.
satoru’s swollen lips find the corner of your mouth, then your cheek, then the spot just below your eye where a tear has escaped. he kisses it away, soft and deliberate, and the tenderness of the gesture makes your chest ache in a completely different way than before.
"you're so stupid," you whisper, but there's no heat in it; just exhaustion and something that feels terrifyingly close to love.
"mmh," satoru agrees, kissing your other cheek, then the tip of your nose, then your forehead. "your stupid, though. that's the very important part."
he keeps kissing you — little pecks, soft and unhurried, scattered across your face like he's trying to memorize the topography of you; the corner of your mouth, your jaw, the spot behind your ear that makes you shiver. none of these kisses are demanding or hungry. they're just so... gentle. reverent, almost. like satoru is trying to tell you something he doesn't have the words for yet.
you let him.
you sit there in his lap, still connected in the most intimate way possible, and you let satoru cover your face with soft, sweet kisses until your tears have dried and your breathing has evened out and the trembling in your limbs has finally completely stopped.
"we're a complete mess," you observe eventually, looking down at both of you.
and it's true — satoru's chest is streaked with your release, and there's a smudge of ruined highlighter on his collarbone, and his white hair looks like someone stuck a finger in an electrical socket. you're not much better; your sweater is bunched around your armpits, your jeans are somewhere on the floor, and you can feel satoru's release leaking out of you, warm and slick against your thighs.
satoru follows your gaze and snorts.
"yeah. a hot mess, though. important distinction."
he shifts beneath you, and you both wince slightly as his softening cock slips out of you. the sudden emptiness makes you feel strangely hollow, and you can't quite suppress the small, unhappy sound that escapes your throat.
satoru notices, and his hands immediately start rubbing slow circles on your lower back.
"i know," he murmurs. "i know, baby. hold on. let me take care of you, okay? just stay there. don't move."
as if you could move.
your legs feel like jelly, and your entire body is humming with a bone-deep exhaustion that makes the idea of standing up feel genuinely impossible. so you stay put, draped across satoru's lap like a very content, very ruined cat, while he looks around the dressing room with an expression of mild consternation.
"okay," satoru says slowly, cataloging his surroundings. "okay. towels. there should be towels somewhere. or wipes. or—no, wait, i have a thing."
he shifts you carefully, one arm wrapped securely around your waist to keep you from toppling off his lap, and leans over to rummage through the drawer of the makeup table. you cling to satoru instinctively, your face buried in the crook of his neck, and you feel him press a quick kiss to your hair before returning his attention to the drawer.
"haha!" satoru says triumphantly, and pulls out a package of makeup remover wipes.
they're not exactly designed for... this. but they're wet and they're clean, and right now, that's all that matters.
satoru pulls one out and immediately starts cleaning his own chest, wiping away the streaks of your release with efficient, practiced movements. but after a few seconds, he pauses, looks down at you, and seems to reconsider his priorities.
"actually," he says, balling up the used wipe and tossing it vaguely in the direction of the trash can (he misses). "you first. you're more important."
satoru pulls out a fresh wipe and gently, so gently, starts cleaning your stomach.
the wipe is cold against your overheated skin, and you flinch slightly at the contact. satoru notices immediately, his hand stilling, his eyes flicking up to your face.
"cold?" he asks.
"a little," you admit.
satoru makes a sympathetic noise and presses a kiss to your shoulder before continuing, but this time he's more careful, dabbing rather than wiping, letting the fabric warm against your skin before he moves it. he cleans the mess from your stomach first — your own release, tacky and cooling — and then works his way down, shifting you slightly so he can reach the mess between your thighs.
this part is more intimate than the sex was, somehow.
satoru is so careful, so focused, his brow furrowed in concentration as he cleans the evidence of their joining from your skin. his touch is gentle and clinical, but also tender, and every few seconds he pauses to press a kiss to your knee or your hip or the inside of your thigh.
"you're being so good," satoru murmurs, more to himself than to you. "so still. so patient."
you want to tell him that you're not being patient, you're just too tired to move, but the words won't come.
instead, you just watch him — you watch the way satoru’s long fingers move, you watch the way his lips twitch into a small smile every time you shiver, you watch the way his eyes soften every time they meet yours.
when he's finished cleaning you, satoru carefully sets the wipe aside and reaches for another one.
this time, satoru cleans himself — his thighs, his stomach, the softening curve of his cock — with quick efficient movements. but even then, satoru keeps one hand on you, a steady warmth against your hip, like he's afraid you'll disappear if he lets go completely.
"okay," satoru says when he's done, surveying his work. "not my best cleanup, but it'll do until we can get you home and into an actual shower."
home. satoru said home. like it's a given that you're going home together. like there's no question of you leaving, of this being a one-time thing.
your heart does something complicated in your chest.
satoru must see something shift in your expression, because his teasing smile fades into something softer, more uncertain. his hands come up to cup your face, his thumbs stroking along your cheekbones, and he tilts your head up so he can look you directly in the eyes.
"hey," satoru says quietly. "talk to me. what's going on in that pretty head of yours?"
you swallow hard.
"you said home."
satoru blinks. "yeah. my place. i mean, unless you want to go to yours? but my bed is bigger, and i have that fancy shower with the multiple heads, and—"
"no, i mean—" you pause, trying to find the words. "you said home like it was obvious. like i'm coming with you."
satoru stares at you for a long moment, and then, slowly, incredulously, he laughs.
"baby," he says, and the word is so fond it almost hurts. "baby, i just spent the better part of an hour making love to you on my makeup table and then on my chair. i've been in love with you for years. where else would you be going?"
you open your mouth, close it, and open it again.
"wait," you say. "in love with me? for years?"
satoru's expression shifts into something almost shy, which is a look you've never seen on him since he was a teenagers. his ears go pink, and he ducks his head slightly, his thumbs still stroking your cheeks.
"yeah," he admits, his voice smaller than you've ever heard it. "i know. it's pathetic. i'm pathetic. i've had photo shoots in paris and milan and new york, and all i could think about was coming back to tokyo so i could sit in your chair and have you touch my face. i've turned down other makeup artists — good ones — because no one else's hands feel like yours. no one else looks at me like i'm just a person instead of... instead of whatever the world thinks i am."
your throat feels tight. "satoru—"
"please, let me finish," he says softly, and there's something vulnerable in his voice, something raw and unguarded. "i'm in love with you. i have been for so long i don't remember what it felt like before. and i know this is fast, and i know we just—i mean, we literally just—but i couldn't let you leave this room without knowing. i couldn't go back to pretending that you're just my makeup artist, that i don't spend every second you're near me trying not to stare at your mouth."
you're crying again. you didn't realize it, but you're crying, and satoru is wiping your tears away with his thumbs, his expression a mix of concern and tenderness.
"hey," he says, his voice gentle. "hey, it's okay. you don't have to say it back. i just needed you to know."
"you're an idiot," you manage, your voice cracking. "you're such an idiot, satoru."
his smile wavers slightly.
"that's... not the reaction i was hoping for, but okay."
"no, i mean—" you grab his wrists, holding his hands against your face. "i thought you were straight. i thought you were straight this whole time. i've been doing your makeup for years and i never—i didn't let myself think about you that way because i assumed you weren't—"
satoru's expression shifts from vulnerable to bewildered to absolutely incredulous in the span of about two seconds.
"you thought i was straight?" he repeats, his voice climbing an octave. "you thought i was straight?"
"you've never said otherwise!" you protest. "you've had girlfriends before! there were magazine covers with models hanging off you!"
"those were for publicity!" satoru's hands drop from your face to gesture wildly, narrowly missing your head. "those were contracts! do you know how many times i've tried to ask you out? how many hints i've dropped? i sent you a meme of two guys holding hands with the caption 'us' and you sent back a thumbs up! a thumbs up!"
"i thought you were joking!"
"i literally bought you flowers once! roses! red roses!"
"you said they were from a brand deal!"
"they were not from a brand deal!" satoru looks genuinely aggrieved now, his mouth hanging open. "i went to a florist and everything. i stood there for twenty minutes trying to pick out the perfect bouquet. the florist asked if they were for my girlfriend and i said no, for a boy i've been in love with for years, and she literally gave me a discount because she felt bad for me!"
you stare at him. satoru stares back, chest heaving slightly, his hair a complete disaster and his face still flushed from everything that just happened.
"you're serious," you say slowly.
"i have never been more serious about anything in my entire life," satoru says, and his voice cracks on the last word. "i am so serious it's embarrassing. i am so serious that ijichi knows. my manager knows i'm in love with you, and he's never even met you properly. he just knows because i won't shut up about you. because i literally cannot shut up about you."
you don't know what to say.
your brain feels like it's short-circuited, trying to reconcile the satoru in front of you — rumpled and wrecked and so painfully earnest — with the satoru you've known for long years, the one who always seemed untouchable, unattainable, fundamentally out of your league.
"i thought you were just being nice," you finally say, and your voice is small. "i thought you were just... friendly. models are friendly. it's part of the job."
satoru makes a sound that's somewhere between a laugh and a groan, and he pulls you forward, wrapping his arms around you and burying his face in your neck.
"i am not that good of an actor," satoru says, muffled against your skin. "i am literally the worst actor. have you seen my commercials? i'm terrible. the only reason i book jobs is because of my face. my face and my absolute inability to pretend i don't want to climb you like a tree every time you walk into the room."
you laugh despite yourself, your hands coming up to card through his messy white hair.
"you're so dramatic."
"i'm in love," he corrects, pulling back just enough to look at you. his eyes are so blue, even now. "there's a difference."
something warm blooms in your chest, something that feels like hope and terror and joy all tangled together.
"i'm in love with you too," you admit, and the words come out shaky but true. "i didn't know i was. or maybe i did and i just wouldn't let myself think about it. but i am. i'm in love with you, you ridiculous, beautiful, emotionally constipated man."
satoru's smile is blinding. he kisses you again, soft and sweet, and when he pulls back, his eyes are suspiciously bright.
"say it again," he whispers.
"i'm in love with you."
"again."
"you're going to get insufferable, aren't you?"
"absolutely," satoru says, grinning. "i'm going to be the most insufferable person you've ever met. i'm going to tell everyone. i'm going to post about it on instagram. i'm going to—"
whatever else satoru was going to say is interrupted by a sharp knock on the door.
both of you freeze.
"gojo-san?" ijichi's voice comes through the door, muffled but unmistakable. "you need to be on set in five minutes. the photographer is asking for you."
your eyes meet satoru's. his eyes meet yours.
and then, simultaneously, the both of you look down at yourselves — at satoru's ruined makeup and disastrous hair and the love bites blooming on his neck, at your own disheveled state and the fact that you're still half-naked in his lap, at the shattered glass on the floor and the makeup wipes scattered across the table.
"oh no," you whisper.
"oh no," satoru agrees, and then, because he's gojo satoru, he starts laughing.
and it's not a quiet laugh — it's loud and slightly hysterical, the kind of laugh that comes from sheer overwhelming absurdity, and despite the panic rapidly rising in your chest, you find yourself laughing too.
"five minutes?" you hiss, scrambling off his lap.
your legs nearly give out, and satoru has to catch you, one arm around your waist, still laughing.
"five minutes," he confirms, and there's absolutely no urgency in his voice whatsoever. "ijichi, tell them ten!"
"gojo-san, i really don't think—"
"fifteen!" satoru calls, already reaching for your jeans and tossing them at you. "you can simply tell them there was a wardrobe malfunction!"
"there was no wardrobe—" ijichi starts, but satoru has already turned back to you, his expression torn between pure panic and giddy joy.
"okay," satoru says, grabbing a makeup wipe and scrubbing at his own face with absolutely no technique. "okay, okay, okay. we can fix this. we can totally fix this. i've looked worse. probably. maybe."
you pull your jeans on with shaking hands, wincing at the tenderness between your legs.
"your hair looks like you've been electrocuted."
"charming," satoru shoots back, trying to flatten it with his palms. it immediately springs back up. "your neck looks like i tried to eat you."
your hand flies to your throat, and sure enough, you can feel the raised marks of satoru's hungry mouth, the slight tackiness of dried saliva.
"oh my god."
"here." satoru tosses you a bottle of concealer — the expensive kind, the one that's supposed to cover anything. "do your magic. you're the professional."
you catch it easily, and for a little second, you just stand there, looking at him.
satoru in all his disaster glory; makeup smeared, hair wild, lipstick trace around his mouth, shirt still missing, chest still slightly damp from the wipes. he looks like he just got hit by a truck made of sex, and you're supposed to make him camera-ready in less than fifteen minutes.
"i hate you," you say, but you're smiling.
satoru grins back, bright and beautiful and so full of love it makes your chest ache.
"no you don't."
and he's right, you don't.
you cross the room to him, pull his head down, and kiss him one more time — quick, fierce, a promise — before you grab your brushes and get to work.
outside the door, ijichi sighs heavily and starts making calls to stall the photographer.
somewhere in the distance, a production assistant is probably having a panic attack.
but in the private dressing room, with satoru's hands on your hips and his eyes on your face and the remnants of your love still cooling on your skin, none of that matters.
