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
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.
you’d been edging leon for god knows how long now. the sight before you only makes you want to draw this out for longer.
the restraints on his wrists are on the verge of snapping with how hard he’s pulled on them—and he’s moved on to gripping at the air so hard his knuckles are going white.
his whole body is trembling beneath your hand, which drags itself up and down his dick at an unbelievably sluggish pace. he’s muttering strings of incomprehensible swears: a little breathless, chest heaving with every rough breath.
and the teary eyes on top of all that—jesus christ. you could get off just by listening to his cries.
“i thought you said this was a piece of cake, leon?” your eyes search for his, looking past the sweaty blonde strands of hair sticking to his forehead.
he lets out an unconvincing scoff. “fh-fuck you,” he gasps, a sorry excuse for a smirk curling his lips. “‘s already humiliating enough…”
you tut. “if you keep talking like that, you won’t ever be able to come on my watch.”
when he doesn’t answer, you rub your thumb a little firmer against his tip—there’s pre all over your hand, and he’s so sensitive now, he nearly jumps.
“hah- sorry, fuck, i’m sorry,” he says, while neediness bleeds from him—it’s cute, really. the fact that he’s still trying to keep a smidge of his decency, even as teardrops pool in his eyes and his thighs tremble like he’s just had 10 consecutive leg days. actually, you don’t think even that could make him this big of a mess—only you.
you give a chuckle—cruel, at least to leon’s ears—and pump his cock faster by a hairsbreadth. “i could do this all day, you know. the question is whether you’d be able to handle it.”
he turns his head to the side, buried in the inside of his elbow, giving a whimper that sounds vaguely like a no.
“you can’t do it? you can’t even try for me?”
his breath quivers with each exhale. “wanna cum, please…“
it’s almost pitiful.
“you think you’ve tried hard enough?” oh, but teasing him is just too fun, especially when he squirms and you know that nobody else has seen him like this before.
“god, i— i’ve been so good,” he sobs, “pleasepleaseplease let me—“
you feel as if you’re in seventh heaven.
he’s begging, pleading without you even ordering him to. he’s offering himself up to you, throughly responsive—pathetically so. you can’t help but give him a little reward.
“oh-“ his jaw drops open a margin, as you pick up the pace. “more, please, shit—!”
his fists ball up tighter when you lean down, breath teasing at his tip. “just like that, use your words, baby.”
it’s the drag of your wet tongue on the slit that makes him stutter over your name; hips jolting despite himself. a fat tear rolls down his face, and then another, and another—
his voice is shaking in the most tempting way when he warns you: “gonna cum, f-fuck..”
you know the constellation of his moles on the skin of his thighs from memory, and the way they twitch with aching need is something you’ll work to remember too.
you take your mouth off of his dick, stroking him with full intent. “come for me, leon.”
he throws his head back, cuffed hands grabbing at the headboard—and you notice, he’s mouthing something. it’s barely a whisper.
“th-thank you, thank you—“
oh.
“thank you, fuck—“
oh.
he finishes with something between a groan and a sob, loud as much as obscene—spilling all over your fingers and his abs. the tears continue to fall, and his nose is slightly runny. an absolute mess—but the way he worshipped you under his breath was heavenly.
in the aftermath, he’s completely still long enough to worry you.
“leon? you there?” you ask, even as you want to bring your messy fingers to your mouth and lick them clean.
he takes a slow breath in, voice rough: “yeah.”
“was that fine?”
“fine?” it made him lose consciousness for a second, he was sure. but…
“it was great,” is what comes out.
no way in hell was he going to tell you how blissed out his brain was just now.
thorough pussy inspections before sex becoming our ritual. you, naked on the bed, waiting. me taking my time. “spread your legs for me, baby. let me see if you’re ready.” you obeying immediately, thighs falling open. me settling between your legs, just looking first. appreciating the view. “such a pretty girl.” my hands on your inner thighs, stroking gently. “stay still for me, sweetheart. need to do a proper inspection.” starting slowly, deliberately. one finger sliding through your lips, barely touching. just tracing, exploring. “let’s see how wet you are.” running my finger up and down, gathering your wetness. you already squirming slightly. “still, baby. i need to check thoroughly.” continuing those touches, feeling you getting wetter under my attention. “good girl. responding so well already.” sliding my finger more between your lips, separating them gently. looking closely, examining. “so pretty, baby. look how wet you’re getting just from me touching like this.” circling your clit lightly, watching you gasp. “sensitive here?” you nodding, trying to stay still like i asked. “good to know.” moving lower, finger circling your hole. “let’s check how ready you are inside, sweetheart.” pushing one finger in slowly, so slowly. watching it disappear. “so tight, baby. good girl.” pumping gently, feeling your walls. “you’re gripping my finger so nicely.” adding a second finger carefully. “let’s see if you can take more.” pushing both in, curling them slightly. “that’s it. taking my fingers so well.” you whimpering, hips wanting to move. “stay still, baby. i’m not done inspecting yet.” continuing to pump my fingers slowly, expertly. feeling every inch of you inside. “you’re so wet, sweetheart. soaking my fingers.” pulling them out to look at them, showing you how they glisten. “see? look how ready you are.” pushing them back inside, deeper this time. “let me check a bit more.” curling them up, finding that spot. you gasping, trying hard not to move. “found it. good.” rubbing there deliberately, watching your reaction. “you’re doing so well staying still for me, baby. such a good girl.” adding a third finger, stretching you. “need to make sure you can take what i’m going to give you.” pushing all three in slowly. “that’s it. open up for me, sweetheart.” you whimpering, so close to begging. “almost done with the inspection, baby. be patient.” fucking you slowly with three fingers, feeling how wet and ready you are. “perfect. you’re absolutely perfect.” pulling my fingers out finally, you whining at the loss. “inspection complete, sweetheart. you’re ready for me now.” you looking desperate, needy. “such a good girl being patient through all that. now you get what you need.”
HEYYYYYYY HEYY HEY do you think you can do pussy slapping with ftm ogata or Koito? I can just imagine how whiny Koito would be… and ogatas little grunts…. SIGHHHHHHHHH
whiny sub koito, brat sub ogata... dom male readerrrr
.. i had ideas for both so. You get both.!!! seperate... cw;; rough manhandling in ogata's / overstim in koitos. pussspanking...
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downright icky and disgusting... seems like the perfect way to punish an asshole like ogata, especially when he gets too fuckin mouthy. vigorously fingering the oh-so asshole-ish sniper who deserves anything but such niceties ; pinned against a tree and creaming against your palm ,,,
curling your digits, pumping in and out. "needy fuckin slut,,," - his fingers digging into your shoulders as he bucks into ur hand despite himself ,,, "you're the one th-at dragged me out here..." he grinds, gearing up to sink his teeth in ur shoulder,, "pathetic." he snarked. mouthy. mouthy. mouthy. so combative!
i'm doing you a favor — this the way you repay me? scoffing at his nasty tone. what's new though,,,? you pull your digits free from his slick cunt that tighten as if to keep you from doing so. he huffs softly at the loss of contact,,, fidgeting restlessly -
"don't take that tone with me," wet skin against wet skin. smack ! ogata hisses harshly, sucking in a sharp breath - "fucking brat. you wanna say that again?" pulling ur hand away,,, wiping it off on his shirt, just to abuse his poor pulsing cunt some more...
he grunts softly, shifting against your pinning hold... gone all rigid with surprise,,, even more so with himself when his hips chase your hand - to buck you off or to hump your hand? - huffing as he struggles against you when you repeat the action,,, more entranced with the wet noise of your hand against his pussy. splattering his juices all over the place... gross, ogata
"ohh, you liked that huh?" vigorously gliding your palm along his folds - pulling back and smacking his cunt. overflowing from his cute,, puffy folds you've spread open,, squirting over your hand... leaking like a broken faucet... "i can tell." nothing gets passed you, he wants to bark,,, but he can't focus. fingering his cock, giving him whiplash the way your fingers gently circle his cunt ,,, pulsing in retaliation, grinding into your touch with a soft moan,,,
all cute and red in the face. panting harsh as he presses his forehead against your shoulder,,, "shh,,, hush, boy," fingers dipping and curling while the heel of your palm grinds against his engorged cock. yeah bet you wanna be nice now, huh!
"getting your uniform dirty, soldier... what's the matter with you?" you tease the sniper,,, ;; grappling onto you needily, with most pitiful little noises escaping his lips... didn't think he was capable of such pathetic whines - as he bucks into your hand, chasing the sting - fuck-mmfgh... no apologies though. notably quiets down though?
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so overwhelming for him... being eaten out of his mind. buried between his muscular thighs and indulging in him as though he's your last meal... as he deserves, for being such a good boy. so compliant... not even talking back once. can you believe it? you just had to reward that good behavior ;;
– his thighs can really do some damage. they are. muscular,,, closing around your head and suffocating you in his cunt you're licking at so dutifully - "stay still, otonoshin,,," you warned carefully, blowing harsh on his little cock ,,, he whines, and slowly opens up. there we go.
needy boy,,, can't even hear you. going on pure instinct. he does it again ; you're gonna need to reprimand him... but it's so cute. he's so cute. lieutenant koito ,, too deep into the ecstasy of your tongue on his cock ,,, inside him...
just the thought and the feeling of your spit mixing with his fluids you're lapping at, keeping him spread open juat so you can suck and kiss, leaving no area unexplored - has him fidgeting in anticipation. trying so hard to keep himself from bucking and grinding his cunt in ur face ,,,
but,,, pretty boy can't help but shiver in pleasure with all that you're giving him,,, thighs tensing, fighting against your hands pinning them open,,, you sigh softly against his fold; deliberately on his overtly sensitive cock - "sorry...!" he cries out, panicked at you pulling away from his cunt,,, "m'sorryy, please..." don't leave me... you still have to make me cum for a fourth time...!!
greedy, greedy. tis your own fault for spoiling him, you suppose... pulling up, cupping his flushed cheek with one hand; he tilts into your palm needily - "shh, it's okay..." you coo,,, before connecting the flat of your palm with his sopping wet cunt with a resounding wet slap. he gasps, jerking underneath you - the sting nearly unbearable if not for the white hot pleasure that follows,,,
he latches onto you,, whimpering softly as his thighs tremble. legs spread,,, gasping for air as he writhes, squirming for more - "stay still, otonoshin..." he keeps trembling. you know he can't help it. maybe. but you're meeeean... smack !!
whiny... the start of a little sob escaping his lips ,,, in pleasure; no complaints. but... shrieky little squeaks of apologies - bleeding into satsuma as you've broken him beyond comprehension as you dive your fingers back into his cunt - pulling out just as quick and sucessfully making him squirt. a steady stream almost, as he jerks in your arms, panting hard,,, nearly spent. still has a few rounds left in him. resilient boy!
Your boss, Gojo Satoru, is what people would call a man among men.
Being his assistant for five years, it was almost impossible not to notice him. You noticed everything.
The way he walks into a room the confidence in his voice during meetings.
The way he leans back in his chair his long legs stretched out as if the entire company exists just to orbit around him. And his eyes.
Those bright eyes that somehow always catch yours from across the room.
You hate how easily he does it.
Because every single time he looks at you like that, you remember one very important thing.
You're attracted to your boss.
Unfortunately.
You adjust the files in your hands as you walk into his office.
Gojo is already there, leaning back in his chair with his tie loosened, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His white hair is slightly messy like he’s been running his fingers through it all afternoon.
He glances up the moment you step inside.
“Ah, my favorite employee"
You place the documents on his desk.
“You only have one assistant.”
“Still counts.”
You let out a sigh.
“You called me here for something important, right?”
Gojo hums as he flips through the papers, but you can tell he isn’t really reading them. His attention drifts back to you, that familiar amused smile tugging at his lips.
“You look tired"
“I stayed late finishing the reports you asked for.”
“And yet"
Gojo tilts his head slightly, carefully studying you.
“You’re still handsome..”
You choke on your own breath.
“Sir–”
“Satoru”
Gojo corrects immediately with a pout.
You pinch the bridge of your nose, groaning.
“We’re at work.”
Hearing your firm voice Gojo just shrugged.
“So? You’ve known me for five years.”
Yes.
Five years of this.
Yet 2 years of pretending your heart doesn’t jump whenever he casually throws an arm around your shoulders after work.
Inside the company building, both of you are strictly professional.
You manage his schedule, attend meetings with him, and help maintain the company’s reputation.
But the moment the clock hits six,
everything changes, outside the office, Gojo becomes an entirely different person.
The same man who dominates meetings now drapes himself over you like an oversized cat.
The same boss who terrifies other executives casually drags you to late night oden shops.
He even attended your wedding 3 years ago, you remember that day clearly.
Your fingers unconsciously twist the ring on your hand now.
The small band feels heavier than it should.
Then Gojo notices.
Of course he does.
The worst part is that he probably already knows.
You’ve spent two years holding yourself back.
Because if that ring wasn’t on your finger…god.
You would have already dragged him into the nearest empty room and–
You quickly stop that train of thought.
Gojo suddenly stands from his chair.
You stiffen when he walks around the desk and stops directly in front of you.
'So tall...'
You have to tilt your head slightly to meet his gaze.
Gojo smirked down his eyes turning crescent.
“Still staring at me like that"
“Like what?”
“Like you want something.”
Your heartbeat stutters.
“You’re imagining things.”
Gojo let out a deep chuckle.
“Maybe"
He finished but Gojo didn't move away.
Instead, his eyes flick down to the ring on your finger again before returning to your face.
For a moment, something dark passes through his expression.
“Hey.”
You raised your brow at him.
“Yeah?”
There’s a small smile on his face when you glance back.
“Oden after work?”
You stare at him, lips pressed tightly.
“You ask me that every week.”
“And you still come every time.”
Then you sigh.
“…Fine.”
Gojo’s grin widens.
“See? Five years and you still can’t resist me.”
You roll your eyes and walk out of the office before he can see the faint heat rising to your face.
Behind you, Gojo leans against his desk, quietly watching the door you just walked through.
His gaze drifted down once more.
“Five years"
--------------------
The restaurant was nearly empty by the time the two of you arrived.
A small oden shop tucked between narrow streets, the kind that stayed open late for office workers who missed dinner hours.
Gojo slipped into the booth first, stretching his long legs under the table with a relieved sigh.
“Finally, I thought the old man was going to close before we got here.”
You loosened your tie as you sat across from him.
“You were the one who kept talking to that client for an extra thirty minutes.”
“That’s called networking.”
“That’s called you showing off.”
A moment later two mugs of cold beer were placed on the table along with small plates of grilled meat and side dishes.
The condensation rolled down the glass as you picked it up.
Gojo raised his mug.
“To survive another day with incompetent executives.”
You clinked your mug against his.
“I’ll drink that.”
The cold beer went down smoothly, easing the tension sitting on your shoulders.
For a while the two of you simply ate and drank, the comfortable silence of long familiarity settling between you.
Then Gojo suddenly looked at his watch, his brows lifted slightly.
“You know, it’s already pretty late.”
You hummed, chewing another bite of grilled chicken.
Gojo rested his chin in his palm, watching you.
“Your wife won’t be worried?”
You shrugged without much thought.
“We should just eat.”
Gojo blinked.
“…That’s it?”
You lifted your beer again.
“What, you want me to run home?”
He chuckled under his breath.
“Cold.”
The conversation drifted again as another round of drinks arrived.
By the second mug, the warmth of alcohol started settling in your chest.
Gojo swirled the beer in his glass before speaking again.
“So, how’s married life?"
You immediately groaned.
Hearing that Gojo burst out laughing.
“That bad?”
“It’s...yeah"
“Mhm."
You leaned back, rubbing your face tiredly.
Gojo's aware of how your marriage has been doing, and it's not doing well.
Falling out of love, and your wife being infertile. It will ruin the whole mood, even during sex.
You two had been trying for a baby even forcing the two of you to have sex just a week ago.
Divorce isn’t really an option either, In Japan, being divorced ruins your reputation. Your wife's family would be embarrassed. And yours too.
Gojo lifted his mug and took a slow drink.
The cold glass pressed against his lips, his eyes half-lidded as he swallowed.
But he wasn’t looking at the beer.
He was looking at you.
Something inside him had changed the moment you said the words.
He set the mug down slowly.
For three years, Gojo had watched you from across desks, across meeting rooms, across crowded company halls.
Always just a little out of reach.
Because of that ring.
Because of that invisible wall.
But now…
You sat across from him with your collar loosened, your tie slightly crooked, shoulders relaxed in a way he rarely saw at the office.
Gojo had never liked your wife.
Not even from the beginning.
The two of you sat there for a while longer, finishing the food and beer.
By the time the two of you stepped out of the izakaya, the streets were mostly quiet.
Both of you had walked to where Gojo parked his car.
You were very drunk, that much was obvious.
Your steps weren’t exactly straight, and your mind felt heavy and hazy, like everything around you was slightly delayed.
Gojo walked beside you, hands in his pockets. His face was lightly flushed from the alcohol, but he was walking fine.
He had a higher tolerance than you, which meant he was very aware of how drunk you were.
“You good?”
He asked, glancing sideways towards your form.
“Mm"
You suddenly stopped walking. Gojo halted beside you.
“What?”
You pointed lazily across the street.
“Convenience store.”
“And?”
“Cigarettes.”
Gojo sighed through a small laugh.
“Of course.”
A moment later the two of you stepped inside the brightly lit store.
Gojo leaned casually against a shelf while you moved toward the counter area.
You grabbed a pack of cigarettes, then you paused.
Gojo watched from behind as you stared at the small display near the register.
Your drunk brain seemed to process something then your hand reached out.
Gojo eyes squinted, but he froze on his spot
Wait.
You picked up a box of condoms.
Gojo’s brain took a second to catch up, he walked over to you immediately.
“Hey.”
You turned slightly, still looking dazed.
Gojo pointed at the box in your hand.
“Those for your wife?”
You stared at him blankly, blinking as if processing his words.
Gojo frowned slightly.
“…Or a girlfriend?”
The question slipped out before he could stop himself.
You blinked again.
Your eyes looked unfocused the alcohol dulling you.
Then suddenly you tilted your head.
Your gaze slowly drifted up and down Gojo’s tall figure.
Gojo felt something excitement crawl up his spine.
You stepped a little closer, squinting at him like you were studying something complicated.
Then you spoke.
“Hey.”
Your voice was slow and slurred.
You lifted the condom box close to your cheek, face flushed and your eyes were unfocused.
“…What’s your size, Satoru?”
“...”
For a moment Gojo’s brain completely stopped working.
Silence filled the convenience store.
Before Gojo broke it with a seductive smirk.
"Want to find out?"
--------------------
“Ahn–! Ngh… so big!”
A raw, thick cock plunged deep inside you, pressing insistently against your prostate.
“Hngh!”
Your eyes rolled back almost instantly as the tip brushed that sensitive spot again, sending sharp waves of electricity through your entire body.
Your limbs trembled, your hips stuttering as pleasure wracked through you.
Fowp fwop!
Your hips didn’t stop, they kept moving, greedily taking him in, swallowing his cock over and over again.
The condoms you had bought earlier had already torn from his size and now discarded somewhere on the floor, completely useless.
Below you, the man you were riding, Gojo Satoru, had his face flushed, the corners of his eyes damp with forming tears. Yet he was smirking, utterly pleased.
Finally, he had you like this bouncing helplessly on his cock.
Flap! Flap!
The love hotel room reeked of sex, filled with the wet sounds of skin slapping against skin, your sweaty bodies grinding together without restraint.
Gojo’s hands squeezed your thighs tightly, fingers digging into your skin as your hole clenched around him.
A soft whimper escaped his lips at your tightness before he leaned closer, voice low and breathless.
“Hnn Y/N you feel so good…”
You nodded dumbly, completely lost, your mind hazy from the overwhelming sensation.
“Toru! Mhm! Good ahhn! More!”
Flop! Flop!
You lowered yourself further, your chest pressing against his, your tongue lolling out slightly as you chased his lips, desperate.
“P-please… kiss me Toru♡”
Your hot breath fanned across his face, your needy expression so close, and something inside Gojo snapped.
In one swift motion, he flipped you onto your back. Now he hovered above you, a dark smirk curling on his lips.
He pushed his hair back, revealing blown out eyes and a flushed face filled with something far more intense.
“I hope your wife doesn’t mind me breaking you.”
You let out a needy whine when his hips stilled, the sudden lack of movement making you ache.
“I don’t care I wan you m-move!”
Gojo lowered his head and started to move his hips.
Fwop fwop!
The same electrifying feeling returned, making you arch your back. The pleasure overwhelmed your body, pushing you closer and closer to your orgasm.
“Shit–nhhn! Good more, Toru!”
FWOP FWOP!
Hearing your moans and whines, Gojo’s hips rutted harder against you.
Every time the leaking tip brushed your abused prostate, your toes curled in satisfaction.
“Y/N I love it so good…”
Just a little more… he's so close.
Just one more kiss to your lips.
One more squeeze from your hips.
And one more bite to your sensitive neck–
and then Gojo would finally–
“Cumming!”
Gojo’s tip thrust harshly into the deepest part inside you.
“Too deep–! Toru!!”
As you arched your back, you felt his cock bulge, warmth spreading as he released inside you.
The way it hit the deepest part of you made your body jolt, pleasure spilling over as you came, your stomach messily coated with your semen.
Your body twitched from the overwhelming sensation, both inside you and along your cock.
“Huff huff…”
Both of you tried to catch your breath.
As your senses slowly returned, you lifted yourself up on your elbows.
Gojo leaned in to look at you.
Gulp.
You swallowed hard when you saw the hearts in his pupils and drool trailing down his mouth.
You opened your mouth to speak.
“Wanna suck you off”
The way you whimpered, looking at him with pleading, needy eyes.
How could he possibly say no to that?
Gojo nodded just as dumbly before he lay down on the bed, excitement rushing through his veins, making him hard again.
But you did something unexpected.
“Huh? hmff!”
You buried your ass in his face.
A chuckle escaped you before you spoke,
“Better clean it for me, sir.”
Gojo wasn’t complaining he was in heaven.
He had always fantasized about this, about eating you out, about having you like this.
and now it was finally happening.
He could die right here, between your thighs, and he wouldn’t mind at all.
As he started, teasing your rim with slow, deliberate movements with his tounge, you glanced back at his dick.
And oh.
It was big. Thick. Leaking pre, twitching just from the taste of you.
You drooled at the sight, breathing heavily like a starving man who had finally found food after days of hunger.
It was so big… maybe taking him like this could satisfy your craving for a week.
Without another thought, you pushed forward and took him into your mouth.
You tried to deepthroat him.
It was a struggle at first his size was overwhelming, forcing soft, muffled moans from your throat as your lips stretched around him.
“Mhmm…”
The sensation shot straight to Gojo’s brain, making his hips buck instinctively into your mouth.
Tears formed in your eyes as he hit the back of your throat again and again.
‘So thick…’
Gojo’s tongue continued working against you, licking, tasting, but his focus was slipping.
Because your mouth was working on him just as relentlessly.
‘Unfair, so unfair’
How could he concentrate when your tongue kept lapping at him like that?
When your throat tightened around his dick.
When you gagged on his thickness, your body trembling every time the tip pressed deep into your throat.
If he could only see your face right now.
It was a good thing he had started recording everything on his phone.
The camera lens glinted, capturing every bit of debauchery happening in the love hotel.
And just the thought of it, Gojo couldn’t hold back anymore.
His hips stuttered as he let out another load.
“Ngh~ mmm!! ♡♡”
Gojo whimpered, his eyes rolling back from the overwhelming pleasure.
Thick cum spurted from his tip, forcing you to swallow everything.
You finished by cleaning him thoroughly, your tongue tracing along his length until he was spotless.
Your hazy eyes then focused on the phone camera in front of you.
A smirk tugged at your lips as you grabbed Gojo’s softened cock only for it to harden again at your touch.
The head of his cock brushed against your cheek as you spoke breathlessly,
“Mine, this big dick is mine♡”
--------------------
When you returned home the next day, something just as surprising from fucking your boss happened
“I’m pregnant.”
Everything around you stops.
Your breath catches and your mind going blank for a split second before everything crashes back all at once.
“…What?”
“I’m pregnant”
Your wife repeats, laughing softly with her eyes glistening.
“You’re going to be a dad.”
Immediately, you pull her into an embrace, tighter this time, like if you hold on hard enough, everything else will disappear.
Calling these episodes instead of parts because this isn’t gonna be a consistent series perse, but more like a slice of life show with almost no plot and zero stakes. Some Lucky Star type shit yk.
New CWs: hole inspection, switch reader implied, breeding kink language used, femdom, chastity cage as punishment (not on reader), mentions of daddy/mommy kink language
Part 1- Hybrid Masterlist
When you and your new puppy friend hooked up in your own cages, the adrenaline distorted your sense of time. Yet as you came down from your orgasm, you looked back at the clock hanging on the wall.
It had only been ten minutes.
You glanced over at the schedule tacked up onto the wall; twenty minutes of naptime remained. You laid back down, figuring you may as well try to fall asleep as before shutting your eyes. You exhaled, trying to relax.
You were quickly interrupted by the feeling of a finger poking you on your side.
“Hey…” the puppy whispered as he poked you again. “Did…did I do okay?”
“Huh?” You didn’t even bother to open your eyes. “Oh, yeah. That was fun.”
“Did I do good?” His ears twitched.
Right. Puppy.
You let out a sigh. “Yes, you did good.”
It was like the word activated something in his brain, a wide smile on his face as he rolled onto his back. “Yay…” he trailed off, content. “I wish though…” he pressed his face back up against the bars. “I wish I could cuddle with you. You’re all soft.”
“Just wait until after naptime, then we can do whatever.”
Silence lingered, and you attempted to sleep once more, curling up under your blankets. You felt yourself start to doze off, until-
“Psssssssst.”
You whipped your head around. “What?”
“What do you like to do when you’re not reading?”
“…I don’t know, sleep?”
“Oh. Okay.” He kept staring at you, as if expecting you to say something else. “Like, now?”
“No, I’m laying here with my eyes closed for fun.”
“…really?”
“No, I’m trying to sleep. You should probably do the same.”
“But I’m not tired.”
“Well…” you rolled over, your back facing him as your tail danced from side to side. “Find someone else to bother then for a bit. I’m sleeping.”
Somehow, he managed to leave you alone. When you woke up, he was still in his cage, scanning the room diligently.
“What are you doing?” You mumbled as you sat up.
“I’m protecting you,” he smiled, attendants slowly coming around to unlock the cages.
Once you both were free, he moved back over to you, nuzzling his face in your neck. “Can we cuddle together now?” He asked, tail wagging. “Please”
You sighed; it was only fair to give him some attention after all… that. “Sure. But I don’t wanna get in trouble for staying in here, let’s find our spot.”
The window was once again, unclaimed. Honestly? You were worried someone sooner or later would find out about the charm of its location, and steal it from you. However, it seemed most of the other hybrids had gathered by a different window, one towards the front of the room.
Your ears twitched as you tried to listen in on what they were discussing.
“It’s not even raining anymore.”
“We don’t have to go in the mud.”
“It’s not cold, either.”
“Yeah, but there’s always someone who goes in the mud anyways, and ruins it for everyone else. That’s why they make everyone stay inside when it rains.”
The schedule answered your next question; now was supposed to be outdoor playtime, but it appeared the weather didn’t permit it, everyone relegated to more indoor playtime. Frankly, you were overjoyed at this revelation.
“Aww…” the puppy sighed, wistfully staring out the window as you got comfortable. “I wanna go roll around in the mud…” he lamented.
“I’ll tell you right now, you do that and cuddling is off the table.” You couldn’t fathom how someone could find such an activity to be pleasant.
“Okay…” he groaned, flopping down into your chest, his voice muffled by your breasts. “Do you ever play outside?”
You shook your head. “Nope.”
It was as if you had dropped a bomb on him. “What? Why?!”
“I’m an indoor cat, bud,” you responded nonchalantly, not even looking up from your reading. You had given up on trying to read to him, going back to the book you had started with.
“Why?”
“Because I’m allergic to the sun.”
He peered over your book, “really?”
“No, that was a joke.”
“Oh…well, what do you do by yourself then?”
You shrugged. “Read. TV. Play a game, plenty of things.” And scratch the couch, and the carpet, and the rug…you thought, keeping those hobbies to yourself.
“Huh…” he looked up at the ceiling, moving lower to sit between your legs. “I wanna go home.”
You set your book down, letting out a sigh as you started to play with his hair; the last thing you wanted was for him to start crying again. “Why?”
“I’m bored. And I miss my owners…but I need to get better at missing them. That’s why they put me here.”
“Wait, wait, wait. You have two owners?”
He nodded, “mmhmm. I have a daddy owner and a mommy owner. Sometimes, I get to sleep in their bed, and they hug me and kiss me,” he smiled, leaning into your touch. “And then they play with me, like how we played earlier.” He let out a dreamy sigh, clearly fantasizing the idea.
You resumed reading your book. “Lucky you.” Admittedly, you were a bit jealous. Your master played with you, that was for sure, but…he was kind of a dick.
“Yeah, they’re both so pretty, it’s so much nicer there than the shelter…” he trailed off. “But I’m bad at missing them. I got in trouble, and that’s why I’m here.”
“What’d you do?”
“Uh…” he sat up, sitting on your lap. “Do you know how the phone works?”
You shrugged, “sorta.” You had never used one, but you got the idea.
“Well, they both have jobs, and they told me to call them if I needed to, but…I called them too much…I just got nervous…their house is really big, and when I’m there by myself, it’s kinda scary!”
You cracked a small smile, visualizing him sitting next to the phone, calling one of his owners at the slightest sound.
“So that’s why I’m here. I’m uh…what was the word…” he snapped his fingers as he tried to remember it. “Code…co…”
“Codependent?”
“Yeah! That one. What about you? Whats your owner like?”
“Hmm…” you thought about how to describe your relationship with your owner. Well, no reason to sugarcoat anything.
“He’s an asshole,” you shrugged.
He looked as if you had just confessed to a murder, eyes wide in disbelief. “…what? Why?”
“He’s just kind of a dick.”
“Why? Does he hit you?”
“Oh, no, no, God, no.” You said with a nervous laugh.
“Cause they’re not supposed to do that, you know!”
“No, no, he just…” you trailed off. “He…well, let’s just say he has a weird way of showing affection. He can say mean things, but he’s usually just joking. But he lets me sleep in his bed, and he pets me for hours while we watch movies, and…”
Maybe you did miss your owner.
The puppy nodded his head as he listened. “Do you love him?”
“Eh…that’s a bit of a loaded question,” you said as you pet his hair.
“Why? I love everyone,” he sang, nuzzling against you. “Everyone is my friend, they just don’t know it yet!”
Spoken like a true puppy.
Even if his question was innocent, you found yourself pondering it for longer than you’d like to admit.
Soon enough, the day came to a close. Everyone gathered their things, waiting for their owners to arrive. The puppy’s tail wagged back and forth as he stared at the doorway, laser-focused.
You weren’t as obvious as he was, but…you were ready to go home. The day could’ve gone worse, sure, but nothing could top being in your own bed with a fuzzy blanket.
You watched as the puppy ran over to his owner; a bearded man with dark hair and clearly defined bags under his eyes, wearing hospital scrubs under a sweatshirt.
He looked exhausted.
Yet even so, his expression softened as his puppy excitedly ran towards him. The puppy was a few inches taller than his owner, but knelt down in front of him without question. His owner pet his head, eyes filled with prideful admiration towards his pup.
You couldn’t stare for long, interrupted by your owner calling your name.
“Over here, silly.”
You looked towards your left, and there he was.
You walked over to him, passing by the puppy and his owner along the way. His owner held his face, looking him over. “What happened to your nose, buddy?”
Oh shit. Oh no.
You walked just a little faster over to your owner.
He gave you a slight smile, patting you on the head; unlike your friend, your master seemed to tower over you. “Hey, you survived. Make any enemies?”
“We need to go. We need to go now.” You weren’t in the mood for jokes.
“Alright, alright, calm down. The thing said I had to like, sign you out or whatever, I don’t know where the hell I’m supposed to do that,” said your owner, looking around the room.
You watched from afar as the puppy explained something to his owner, whose happy expression had faded, an annoyed one taking its place. You couldn’t make out what they were saying, but eventually the puppy looked in your direction.
Then he pointed directly at you.
You tugged on your owner’s sleeve once more. “We need to go. Right now. Come on, we need to go!”
Your owner looked back at you, annoyed. “I already told you, I-”he paused, letting out a disappointed sigh; the look on your face made it easy to put the pieces together. “…what did you do?”
“Nothing, nothing,” you panicked. “It’s just, there might’ve been a misunderstanding…” you trailed off, trying to follow the puppy and his owner with your eyes as you peered over the crowd.
The puppy’s owner grabbed him by the hand, having what looked to be a heated conversation with two daycare attendants as he gestured towards the puppy’s face. The room began to thin out as your owner finally found the sign-out sheet, and you found yourself able to hear more and more of their conversation.
“Why didn’t anyone say something, or call me?” His owner protested. “How do you not know what happened?”
The puppy tried to get his attention by tugging on his sleeve, resting his head on his shoulder. “No no no, I do know what happened! It was just a … a for fun scratch!”
His owner looked exasperated, letting out a sigh as he faced the puppy. “No buddy, it’s right on your face. This is what I meant when I said you need to stand up for yourself.”
You walked ahead of your owner, hoping he’d get the hint. Yet as soon as you made it to the doorway, you quickly learned your owner was not on your side. He grabbed you by the collar, a disapproving look on his face as the puppy and his owner looked in your direction.
“Alright kitty, let’s get this over with.”
—————-
Embarrassment was an understatement.
You sat on the floor next to Callon. He seemed to be in much brighter spirits, wrapping his arms around you and relaxing on your shoulder. He might’ve even been asleep.
“Look man, I’m sorry.” Said your owner. “She uh…she can be a mean motherfucker sometimes,” he laughed. “If he pissed her off, then I don’t know what to tell you.”
I can’t tell if he’s defending me or not.
The puppy’s owner clearly wasn’t having it, his brow furrowed. “Then train her to not scratch people, maybe? You ever consider that? What the hell is wrong with you?”
“I don’t know, maybe you should teach your dog a thing or two about personal space? I mean, Jesus Christ,” he gestured over to both of you. “He’s practically humping her right now!”
He kinda was. You didn’t mind.
The comment was enough to make his owner hesitate. “Alright, maybe they just…don’t get along. Maybe we just keep them separated.”
The puppy’s ears perked up. “What? No! She’s my friend.”
“She scratched you-”
“I told you, it was an accident! But she was nice to me. No one else wanted to play with me, but she played with me!”
“Oh, how sweet,” said your owner. “Then that’s that, accidents happen, I’ll trim her claws-”
The puppy kept going. “She let me lay on her, and she read me a book, and we napped together, and then I had this dream that she was gonna be my mate.”
His owner looked petrified.
The puppy continued. “Then during nap-time, I got really hard, and I tried to hump my stuffie instead-”
Your face flushed red at the idea of him recounting the ordeal to your owner.
Someone. Anything. Please kill me so I don’t die of embarrassment. “Shut-up,” you hissed through gritted teeth.
Your owner looked as if he was about to burst out laughing, a hand covering his mouth. “No buddy, you keep going. What happened during nap-time?”
You shot him a dirty look; one that made it clear you’d take your frustrations out on the couch.
“I couldn’t help myself…” the puppy trailed off, a sheepish look on his face for only a second before he lost his sense of shame. “So I started to touch myself, but then I realized,” he started to slide down his pants, his cock hard against the fabric as he recounted the memory, “that it would actually fit through the cage, so I-”
“Okay buddy, let’s…” his owner quickly grabbed him by his waist, pulling his shorts back up. “Let’s not…let’s not do that. We don’t show strangers our puppy parts.”
“But then I fit it through the cage, and then we played, and it was really fun! And we got to cuddle afterwards, and she really soft…”
His owner let out another disappointed sigh, this one longer than the others as he held his face in his hands. “Well…”
Your owner shrugged, “I feel like the scratch is the least of our worries.”
“Yeah, just…alright, you know what, we’ll just…let bygones be bygones.” The puppy’s owner seemed to be smart enough to know keeping you separated would only make it worse; he had mated you once, it was inevitable he’d want to do it again. “Just…” he looked back to your owner. “Could you trim her claws, please?”
Uuuuuuuuuuuuugh.
“Yep. Well uh…sorry about that.” Despite his words, it was clear your owner still found the situation humorous. “I guess we’ll uh…see you tomorrow?”
—————-
The drive home was awkward. Well, for you at least.
“I mean, why’d he look kinda hung?” Your owner laughed as he drove you back home. “Like damn, I didn’t even know puppyboys could be that big.”
You stared out the window. You were already over this conversation.
“Oh come on,” he playfully nudged your shoulder. “Don’t be like that.”
You soon arrived back at home, never before so happy to see your owner’s apartment; it still felt strange to call the space your own, at times. You curled up onto one of the chairs, tired and ready for the day to be over.
“You know,” your owner approached, petting your head. “I do gotta ask.”
“What?”
“You like it? Did it feel good?” His voice was lower, no longer joking around. “I knew you were a whore, but getting a cute little puppyboy to fuck you? On the first day? That’s something else.”
God damn it. The tone of his voice, the way he scratched behind your ears, his hand moving lower across your back. You knew what he was playing at, and your body responded accordingly.
“I’m not sure I trust a puppyboy like that to fuck you properly.” His hand moved towards your legs, fingers running across your skin. “Why don’t you spread your legs for me, just to make sure he didn’t hurt you?”
You leaned back in the chair before hesitantly obeying his command. He slipped your panties off, your pussy getting wet from his words alone.
“Oh, kitty, what’s got you so worked up?” He asked, fake concern in his tone. “Thinking about earlier today? Your little rendezvous?”
“No…” truthfully, there were multiple ideas on your mind; although that was one of them.
“Maybe you’re thinking about what’s going to happen to that puppy. What his owner’s going to do to him,” said your owner as he sat down in front of you. “I think you’re like me,” he said as he brushed his thumb over your clit.
You bit your lip, sensitive to the touch. “…what do you mean?”
He dragged his tongue from the bottom to the top of your cunt, licking your clit. “I think you like being in control. Being in charge.” He continued, pressing his tongue inside.
You couldn’t help but grab his hair as he ate you out. The feeling of his tongue, the picture of the puppy getting punished; maybe he’d be spanked. Maybe he’d be fucked in the ass. Maybe he’d be tied up. There was no shortage of ideas rushing through your mind.
“I’d love to watch you take control of someone. Make him your bitch,” said your owner. He pushed a finger inside with ease, moving it back and forth. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
You nodded your head, breaths growing quicker as you failed to reply.
He let out a quiet laugh. “I figured you would. But I still own you, remember?” He slipped another finger inside, your eager cunt ready for more. “No matter who fucks you, cums in you, anything. This pussy belongs to me. Got it?”
You nodded once more. “Yes sir, I-”
He moved his fingers faster, the sounds of your wet cunt filling the room. “Say it. Who does this pussy belong to?”
“‘My-my pussy belongs to you, sir!” You felt him curl his fingers, pushing against your g-spot. He hadn’t even taken his cock out, and you were already about to cum.
“That’s right, good girl,” he cooed, dragging out each word. He continued to finger you, using his other hand to rub your clit. You felt yourself getting tighter, your hand squeezing his fingers as you got closer and closer to cumming.
Your head jolted back as you climaxed, your body shaking as he pulled his fingers out of you. You breathed heavily, looking up at him with weary eyes.
You were ready, that much was clear. Ready to be fucked, ready to be bred, your pussy still wanting more. It didn’t matter if you had one load inside you already, you wanted your owner, no, your master’s cock.
You spread your legs a little wider, wet cunt on display to tease him. You watched him eagerly, waiting to watch him pull out his cock.
Instead, he walked away. “I think you’ve gotten your fill for the day,” he smirked.
…asshole.
——————
The next day, the sun had come out. The grass was dry and the sky was clear: maybe you’d play outside today.
You walked inside, skimming the room for your friend, unable to find him. You set up in the same corner as yesterday; when he showed up, he found you quickly.
Unlike yesterday however, his movements today were slow, almost methodical, as if he was thinking out every step. He sat down beside you, holding his legs close to his chest and resting his head on his knees.
He looks so…sad.
He was quiet, looking down as his fluffy tail slowly swayed from side to side, dragging across the floor.
You weren’t sure what to say.
“…hey,” you mumbled, only trying to get his attention.
He looked up at you without lifting his head. His eyes were wide and wet, as if he’d been crying. “Hi…”
“You okay?”
He nodded. “It’s fine…I just…I got in trouble for yesterday. And I think I got you in trouble too.”
I mean, not really. Unless ruined orgasms count as getting in trouble.
“What happened?” You asked.
He looked from side to side, confirming no one was looking at the two of you, both mostly obscured by a cabinet in front of you. He pulled down his shorts, revealing a sky-blue colored chastity cage, keeping his soft cock in place.
It looked almost like one of your toys, shiny plastic reflecting against fluorescent lights. Your curiosity got the better of you, and you immediately touched it. It was a little cold, his balls heavy underneath.
He let out a quiet whimper before biting his lip. “I…I’m not supposed to touch it. They said I shouldn’t be playing with people I don’t know.” He looked up at you, unbothered by your poking and prodding. “But I told them I do know you. You’re my friend.”
On one hand, the puppy seemed incredibly easy to manipulate. On the other…you did feel kinda bad. “Well-”
“They took away my rabbit toy too.”
“Why?” You asked, still absentmindedly running your thumb over his balls.
“Because I kept humping it,” he sighed, resting his head on your shoulder. “But…it feels nice when you touch…” he trailed off. “Soft…”
You continued to lightly tap your fingers along his balls. It was kinda fun, honestly. Like swatting around one of your toys at home. You gave them a gentle squeeze, and he instantly covered his mouth, stifling a moan.
“Wait…can you…can you do that again? Please?”
Maybe your reading could wait.
Part 3
Heheheheheehheehehehe
Sorry all my writing is taking 72009999 bajillion years, I’m kinda burnt out creatively with all the stuff I’ve had to do for work, so we just. Yep. We doin puppyplay now. That’s all I got. Brain no work for bigger stories rn…
I hope you still liked it!!! Thank u for reading :3
Ohh it's my favourite art piece I've made so far. I think this art will be one year old somewhere in april soo yeeah I haven't created anything better since xd
I have done all my commissions for now so yeeah I finally have time to draw for myself
Ohh gonna start a vgen acc soon and post here when I'm ready to take comms
Not sure if you still write for him but pony naoya is special to me🥹
Forcing him to get on all fours and fulfill his role as your seat while be shakes and struggles to stay up because the plug buzzing in him is pressing against all the right places, putting all your favorite gear on him (personally I like bridles and blinders) n making him perform ☺️☺️ yanking on his reins just to hear him whine🫡
love seeing that little shit get what he deserves (my cock up his ass)
Naoya Zenin x male reader
Rambles
Pony Naoya, damn, that's good, why didn't I think of that...
I like to think that Naoya has a hard time even accepting he likes men in any way, and submitting to a man? Horrible. When he starts to get hard thinking about being ordered around as a pony? Oh, his world is falling apart.
It feels kinda messed up to say, but I feel like you need to ‘break’ him to make him accept that part of himself, or that he likes it.
And by break, I mean fucking him so hard he can’t think straight, maybe forcing him to say what he wants out loud over and over, until he accepts it. Gotta pavlov him a little, or a lot if we’re being honest. Gotta reward him every time he tells the truth, ya know?
Naoya would still see himself as above all that, so he never buys any gear himself, but he does start sweating and salivating when you show him the bit you bought, specifically made for humans.
The first many times you get him in pony gear, it has to be as a challenge. Something along the lines of “I knew you were too much of a pussy to try” or along those lines, play into his inferiority complex or his need to be better, to not back down from a challenge and all that.
And of course, Naoya denies liking it, as he denies liking you in any way. The way his eyes roll back and he downright squirts when you fuck him make his act fall flat though. Cuz yeah, I feel like Naoya squirts, you can tear this from my cold dead hands.
I like to imagine Naoya feeling his thoughts just go quiet when you put the bit and reins on him. It's something he’s never experienced before, and up until now he could submit in the bedroom and deny it because it didn't exist outside of that.
But now, sitting with pony gear on, you pulling him around by the reins, and telling him to canter, or to do different dressage moves? Naoya has to actually look at himself, to feel it, listen and submit more than just his body.
Theres no way he’s a polite and obedient pony, even after doing play many times. He likes being a brat on any day of the week, and sometimes you need to whip him into shape.
Not just for you but, after a while I can see Naoya almost coming to crave it. The corrections, the orders and punishments. The red lines of your crop on his body becomes more than just leftovers from him being a brat. It becomes a strange form of ownership, and a way for Naoya to let go.
I feat that Naoya wouldn’t become a good person, no matter how much you fuck him, or make him run laps. You might be able to train him out of some of his worse behavior. Because who would want a pretty pony who talks so badly about women, you know?
Hell, maybe you even dress him in stereotypically girly pony gear, just to get him more comfortable with femininity. But this is also just me wanting to feminize Naoya, as a treat.
Valentines isn't celebrated as much in the Ground, still- the tradition of spending a day with your special someone doesn't sound so bad.
AFAB! Tamsy Caines (NSFW)
Oh how joyous this day is! After Tamsy learned of the occasion, he spent no time planning ahead for a date.
"I say we take a look around Canvas town at night, there are less people spraying paint and I heard they open more stalls in the evening."
He continues to talk about what he had prepared for this night while your fingers fix his long blonde and blue hair into a thick braid.
Your mind wanders back to a couple of years ago when Tamsy arrived at the HQ, his long hair flows freely in the wind. It was love at first sight you tell yourself. Before there was Semiu, you were the one who manned the reception, he arrived with the interest of becoming part of the Cleaners—given that he was already a Giver. You set up the interview with the boss and after a week of orientation he became part of Team Eager, giving Delmon a new teammate. Everytime they finish a mission, your eyes would always follow him from the entrance until he leaves your vision. A sigh leaves your mouth, he's so pretty! The way his voice sounds gives you butterflies everytime he talks, the way he carries himself with such elegance—makes you want to treat him like royalty.
Those glances of yours didn't go unnoticed by Tamsy, he can practically feel your burning gaze the moment he enters your vicinity. It was amusing to him when you had such a deadpanned expression every time he sees you but the intensity of your gaze says otherwise.
The tides began to shift when Semiu was introduced as a new member of the Cleaners. Based on her skills alone, she was fully capable of fighting out there— however, taking into account her vital instrument, she's more suited for a stay inside job.
This couldn't be more of a great news for you. Ever since you joined the Cleaners, you've always wanted to help take out trashbeasts—become stronger and protect your folks but a job behind a desk doesn't help you achieve that goal.
You jump up and down in your head while congratulating Semiu. The two of you couldn't contain a cheshire grin on both your lips.
Only two days after your "promotion", Corvus assigned you on your first mission. Gris was there to mentor you, which shaped you to be less reclusive than you were before. The time spent with them broke your walls down— gaining confidence in yourself as days went by— "maybe this time I'll actually have the courage to talk to him first."
Another mission was assigned for Team Eager and you—along with Tomme and Follo—were the designated Supporters. You sat in between Tamsy and Tomme– Follo driving the car while Delmon sat on the passenger seat. The road was bumpy and the only source of entertainment was the radio with only one station available.
Tamsy slept peacefully beside you—occasionally waking up from a sudden bump on the road—his head resting on his palm. You discreetly scoot over closer to him, little by little. Tamsy's sharp eyes doesn't miss this and intentionally leans on your shoulder as he "slept".
Your heart felt like exploding into tiny million pieces. Eyes falling down to gaze at his sleeping figure, those long blonde lashes of his felt like it could blow you away from its beauty. You fight the urge to fix the stray strands of hair blocking his face.
"We're here."
The jeep comes to a stop, an open field of trash far as the eyes can see. It was reported that trashbeast had began emerging and is slowly moving towards the nearest town. The town seems far from your current location, however it's better safe than sorry.
Tamsy and Delmon cleared the waves without a hitch, large trashbeasts disintegrated into dust. The fight left you sweating buckets, I guess this is how things usually go in missions. Follo gave you a pat on the back for a job well done. Tomme archived the mission status and you guys were good to go.
Your first mission out in the field had you properly exhausted. Your head lolls to the side, accidentally bumping against Tamsy's head, you were far too exhausted to even notice and apologize. Tomme had seen this and was about to fix your position—Tamsy waves his hand, letting your head rest against his shoulder for the whole ride.
Follo woke you up from your slumber, the team has already left the vehicle.
"Delmon said they're going out for drinks and meal later and invited us Supporters, you coming?"
"I don't know man, my first official job outside got me feeling weak."
"Then what better way to relieve that stress by going out for drinks!"
"I was thinking sleep is a better option–"
"Tamsy's coming."
"You should have started with that."
You and Follo arrived together at the bar, a lively atmosphere greets you, music and chatter fills the background.
"Right here." Tamsy's voice calls from the side where most of them are seated, a vacant space beside him. You took the seat beside Tamsy, your shoulders brushing against each other. Not a minute later the food they ordered beforehand arrives—the sweet and savory aromas instantly made your stomach grumble. The sound made Tamsy's eyes wander towards you.
You patiently waited for others to take their fill, Tamsy however takes a large portion of meat and places it down to your plate.
"Eat up." Your heart thumps inside your chest, you could practically hear it pumping in your ears.
"T-thanks.."
Chatter fills the air as the team slowly gets drunk, you however remain sober in your seat. Tamsy gives you a glance—
"Are you free tomorrow?"
"Yeah, why do you ask?"
"I've been wanting to get my lip pierced, but going alone sounds too boring." Is he... Is he asking you out?
"I'm down to go if you're asking, might also get some done while I'm in there."
"Really? Where are you planning to get it done?"
Shit, shit, shit!
You weren't planning to go ahead this fast and you ended up spouting shit. Now you have to think of what part of your body is getting pierced. Ears sound like a good idea! But it might be too boring, you want something that can impress him.
"On my tongue."
Tamsy felt his mouth twitch, immediately wiping it off before anyone notices.
"How many are you getting? One alone does the work, but how about two? I bet it would look amazing on you."
Tamsy thinks it would look cool? On me?
"Two it is then." He gives you a close eyed smile.
"Be ready at noon, the shop's not too far from HQ but we do need to drive."
"I'll be on it."
The night ends and you all go back to your respective rooms. You stare at the ceiling in silence—soft ringing fills your ears.
DID HE JUST ASK ME OUT?
No, it couldn't be... Or it could! Why me though? If he wanted someone to come with him for a piercing won't he just ask Enjin? Or maybe Delmon?
Thought after thought fills your mind, not letting you get an ounce of sleep. It was only reminded when you saw the morning light peeking through your window.
Noon arrived and Tamsy was already at the door waiting for you. Your heart thumps at the sight of him.
"Sorry, did I keep you waiting?"
"Not at all, I just got here myself. Are you ready to go?"
"Yep, I'll go get the truck."
A bell above the shop's door rings when you opened the door—holding it open for Tamsy to enter. A woman, probably in her mid twenties greets you by the counter.
"Heya! You're the one who booked the piercing appointment, yeah?"
"Yes, that would be us."
"Alright, who's going first and what are they getting?" She guides you in a sanitized room, a table with hollowed needles and barbells.
Tamsy looks at you, your gaze locked in with the instruments on the table, he taps your shoulder—slightly startling you.
"D-did you say something?"
"I was gonna ask if you wanted to go first. Do you?"
You hesitate, you don't want to look uncool in front of him! But it's your first piercing... and on your tongue no less! You don't have any idea how much it would hurt.
"If you're worried about the healing, we can ask Eisha to speed up the process can we?"
"We can? Something like this feels a bit trivial."
"She's a nice girl, she wouldn't turn down a friend would she?" He bats his lashes, giving you a warm smile.
"I hope so, can we buy a cake before we go back?"
"Sure, what for?"
"For Eisha, something to repay the favor."
Tamsy felt his eyebrow twitch, "you're such a good guy."
The woman waves at the two of you, "Come on now, who's going first?"
Tamsy was thinking about going first since you were too hesitant, let you watch him be cool about it so you wouldn't be too scared... but you pissed him off, just a little though.
He pushes you towards the black leather reclining chair. "Go on, we don't have all day."
"Okay! You're the one getting the double piercings, yeah?"
"Double piercings?"
Tamsy traces his fingers along your arms, tensing up as he does so, his touch felt electrifying. "Two vertical piercings, you wanted to get two, remember?"
"O-oh yeah.."
"If you're all good, we can start."
You got slightly pale from the closer sight of the instruments in the table. You felt Tamsy's fingers intertwine with yours, "You can do it, I'm right here." The lady beside you practically squeals. You could hear the gloves snap on her hand.
"Okay! Lay down now and stick your tongue out." You do as she says, closing your eyes shut, clutching onto Tamsy's hand for dear life.
"Okay, breathe in... and out." She pushed the needle in as you exhale and it stung. She stuck the rod in and removed the needle, attaching the ball underneath.
"Take a breather for a minute then we'll proceed with the other one!"
You felt lightheaded after, your grip on Tamsy's hand slipping. While the lady had her back turned—Tamsy gently slaps your cheek, not enough to sting but it revitalized you.
"You're doing so good." His thumb caressing your jaw.
"I am?" your fresh piercing throbs as it hit the roof of your mouth.
"Very much so, you can handle another one, right?" you shook your head no, the thought of another needle in that size passing through your tongue again sends a shiver down you spine. Why did you even agree to get it in the first place–
"Not even for me?" he asks, softly.
Now you remember. You're weak to pretty faces and he's the prettiest man you have ever met or seen, ethereal.
"Alrighty, let's finish the other one! You ready?"
Tamsy feels you squeeze at his hand—he returns the gesture, his thumb running across your clenched fingers.
"Yeah I'm ready, let's get this done."
"Okay, you know the drill—breathe in..." It stung four times harder than the first. You hold your breath in pain—Tamsy winced when your blunt nails dug on his skin. You're much more aware of the needle sticking out of your tongue and feeling the rod grind inside the hollow needle as she pushed it in—the slight scrape of the ball turning as she locks it in place.
"Aand done! Give yourself a look in the mirror!"
You groggily sat up and stared at the mirror in front of you.
"Looks amazing, doesn't it?" It was Tamsy who asked. Your ears felt like burning when you realized you were still holding his hand—you tried letting go but he held on tighter.
"Aren't you going to hold mine while I get my piercing done?"
Dumbstruck you were.
The lady had the biggest smile in room. She composed herself immediately, snapping a new pair of gloves on.
"Hehe... Oh! You're getting a labret, correct?"
"That's right." She aligns then marks his bottom lip. He inhales and she pushes the needle in—his grip tightens on your hand and your body shudders at the sight of the needle freely dangling in his lip. She inserts the flat end in and locks with the ball underneath.
"There, all done! Now let me go through with you the aftercare of your piercings." She rambles on, you won't really need it per se, since you've got Eisha in the base. Right now however—your jaw is slacked, keeping your tongue away from the roof of your mouth.
"....and no kissing or making out, or eating out each other for the matter of at least four to six weeks or more, you've gotta let those heal unless you want to get an infection!"
Both you and Tamsy were shocked. You wanted to clear up the misunderstanding but Tamsy was already dragging your frozen body out of the shop.
"Do you still want to buy a cake before we go back?" You shook your head no, you'll just make it up for her next time. First priority is getting your piercings healed because you can't even talk.
"If you say so."
You drove back to the HQ, immediately beelining to the infirmary where Eisha was luckily not preoccupied. You drag Tamsy in to explain things.
"O-oh those must've hurt. I can fix it up but I'm not sure if it will have an additional effect since those can conduct electricity."
"We'll take the risk, look at the poor man—he can barely talk, take pity."
You stood beside him with your tongue hanging out of your lips. You're only missing a couple of sagging dog ears and you've completed the look of a kicked puppy.
"Alright, just take a seat here and stick your tongue out." Eisha plugs Type:Heal—taking a deep breath in, a glow surrounds her the she touched your tongue. You felt a zap of electricity throughout your body, your hair puffing up. It felt like you just licked one end of a battery.
You clicked your tongue, feeling around your mouth.
"It doesn't hurt no more! Thank you, Eisha! Thank you!"
You held her hands, startling Eisha with your enthusiasm
"My turn."
And so Tamsy gets his piercing healed, promising Eisha that you'll return the favor soon. The two of you left the infirmary, an awkward silence fills the air as you walk the hallway.
Today's events got you thinking, what are we? Though not much happened—the way he talked and held you while getting your tongue pierced had your stomach doing summersaults. You wanted to ask, but were afraid to make the situation much more awkward than it already is.
"Can I see if it healed properly?" You stop in your tracks, snapping out of your thoughts. You stuck your tongue out. Tamsy draws closer, slightly pulling on your tongue to examine. You can't help but focus your gaze on his lips, the ball resting on under reflects the light from the window. You draw your tongue in, tasting a little salty from his fingers.
"See? All good–"
Tamsy closed the space between you, his lips touch yours, not moving—still for seconds that felt like an eternity.
"I get the impression that I'm not the only one waiting. Was I wrong?"
Your mind scrambles for an answer, did he really just kiss me?! What are we?!
"Ab-absolutely not!" Your heart felt like it was about to escape your chest through your mouth, the question you've been dying to ask finally emerges.
"Does this mean you're my b-boyfriend?
You shut your eyes close—fists clenched, waiting to be rejected.
"I guess it does, you'd still take me out for a proper date wouldn't you, lover boy?"
"Yes!"
"Darling?" Tamsy snaps his fingers. "You've been quiet, what's on your mind?"
You finish braiding his hair, tying a rubber band at the end to lock it in place. "I just remembered how we met, your hair is much longer now that I've noticed, healthier too."
"Well, I have you to thank for that."
You tuck a couple of loose hair behind his ear. Your finger glides down to his jaw, lifting to meet his eyes. His looks up at you, lovingly.
"You're gorgeous.."
"You say that every day, it's starting to lose its meaning."
"But you know I mean it from the bottom of my heart." You leaned down to softly kiss his lips.
"...mhm, I do." He drags you down on the bed, arms wrapping around your neck. You swiftly unbuttoned his shirt, tracing your finger along his chest—you stop. Parting from him to take a good look at what your fingers felt.
"Do you like it?"
He was wearing a white lace lingerie.
Straps falling off his shoulder, the white lace complimenting his body oh so beautifully. But it didn't stop there.
You unbuckled his pants, pulling them off and letting it fall on the floor.
The sight itself left you breathless. It was a matching pair of lingerie, ribbons adorning the straps resting on his hips. He was wearing one of those crotchless panties—his pussy lays bare, you press a thumb against his mound—waxed—slick already glistening his slit.
"This was supposed to be a surprise for later, I didn't expect you to be so eager."
Speechless, you were. Your eyes never left the perfect picture of his mound. He noticed this and smirks to himself.
Tamsy spreads his legs, his slit slightly parting from each other, you could see a small stream of slick pouring out—before it could even touch the sheet under him, you shoved your head in between his legs—tongue darting to lick him clean. You flick your tongue upwards, rubbing your piercings along his erect clit.
Tamsy grabs onto your hair—body jolting whenever your jewelry would touch his sensitive tip. The painful pull on your scalp didn't stop you from eating him out. Every flick of your tongue had him pouring like a broken faucet. Soon enough his body felt taut, his leg rising over your shoulders.
"Sh-shit! I'm close–hah– don't stop.. ngh-" you didn't need to be told twice.
Feverishly you drag your piercings along his clit, lapping up nectar from the source. Suppressing a loud moan, he came. His thighs trembled around your head—grip weakening on your hair. You drank the copious amount of slick he released.
"Wh-what the hell? Stop... hahh- stop it.." not even giving him a second to come down from his high, you couldn't help but plunge your tongue deep inside him, your nose directly rubbing against his erect clit. Soon your fingers joined, pushing one finger in along with your tongue, thrusting and curling—gently rubbing against that spongy spot that had his whole body feeling like static. You pull your mouth away from his sopping pussy—replaced with another finger. Kissing his abdomen, dipping your tongue in his pierced navel—sucking his tits through the fabric of his lingerie. His hands shot up to wrap around your head, his fingers pinching your ears—you suck harder.
"Fuuh– are you trying to milk me?" You hum, the sound vibrating along his chest. "Then I suppose your efforts will be in vain. Well of course, unless..." He grins.
The weight of his words stir your insides. Your fingers—still inside and curling—worked quicker, repeatedly hitting his trembling core. Your mouth moves to his, swallowing his moans. Your tongues dance with each other as his moans grew higher in pitch. Tamsy slaps your shoulder, trying to push you away. You however, push the kiss deeper. You can feel your fingers getting tired, your muscles almost cramping. You place your thumb against his clit, rubbing and pushing against it.
This sets Tamsy off immediately. Without warning he came once again—this time squirting as he does, making a mess on your shirt and pants. You draw away from the kiss—his eyes rolling back as unshed tears brim his thick eyelashes. His body, especially his thighs and legs kept trembling even after his orgasm. You burned his fucked out expression deep in your mind. With enough energy, he musters to put his foot on your chest, pushing you away from his already wrecked body.
"You- you idiot..." You wrap a hand around his ankle, dragging it down from your chest to the painfully erect tent in your pants. Tamsy holds his breath as you rub against his foot.
Thruts slow and deep, grunting as you dig his heel lower to your base. You roll your hips, trying to chase that sweet release.
"That's enough." He audibly heard you gasp as he pulls his foot away from your grip.
"Tamsy come on–"
"I already have the our date planned weeks ahead. If we miss this—I swear you will be hanging by Tokushin in ways you wouldn't find fun." you groan frustratingly. Of course you would wanted to go out with him and be all lovey dovey. But not with this goddamn tent in your pants!
"Take a shower again, I could see I made quite a mess on you." pointing at the wet marks on your shirt and pants.
"Then how about we take it togeth–"
"We've played these games before. Also, don't jerk yourself off. "
"You're so mean!" you huff while marching off to the bathroom, ready to take the coldest shower in your life. He wants you to save all your frustrations from when you get back home after your date~
Tamsy takes the moment to rest before he himself takes another shower.
The braid you made was now a mess, some of his hair clung to his sweaty forehead. He could still feel a slight pulsing from his nethers, remembering his remark from earlier.
Tamsy traced his abdomen, imagining a bump filled with love.
He immediately shuts the thought down.
Minutes later you came back and put on a new set of fresh clothes. Tamsy goes and takes a rather short shower. You help dry and fix his hair, again.
There was only an hour left before the sun sets and it would be at least a thirty minute drive to Canvas town. Tamsy rushes you to get your truck, waving to Semiu as you left.
"Have fun you lovebirds!"
You drove quite fast. "I really want to have fun in this date with him! but my meat keeps talking to me!" you grip the steering wheel harder. Heavy rock metal plays in the radio, in courtesy of Tamsy. The wind blows his hair from the open window, and it slightly lifts his shirt from his neck.
"You're still wearing that?!" pointing at the white lingerie peeking, the truck swerves a little.
"Eyes on the road. You have a long night ahead~"
A long night ahead indeed.
AN:
at this point, i think im edging you—the reader
you will be back to your regularly scheduled program (scenarios with multiple characters), posting shorter fics. unless yalls like longer but individual fics? share your thoughts
also, i will be sharing the artworks i commissioned from different artists in a week or two (some are still being made). its mostly tamsy x male oc. i have a total of 5 artworks to share. be ready
The dim bathroom light was on, which created an intimate and cozy atmosphere. A place perfect for relaxing or setting the mood for an evening. The door was half open, inviting the young fatui in. He stood in the hallway staring in at the warm room, as if it were the most important room in the house you two own.
“[Name],” he said, his voice reached further down the poorly lit hallway and into the only bathroom in the house, where a tall figure stood. Ajax tried to remain calm.
“You said I could use the bathroom.” Inside the bathroom stood [Name] leaned over the bowl-shaped plumbing fixture counter, carefully scrubbing and washing his hands. The soap you had brought, it smelled sweet, like cinnamon and vanilla.
[Name] slowly continued to scrub, like he was following a hygiene poster's instructions to correctly wash his hands. “Wait..hold on”, you said casually to your desperate partner. “I just started washing.” “You’ve been washing for at least two minutes.”He whines. “It takes time, give me another minute”.
Ajax shifted his weight again. He really had the capacity to accept or tolerate delay; he would say confidently that he has good patience, but this was pushing it. You guys have never been going for this long for a scene.
‘This really is torture…’ Ajex quietly thinks to himself. From where he was standing, he could see the reflection of the toilet in the mirror, and it was driving him up the wall. “[Name].” “What is it?” “You’re in the way! You are literally standing between me and the only bathroom. Let me though!” He stared at you through the mirror, while you threw him a quick side glance over your shoulder.
“Don’t worry, you’ll survive.” The pale ginger let out a quiet groan and leaned against the wall outside the bathroom.
“I really need to go. You don’t understand,” “Oh, I do understand”. You said while rinsing your hands again, under the warm running water, for no reason at all. “The move it, come on.” “Almost done,” [Name] shut off the faucet, then immediately turned it back on like he had forgotten a spot. “You’re kidding..” “What?” “Why’d turn it back on!” “I definitely missed a spot,” You said. “You didn’t miss a spot.”
Ajax stood still, gears turning in his skull. His blue eyes blinked. “But.. But you were just washing your hands.” “Yeah, before.” “Before what?” “Before realizing I had to go.”
You dried your hands with slow, deliberate movements. “There. Happy?” You said as you turned around to face him. “Yes. Extremely. Please move.” Ajax demanded. [Name] stepped aside, and Ajex immediately moved towards the toilet. [Name] suddenly appeared in front of him. “Wait.” [Name] told him. Ajax froze for a second. “What is it now?” Ajax said, aggravated, “I actually need to use it too.”
Ajax threw his hands in the air, nearly forgetting he had to use the restroom. “You’ve got to be kidding me.” [Name] shrugged his shoulders and slipped past the other, inside the bathroom. Pulling the door nearly closed, just almost enough to peer inside at the older male. Ajax stood in the hallway again and stared at the door in disbelief.
“You’re so unbelievable… this is so unfair.” [Name] heard the younger one's voice through the door. From inside the cozy, lit room came [Name]’s voice. “I won’t be long.” “You said that last time too!” Ajax heard the unmistakable sound of someone relieving themselves. Only a few seconds had passed. [Name] let out a loud groan, “You’re doing this on purpose.” “Relax,” He heard you say from inside.
Ajax paced the hallway again while glancing at the door every few seconds. “Are you done yet?” “Almost.” “You said almost 2 minutes ago, I really need to go!” He felt a hopeless sense that the situation was gonna end messily.
“Time moves more slowly when you're waiting, you know.” Ajax leaned against the wall again, trying to make the time go faster. Finally, the toilet flushed, which made Ajex instantly straighten and shout, “Yes!” Running water was heard as the sink was yet again turned on. “You do not need to wash your hands for another minute!” “Hey, it's called being responsible.” The water finally shut off, and the sound of towels rustling.
The door creaked open, [Name] stepped out revlied and calmly. “Done. All yours,” you smiled at him. Ajax didn't even respond and rushed into the bathroom. Not wasting another second. The younger fatui could feel the relief wash over his body, shivering as he stepped towards the toilet.
“Actually,” [Name]’s voice was heard from the doorway. Ajax looked up and froze mid-step. “What.” You checked your watch. “We dont have time, we’ve got to leave.” Ajax solely turned around, looking pale, “No…” “Yep.” “No. Absolutely not!” “We don’t have time, we've got to go now. You’ll get another opportunity, I guess.” You shrugged and turned. “You told me I could go.” Yeah, I did. Then I remembered we’re late.”
Ajax stared at [Name] like he was deciding whether to laugh or shout. “Are you serious? You are.” The younger male was debating “Very.” Ajax inhaled deeply and sighed intensely. “Fine,” Ajax muttered, eyebrows knitted together as he stepped back out of the bathroom.
[Name] reached around to switch off the warm light. Ajax looked back at the door one last time. “That bathroom and I were five seconds away from a very different outcome.” [Name] let out a chuckle as they walked down the hallway.
“You’ll make it next time.” Ajax shook his head and said, “You owe me for this.” A hiss could be heard through his teeth. “Probably.” “And next time,” He added. “I’m using the bathroom first.”
_________
Ajax had been standing in the same spot for about fourteen minutes. It was already late, the clock hanging on the wall in the kitchen read 21:34. The young ginger drummed his fingers impatiently against his clothed thigh once, then twice, and then he clenched them into a fist. He glanced at the glass on the counter next to him. Didn’t blink og move. It remained the same way as a while ago, half full.
After he got back from the meeting at the north bank with you. You told him to complete it before you returned home again. And he promised, he was stubborn, and he was desperate to use the restroom.
[Name] appeared to lean against the doorway and commented, “What’s this? Still not finished?” His sleeves were rolled up past his elbows, showing off his defined strength; his uniform shirt was untucked. Giving the appearance that he just returned. Ajax was unaware that the door was open. “I am working on it,” The younger one said in a weak voice. [Name] moved across the room, grabbed the glass from where it stood, and proceeded to take a sip for himself.
[Name] whistles, “Sooo, why are your knees locked?”
Ajax looked down, he was completely unaware of it. [Name] watched his boyfriend shift his weight from one foot to the other. He could see Ajax’s thighs flex so slightly under his pants. Ajax shot his hands down between his crotch and gripped as he squatted over. Instantly regretting moving since he could feel his bladder burst. He gasped for air. It’s nearly night, and he has been holding it for the entire day.
[Name]’s gaze moved slowly down and up, knowingly. “Why don’t you show me you can drink all the water? Finish it as you promised me.” Ajax’s face exploded with embarrassment. Soulless eyes moved to eye the half-empty, half-full glass of water.
[Name] got closer, pushing the younger of the two up against the counter. Ajax could feel your warm breath hitting him against the back of his neck. Slender fingers pressed slightly above Ajax’s abdomen as the other hand settled on his narrow hip.
“You’re really trembling,” [Name] snickered, as he whispered in his boyfriend's ear. Ajax could feel the pressure in his abdomen, it was clear. “How much must you go, hm?” He felt [Name]’s warm breath against his ear this time as he leaned closer. “I don’t.” Ajax tried to push himself from the counter. The counter was pressing hard against his bladder with the weight of you behind him. He cleared his throat. “I’m fine.” You gave a quiet laugh and slowly moved your thumb over his hipbone.
“Say…hm. Tell me you need to urinate, and I reward you greatly.” Ajax sealed his eyes tightly. “Ugh..uhh..” He tried to curl in on himself, gripping his crotch tightly. [Name] hummed wth satisfaction. Watching Ajax’s freckled face over his shoulder and moved his thumb to lightly dance over Ajax’s bladder. The younger could feel his bladder jostle by the movement and immediately pressed his thighs together with biting down on his lip, whimpering.
Struggling to hold back, his breath caught with each second. [Name] spoke in a playful tone. “Here, let me help you.” His hand moved across Ajax’s stomach and down his crotch. You untied his pants and pushed them a bit down. Ajax shook his head, “No! Don’t!” Ajax moved his hands over yours. Denying them further movement as they dropped lower, causing his knees to slightly buckle. [Name]’s lips touched the shell of Ajax’s ear as he leaned even closer.
He whimpered and shook his head once again. His fingers were scrambling over yours as he could feel it tighten in his gut. Threatening to spill with every breath he took. [Name] amused himself darkly as he watched the eleventh of the Fatui Harbingers fall apart. “You’re sooo desperate.” You observed the situation as he hissed. Driving you to press two fingers against his lower abdomen, making him yelp with trembling legs.
"You are full, God. You've been holding it for how long. Already been a few hours.” Ajax gave a headshake. “Bet it feels like it’s been much longer!” He gave a nod, but remained silent besides moaning and whimpering. The beating of his heart and the weight in his stomach were drowning it out. Ajax was going insane since [Name] was holding his dominant hand and preventing him from trying to stop himself.
This was especially true with his free hand, as [Name]'s fingers trailed lower and broke his waistline. He was aware that he was at his breaking point. The younger fighter gasped in horror as a hot gush leaked out of him and seeped into his underwear. He attempted to stop himself by shaking his hands from [Name]’s strong grip, only for you to tighten it.
“You could stop if you really wanted.” You spoke with a mischievous tone as he forced his thighs tightly together to get away, jerking from your hold. Ajax stopped moving eventually. His hips jerked back as he let out a whiny sob, forcing his left hand from your grip. He clamped his palm down on himself, but it did not help as another wave of primordial desperation hit and he let out another sprut. His gray nightpants were totally dampened at the front, dark in color.
[Name] reached back to turn on the kitchen faucet. One more spurt broke along, and then another and another till it was too much. Warmth trickled down his thighs, shading the front of his sweats, and he was attempting to control it until he was unable to do anything but stand there trembling. A darker sensation flickered behind the paralyzing embarrassment, a piercing excitement that made his head spin.
"A grown man urinating like a kid. I told you to stop, didn't I?” He raised his hand and ran his fingers across Mickey's damp leg before holding it between them. “You’re so pathetic, Ajax.” Your words stung, settled deep in his gut.
You’d been asking him for twenty minutes, shamelessly relentless, until Toji finally let out a heavy sigh and shifted over you. Even then, he refused to give you his full weight. He braced his knees on the mattress on either side of your head, his thick, scarred thighs framing your vision as he hovered just inches above your mouth.
"You're annoying, you know that?" he grumbled, his voice a low, gravelly vibration in the dark room.
You didn't answer, just tilted your chin up and caught him. The moment your tongue swiped firmly against his slick heat, the tension in Toji's heavy frame snapped. He didn't stay hovering for long. As you worked your tongue in broad, demanding strokes, his hips started to drop. He began grinding down against your mouth, a slow, desperate roll of his hips that forced you deeper against his center.
His breathing roughened, turning into sharp, jagged hitches. He gripped the headboard, his knuckles turning white as he chased the friction. You added two fingers, sliding them inside and hooking upward. Toji's breath hitched violently. He was practically riding your face now, his heavy muscles twitching with every frantic thrust of his hips as he ground down onto your tongue.
Then, without warning, his entire body stiffened up.
Toji let out a sharp, breathless gasp. His back arched, and a sudden, heavy rush of hot fluid sprayed directly across your mouth and cheeks. It wasn't just a leak; he was actively squirting, his internal muscles pulsing frantically around your fingers as the sheer volume of it coated your lower face.
The room went dead silent, save for the sound of his ragged breathing.
Toji froze completely. The strength gave out in his arms, and he dropped down, his knees taking his weight as he stared blindly at the wall. He looked down at you, his usually sharp green eyes blown wide in absolute, stunned disbelief. He was completely speechless, a dark flush rapidly climbing up his thick neck and spreading across his scarred chest. He just stared at the wet mess on your face, his mouth slightly parted, trying to process what his body had just done.
You pulled your fingers out slowly and swiped the back of your hand across your chin, catching the slick fluid. You looked up at his shocked, flushed face and smirked.
"Damn, Toji," you said, your voice low and cocky. "Didn't know I could work you out like that."
His jaw snapped shut. For a long, heavy second, he just stared at the wet mess covering your lower face. The deep red flush burned all the way to the tips of his ears.
"Shut up," he finally grated out, his voice a full octave lower than usual, completely raw. He dragged a heavy hand down his face, deliberately breaking eye contact. "Don't act like you did something special. I just... it's been a long week."
You didn't wipe the smirk off your face, letting your eyes drop meaningfully to where his thighs were still trembling against the mattress.
"Stop looking at me like that," he snapped, though the harshness of his tone was completely ruined by the way his breath caught at the end of the sentence. He shifted his weight, suddenly hyper-aware of his own body and the undeniable evidence he'd left all over you. He reached down, his large, calloused thumb aggressively wiping at your chin and cheek, trying to scrub away the proof. "Wipe your damn face. You look stupid grinning like that."
You chuckled, catching his wrist and leaning up to kiss the inside of his palm. He flinched, but he didn't pull his hand away.
"I'm serious," he warned, his chest still heaving as he finally forced himself to look back down at you. His green eyes were dark, defensive, but blown wide with lingering heat. "You utter a word of this to anyone, and I'm putting you through a wall. You just caught me off guard. Don't let it go to your head."
He let out a rough, shaky breath, trying to summon his usual intimidating aura, but he was still straddling you, completely laid bare and visibly shaken.
"Now are you gonna get up," he muttered, his voice dropping into a needy, impatient growl as his hips twitched involuntarily against you, "or are you just gonna lay there looking smug all night? Because I still have an ache you need to take care of."
You didn't argue. You just reached up, gripping the back of his thick neck, and pulled him down. He didn't resist, collapsing his heavy frame over yours. He caught your lips in a quick, rough kiss, tasting the salt and slick of himself on your mouth without a single complaint.
He broke the kiss just as fast, turning his head to bury his flushed face deep into the crook of your neck. He let out a long, heavy exhale, his massive chest expanding against yours as he snuggled closer, his solid weight pinning you to the mattress. He was still trembling slightly, his arms wrapping around your shoulders in a tight, grounding hold.
"Just shut up and touch me," he mumbled into your skin, the last of his fight completely drained out of him.
satoru .g
The sheets were a tangled wreck underneath you both. You were twisted up in a breathless 69, Satoru’s ridiculously long legs straddling your shoulders while his face hovered right over your hips. He had your cock in his hand, his lips parted to finally take you in, but the second your tongue swiped firmly against his slick heat, his jaw just slacked.
He was far too distracted by what you were doing to his pussy to actually focus on sucking your dick. He tried, ducking his head down, but as you dragged your tongue right over his most sensitive spot, he let out a sharp gasp and lost his grip entirely. He ended up just panting hot air against your thighs, his long fingers abandoning their task to twist deeply into your hair instead.
"Hold on, let me—ah!" Satoru gasped, a breathless, exhilarated laugh bubbling out of him as he failed to focus for the third time. "You’re doing that on purpose. You’re not even letting me start."
You didn't let up. You gripped his thighs, holding him steady as you worked your tongue in broad, demanding strokes. Satoru was incredibly vocal, his hips rolling eagerly and shamelessly against your mouth as he completely surrendered to the sensation. The room was filled with the wet, heavy sounds of the friction and his ragged breathing.
He arched his lower back, pushing himself deeper against your face. You took the invitation, sliding two fingers deep inside him and hooking upward to hit that internal sweet spot, keeping a relentless, punishing pace with your tongue.
Satoru’s breath hitched violently. He completely abandoned the idea of the 69, his head dropping back against the mattress as he practically rode your face. His long frame arched completely off the bed, his thighs trembling uncontrollably against your cheeks as the overstimulation built up higher and faster than he was ready for.
"Yeah, right there," he stuttered out, his voice pitching higher. "Don't stop, don't—fuck!"
A violent, full-body shudder ripped through his long frame as the last of his control completely broke.
Satoru let out a loud, sharp cry, his fingers pulling taut against your scalp. His hips buckled hard, and a sudden, heavy rush of hot fluid sprayed directly across your mouth, chin, and cheeks. He was shaking, his internal muscles clenching in frantic, wet waves around your fingers, completely coating your lower face.
He collapsed down onto your legs, his chest heaving as he gasped for air. For a split second, there was total silence in the room, except for the sound of the bed creaking.
Then, Satoru shot up. He pushed himself onto his hands, craning his neck to look down at your face. His bright blue eyes were blown incredibly wide, but there wasn't a single hint of embarrassment in them. Instead, a massive, thrilled grin broke out across his flushed face.
"Holy shit!" he laughed out loud, completely breathless and amazed. "Did I just do that?!"
You pulled your fingers out slowly, swiping the back of your hand across your slick chin. You looked up at his wide, excited eyes and smirked, your tone perfectly cocky and satisfied.
"Damn, Satoru," you teased, your voice low. "Didn't know I could make you flood like that. Look at the mess you made."
"Are you kidding?! That was incredible!" he beamed, completely unashamed of the sheer volume of slick covering your face.
He shifted his long frame immediately, abandoning the 69 entirely to slide his legs down and fully straddle your waist. He leaned down over you, practically vibrating with lingering adrenaline, and didn't even hesitate before pressing a wet, messy kiss right to your lips. He tasted himself on you without a second thought, his tongue swiping lazily at the corner of your mouth.
He pulled back just enough to look at you, his flush deepening but his grin turning distinctly teasing. He reached out, tapping a finger right on your slick chin.
"You look really good wearing me, by the way," he hummed, his tone playfully arrogant. He let out a happy, exhausted sigh and dropped his weight, snuggling his face right into the crook of your neck. His heart was hammering a frantic rhythm against your chest, and his arms wrapped tight around your shoulders.
"You're an absolute genius," he murmured happily against your collarbone, his hips still twitching involuntarily against you. "But now I have to clean up my mess. So lay back, because it's my turn to focus... and I'm going to take my sweet time draining you completely dry."
choso. k
You had him pulled right to the edge of the mattress, his back flat against the sheets while you knelt on the floor between his legs. It was an incredibly vulnerable position, and Choso was visibly hesitant. His hands were gripping tightly at the bedsheets, his knuckles turning stark white, and every time you leaned in even an inch, his thighs would reflexively try to snap shut against your sides.
"Wait," he breathed, his voice tight and nervous. A dark, heavy blush was already dusting his pale cheeks, spreading down his neck and over his collarbones. "It's... I'm already too sensitive right now. Maybe we should just—"
You didn't let him finish. You reached out, gently but firmly catching his wrists, prying his fingers away from the bunched-up fabric of the sheets and pinning his hands flat to the mattress by his sides. Then, you slid your arms under his knees, hooking his pale legs securely over your shoulders. It opened him up completely to your view, leaving him entirely exposed.
Choso let out a shaky, embarrassed whine, turning his head sharply to the side so he wouldn't have to look at you. He squeezed his eyes shut, his chest rising and falling in shallow, nervous hitches.
"Just relax for me," you murmured, leaning in close enough that your breath fanned over his slick skin.
The moment your tongue traced a long, slow, deliberate path right over his center, Choso let out a startled, high-pitched gasp. His entire body jolted like he’d been struck by lightning. He was so incredibly pent-up and sensitive that even the lightest, teasing pressure felt like a massive shock to his system. He tried to squirm backward, instinctively trying to pull away from the overwhelming sensation, but your grip on his hips kept him anchored right at the edge of the bed.
"It's too much," he whimpered, tears immediately welling in his dark eyes and spilling over the bridge of his nose. "Please, I can't... I can't take it, it's too much..."
He was pleading, shaking his head against the pillows, but his body was completely betraying him. Even as he cried out for you to stop, his hips were instinctively bucking upward, his breathing turning into wet, ragged gasps as he chased the very friction he claimed was too intense.
You answered his frantic movements by sliding two fingers deep inside his soaking heat, curling them upward to hit a steady, rhythmic pace while your tongue worked him over without a single ounce of mercy.
Choso became a complete wreck. He was sobbing openly now, sweet, musical sounds of pure sensory overload leaving his lips. His head thrashed against the pillows, his dark hair a tangled, sweat-dampened mess. His stomach muscles jumped and twitched with every stroke of your tongue, the overstimulation rapidly pushing him past the point of rational thought.
"Please!" he sobbed out, his voice cracking as his toes curled so tight they cramped. "Ah! I'm—I'm gonna—!"
A violent, full-body shudder ripped through him as he finally shattered.
Choso let out a loud, ruined wail, his back arching off the mattress so hard he practically lifted himself into the air. A sudden, heavy rush of hot fluid sprayed directly across your face.
The heavy, intense rush of it left him completely drained. His body went limp, collapsing back onto the mattress with a heavy thud. His chest rose and fell in sharp, desperate gasps as the last of the tremors worked their way through his thighs.
All Choso could do was lay there and pant.
Then, Choso slowly opened his tear-filled eyes, peering down at you through his damp lashes, his chest still heaving. When he finally focused on your face—when he saw the sheer volume of slick dripping from your chin and painting your cheeks—his breath hitched violently in his throat.
He froze completely. A look of pure, unadulterated shock washed over his pale features, his lips parting in silent horror. The red flush on his face that seemed to consume him entirely.
You pulled your fingers out with a soft, wet pop, slowly swiping the back of your hand across your slick chin. You looked up at his horrified, flustered face, letting a slow, incredibly self-satisfied smirk cross your lips.
"And here you were begging me to wait," you teased, your voice low and perfectly cocky in the quiet room. "Look at the absolute mess you just made of my face. You must have really been dying for this."
A pathetic, utterly mortified squeak left his throat.
"I—I'm so sorry!" he stammered, his voice trembling with sheer panic, shame, and overwhelming embarrassment. He immediately scrambled upward, his shaking hands reaching out to frantically cup your jaw, his thumbs trying to wipe at your slick-covered cheeks. "I didn't mean to—I don't know what happened! I'm so sorry, you're covered in it, I ruined everything, I—"
You chuckled, catching his trembling wrists to stop his frantic, messy apologies. You leaned forward, tilting his chin up, and pressed a quick, wet kiss right to his trembling lips, tasting the salt and slick of him, shutting him up instantly.
Choso melted into the kiss the second your lips met his, a soft, needy whimper vibrating in the back of his throat. When you pulled back, his eyes were wide and beautifully dazed, his blind panic instantly replaced by a heavy, adoration-filled heat that he couldn't hide.
Before he could find his voice to start apologizing all over again, he just gave up. He slumped forward with a heavy sigh, sliding right off the pillows to wrap his arms tightly around your neck. He buried his burning, tear-stained face deep into the crook of your shoulder, absolutely desperate to hide from your cocky gaze.
"You're terrible," he mumbled into your skin, his voice muffled and shaky, though he was clinging to you like a lifeline, his bare thighs still trembling where they bracketed your waist. "Please don't look at me right now... just hold me for a second."
mahito
You had him hoisted up onto the edge of the heavy wooden desk, standing squarely between his legs. Mahito was leaning back on his hands, swinging his bare heels against the back of your thighs and giggling that manic, grating laugh of his. He was treating the whole thing like a game, his mismatched eyes bright with chaotic amusement as he looked down at you.
"Is this supposed to be intimidating?" he teased, a wide, stitched grin stretching across his face. He tilted his head, completely unbothered. "C'mon, you look so serious! Are you really going to just stare, or are you actually going to—ah!"
His mocking laughter was completely cut off the second you stepped in close and dragged your teeth lightly up the sensitive skin of his inner thigh. You didn't give him what he wanted right away. Instead, you took your time, deliberately teasing him. You mapped out the patchwork lines of his skin with slow, agonizingly light laps of your tongue, completely ignoring his slick center while hovering just inches away from it.
Mahito shifted on the hard wood of the desk, his grin faltering. "Hey. Stop messing around. That tickles."
You smirked against his skin and traced a slow circle just outside his heat, blowing a warm breath over him. Mahito’s breath hitched, a sudden, involuntary shiver running down his spine. His hands gripped the edge of the desk tighter.
"I said stop playing," he grumbled, his voice losing its playful edge, dipping into something much more impatient and needy. "Just do it already!"
"Impatient, aren't we?" you hummed.
Then, you finally gave it to him. You gripped his thighs, your fingers digging firmly into his pale skin to hold him in place, and buried your face against him. The second your tongue swiped firmly and relentlessly against his core, the change in him was instantaneous.
The playful arrogance melted entirely off his face, replaced by a look of wide-eyed, frantic overstimulation. He jerked backward, his spine snapping straight, but you didn't let him retreat. You worked your tongue in sharp, demanding strokes, refusing to let up the pressure. He wasn't used to being overwhelmed, usually twisting and reshaping himself out of any corner, but his body was completely betraying him.
"Wait, wait—stop!" he gasped out, his fingers tangling desperately into your hair. He tried to squirm away, letting out a series of high, breathless whines, but his hips were instinctively bucking forward against your mouth. "I can't—it feels too—!"
You answered his frantic movements by sliding two fingers deep inside his soaking heat, hooking upward to hit that deep, internal pulse.
Mahito’s entire body went completely rigid. His breath caught violently in his throat, his jaw dropping open in a silent scream as the sheer intensity of the overstimulation shattered his chaotic facade. His heels dug sharply into your lower back, his pale thighs trembling uncontrollably against your cheeks.
Then, the tension finally snapped.
A violent, full-body shudder ripped through him. Mahito let out a loud, high-pitched cry, his back arching off the desk as a sudden, splash of warm fluid sprayed onto you.
The heavy rush left him entirely drained. He collapsed forward, his chest heaving as he gasped for air, his forehead coming to rest heavily against the top of your head.
Mahito slowly pushed himself up, blinking rapidly as his dazed eyes finally focused on your face. When he saw the sheer volume of slick dripping from your chin and painting your shirt, his breath caught in his throat.
He froze completely. The manic, unhinged curse was rendered completely speechless. A look of pure, unadulterated shock washed over his patchwork features, his mouth falling open. A dark, violent flush erupted across his pale cheeks, burning right through the stitches on his face and spreading all the way down his neck.
You looked up at his horrified, flustered expression, letting a slow, incredibly cocky smirk cross your lips as you wiped his essence off you. You didn't wipe all of it away, letting him stare at exactly what he’d done.
"Well," you teased, your voice low and deeply satisfied in the quiet room. "That’s certainly one way to finally shut you up."
A pathetic, mortified squeak left his throat.
"You talk all that big game," you continued, stepping into the space between his thighs and crowding him against the edge of the desk. "But you completely flood the second I put a little effort in. Didn't know you had it in you to make such a massive mess of me. Look at you. You made a puddle."
"I—what?!" he stammered, his voice trembling with sheer panic and overwhelming embarrassment. He looked entirely stripped of his usual bravado, his shaking hands hovering in the air as if he didn't know what to do with them. "I didn't—I don't even know what just happened! You—you cheated! You did something weird to me, you must have used a cursed technique, I—!"
You chuckled, catching his trembling wrists to stop his frantic, messy excuses. You leaned forward, tilting his chin up, and pressed a quick, wet kiss right to his trembling lips, tasting the salt and slick of him, shutting his rambling up instantly.
Mahito melted into the kiss the second your lips met his, a soft, needy whimper vibrating in the back of his throat. All the fight left his body. When you pulled back, his eyes were wide and beautifully dazed, his panic instantly replaced by a heavy, pliant heat.
Before he could find his voice to start arguing again, he just gave up. He slumped forward with a heavy sigh, sliding right off the edge of the desk to wrap his arms tightly around your neck. He buried his burning, flushed face deep into the crook of your shoulder, his chaotic energy entirely snuffed out.
"You're so mean to me," he mumbled into your skin, his voice muffled and shaky, though he was clinging to you like a lifeline, his bare thighs wrapping securely around your waist to hold himself up against you. "Shut up... don't look at me right now... just carry me to the bed."
suguru. g
You had been begging him for weeks. Every time you backed him against a wall, cornered him in the kitchen, or tried to pull him down onto the bed, Suguru would just offer that perfectly serene, frustratingly composed smile of his. He’d brush a hand through your hair, gently kiss your forehead, and murmur, "Soon. I just want it to be the right time and place. We shouldn't rush these things."
He was incredibly private, highly protective of his own vulnerability, and utterly obsessed with maintaining total control over himself and his environment. He hated the idea of feeling exposed or caught off guard.
But tonight, his elegant little excuses had finally run out.
He was seated deep in the plush, dark velvet armchair in the corner of his dimly lit bedroom, his long, dark hair tied back loosely. You were kneeling on the floor right between his parted thighs. Even now, with his legs spread for you, he was trying so hard to maintain that aura of untouchable grace. He rested one elbow on the armrest, his chin propped on his knuckles as he looked down at you through half-lidded, heavy brown eyes.
"Satisfied?" he hummed, his voice smooth and incredibly patronizing. "You’ve been relentlessly impatient, and now you finally have me exactly where you want me. Just do try to be gentle, won't you? I'd prefer not to make a mess tonight."
His arrogant, perfectly constructed little speech died instantly in his throat the second you bypassed his thighs and buried your face directly against his soaking heat. He tried to quickly muffle the sharp gasp that escaped him, biting down hard on his lower lip, but you weren't going to let him stay composed. Not after making you wait this long.
You gripped his thighs, your thumbs pressing firmly into the muscle as you dragged your tongue in long, deliberate, punishing strokes over his center. Suguru tensed violently, his hips involuntarily jerking upward against your mouth as his lower back arched completely off the cushion.
He tried to recover his composure, forcing a shaky exhale through his nose. He reached a trembling hand down, his palm finding the top of your head in a soft, patronizing pat—a desperate attempt to pace you. "Ah... you certainly don't hold back, do you?" his voice wavered, entirely losing its smooth edge. "That's... slow down a little, sweetheart, I can't—"
But the gentle head pat immediately turned into a white-knuckled, bruising grip in your hair the second you slid two fingers deep inside him, hooking upward to find the deep, internal ache he’d been so desperately hiding.
Suguru’s facade entirely crumbled. His hips buckled, lifting completely off the velvet cushion as he tried to chase the angle of your fingers.
"Wait, please, you're—ah! God, fuck!" he choked out, his voice cracking into a high, ruined pitch.
He was completely overstimulated, his long, muscular legs trembling violently against your ribs. He tried to pull you closer by your hair and push your shoulders away at the exact same time, his body entirely confused by the sheer volume of pleasure. A ruined, desperate whine tore past his lips, his head throwing back against the chair as his toes curled into the carpet.
Then, the final, stubborn thread of his control snapped.
Suguru let out a loud, melodic cry. His entire body locked up tight, and a sudden, rush of hot fluid met your awaiting mouth, completely coating your tongue in the sudden.
The intense rush of it left him completely hollowed out. He slumped forward in the armchair, his chest heaving with ragged, wet gasps. His hands slipped out of your hair, falling limply into his lap as the last of the intense tremors wracked his frame.
For a long, heavy moment, the only sound in the quiet bedroom was his open-mouthed breathing.
"So this is why you've been avoiding me for weeks," you teased, your voice low and deeply satisfied in the quiet room. "You were terrified I'd make you completely lose your mind. I've never seen anyone drench a chair this fast. Look at what you did to my face."
A pathetic, utterly mortified groan escaped his throat.
"Have a little mercy..." Suguru rasped out, his usually eloquent vocabulary completely deserting him. He looked utterly stripped of his pride, his shaking hands coming up to frantically drag down his burning face. "I had no idea I was even capable of that. God, you're wearing half of it. Please, don't gloat, I'm already entirely humiliated."
You chuckled, catching his trembling wrists and gently pulling his hands away from his face, refusing to let him hide. You leaned forward, crowding into his space between his thighs, and pressed a quick, wet kiss right to his trembling lips.
Suguru melted the second your lips met his, a soft, needy whimper vibrating deep in his chest. All the tension drained out of his rigid posture. When you pulled back just an inch, his brown eyes were wide and beautifully dazed, his intense embarrassment entirely replaced by a heavy, pliant heat.
Before he could try to find his composure again, he just completely surrendered. He slid right off the edge of the armchair, his knees hitting the floor right in front of you as he wrapped his long arms tightly around your neck. He buried his burning, flushed face deep into the crook of your shoulder, his perfectly kept facade completely destroyed and abandoned.
His trembling hand came up, instinctively finding the back of your head to offer a soft, shaky pat—his usual comforting gesture, though right now, he was entirely the one who needed it.
"You win," he mumbled into your skin, his voice muffled and shaky, though he was clinging to you like a lifeline, his bare thighs bracketing your waist on the floor. "I severely underestimated you. Now just... hold me, and let me pretend this didn't happen."
naoya. z
The bedroom was stifling, the air heavy with the frantic, wet sounds of his undoing. Naoya was pinned against the headboard, his pale legs hooked over your shoulders and his ankles locked behind your neck in an involuntary, white-knuckled grip. His hair was a sweat-slicked mess, and his dark eyeliner was completely ruined, dragged across his cheekbones in jagged streaks by the tears he couldn’t stop.
"Stop... I said stop!" he choked out, his voice cracking. He tried to shove at your shoulders, but his arms were shaking so violently his hands just slid off.
You didn't listen. You gripped his thighs tighter, your fingers digging into his skin, and buried your face back into his soaking heat. While your tongue swirled in heavy, demanding circles over his center, you slid two fingers deep inside him, stretching him wide and hitting that internal sweet spot with a punishing pace.
The double assault was too much for his nerves. Naoya’s entire body spasmed, a sharp, broken cry tearing from his throat. His hips buckled, his muscles clenching greedily around your fingers even as he tried to pull away from the friction.
"Just one more, Naoya," you murmured against his skin, your voice a low vibration that made him sob.
"It’s not... ah!... how you won't stop! You're... ngh!"
He was completely overstimulated, his nerves frayed, yet he arched further into the touch. His toes curled, and his breath came in hitched, needy whines. You increased the pressure, your tongue flickering faster as your fingers worked him into a frenzy.
"One more," you repeated, your teeth grazing him lightly.
"No! No more, please—Aaaah!"
He went rigid, his back arching off the bed as the next wave hit him. His thighs twitched uncontrollably against your ears as his body finally gave up, then came the gush of slick, coating almost the entirety of your lower face.
He let out a ruined, melodic cry, his hands flying up to cover his face in shame. He was sobbing openly now, his frame vibrating with the force of the climax. You finally pulled back, tasting the salt of him on your lips as you looked at the state of him—the smeared makeup, the trembling limbs, and the soaking mess on the bed.
"You're such a pretty mess, baby," you murmured, reaching up to wipe a stray tear from his cheek. "Look at you. All that big talk, and you’re just a leaky little girl for me, aren't you?"
Naoya visibly cringed at the endearment, his lip curling in a sneer that was half-furious and half-shattered. A deep, frantic blush climbed all the way to the tips of his ears. He squinted at you through his glassy, tear-filled eyes, his face a brilliant, humiliated crimson.
"What are you looking at, idiot?" he snapped, though his voice was entirely too shaky to carry any real weight. He squinted at you through his glassy, tear-filled eyes, his face a brilliant, humiliated crimson. "Don't call me that... it's pathetic. I'm not some dumb woman or a bitch for you to talk down to."
"Funny," you teased, your tone perfectly cocky as you deliberately let a drop of his slick run down your chin. "Because you're the one on your back, drenching the sheets because you couldn't handle a little tongue. For someone who hates women so much, you sure do scream like a girl for me."
Naoya visibly recoiled, his lip curling in a sneer that was half-furious and half-shattered. "I do NOT—!"
"You do," you interrupted, leaning in until your nose brushed his. "You’re pouting like a bratty little princess just because I made you lose your mind. It’s cute, Naoya. Really."
"I am NOT cute!" he hissed, his voice cracking with indignity. He reached out with a trembling hand, grabbing your collar and tugging you upward with a weak, desperate jerk. "Wipe your face. You look disgusting. You're filthy, and it’s your fault I’m like this anyway."
Despite the insult, he didn't let go of your shirt. His legs remained wide, his heels digging into the mattress as he pulled you closer. His eyes darted to your zipper with a desperate, impatient hunger that betrayed every word of his bratty protest.
"Well?" he whispered, his voice dropping into a needy, demanding rasp. "Are you just going to stare at me and say stupid things all night, or are you actually going to finish this? I'm not waiting any longer. Hurry up and give it to me."
"Say please, then," you hummed. "Tell me you want it, pretty girl."
"Shut up!" he barked, though he immediately arched his hips back up against you, practically begging for the contact. "Just... just do it! Please, damn you!"
