﹙🌙﹚ .despite the sun-kissed halo practically imprinted on her hair and the specks of gold pooling in her eyes, the smooth-skinned maiden belongs to none other than the moon, a stake claimed long before the brightness could begin to enamour her [ .. ] as charcoal eats at her skin, staining up from the tips of her fingers, the mirage of constricting shadows fluctuating below the archway [ .. ]
satoru knows you hear him when he cums. you know he does.
you’d been as good about this whole thing as one could be. after all, it's not like he does it day in day out, just occasionally throughout the week.
you’d have your headphones in to pretend that you’re immersed in one of your shows, volume low. acting like you don’t already have the sound of satoru's moans burned into your memory, like you can’t hear him getting himself off down the hall. trying your hardest to not let it affect you. which works well enough.
usually, at least.
sometimes it gets to be too much. your soft bottom lip ends up caught between your teeth, thighs pressed together like that'll do anything for the incessant throbbing down south. it unfortunately lasts maybe 5 minutes before you cave, weak enough to let a hand slide down the front of your shorts to ease the growing ache building in your abdomen. sliding two fingers deep and pretending they're longer, slightly thicker. able to curl in a way yours can't. palming your breast under your cami and imagining that it's a slightly larger, warmer hand working you up like this.
pretending that it isn’t your roommate’s moans alone that's causing this stubborn arousal. hoping you’d time his orgasm just right so you’d finish with him.
hell, maybe you’re just as bad as satoru is, just not as loud.
he’s always ridiculously shameless about it too—deep groans, breathless curses, the wet drag of his fist as he strokes his cock. one you've pictured a shameful number of times. little praises choked out like there’s someone else there making him feel good.
“you’re so wet,” you’d once heard him murmur, voice edging off into a deep, toe curling moan, “feels so good, baby…”
it’s like he wants you to hear him.
which you do. every. single. fucking time without fail.
once is mistake, twice is a coincidence? but 3 times? and the various instances after those? satoru gojo is ruining your fucking life. your sanity.
not a coincidence, but pattern. sheer pattern. he has to know. if the knowing glint in his pale eyes when morning came meant anything, his chirpy little ‘sleep well, roomie?’ that has the tips of your ears heating because no, obviously fucking not! grade a asshole, that’s what he is. it’s already a struggle to fight the building attraction–he’s annoying as hell when he wants to be, but a sweetheart of a friend. fixes stuff around the apartment without you even having to ask, makes you breakfast here and there, stays up at ridiculous hours with you when you can't sleep...among other things.
but now you know exactly how he sounds when he makes himself cum, how whiny he gets, and it just makes that fickle restraint falter even more.
aside from the whole ‘noisy jerker’ thing…he isn’t bad at all. you’d gotten lucky in the roommate lottery, you suppose. he at least handles his shit with the door closed (the singular saving grace).
tonight’s different though. you’d stepped out for a quarter of an hour at best to run to the convenience store—he’d been to one to offer up his card to restock the snacks in the communal cupboard, letting you go with a simple ‘get the good stuff, yeah?’
he’d been given a clear time frame so there’s no good reason why his door is cracked when you get back in, fucking up into his fist with gentle strokes and zero urgency at all.
"oh fuck…just like that.”
you halt mid step, frozen—card in your hold, heart clawing its way right up into your throat.
the sight is much more than you’d expected. he’s a much prettier sight than your imagination could've ever conjured up.
sweats pushed low and bunched on his thighs, muscled chest bare. his lashes rest against the flush dusting his cheeks, snowy strands mussed with a few damp ones sticking to his forehead. your eyes drop lower, you can't help it. to his happy trail, neatly groomed hairs that do match the drapes leading all the way down to his cock. it's shameful how fast blood rushes to your face. it's a pretty, flushed pink, a bead of precum welling at the tip as he strokes up and down, grip twisting near—
maybe…maybe you’d just wait till he finished. silently slip back into your room like you'd seen nothing at all, keeping the card till he finished. he wouldn’t mind. you shouldn’t be here, you shouldn’t even be looking.
he’s jerking off and you’re just stood there like a peeping tom. gosh, you feel like a bigger pervert than he is. getting off to the sound of him is bad enough, now this?
“are you just gonna stand there?” the words come out of no where, startling you. it’s lazy sounding, a syrupy drawl tinged with amusement. like this is a normal, everyday conversation that you two have. the card slackens in your hold and your breathing ceases momentarily, mouth parting to get an excuse out, a ramble of apologies perhaps.
“you’re—oh fuck,” and he doesn’t even stop, eyes closed, head tipped to the ceiling now. his lips part around a moan, squeezing at the base of his cock on his downstroke to ebb his pleasure. pearly cream smears near the pretty bulb with he strokes upward again, thumb brushing over a vein at the side. “—fine. you’re fine! come in, I was just thinking about you.”
you do, you’re not sure why you do. maybe it’s your body working faster than your mind is, one saying yes, other saying no type thing. clear betrayal of every sensible instinct you have. your limbs are moving before the words can even settle. he grins like he knew you’d do just that, shifting floorboards giving you away.
you try not to look, you really do but it’s right there. hefty cock held in a light grip, flushed head all soft and rosy. veins pulsing proudly under flushed, shiny flesh. a cock you’ve tried (you really have) to not imagine too often. glistening with what looks like either pre or saliva (maybe both). it's stiff and heavy looking in his hand—the kind of pretty that causes a near physical ache in your chest and somewhere lower, dampness between your thighs soaking through your panties.
“you’re gonna cum to it anyway,” he murmurs, “might as well get you in here to let you see the real thing, right?” your eyes follow another pearlescent dribble from his head, eyes growing glossy. you will the dampness pooling between your thighs away, trying to focus on anything but him while actively ogling at his cock. you’re stood there like a deer in headlights, his words registering late. when they finally do, you’re all hot in the face as you glance up at his face, stumbling over words about only being here to give him his card. “huh? I don’t even…satoru, I promise you it’s not like that at all.”
“it’s not?” and then he laughs, all deep and rich, not at all helping with your situation currently.
“you just happen to play with yourself exactly when i’m getting myself off? the walls are thin, pretty. I don’t think the pillows muffle those vibrations too well.” you wonder if there’s a quick way to dig a hole to just jump into. maybe if you fake a fainting spell, he’d be nice enough to drop it so you could escape? shitty fucking amazon vibrator – the reviews were all lies.
a low, strangled noise leaves you - half startled, half mortified. trying to get a rebuttal out but your lips won’t cooperate.
satoru’s eyes open slowly, lids heavy like he’s already drunk on the pleasure. fuck, he loves this. loves the look on your face – lips parted, all stunned, no words to say to explain yourself. “haah—you’re not coming?” and god, he says it so breathily, you can’t help the instinctual clench of your thighs, nor the bob of your throat with how harsh you swallow.
“a little watching got you all needy?” he notices. of course he does. “why don’t we help each other out, hm? take your panties off. let me see how wet you got for me.”
that gives you a pause, panties in question uncomfortably damp. hot in the face with..embarrassment? arousal? most definitely arousal. maybe that more than the former. your hands are shaky as they graze the soft edges of your shorts, hooking under the elastic band of your panties.
you don’t know why you’re just listening to him. blindly following his instructions like it's law. "I...I really came to give you back the card." walking out of here and pretending this didn’t happen would be just as easy as walking in had been. but you don’t – you’ve been wanting to at least touch him for ages, depriving yourself right now wouldn’t do either of you any favors. "I was about to leave."
the plain pale gray, now turned smoky at the center falls, string of arousal connecting the fabric and your core briefly before snapping. it hits the floor in a heap with your shorts, and you press his card onto the closest surface to free both hands up.
"mm, i'm sure you were." his gaze drops and he groans at the clear glistening between your thighs, thumb swiping over his tip, hips twitching slightly as he slows his strokes.
“perfect. now c’mere, pretty.” he says again, softer this time. voice something warm and inviting.
you take a step, then a few more till you’re at the edge of the bed. his legs spread a little wider, chin angling down in a simple gesture. his strokes somehow get slower, lazier. teasing now, dragging out every wet sound, every twist of his wrist that has dribbles of his pre spilling over his knuckles. you sink down to your knees so you’re settled between his thighs, fingertips biting into the hardwood. the ache between your thighs that you'd been managing well enough makes itself known with a harsh throb, looking up at him through your lashes.
“there you are.” he croons, bringing his free hand back from gripping the sheets to brush stray hairs out your face, tipping your chin up. the pad of his thumb traces your bottom lip, slow, pressing in just slightly at the center.
“say ahh, roomie.”
a/n: another one for my fellow satogooners (¬ ͜ ͡¬) 𖹭.ᐟ -- edited repost! ˙ᵕ˙
thank you for reading! likes, reblogs and feedback very appreciated!
˚ . જ⁀➴ . 𝒟oe 💌 so im lowkenuineky on a semi—hiatus .. ive been working on my drafts for weeks tho. HOWEVER my throat feels like ive rubbed it raw w sandpaper + my cramps rn suck ass so itll take a while for me to post again. im sorry, im trying my best to come back guys #trust
as a lil apology tho, here’s a sneak—peak of my more important drafts (the descriptions ノtags are still subject to change)
﹙❕﹚ . ON MY SOFT!TOJI AGENDA :: going back to my roots bc he was lowk the reason i started my blog :: FLUFF :: omg so soft!! so much fluff!! maybe hints of angst? :: mentions of (hinted at) abuse (f u ze’nin clan) :: childhood friends to lovers :: established relationship ig(?) :: i luv him guys
if toji fushiguro were to be described in two words, plain and simple, they would be touch and starved. no, those aren’t quite right.
he’s been touched before. left bloodied enough times to be littered in scars that have mostly faded. some are even layered amongst one another. it kills you to see them; to think of his pain.
touch isn’t something he was depraved of. affection, however..
you first noticed it long before the lines between platonic and romantic blurred.
soft charcoal tuffs looked warm beneath the dimming sunlight, the bulky man sitting on the grass on a blanket at some park you’d wanted to meet up at. his skin is smooth despite the jagged scars you know are run across his torso just beneath the fabric of his clothes, calloused palms placed above spiky grass.
you were both much younger than now, somewhere into your high school years; back when you were still so unsure of why your chest swelled at just the sight of him.
you were so shy back then too— it’d taken hours of mental preparation just to be able to look at yourself in the mirror whilst thinking of asking him to hang out. it’s embarrassing now, thinking back to it, but back then you couldn’t imagine just blurting it out randomly. no, you’d planned it all. and of course, it had gotten derailed within the first hour.
some mutual friends had shown up, and one thing led to another— wouldn’t you know, three and a half hours and five intense rounds of freeze—tag—hide—and—seek—floor—is—lava later, you were much more than beat. never mind what you’d initially wanted to do, which for the record you couldn’t even remember— you could barely hold yourself upright!
and that much became apparent to toji when you’d slumped down beside him when your parents finally came to pick you up because embarrassingly enough you still couldn’t drive :c and with your cheeks tinted rosy and still out of breath, your head promptly fell on his shoulder, lashes fluttering shut. you hadn’t the mind at the time to ponder on why he’d stiffened before it gradually eased out, but thinking back on it now— well, it’d been quite obvious.
another painfully obvious instance happened not so long after, the summer just before your senior year.
you can’t even remember what the circumstances had been at the time, only that you’d been asking him to do you a favor, peering up at him through your lashes with the biggest, widest puppy eyes you could manage— and somewhere between dragging out the honeyed pleeeaaase you were giving him and the curl of your shimmery glossed lips— a pout— without thinking you’d sort of clasped his hands between your palms.
you hadn’t missed the shudder than ran through him, nor the burning rush of warmth that flushed even the tips of his ears an adorable pink— but even stiff and staring at you with a mixture of deer—in—headlights & god—given—solace, he didn’t pull back. didn’t try to wretch his hands out or wipe them off. you’d seen him countless other times back early in middle school when personal space was a boundary still being cemented and cooties weren’t quite yet planted into your minds— he’d never been one to hesitate to jerk away from unwanted contact.
in fact, as you both grew, girls shamelessly drooled all over themselves because he was so unashamedly reserved and ultimately untouchable.
still, there he stood with your hands— your soft, smooth palms— over his, breath caught and with a boulder lodged at his throat, he refused to move away.
when he’d caved, it wasn’t reluctance you’d found yourself met with, but something much softer and gentler; something that had your heart speeding, pounding with fluster you tried to hide.
even now, years later, he’s still so hesitant to touch you at times— late nights when he waits for you to be curled up with your eyes closed before settling with his head against your chest; knuckles brushing against yours almost asking for permission before his fingers wrap around yours when you’re out and about.
but you let him take his time regardless of how long the wait, wanting him to feel comfortable when he inevitably melts into your gentle arms.
﹙❕﹚ . ON MY SOFT!TOJI AGENDA :: going back to my roots bc he was lowk the reason i started my blog :: FLUFF :: omg so soft!! so much fluff!! maybe hints of angst? :: mentions of (hinted at) abuse (f u ze’nin clan) :: childhood friends to lovers :: established relationship ig(?) :: i luv him guys
if toji fushiguro were to be described in two words, plain and simple, they would be touch and starved. no, those aren’t quite right.
he’s been touched before. left bloodied enough times to be littered in scars that have mostly faded. some are even layered amongst one another. it kills you to see them; to think of his pain.
touch isn’t something he was depraved of. affection, however..
you first noticed it long before the lines between platonic and romantic blurred.
soft charcoal tuffs looked warm beneath the dimming sunlight, the bulky man sitting on the grass on a blanket at some park you’d wanted to meet up at. his skin is smooth despite the jagged scars you know are run across his torso just beneath the fabric of his clothes, calloused palms placed above spiky grass.
you were both much younger than now, somewhere into your high school years; back when you were still so unsure of why your chest swelled at just the sight of him.
you were so shy back then too— it’d taken hours of mental preparation just to be able to look at yourself in the mirror whilst thinking of asking him to hang out. it’s embarrassing now, thinking back to it, but back then you couldn’t imagine just blurting it out randomly. no, you’d planned it all. and of course, it had gotten derailed within the first hour.
some mutual friends had shown up, and one thing led to another— wouldn’t you know, three and a half hours and five intense rounds of freeze—tag—hide—and—seek—floor—is—lava later, you were much more than beat. never mind what you’d initially wanted to do, which for the record you couldn’t even remember— you could barely hold yourself upright!
and that much became apparent to toji when you’d slumped down beside him when your parents finally came to pick you up because embarrassingly enough you still couldn’t drive :c and with your cheeks tinted rosy and still out of breath, your head promptly fell on his shoulder, lashes fluttering shut. you hadn’t the mind at the time to ponder on why he’d stiffened before it gradually eased out, but thinking back on it now— well, it’d been quite obvious.
another painfully obvious instance happened not so long after, the summer just before your senior year.
you can’t even remember what the circumstances had been at the time, only that you’d been asking him to do you a favor, peering up at him through your lashes with the biggest, widest puppy eyes you could manage— and somewhere between dragging out the honeyed pleeeaaase you were giving him and the curl of your shimmery glossed lips— a pout— without thinking you’d sort of clasped his hands between your palms.
you hadn’t missed the shudder than ran through him, nor the burning rush of warmth that flushed even the tips of his ears an adorable pink— but even stiff and staring at you with a mixture of deer—in—headlights & god—given—solace, he didn’t pull back. didn’t try to wretch his hands out or wipe them off. you’d seen him countless other times back early in middle school when personal space was a boundary still being cemented and cooties weren’t quite yet planted into your minds— he’d never been one to hesitate to jerk away from unwanted contact.
in fact, as you both grew, girls shamelessly drooled all over themselves because he was so unashamedly reserved and ultimately untouchable.
still, there he stood with your hands— your soft, smooth palms— over his, breath caught and with a boulder lodged at his throat, he refused to move away.
when he’d caved, it wasn’t reluctance you’d found yourself met with, but something much softer and gentler; something that had your heart speeding, pounding with fluster you tried to hide.
even now, years later, he’s still so hesitant to touch you at times— late nights when he waits for you to be curled up with your eyes closed before settling with his head against your chest; knuckles brushing against yours almost asking for permission before his fingers wrap around yours when you’re out and about.
but you let him take his time regardless of how long the wait, wanting him to feel comfortable when he inevitably melts into your gentle arms.
my sweet darling when will we be blessed w. your writing once again? imy #toxic ex level neediness
awh im so sorry to keep u waiting angel ૮꒰◞ ˕ ◟ ྀི꒱ა my writing muse has been low for a while & ive been quite busy (sadly)
HOWEVER im spoiling u w this: my next work published will either be older professor!gojo, soft bf!toji, OR (the one getting most luv rn n my favorite one) childhood bsf!kuna but reader is satoru’s lil sister hehee ໒꒰ྀི∩˃ ᵕ ˂∩꒱ྀི১
#trust that i’ll be posting smth soon, hopefully end of the month/beginning of june
angel all ur hybrid works have me thinking of mean puppy!toru who teases sweet bunny!femreader ‘cause he can’t cope with liking her, & behind closed doors he takes it out on her by fucking her unconscious ❤︎
❝ you’re a bunny, don’t say you can’t take it ❞ ❝ awh, how does the saying go again? to ‘fuck like bunnies’ ? ❞ ❝ speak up hon. i can’t understand if you don’t use your words properly ❞ && he since refuses to admit how all ur (cute) whimpers and how well u r taking him makes him feel fuzzy inside, he js goes even rougher. u can’t even tell he’s the one whining (into ur neck) ‘cause u r too fucked out, but it doesn’t matter since all u really wanted in the first place was his attention („𖦹﹏𖦹„)
oh. mm. gee. ૮꒰ ྀི◜๑◝ ꒱ა i’m literally obsessed with the way you think— i js started conjuring up a lil’ smth 4 this since i love puppy! gojo. ( too underrated ) + likely may combine with a college au. . . if i reach a flo state like i’ve been in hehe
𝜗ৎ a/n. ── ( short + unproofread ) fell 4 the propaganda + wrote about my cutie pie tiger boy ᵎᵎ
𝓎our delicate heart, once splintered and rotted bitter from a sordid, unforeseen heartache many nostalgic years ago, was now swollen with potent, fragile emotion. lust.
because your ex-boyfriend, who had left you to shatter after disappearing, currently has you meanly bent, staining your frilly white pillow with fat, crystalline globules of ugly tears as he tongues at your chubby cunt’s drooling hole— you overstimulated and adorably gushing.
“nuh, uh,” yuji sweetly admonishes, plump lips flushed in your dripping, lewd slick— nipping at your sensitive, puffy nub once he sees your brain’s cogs feverishly, anxiously, churning. “don’t think, doll. focus on me, ‘kay?”
“‘kayyy!-” you mewl. soft. hazy, distant eyes, bubbling over again with salty, gluttonous waterworks, fixating on the strawberry pink and rouge-haired boy whose pretty pearly canines are now teething at your inner thighs ‘til pungent sanguine beaded at the raw, gnawed flesh for him to kitten-lick— alongside your crude essence.
you’re beautifully disheveled. boneless. nude aside for a skimpy bra and panties. lithe, quivering appendages gently yet tightly constricted in cream lace ribbon— thin, strewn fabric an obsessional reminder of possession— but moreso as in a parasitic, selfish dread you’d vanish on him, since you’re again entrapped in his self-cannibal spiderweb.
when you really shouldn’t be. honestly.
you should hurt him as much as he had hurt you.
yet here you are instead, feebly struggling, squeamish, against his thinly-woven restraints from blatant pleasure— supple fingers aching to drag across his ethereal, cryptic scars blemishing his sinews and boyishly handsome face, and tug affectionately at his metaphorical puppy ears.
aren’t you so stupid?
“love you s’much, yuu- ngh!” your head’s unadulterated mush. fuzzy. slipping mascara pricking like rose thorns at the warm, dewy skin of your sheepishly flushed cheeks.
“love you more, baby.”
taut jaw smeared in your cloying blood and wetness, he languidly peels your sticky-sheer cotton underwear to slap back over your numb cunt, halfheartedly veiling your tight, puckered hole to bully his bulbous, mushroomy, mauve-pink tip through the damp material.
“please,” you airily breathe. needy. shuddering. lower bleeding lip wobbly and pouty. “w-wanna feel you. . .”
◌ you’re fucked silly with satoru’s “lollipop” ╱ 18+
𓏵 ft. food play oral bondage mock sympathy tummy bulge dacryphilia cowgirl Ი𐑼
𝓎ou didn’t think much of it. him and his vampiric, milk white canines teething at the spit-glossed, candied-dense globe of a cherry blow pop— like a puppy to a bone— dyed tongue suckling the chemically saccharine, viscous syrup which dribbled out onto his pink lips.
of course, not like it should’ve mattered even if you had thought about it; you knew satoru enjoyed a little facile sweet treat, something rotten and purely sucrose— likely cavity-inducing— which he’ll frivolously re-word as “brain-stimulating” since it sounds fancy. less juvenile.
but, sometimes, there’s a silly ulterior motive. ‘cos candy alone can’t always satiate a sweet tooth.
“don’t you hate that kind?” you tut, facetiously coy.
your brows furrowed cutely quizzical at the boy gnawing tenaciously to reach the lolli’s enshrouded bubblegum, like he didn’t prefer dum-dums, and as if there wasn’t a pooling, sore ache in your own tummy from you staring at his pretty mouth— crude, sticky slick dampening the scant gusset of your cotton panties.
he smiles. fangs too cheshire and kittenishly bonny for a boy who’s killed. “yeah- but i’ll manage.”
and, of course, he does. that is, if “managing” meant impromptu, or languidly pumping your tight, little pussy with the lolli’s bulbous head, marbled raspberry-mauve sphere ignominiously squeezing in-n’-out your velvet hole— gummy walls sensitive and bruising being rubbed flush against the calloused crystalline sugarcoating.
it’s nauseatingly tawdry. but repulsively erotic in a way where your spine is soon arched like a needy, jumpy cat— skimpy pleated uniform miniskirt bunched up, wrinkled, at the plush of your waist— lace-frilled cotton panties peeled halfheartedly aside. knees near either clavicle with tender knuckles quivering against the back of either leg. acrylics drawing mean crescents in the flesh.
“sooo skittish, baby,” he purrs, puerile. sardonic. nibbling and puppy-licking at your puffy, tender clit— doe baby blues engrossed by your greedy, drooling cunt slobbering up the rotund candy to its plastic stick. “would’ya- hah-scamper away if it’s just the tip?”
gagged by his eye veil, your soft mewls of retort are pacified into adorable, mousy huffs, which he faux-croons at, pouty, before slipping the sleek-wet blow pop back into his maw— sugary, artificial flavor now amalgamated with your pungent, honeyed essence— an easily favorite, cloying tang of his. salaciously numbing. addicting.
better than any sugar rush.
“aww. oops.” candy lolled wantonly in his mouth, he guides your shuddering hips— dripping, winking hole beautifully exhibited— to tease feathery-light kisses right upon his cock’s mushroomy, prodding tip, your drowsy gaze unfocused and mollified. “forgot you can’t talk.”
“‘toruu- mph!” delicate, shaky hands feebly anchoring on his sinewy, porcelain abs, you’re bullied, or impaled, upon his blushed girth, shimmying to ease the burning stretch as salty, lemony waterworks soil your lower lash line.
“you crying, bunny?” you’re flustered. dizzy. vision whitening at its sheer, kaleidoscope edges. beaded saliva caked lewdly against his obsidian cloth’s thin, knotted fabric. “m’sorry—”
“sh-hut up,” you quietly mumble, muffled. vexed.
it’s almost comically sordid— being so stuffed full there’s a salient bulge in your lower abdomen— spongy, wet walls fluttering around him; yet, you still sink to straddle him more anyways, bouncing up-n’-down virtuosically.
paralyzed. he’s wholeheartedly mesmerized by you.
dilated pupils seemingly morphing into cookie-cutter, squeamish hearts, your sorcerer boyfriend’s blown bubble, nearly translucent due to its unadulterated volume, bursts as he cums hard, tacky, gluey residue staining— akin to smeared lipstick— his taut jaw. trailing down grotesquely enticing to his bobbing adam’s apple.
“i love you. can we please do sweetart ropes next?”
𝓲𝗻 𝘄𝗵𝗶𝗰𝗵 ♰ you spend three years convinced your academic rival sukuna hates you back, only to find out he’s been hopelessly in love with you the entire time.
✿ ◞◟) ryomen sukuna 𝓍 gn!reader
𝓬𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘁 fluff, college!au, secretly soft!sukuna, academic rivals to lovers, forced proximity (paired final project), sukuna wears glasses, miscommunication is the villain, competition as flirting, first kiss, oblivious idiots in love.
the thing about hating ryomen sukuna was that it had never been a conscious decision.
you couldn't point to a specific day, a singular moment where you looked at him and thought, yes, this is it. this is the person i will dedicate a concerning amount of my emotional energy to despising. it just happened, the way moss creeps over stones or rust eats into metal — it happened slowly, quietly, and then all at once.
maybe it was because you were always neck-and-neck for the top of every class, your names sitting side by side on ranked assignment lists like they were married to each other against both of your wills. maybe it was because sukuna had this infuriating habit of leaning against your shared locker bank every morning, arms crossed, watching you approach with that half-lidded expression that managed to convey how utterly beneath him he found you without him having to say a single word. maybe it was because sukuna never let you win at anything — not group projects, not debate club, not even the stupid karaoke contest at utahime's birthday party last semester where he absolutely butchered a journey song and still somehow got a higher score than you.
whatever it was, the hatred was there. it lived in your chest like a second heartbeat, hot and familiar, something you could always count on when everything else felt uncertain.
you hated ryomen sukuna.
and you were pretty sure he hated you too.
this was simply the natural order of things, as stable and predictable as gravity — you walked into a room, sukuna was there, the air got thicker, you glared at each other, and the universe continued spinning.
it had been like this since freshman orientation when you accidentally took the last chocolate chip muffin from the dining hall cart and sukuna had been reaching for it at the exact same time; your fingers had brushed, and sukuna had looked at you like you'd personally insulted every single of his ancestors, and then he'd muttered something under his breath about how he 'should have known'.
from that day forward, you were locked in.
so when your professor announced the paired final project for advanced literary theory — a fifteen-page analysis of narrative unreliability that would make up forty percent of your grade — and then proceeded to assign partners alphabetically, you felt the universe's cosmic joke land squarely on your shoulders.
"aizawa is with burnham, carlson is with davis... nakamura is with park, and (l/n) is with sukuna."
the room didn't go silent, but you wouldn't have heard it if it had. all you could hear was the rushing of blood in your ears as you turned your head, slow and dreadful, like a defendant watching the jury file back in.
sukuna was already looking at you.
he sat two rows over, sprawled in his chair like he'd been poured into it, all sharp angles and lazy menace. his pink hair fell across his forehead in that careless way that made you want to push it out of his face just so you could see him scowl more clearly. his jaw was set, his mouth a flat line, and his eyes — those stupid, arresting eyes that shifted color depending on the light, red one moment and almost brown the next — were fixed on you with an expression you couldn't quite read.
you glared at him.
sukuna raised one eyebrow, slow and deliberate, like he had all the time in the world to be annoyed with you.
"great," you muttered, slumping in your seat. "just great."
the thing you didn't know — the thing you couldn't know, because nobody tells you these things, because love doesn't announce itself with trumpets and flashing signs — was that ryomen sukuna had been in love with you for three years, two months, and approximately eleven days.
it had started with the muffin.
not because of the muffin, exactly, but because of the way you'd looked at him when your fingers touched. everyone else in the dining hall flinched away from sukuna — he knew how he came across, all sharp edges and sharper tongue, the kind of person who looked like they'd bite if you got too close. but you hadn't flinched. you'd looked at him, and there had been something in your expression that wasn't fear or deference or any of the other things he was used to seeing.
you'd simply looked at him like… he was just some guy who wanted a muffin.
and then you'd taken it anyway, which was either deeply stupid or deeply brave, and sukuna hadn't been able to decide which, but he'd known, suddenly and completely, that he needed to figure it out.
so he'd started showing up at your locker, not because he wanted to intimidate you but because sukuna wanted to see if you'd look at him like that again. he'd started competing with you for grades not because he wanted to beat you but because sukuna wanted you to notice how hard he was willing to try, how he sharpened himself against you like a blade against a whetstone. he'd challenged you to the karaoke contest because you'd laughed at something utahime said — a real laugh, the kind that crinkled your nose — and sukuna had wanted to be the reason you made that sound, even if it was because he was singing badly on purpose.
none of it had worked the way he wanted.
somewhere along the way, the wires had gotten crossed so completely that sukuna didn't even know how the hell to untangle them anymore; his attention had curdled into something you perceived as hostility. his proximity had become a threat instead of a hope.
and ryomen sukuna, who had never been good at explaining himself, who had spent his whole life building walls instead of bridges, had no idea how to tell you that every time you glared at him, he felt like he was swallowing glass.
so he didn't tell you.
sukuna just kept showing up, he just kept competing, he just kept finding reasons to be near you, and let you believe whatever you wanted to believe.
it was easier that way. really, it was easier than admitting that he thought about you constantly, that he had a folder on his phone full of screenshots of your discussion board posts because he liked the way you structured arguments, that he'd memorized your coffee order from watching you get it so many times (oat milk latte, extra shot, cinnamon on top, which was objectively an incorrect way to drink coffee but he loved that about you anyway).
it was easier than saying; i don't hate you. i never have. i think i would burn the world down if you asked me to, and that terrifies me more than anything else ever has.
so when professor okamoto announced your pairing, sukuna's heart did something violent in his chest, and he had to physically stop himself from smiling. he raised one eyebrow instead, giving you his most unreadable look, and watched your face crumple with displeasure.
god, you were beautiful when you were annoyed.
yeah… sukuna was so, so fucked.
you agreed to meet in the library on tuesday afternoon, mostly because you wanted to get this over with as quickly as possible. the sooner you started, the sooner you'd be done, and the sooner you could go back to pretending ryomen sukuna didn't exist at all.
he was already there when you arrived.
this was infuriating because you were fifteen minutes early, specifically to avoid this exact scenario — walking in to find him already settled, already comfortable, already looking like he belonged in a way that made you feel like an intruder in your own study space.
sukuna had claimed the corner table by the window, the good one with the natural light and the extra outlets, and he was bent over a laptop with his reading glasses on.
you stopped dead.
sukuna wore glasses.
you had never seen this before, you had no idea sukuna even needed them, and the sight of them — wire frames, simple and unexpectedly kind against the boy’s sharp face — made something in your chest do a strange little flip.
he looked way softer like this, less intimidating, and you hated that you noticed. you hated that you noticed that the sleeves of sukuna’s sweater were pushed up to his elbows, exposing the lean lines of his forearms. you hated that you noticed the way his hair fell when he was concentrating, how he kept pushing it back with an absent hand.
you hated that you noticed anything about him at all.
"you're staring," sukuna said without looking up.
you bristled.
"i'm not staring. i'm assessing the enemy's territory."
now sukuna looked up, and the glasses made him seem almost approachable for half a second before his expression settled into its usual mask of mild disdain.
"the library is not enemy territory. it's simply a library. with books. which we both really need for this project we're both required to complete."
"don't sound so excited about it."
"i'm not excited about anything involving you."
that stung more than you wanted it to.
you told yourself it was because you were proud, because you hated being dismissed, because sukuna's opinion shouldn't matter to you but it did, it always had, in the same way a splinter mattered — small and sharp and impossible to ignore.
you dropped your bag on the table with more force than necessary and sat down across from him, pulling out your laptop and notebook and pens with aggressive efficiency.
"let's just get this over with."
"eager to escape my company?"
"desperately."
something flickered across his face, there and gone so fast you couldn't name it. he looked back at his screen.
"okamoto wants us to focus on unreliable narration in gothic literature. i've pulled some secondary sources. there's a reading list in the shared document i started."
"you started a shared document already?"
"i'm not an idiot."
"i never said you were."
"you were thinking it."
you opened your mouth to argue, then closed it because he wasn't wrong, and also because there was something in his tone that didn't sound like his usual condescension. it sounded almost... tired. like he was exhausted by this dance you two did, even though he was the one who kept leading.
the silence stretched between you, strange and unfamiliar.
you'd never spent this much time alone with sukuna before; your interactions were always in crowded hallways or full classrooms, always brief and barbed, always with an audience. now it was just the two of you and the soft sounds of the library — pages turning, keyboards clicking, someone's phone buzzing somewhere in the stacks.
you could smell his cologne; something woodsy and warm, nothing like the sharp, cold scent you'd imagined he'd wear. it made him seem closer than he actually was.
"so," you said, because you had to say something, "gothic literature. fun."
sukuna looked at you over the top of his glasses.
"is that a genuine statement or are you being sarcastic?"
"do i ever not sound sarcastic?"
"no," sukuna said, and then, quieter, "i know."
you didn't know what that meant, and you didn't ask.
the first week of working together was exactly as miserable as you'd expected.
you disagreed about everything — thesis statements, source selection, whether or not to use first-person in the analysis, the correct way to cite a multi-volume work.
sukuna was methodical to the point of obsession, wanting to outline every paragraph before writing a single word, while you preferred to write freely and shape the chaos into something structured later. he thought your approach was inefficient. you thought his approach was suffocating.
"you can't just write without knowing where you're going," he said on thursday, staring at your laptop screen like it had personally offended him. "that's how you end up with a directionless argument."
"it's not directionless, it's exploratory. there's a difference."
"there isn't."
"there is if you have any imagination at all."
sukuna’s jaw tightened. "i have imagination."
"huh. could've fooled me."
the words came out sharper than you intended, and you saw something shutter behind sukuna’s eyes. he looked away first, which he never did, and when he spoke again his voice was carefully, deliberately flat.
"just write the outline. we can argue about methodology later."
you wanted to push. you wanted to know why he looked like you'd actually hurt his feelings, which was ridiculous because ryomen sukuna didn't have feelings, not ones that could be hurt by the likes of you. but something about the set of his shoulders stopped you, something about the way he'd gone very still, like he was bracing for impact.
so you wrote the outline.
and sukuna was right, which made it worse.
by the end of the second week, something had shifted.
you couldn't point to exactly when the hell it happened, but somewhere between arguing about the reliability of jane eyre's narration and debating whether rochester was a gothic hero or just a guy with too many secrets, the edges of your interactions had started to soften.
you still bickered constantly, but it felt less like warfare and more like... a game. a familiar rhythm you'd both fallen into without meaning to.
sukuna started bringing you coffee.
not every day, and not in an obvious way either; he'd just show up to your library sessions with two cups from the campus cafe, one black for himself and one that smelled like cinnamon and oat milk, and he'd set yours on your side of the table without a single comment.
the first time it happened, you stared at the cup like it might explode at any moment;
"what is this?"
"coffee. it's a beverage. people drink it to stay awake when they're doing academic work."
"i know what coffee is. i meant—why did you get me one?"
sukuna shrugged, not meeting your eyes. "you always look like you haven't slept. figured you needed it."
it was such a strangely considerate thing to say, so unlike the person you thought you knew, that you didn't know how to respond. you just wrapped your hands around the cup and let the warmth seep into your palms, watching sukuna over the rim as he settled into his chair and opened his laptop like nothing out of the ordinary had happened.
the coffee was perfect, exactly how you liked it.
you didn't think about what that meant.
you definitely didn't think about how sukuna would have had to pay attention to know your order, how sukuna would have had to remember, how sukuna would have had to deliberately choose to get it for you even though you'd never asked and never thanked him properly.
you just drank the coffee and tried to ignore the way your heart was beating.
on the third week, you caught sukuna staring at you.
not the usual staring — the kind where he was waiting for you to finish a thought or watching your face for a reaction during an argument. this was different; this was soft, this was the way people looked at things they wanted to keep.
you'd been reading a passage from wuthering heights aloud, doing the voices for the different characters because you were a huge nerd and because it made sukuna's lip twitch in a way that was almost — almost — a smile. you were in the middle of heathcliff's "i cannot live without my soul" speech, and you'd gotten dramatic with it, leaning forward with your hand pressed to your chest, and when you looked up to gauge his reaction, sukuna was just... looking at you.
not at the book, not at the table, but at you.
sukuna’s expression was naked in a way you'd never seen before. all the usual armor was completely gone — the sneer, the boredom, the casual cruelty he wielded like a shield.
instead he looked almost... awed. like you'd done something miraculous just by existing in his general vicinity.
your voice caught in your throat.
"sukuna?"
he blinked, and the mask slammed back into place so fast you almost believed you'd imagined the moment before.
"what?"
"you were staring."
"no, i was just listening."
"you looked—"
you stopped, not sure what you'd been about to say. you looked like you loved me, maybe, but that couldn't be right because ryomen sukuna didn't love anything, certainly not you, certainly not like that.
"you looked weird."
"i always look weird."
"you don't," you said, before you could stop yourself. "you look, you know, normal? i mean, not weird. usually."
sukuna's eyebrows went up.
for a long moment, neither of you spoke. the library's heating system kicked on with a low rumble, and somewhere across the room, someone laughed quietly, and you were acutely aware of every single inch of space between you, of how easy it would be to reach across the table and touch sukuna’s hand, of how badly you wanted to.
you didn't. of course you didn't. but you wanted to, and that was new, and that was terrifying.
"finish the passage," sukuna said finally, his voice rougher than usual. "you were at 'i cannot live without my soul'."
you looked down at the book, at heathcliff's desperate words, and felt heat rise to your cheeks.
"right. yeah. okay."
you finished the passage, but you couldn't look at sukuna while you did it.
the confession happened on a thursday, and it happened because of a paper cut.
you were both hunched over a stack of printouts, cross-referencing quotes, and you were tired — the kind of bone-deep exhaustion that came from too many late nights and too much caffeine and the slow, creeping realization that you didn't actually hate the person sitting across from you, that maybe you'd never hated him at all, that maybe you'd been wrong about everything for three entire years.
you reached for a page at the same time sukuna did, your fingers brushing against his, and you both froze.
his hands were warm.
you'd expected them to be cold, because everything about sukuna seemed cold, but no, they weren't. his hands were warm and broad and surprisingly gentle when he pulled back like you'd burned him.
"sorry," you said, and meant it.
"don't be sorry for touching me," sukuna said, and his voice was strange, tight, like the words were being pulled from somewhere deep. "i don't—i don't mind."
you looked at him.
really looked, the way you hadn't let yourself look in years; his hair was messy from running his hands through it, his glasses were slightly crooked, and there was a tension in his jaw that you'd always read as anger but now seemed like something else entirely. something held back, something waiting.
"you always mind," you said quietly. "you always mind when i'm near you."
sukuna's breath caught, and you saw it, the way his chest stopped moving for just a second, the way his fingers curled into fists on the table.
"is that what you think?" he asked. "that i mind?"
"you act like you do. you've always acted like—"
"i know how i act." sukuna cut you off, and there was something raw in his voice now, something that made your stomach drop. "i know exactly how i act. do you think i don't know? do you think i haven't noticed that you flinch every time i walk into a room, that you tense up when i stand too close, that you look at me like i'm something you stepped in?"
you opened your mouth, but nothing came out.
"i know," he continued, and now he wasn't looking at you anymore, he was looking at the table, at his hands, at anything but your face. "i know you hate me. i've known for years. and i don't—i don't blame you. i'm not good at this. i'm not good at people. i don't know how to be anything other than what i am, and what i am is someone who makes you uncomfortable, apparently, which was never—"
his voice actually cracked, and you felt something splinter inside your chest.
"that was never what i wanted."
"sukuna—"
"just let me finish."
sukuna pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes, and when he spoke again, his voice was muffled.
"i need to say this. i've been trying to say this for three whole years, and i just keep messing it up, and i don't care if you hate me after, i just really need you to know so i can stop—so i can stop pretending—"
he dropped his hands and looked at you, and his eyes were red-rimmed and bright, and all the air left your lungs.
"i don't hate you," sukuna said. "i have never hated you. not once. not even when you took the last muffin at orientation, which was a crime against humanity and i'm still not over it. not when you argued with me about romantic poetry in sophomore lit. not when you told professor tanaka that my interpretation of frankenstein was 'reductive and borderline misogynistic', which, for the record, it wasn't. i don't hate you. i've never hated you. i—"
sukuna stopped, swallowed, and looked at you like you were the scariest thing he'd ever seen.
"i love you," he said, and the words came out small, almost bewildered, like he was discovering the truth of them in real time. "i love you so much it's embarrassing. i love your laugh and the way you argue and how you do the voices when you read out loud even though you think nobody notices. i love that you're competitive and stubborn and terrible at asking for help and you always push your hair behind your ear when you're thinking. i love that you took that muffin even though you knew i wanted it because you don't back down from anything, including me, especially me, and i—"
his voice broke again, and he laughed, a short, helpless sound.
"i've been in love with you since freshman orientation. i've been in love with you for three years, and i've been so busy trying to get your attention that i didn't notice i was just making you hate me. and that's—that's on me. that's entirely on me. but i needed you to know. before we finish this project and you never have to talk to me again. i needed you to know that none of it was hate. not on my side. it was never hate."
the library was silent.
you could hear your own heartbeat, loud and unsteady, you could feel the blood rushing to your face, your hands, every part of you that had suddenly come alive.
sukuna was looking at you like a man awaiting execution, his chest rising and falling too fast, his hands shaking slightly where they rested on the table.
you thought about three years of mornings at your locker. three years of competitive grading. three years of him finding reasons to be in your orbit, even when you made it clear he wasn't welcome at all.
you thought about the coffee, the glasses, the way he knew your reading voice and your coffee order and the fact that you pushed your hair behind your ear when you were thinking.
you thought about how you'd actually never hated him either; at least, not the way real hatred felt cold and dead. your feelings for sukuna had always been hot, always been alive, always been demanding your attention when you wanted to focus on anything else.
you thought about the muffin.
"you're an idiot," you said.
sukuna blinked. "what?"
"you're an idiot," you repeated, and your voice was shaking, and you couldn't stop the smile that was spreading across your face, wide and disbelieving and probably ridiculous. "three years. three years of fighting over grades and arguing about literature and competing in karaoke contests, and the whole time you were just trying to get me to look at you?"
"to be fair, it worked. you looked at me constantly. just—not in the way i wanted."
"because i thought you hated me!"
"yeah, i know! i realize that! i'm aware that my communication skills are—"
"abysmal?"
"i was going to say 'deeply flawed', but yes, abysmal works."
you laughed.
you couldn't help it; it bubbled up from somewhere deep, somewhere that had been wound too tight for too long, and suddenly you were laughing so hard that tears were streaming down your face, and sukuna was staring at you like you'd lost your mind, which honestly you might have.
"i don't hate you either," you managed, between gasps. "i never hated you. i thought i did, but i don't think i know what hatred feels like anymore because every time i tried to hate you, i just—i just kept noticing things. like the way you tap your fingers when you're reading. and how you always hold the door for people even though you pretend not to. and you helped that freshman find their classroom last week even though you were late to your own class. and you look at me like—"
you stopped, swallowed, and looked at him.
"you look at me like i matter," you said softly. "and i didn't know what to do with that, so i called it hatred. because it was easier than admitting that maybe i wanted you to look at me forever."
sukuna made a sound, something wounded and hopeful all at once, and then he was moving — not dramatically, not the way they do in movies, but slowly, carefully, like the boy was approaching something that might spook.
he reached across the table and took your hand, his fingers sliding between yours, and you both looked down at where you were connected like it was the most incredible thing either of you had ever seen.
"so," sukuna said, and his voice was unsteady, "just to be clear. we both wasted three years being convinced the other person hated them, when actually—"
"when actually you have the emotional intelligence of a brick and i'm apparently blind."
"i was going to say we're both complete idiots, but yes, that's also very accurate."
you squeezed sukuna’s hand, and he squeezed back, and the smile he gave you was nothing like the ones you'd seen before; this one was real, this one reached his eyes, softened all his sharp edges, and made him look so sweet and so hopeful and so terrifyingly beautiful.
"what now?" you asked.
sukuna looked at your joined hands, then at your face, then back at your hands.
"well. i have a fifteen-page paper due in two weeks, and my partner is very distracting."
"your partner is sitting right here."
"i know." sukuna lifted your hand to his mouth and pressed a kiss to your knuckles, feather-light, his eyes never leaving yours. "trust me. i know."
you spent the rest of the afternoon in the library, but you didn't get any work done.
you talked instead — really talked, for the first time in three years. you told him about the muffin, how you'd only taken it because you'd seen him reach for it and wanted an excuse to touch his hand, how you'd spent the rest of the day convinced you'd imagined the whole thing. he told you about the karaoke contest, how he'd picked journey specifically because he'd overheard you say it was your guilty pleasure, how he'd sung badly on purpose because he wanted to see you smile.
"i can't believe you can actually sing," you said, propping your chin on your hand. "and all this time i thought you were just terrible at music."
"i have many hidden talents."
"like secretly being in love with me for three years?"
sukuna’s ears went pink.
"that's not a talent. that's a crisis."
you reached across the table and touched his face, just because you could now, just because he was yours to touch. his stubble was rough against your fingertips, and he closed his eyes when you traced the line of his jaw, leaning into your palm like a cat seeking warmth.
"i'm sorry," you said quietly. "for all the times i was mean to you. for assuming the worst."
"don't be." sukuna turned his head and pressed a kiss to the center of your palm. "you gave as good as you got. it's one of the things i like about you."
"one of the things?"
sukuna slowly opened his eyes, and the look in them made your chest ache.
"i could give you a long list. it would take a while. we might need to order dinner."
"we're still in the library."
"the library has a cafe."
you laughed, and he smiled, and when he kissed you for the first time — soft and slow and a little awkward, both of you smiling too much to do it properly — you tasted coffee and cinnamon and something that felt like coming home.
the thing about loving ryomen sukuna was that it had never been a conscious decision either.
it just happened — it happened the way spring follows winter, the way flowers naturally turn toward the sun, the way your hand found his under the library table and held on like you'd been doing it your whole life.
Why does your new professor sound just like the guy you touch yourself to every night?
ASMRStreamerProf!Gojo x FanStudent!reader
cw: fem!reader, SMUT, loooots of dirty talk (its kinda his job), college student reader, professor gojo, older gojo(maybe like late 20s and reader is early 20s), masturbation, teasing, degrading/praising, JOI (hihi), lots of whimpering groaning moaning, cursing, blackmail (gone wrong), noot proofread
"My pretty girl, I've missed you."
A deep male voice flooded your ears, headphones turned up to the max volume.
Your favourite ASMR streamer was live again at the same time every other day. Like clockwork.
You joined the stream, the screen blank with a small watermark at the bottom
sexeyes
Get it? sexeyes instead of sixeyes, yeah? okay.
You don't know why, but this was more addictive and at least ten times more pleasurable than watching regular porn.
His voice felt like he was right there, guiding you to a perfect orgasm- we haven't gotten to that yet.
After a long day of sitting in hour-long lectures and stressing about assignments... You were finally tucked under your covers, buried in pillows with the lights turned off. Your phone was lying on the one beside you while you lay flat on your back, eyes shut, while imagining the perfect man speaking to you.
You were gnawing on your bottom lip already, impatiently waiting for him to start the good part.
"I bet you've had a tiring day, hmm?"
"It's okay... i'm here now. Want me to take care of you, baby?"
You couldn't help but nod your head, fingers already slipping underneath your shirt, tracing soft swirls on your stomach.
"Such a naughty girl, I bet you're already thinking about touching yourself."
Your breath hitched, it was as if he were speaking to you and you alone, not to the thousands of listeners. And he somehow read the minds of all of them.
"Alright then... be a good girl and start with your pretty nipples. You can do that for me, yeah? I want you to play with them, make them nice and sensitive."
You obeyed with no thought, hands trailing up from your stomach to your ribs, finally reaching your tits- fingers rubbing at the flaccid buds.
You let out a small whimper, feeling them harden from the touch.
"You're being so good... a good little slut, yeah? Don't be shy, let me hear your sweet sounds."
You swore you could hear fabric shifting, as if he was either pushing his own clothes up or down to reveal skin. This was your favourite part, getting to listen to the streamer masturbate together with you.
His breathing had gotten a bit more laboured. Or maybe you were imagining things.
"Mmhmm... feels good? Be good and guide a hand down... down... dooowwnn... You know where it should be."
Down it went, one still playing with your own nipple while the other reached down between your thighs, your palm pressing over your needy cunt. The feeling of a wet spot forming on the cotton fabric of your panties made your fingers tremble.
"Wet already?"
You could hear him quietly chuckling, shifting a bit closer to the microphone.
"Touch yourself through your cute panties. I know you want to, sweetheart."
You did exactly that, fingers pressing riggght where you knew your clit was. Your hips shifted from the pressure already, eyelids squeezing shut.
"That's it, suuuch a good girl for me."
"Let me take care of you, listen to my voice, yeah?"
You followed his instructions, quietly moaning once he told you to tease yourself and push a finger inside.
"I bet if they were mine, it'd feel much better. I'd love to play with you, angel."
"Just the thought is making me hard... want me to do it together with you?"
You nodded your head again, sinking the finger deeper, all the way down to the knuckle. "Yes... please." You didn't mean to say it out loud.
"Cmon, add another, my sweet girl. Your pretty pussy can take it, yeah?"
You whined, starting to push a second finger inside.
The sound of him heavily breathing and the shlick shlick sound of him starting to jerk off spurred you even more.
"So pretty... all mine, right? You'd never let anyone else talk to you like this, hm?"
"Feels sooo good. I have my hand wrapped around my dick... going at the same pace as you, baby."
"In... out... in... haah... out..."
Your hand moved at his guidance, your chest heaving a bit, and your skin was warmer, that knot in your stomach starting to tighten.
"Gonna cum, my pretty girl?"
"Cmon, cum for me. Be a good girl... let me hear you."
"Shit- I'm so close... let's do it together, okay?"
Your eyes behind your eyelids tried to roll back, fingers curling up against a mushy spot that made your pussy flutter and pulse around them.
A loud grunt and moans fell from his lips, and into your headphones, the wet sound of him spreading his cum over his cock was the last thing you heard before the stream ended.
You didn't even bother washing your hand or cleaning up the mess between your thighs.
You'd just take a shower in the morning.
You were sitting in your usual seat, in the second row from the front. Yes, you were one of those students.
You were talking with some friends, discussing what tung tung tung sahur would sound like in bed- but the lecture hall got quiet for some reason, making you shut up.
The doors had opened and a white-haired, well-dressed, in some expensive suit and tie, new professor had came in. He looked young, definitely hiding a shit ton of muscle underneath those clothes…
Your attention went to his eyes, and that cocky grin he wore while walking down to the desk, turning on the projector, and setting up a laptop to start teaching.
“Goood morning, I’m this course's new prof!” He beamed with a bit too much energy for 9 in the morning.
Hold on.
You felt like you had heard him somewhere. Huh. Maybe he had one of those study YouTube channels where he made guides, and you had watched one…
“My name is Satoru Gojo, but you can call me Mr. Gojo.”
Mr. Gojo, my ass.
The lesson droned on, he wasn’t bad at teaching, but for some reason, you really couldn’t focus. At all.
You tried to write down notes, but your gaze kept flicking to him leaning against the desk while waving a hand around to explain a slide.
There was something about his voice that was making you falter.
You hadn’t even noticed how bad your cunt was aching, too busy trying to focus.
Wait.
Satoru said something familiar.
“Okay, so let’s all do this together, yeah?”
That did it.
Your face heated up, your thighs gravitated together. The pencil in your hand almost snapped.
SEXEYES? THE MAN YOU’VE BEEN CUMMING TOGETHER WITH?
oh god
oh dear god
You started to hear it clearly, that teasing tone. His voice. It all clicked.
And you were lost.
Your lips were agape like a fish’s, eyes big and pupils blown wide while staring at him from your seat.
“Miss, are you alright? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” Satoru smiled at you from the desk, standing up straight.
The people and your friends around you chuckled. You fixed your face and shook your head, quickly looking down and scribbling in your notebook.
A week had passed like this. A tortorous week.
You were unable to concentrate in classes. You felt too worked up to even try to write what was in the slides.
At home, it was worse, unable to even look through the study guides.
His streams. You needed to listen to all the videos, clips- you could attach the voice to his face.
Satoru. It was him. You could see it so clearly in your imagination. His moans, how he spoke to you, what he'd look like jerking off.
Safe to say, when you had your first exam in his class.
You flunked it.
You did the only thing you could think of to fix this.
It was after hours, Satoru was in his office, looking trough what he had to do for tomorrows students.
knock knock knock !
"Yes, come in." His voice called. It made you shiver.
The door creaked open and you stepped inside, looking determined.
Gojo lit up, giving you a small grin before leaning back into the leather rolly chair. "Ah, my star student. Are you here about that grade? i promise, everything is alright and the next one will go bet-"
"No, i know the next one will go better. " You pouted a bit, standing in front of his desk, placing your phone down on it.
Your screen was opened on a specific website. His account's homepage open.
sexeyes.
Satoru faltered a bit, looking at what you were showing him.
But he just softly laughed, lightly sliding the device back over to you.
"I see, is this why you have troubles focusing in my class, sweetheart?"
You could feel the tips of your ears turning red, snatching it back.
"What? No! I know that that's you- i want a good score for the next exam!"
He tilted his head, blue irises almost mocking you while tilting his head.
"Is that all you want?"
You don't know who was more stupid. You asking to join him on a livestream. Or him agreeing and taking a student to his apartment.
You were all shy now, the attempted blackmailing hadn't even scared him one bit.
Now you were sat on the corner of his lush bed, watching your new professor set up a few microphones around it, tie loose and white shirt already unbuttoned and a small smile on his pretty lips.
"Don't be nervous. You've probably listened to me do this hundreds of times." He teased, leaning down and brushing some hair out of your eyes.
Stream: start
"Welcome back, my angels. Today we have a guest. Isn't that right, sweetheart?"
You were sat on his thighs, back flush against his chest, hands already running up and down your sides.
Something hard was already settling underneath you.
"Cmon, you're a big girl. Say hello." he encouraged you by grinding his thigh up, shifting so it was slotted between yours. The sound you made was pitiful.
"Hi..." You murmured.
You were glad he never filmed but only recorded.
But you could see the chat flowing past on the corner of one monitor. The audience getting excited for this.
It was just like listening to his voice... but now he was touching you the same way too.
Describing everything to the audience.
"If i touch you here... aww, it's okay. No need to shake so much, baby."
"Look at you... riding my thigh so pretty. Does it feel better if i do thisss?"
"Such a sweet pussy, look at it. It's all wet because of me. Want me to finger you, darling?"
"Such a sweetheart, drooling all over my fingers. Cmon, keep sucking."
"Lean back for me, yeah... that's it, such a pretty little slut."
"Look how big i am... is it even going to fit? You look scared. Come here, i'll help you calm down. Open your mouth again."
"You take me so well... do you feel how deep inside i am, my angel?"
You barely spoke, too worried about how you'd sound. But he got you to make the lewdest sounds just with a few words.
The sound of his hips driving into yours and skin meeting skin was picked up by the microphones.
The wet squelch of his fat cock bullying your drooly pussy and the groans of him sucking on you nipple were all recorded.
Not to mention the whimper and deep groan from you both at the end when two releases mixed inside of a stuffed, very happy pussy.
The livestream had the most views he had ever received.
And you got the highest grade in the course.
No need to spend your nights listening to his voice through headphones anymore when you could just ask for another credit boost and a cameo.
Yoon's notes: EEKKK
For my mistress: @liahcharms I HOPE YOU LIKE ITTT <333
hii i literally have been reading through every one of your works and i’m so addicted !! i love your writing so freaking much 💞💞 i was wondering if it would be okay if i could be added to your gojo and geto tag list ? thank youu <33
hihi! ❤︎
oh my god i could’ve sworn i’d answered this i’m so sorry ಥ﹏ಥ i’ll add you rn, of course you can be ❕ i’m literally blushing so hard rn, i’m so glad you like my writing ❤︎
I need you to do more first person writing! You're so good at it
UGH STOPP babygirl ily (๑>◡<๑)
i’ll send you more when i have somee ❕ive written some stuff 3rd person pov, i’ll send you it soon, &. i have this idea i reeeaaalllyyy wanna share w you i think youll like sooo expect a yap session soon mwah. ❤︎
⸝⸝⸝ when they notice how many failed dates their dear roommate goes through , all nerd!gojo and nerd!choso want to do help !
❤︎ cw 𓈒 afab!r ◟ pervy roommates but it's out of pure intentions ◟ explicit content mdni!! ◟ dub-con? ◟ fíngering ◟ f. & m. oral ◟ unprotected piv ◟ 3some ◟ reverse cowgirl ◟ backshots ◟ overstim ◟ dacryphilia ◟ dirty talk ◟ cúmshot / facial .
❤︎ wordcount 𓈒 5.1k.
notes 𓈒 ࣪⊹ didn’t know whether to do nerdjo or nerdcho so i chose the only reasonable alternative #boaf
if someone had told you a year ago that you’d be sharing a tiny apartment with two ridiculously attractive geniuses, you’d say they were out of their mind.
but that wouldn’t have turned out to be so unbelievable after all.
it was a three-bedroom not too far from campus, the kind of place that had “character” (read: peeling paint in the hallway and a window that only opened if you sweet-talked it). you’d moved in just over eleven months ago after answering a suspiciously cheap ad on one of the uni bulletins, and since then the three of you had settled into a rhythm so comfortable it felt dangerous.
the first weeks were definitely awkward, that much is certain. they could barely look you in the eyes for more than three minutes, and it felt like they may have been avoiding you altogether. who could blame them? they expected some struggling art major or lab geek to end up living with them, not a pretty girl who seemed so eager to get to know them.
you did grow on them soon enough, thankfully. and soon after that, it was hard to imagine never having been friends with them.
choso noticed everything first. he always did. he was the type to catalog details the way other people breathed—quietly, obsessively, without drawing attention. at 6:47 in the morning on a random spring day, he sat at the kitchen island in his sleepwear, hair loose and brushing his shoulders, glasses sliding down his nose as he pretended to read a dense neuroscience paper on his laptop. in reality, his peripheral vision was locked on you.
you shuffled in wearing the same oversized university hoodie you always stole from the laundry pile—it was technically his, but you’d claimed it three months ago and he’d never asked for it back, not when you just looked too comfortable in it —the hem brushed the tops of your bare thighs.
your hair was a mess, the wrinkles of your pillow pressed into your cheek, and you were yawning so wide he could see the pink of your tongue. you didn’t notice him tracking the way the hoodie rode up when you reached for the top-shelf mugs, exposing the soft underside of your ass and the faint lace edge of yesterday’s panties.
months ago the sight would’ve made him freeze up and his brain blue-screen, an incessant flatlining beeeeeeep ringing in his ears. but now he’s seen enough, albeit accidentally, to only notice a minimal shift in his breathing.
“morning, cho,” you mumbled, voice still gravelly from sleep. you stopped behind his stool, draping yourself against his back lazily, chin hooked on his shoulder to peer at his screen. “you’re up early again. didn’t you finish that paper last night?”
“couldn’t sleep,” he lied, voice low and even. the truth was he’d spent the last four hours on a private reddit tab titled r/howtoeatpussy, cross-referencing user studies with actual anatomical diagrams from his med-school textbooks. it was… personal research, just out of curiosity.
gojo burst in thirty seconds later like a tornado in human form, white hair sticking up in every direction. he was wearing only black boxers and an open button-up shirt he hadn’t bothered to button, making a triumphant sound when he found the pants he was looking for hung by the window.
“morning!” he slung an arm around your shoulders after successfully dressing himself, pulling you into his chest with zero regard for personal space. you laughed and shoved at him half-heartedly, your cheek pressing against the warm, bare skin of his torso. when you first moved in, you were sure satoru hated your guts. while choso was just a bit cold, he seemed downright judgemental of everything you said or did. now he could barely stay away from you. his hand lingered a second too long at the small of your back, thumb brushing the strip of skin where your hoodie had ridden up again. “rough night? you weren’t back until later than usual.”
you groaned, peeling yourself away to pour coffee into three mismatched mugs. “don’t even. i tried that dating app again. guy was hot, talked a big game about ‘knowing what women want,’ then spent forty-five minutes on missionary and asked if i came. i faked it so hard i pulled a muscle in my thigh.”
choso’s fingers tightened on his mug. satoru’s grin sharpened, but neither of them said anything except the usual supportive noises—“what a loser,” “you deserve better,” “we’ll egg his car if you want.” they were good at that part. experts, even.
STEP 1 ❤︎ MAKE OBSERVATIONS AND IDENTIFY THE EXISTING PROBLEM !
what they were also experts at, was noticing anything and everything about anything and everything. you just happened to be a common subject lately. you and your failed dates.
so when they started noticing that theme more often, it was only natural for them to want to help you. and true to the scientific method, they wanted to do it all right.
well, admittedly the observations started from the moment you moved in. but by now they were too hard to ignore.
observation #1: you were chronically under-fucked. not in quantity (though the frequency of your dates had dropped lately) but in quality. the frustrated little sighs you made when you thought the apartment was empty. the way you’d limp slightly after a bad night, rubbing at your lower back like the guy hadn’t even bothered with foreplay.
the soft, bitten-off sounds that sometimes drifted through the thin wall separating your bedroom from choso’s at 1 a.m. when you thought you were being quiet. he’d mapped the exact pitch of your vibrator on his phone’s audio analyzer app. for science, obviously.
observation #2: your body responded to the smallest things. when satoru ruffled your hair and called you “good girl” as a joke, your breath would hitch for half a second. when choso absentmindedly rubbed the knot between your shoulder blades after you’d been hunched over your laptop for six hours, your eyes would flutter and you’d lean into his hand like a cat. it was safe to assume you harbored some attraction for them at the very least.
you never noticed how your thighs pressed together when they both crowded you on the couch for movie night, their legs bracketing yours, heat bleeding through thin fabric.
observation #3: you trusted them completely. blindly. you’d walk around in tiny sleep shorts and a braless tank top, nipples faintly visible through the fabric when the ac kicked on, shrugging “it’s just us, who cares.” you’d cry on their shoulders after bad days, let them tuck you into bed when you fell asleep during horror movies, let satoru carry you to your room when you were too tipsy to walk straight.
you had no idea the way your head tipped back against his chest exposed the long line of your throat, or how your fingers curled into choso’s shirt like you were anchoring yourself to him.
despite it being less formal than he was accustomed to, satoru kept a private folder on his phone labeled “lab data” to avoid suspicion. choso maintained a color-coded spreadsheet titled “behavioral analysis.”
neither of them had spoken the words out loud yet, but the shared obsession had been growing for weeks, and it only grew when they confided in each other. about their concerns. duh.
they weren’t creepy about it—not in the way outsiders might assume.
it was clinical. protective, even. you attend early lectures against your will, came home drained, and still find the time to fuss over them instead of worrying about yourself. noticing the little things was the least they could do for you.
you remembered choso’s younger brother’s birthday and baked him cookies.
you let gojo rant about new updates on his favorite video game for forty-five minutes without interrupting.
you were good, and you deserved someone who was good to you too.
STEP 2 ❤︎ RESEARCH EXISTING SOLUTIONS !
the apartment stayed dim, only the soft blue light from choso’s laptop and satoru’s phone screen cutting through the late-night quiet. you’d gone to bed hours ago after another disappointing date three weeks after they decided to start this project, leaving the two of them alone on the couch with the shared google sheet they created pulled up like it was classified research. choso sat with perfect posture, glasses low on his, while satoru slouched against him, leg thrown casually over choso’s thigh as they scrolled through reddit megathreads and raw x clips—real bedrooms, shaky cameras, actual moans instead of the overproduced pornhub garbage they’d ditched immediately.
“let’s try to stay focused and objective,” choso murmured, voice low and focused, the same tone he used during late-night study sessions. “no projecting. we observe, we note, we refine.”
satoru smirked, thumb swiping through another x thread titled something like ‘she came so hard her legs gave out’. the clip showed a guy with his face buried between a girl’s thighs, two fingers working steadily while his tongue did slow, deliberate circles. “fuck, look at her hips bucking. that’s exactly the kind of reaction we’re after. the closeup suggests using a flat tongue at first, note that down.”
they kept adding rows, voices hushed but growing thicker with every new technique they discussed. the air between them felt charged, heavy with the weight of what they were planning for you— completely unaware in your room down the hall, probably sleeping in oke of their shirts again.
choso’s fingers moved across the keyboard with clinical precision while satoru read reddit threads or narrated clips aloud, his breath warm against choso’s shoulder. “i’ve got three tabs open in r/howtoeatpussy, two in r/sex, and a private x list i curated last week. we should cross-reference with her observed responses. praise kink confirmed at 87% correlation.”
by 1:30 a.m. the spreadsheet had become a detailed, filthy roadmap.
row #82: slow clit circles with flat tongue
source . r/howtoeatpussy pinned guide
PE . 9
notes . combine with humming for vibration; she always leans into shoulder rubs—same sensitivity expected
verdict . keep
row #17: two fingers hooked + steady curl
source . x clip @/amateurcouplevids (2:45)
PE . 9
notes . focus on the anterior wall, no fast thrusting; her post-date complaints include mindless jackhammering
verdict . keep
row #104: prone bone
source . reddit positions megathread on r/sex
PE . 10
notes . full body weight, hips tilted, free hand working her clit nonstop; she melts when we pin her during hugs
verdict . keep
row #34: position 69
source . r/sex testimonies
PE . 2
notes . distracting; she needs full focus on her pleasure
verdict . delete
row #73: edging + constant praise
source . r/sex “making her beg” megathread
PE . 10
notes . bring her close three times, call her good girl each round; her breath always catches when we say it casually
verdict . keep
row #62: cowgirl
source . reddit “best positions for deep penetration”
PE . 6
notes . she likes feeling in control but gets shy fast; might need us to guide her rhythm without making her self-conscious
verdict . revise
row #215: gentle hair tug + neck sucking
sources . x clip from @/msbhve
PE . 8
notes . light pull at the roots while mouth on the spot under her ear; should be effective considering touching her hair is already a self soothing technique
verdict . keep
row #156: slapping
source . multiple
PE . 3
notes . self explanatory, but important to be gentle at first; no clear signals she wants impact thus far—risk of killing the mood if we guess wrong
verdict . revise
satoru let out a low whistle as choso hit save, the seemingly never ending spreadsheet glowing softly between them. “i think we have enough information to turn this into an actual paper.”
choso didn’t smile, but his cheeks were flushed behind the glasses, pupils dark. he closed the laptop slowly but didn’t move it from his lap, voice dropping even quieter. “i’d say to keep the research to ourselves for now, at least until after we reset it.”
satoru’s grin turned sharper, but his eyes stayed soft, hungry in that protective way only they seemed to share when it came to you. he leaned back, stretching his arms overhead so his shirt rode up, exposing the cut of his hips. “step three is hypothesis testing, right? controlled environment. our place. her moaning our names instead of faking it for some loser.”
choso glanced down the dark hallway toward your closed door, imagining you curled up in your bed, surrounded by the plushies you kept out of nostalgia or just because you liked them, thighs pressed together in your sleep from another night of frustration. you had no idea your two genius roommates had just spent hours completely devoted to making sure you never settled for half-assed sex again.
“yeah,” choso finally whispered, fingers twitching like he was already imagining the feel of your skin under them. “we just have to wait for the right moment.”
STEP 3 ❤︎ DATA COLLECTION !
a couple of weeks slip by in that same comfortable rhythm as if there was nothing going on, the apartment humming with the usual late-spring warmth and the faint smell of takeout containers you keep forgetting to toss. you still have no idea about the spreadsheet glowing quietly in choso’s phone or the way both of them have been watching you like researchers who finally got approval for the real experiment.
movie night feels normal enough when satoru suggests it—some new sci-fi thriller he’s been hyping, the kind with jump scares and long stretches of tension that always end with you tucked between them on the couch, laughing and hiding your face in whoever’s shoulder is closest.
the three of you are crammed on the big sectional again, the one that’s seen too many marvel reruns and spilled popcorn. you’re in the middle, as always, wearing one of satoru’s old shirts that still smells faintly like his detergent and the faint trace of his skin. nothing underneath but a pair of soft cotton panties because it’s warm and it’s just them and you’ve clearly stopped pretending to be modest months ago. your bare thighs press against the fabric of their sweatpants on either side without care, and the opening credits flicker across the television, casting shifting blue shadows over all three of you.
satoru keeps one arm slung lazily behind your shoulders, fingers tracing idle circles on the nape of your neck. and choso sits closer than usual on your other side, knee brushing yours, his hand resting on your thigh like it’s the most natural place in the world. the movie starts slow, all tension and quiet dread, and you sink deeper into the cushions, letting their warmth bleed into you.
“you cold?” satoru murmurs right against your ear, breath ghosting over the shell and you shiver even though the room is anything but.
“a little,” you lie, because admitting you just like the way his fingers feel would be embarrassing.
his hand slides under the hem of the tee without needing to ask, palm flat against your stomach and sliding further to hug the length of your waist, warm and broad. “better?” he asks, and you nod, eyes still glued to the screen even as your pulse kicks up.
choso doesn’t say anything at first. he just watches the way your body relaxes under satoru’s touch, making a mental notes of it. then his hand moves too— higher up your thigh, thumb stroking the soft inner skin in slow, deliberate passes. you shift a little, thighs pressing together, but neither of them stops. the movie’s tension builds on screen, a jump scare makes you jolt, and suddenly satoru’s mouth is on your neck, open and hot, teeth grazing the spot right under your ear like he’s been waiting for an excuse to do that.
you freeze for half a second. “what—”
“you’ll let us help you relax, won’t you?” he whispers, lips brushing your skin with every word. “you’ve just been so tense lately, baby.”
the pet name lands like a spark and you can’t help but tilt your head to offer him more space. your breath hitches exactly the way it always does when they say things like that, and choso’s fingers tighten on your thigh, inching higher under the hem until they brush the edge of your panties. you should probably say something, should probably laugh it off and shove them away like it’s still just friendly roughhousing. but the way choso’s fingertips trace the cotton makes your stomach tighten, a low heat blooming low in your belly that you haven’t felt in months.
satoru is the first to kiss you.
it’s soft at the start, almost careful, his hand cupping your jaw to tilt your face toward him, glasses crooked on his nose. his tongue slips past your lips when you kiss back, like he’s testing the waters, and when you make a small surprised sound he deepens it, hungry now, licking into your mouth until you’re melting against him.
shortly after, you feel choso crowding you from the other side, pressing his mouth to your jaw, waiting for you to turn just enough that he can have a turn. when you pull back to look at him, his brows pinched together and mouth parted with soft breaths, you can’t help but practically take a bite of his lips.
it’s freakishly good, you realize, even if more saliva coats your lips and drips down your chin each time you switch between kissing them. you don’t care about the mess though, and neither do they as they swallow up all your sounds. you’re panting into their mouths, hands fisting in their shirts, and the movie is completely forgotten.
“fuck, you taste good,” choso groans against your lips when you switch to him again. his hand slides higher under the shirt until he’s cupping your bare breast, thumb circling your nipple until it pebbles tight. satoru mirrors him on the other side, pinching gently, rolling the sensitive peak between his fingers until your back arches off the couch.
you whimper, the sound small and needy, and that’s when they really set their plan in motion. choso’s hand dips between your thighs, pushing your panties aside with two fingers. you’re already wet, embarrassingly so, and he lets out a quiet, satisfied hum as he spreads the slickness up to your clit. satoru keeps kissing you, swallowing every little gasp while your other roommate starts those slow, flat circles exactly like the pinned guide on reddit described. the pressure is perfect, steady, never too fast or too slow, and your hips twitch involuntarily toward his hand.
“that’s it,” choso murmurs, voice low and clinical even as his pupils are blown wide. “just feel it.”
satoru’s fingers join choso’s, two of them pressing at your entrance while choso keeps working your clit. they slide in together—slow, thick, stretching you open in a way that makes your toes curl.
pushed right up against your anterior wall, choso’s fingers prod around to find the right spot until your head falls back against the couch, mouth open on a silent moan as they finger you in perfect sync.
“oh g-god,” you breathe, thighs shaking. the stretch is so full, the pressure building fast and heavy. it’s almost too much all at once, and your grateful when satoru’s slender fingers slip out to focus on your clit.
you can hear how wet you are, the obscene little sounds of their fingers moving in your soaked cunt sounding under the movie’s forgotten soundtrack. one of them leans down and latches his mouth onto your nipple through the shirt, sucking hard, and that’s what tips you over.
the orgasm crashes through you without warning— deep, pulsing waves that start in your core and ripple outward until your whole body locks up. your walls clamp down around choso’s fingers, fluttering and squeezing, and you gush around them, slick dripping down his knuckles onto the couch. it feels like liquid heat pouring through your veins, every nerve lighting up at once, your clit throbbing under the steady circles until you’re whimpering and trying to close your legs from the intensity.
they don’t stop right away. they keep stroking you through it, drawing it out until you’re trembling and oversensitive, little aftershocks making your hips jerk.
“so good,” satoru praises right against your ear, and the words send another helpless spasm through you. “look at you, taking us so well already. just like we knew you would.”
choso pulls his fingers away first, shiny and glistening. he brings them to his mouth and licks them clean without breaking hazy eye contact with you, and the sight makes your pussy clench around nothing. satoru follows, sucking his own fingers with a filthy little moan.
you’re still catching your breath when they move you, gentle but firm, until you’re straddling satoru’s lap facing away from him, shirt rucked up around your waist, panties discarded somewhere near the coffee table. choso kneels beside you on the couch, one hand on your hip, the other rubbing soothing lines along your thigh.
satoru’s cock is out by this point, hard and flushed and leaking at the tip, and he guides you down so the thick length slides right between your soaked folds without pushing inside, slow and deliberate. he rocks his hips up, letting the length of him glide against your clit with every pass, the head bumping your entrance on every forward stroke but never slipping in. the friction is maddening, hot velvet dragging over your most sensitive spots.
you moan loud, head tipping back against satoru’s shoulder. “please—fuck, it feels—”
“we know,” choso says quietly, voice rough. he leans in and kisses you deep, tongue fucking into your mouth while his fingers pinch and roll your puffy nipples. satoru’s hands grip your hips hard, guiding you to grind down harder on his cock, the slick sounds loud and wet between your bodies. every slide makes your pussy lips part around him, coating his entire length in your arousal until he’s glistening.
the pleasure builds again, faster this time, coiling tight and hot each time your peaks are pinched in the exact rhythm that makes your breath catch. you’re helping drag yourself along satoru’s length, hips rolling desperately, chasing that perfect drag against your clit. your walls flutter around nothing, thighs shaking violently as you soak satoru’s cock and cry out into choso’s mouth, body jerking, slick dripping down satoru’s shaft in messy streaks even more the closer you get.
his breathing is ragged against your neck too, but he doesn’t push inside yet. instead he keeps grinding up, but stops abruptly when he feels you tensing again.
“think she’s ready for more?” satoru asks, voice husky and directed at his research partner despite your disappointed whines. his fingertips dig into your hips too, keeping you from chasing your own pleasure.
“just wait a moment, wanna try something quickly.”
he shifts lower, sliding off the couch to kneel between your spread thighs. satoru holds you open for him, hands hooked under your knees and holding them up to prevent you from hiding, and choso leans in and drags his tongue flat up the entire length of your heat in one long, slow lick. the sensation is overwhelming now that your so close to the edge—wet heat, the soft pressure of his tongue, the way he moans against you like you’re the best thing he’s ever tasted. he seals his lips around your clit and sucks gently, exactly like the reddit guide said, then flicks his tongue in quick little strokes while two fingers slide back inside you and curl.
you sob, hands flying to his hair, hips bucking against his face. satoru keeps you pinned, muttering against your ear, “so fucking pretty like this, letting us play with you. we love seen a lot of pussies, you know, just so we could do this, but your’s is the prettiest one by far.”
choso eats you out like he’s been studying for this exact moment, several saved clips and instructions replaying in his head to guide his movements. the suction on your clit combined with the steady curling inside makes your vision spark white, just as expected. but once again, the finish is denied as he pulls away and leaves you trembling, a broken moan tearing from your throat as you beg incoherently.
with a final kiss to your clit, he pulls back entirely, lips shiny, glasses fogged. he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and looks up at you with something almost reverent.
“‘kay,” he says. “go ahead.”
satoru doesn’t wait. he lifts you just enough to line himself up and sinks you down onto his cock in one smooth, deep thrust. the stretch is perfect; thick and hot and filling you so full you forget how to breathe for a moment. reverse cowgirl seems to be the best option, since it means the downward curve of his dick can punch that spot inside you instantly, and you cry out, nails digging into his forearms around your waist.
choso stays right there between your legs, one hand on your clit, the other reaching up to play with your breasts while satoru starts fucking up into you in slow, controlled rolls of his hips.
you’re lost in it now, completely needy, rocking back to meet every thrust, moaning their names like a prayer. “satoru—choso—fuck, pleasepleaseplease—w-wanna cum!”
satoru’s grip tightens, pace picking up. choso leans in and sucks one of your nipples into his mouth again, deciding it’s his new favorite treat as his tongue flicks in time with satoru’s thrusts. the stimulation is everywhere—deep inside, on your clit, on your tits, their hands and mouths claiming every inch of you. and they finally let you cum again on satoru’s cock, walls clamping down so hard he groans loud, hips stuttering.
but he doesn’t finish inside you. right as his rhythm starts to falter he lifts you off, cock slipping free with a wet sound. “not yet,” he pants in response to your protests. “turn around for choso.”
once again they manage to position you however they want.
choso sits back on the couch now, pants shoved down just enough, his cock flushed dark and leaking. you’re on all fours in front of him in seconds, ass up, face resting on satoru’s lap. he slides into you in slowly, pausing every few inches because he knows he’s a bit thicker than the other one that was in you, the new angle making your eyes roll back.
but that carefulness melts away as soon as you get used to the first few thrusts, so he fucks you hard and steady, one hand fisted in the short at the small of your back, the other reaching around to rub your clit exactly the way you need.
wordlessly, satoru slides his hand under your chin to lift your fucked out face, using his other hand to tap the tip of his glistening dick against your swollen lips with a mocking pout. you suck him messily, drooling around his length, tongue swirling the head clumsily while you’re being pounded into from behind.
choso’s cock dragging against your g-spot with every thrust, satoru’s length heavy on your tongue, the wet sounds of skin slapping and your own muffled moans filling the room—
it all feels like a blessing after all those disappointing men, to say the least.
shaking between them, you gush around choso’s cock, your subsequent scream muffled by your full mouth as you arch deep and try to pull more of him in.
you sob around satoru, tears pricking your eyes from the intensity of your orgasm, every muscle in your body seizing and releasing in white-hot waves. the pleasure is so deep it borders on painful, your pussy gushing around choso’s thrusts until the couch is soaked beneath you. but keeps fucking you through it, pace faltering just a little as he fights his own release.
satoru pulls out of your mouth with a wet pop, stroking himself fast. “gonna cum on you,” he pants. “p-please, baby, wanna see it on your tongue.”
you stick your tongue out obediently, eyes glassy as you peer up at him through damp lashes, and satoru groans at the sight. thick ropes of cum paint your tongue and lips, some spilling down your chin and dripping onto your shirt and his sweats.
the sight pushes choso over the edge. he pulls out at the last second, jerking himself furiously until he spills across your ass and lower back in hot, heavy pulses, the mess sliding down your skin and mixing with your own slick, whimpered curses slipping from his mouth.
you collapse forward to bury your face in satoru’s lap again, trembling, covered in their release, pussy still fluttering from the aftershocks. you feel the mess dripping down your thighs, smeared across your chest, fabric ruined. they’re both breathing hard, eyes dark and satisfied as they take in the sight of you wrecked between them.
satoru leans down and kisses your forehead, gentle now. “you did so good, baby.”
choso strokes your hair, pulling you up to get a look at your face. he tucks you against the curve of his neck with a hum? thumb brushing your cum-slick cheek. “perfect data,” he murmurs, so quiet you almost miss it.
you’re too blissed out to ask what he means. you just curl into them, needy and sated and already wondering when they’ll do it again. the movie is still playing in the background, completely ignored, while the three of you stay tangled on the couch in the afterglow—sticky, breathless, and closer than you’ve ever been.
the spreadsheet will get several new rows tomorrow. but tonight, step three is complete.
STEP 4 ❤︎ FORMULATE A CONCLUSION !
the morning light filters through the half-broken blinds, painting lazy stripes across the tangled mess of limbs and stained fabric on the couch. choso wakes first, glasses askew on his face, one arm still draped possessively over your waist like he never let go even in sleep.
satoru stirs seconds later, white hair a disaster, blinking at the ceiling with the slow realization that his heart is doing something stupid and loud in his chest. his own glasses fell off the couch somewhere in the night.
they glance at each other over your sleeping form, blinking. then finally they glance down at you—your cheek smushed against choso’s chest, dried cum flaking on your chin and thighs, having fallen asleep despite them insisting to get you cleaned up—and the spreadsheet suddenly feels ridiculous.
“shit,” satoru whispers, voice cracking with something that isn’t just post-nut clarity. “how fucked are we?”
“very.”
STEP 5 ❤︎ SHARE FINDINGS !
art used in the header by @/rooster.jpg and @/ggyoyowza
雪豹 ⋮ a kitty’s cute pet-mate ft . snow leo! gojo 𝔁 pup! reader 𝔁 owner! geto
you had always been a meek, little dalmatian puppy ── porcelain nerves easily fretting as you quietly shy away from any encroaching spotlight, fawn legs sheepishly trembling as your tiny canines gnaw at your pinkie’s cuticles ‘til bulbous freckles of sanguine drooled along the peeled flesh.
you disliked much attention and conversation with your previous few owners, other species, and even dog breeds. it was only ever overwhelming and nausea-inducing, causing your floppy, yin-yang spotted appendages to bashfully wilt in fright and dewy, sensitive nose twitch with palpable anxiety while you scampered to your kennel’s segregated refuge.
poor thing. you’re too raw to the social atmosphere.
such an “uncooperative” and “aloof” trait made you an unfavorable candidate to most buyers as consequence, yet you hadn’t minded, eager to hide away from the world into a comfortable, itty-bitty bubble from so much as a paper-cut. because you were safer that way, guarded from all injury and the perverse, beady stares which happily gobbled you up.
so imagine how you felt when the gluey bandaid to your shielded life was callously ripped off one afternoon ── you being purchased from your grimy pound by a ravenette who discerned your characteristically watery doe eyes and pouty, flushed expression in the odious amass of hybrids, sniffling, astray, and cornered from the noise and crowded space.
weren’t you a bit of a princess pet?
smiling softly, he sweetly tempted you with a salivating bouquet of chewy bones, sticky, powdered, jam-filled treats, and charcuterie savory meats. the cherry on top which fully pushed you over the edge, however, was the airily light chime from the lace-frilled, spiky rhinestone collar’s bell he loosely dangled over your perked-up head. you naïvely fell for the charm, heart-eyed and shivering excitedly.
“aw, hi there, babydoll,” he gently cooed, big, tender hand squishing your puffed-out cheek affectionately before moving to scratch the delicate, pointy curvatures of your fluffy dog ears. “aren’t you perfect? yeah, you are . .”
you should’ve known there was a catch.
stubby tail bristled and quivering nervously, you learned about his scary, predatory feline additional upon arriving at your new, cozy home, leash snagging at your frail neck as you instinctively scurried to hug the doorframe’s side, velveteen, ruffled lamb plushie slipping from your uneasy bite.
“wait, sweetheart ── ” but you’re wide-eyed like an innocent deer caught in headlights and faintly whimpering, knuckles blanched from how tight you’re clinging to feeble shelter to avoid said kitty-cat who’s now curiously studying you, cotton-candy blues rapaciously dissecting your shaky, smaller silhouette, hair timidly veiling your face.
“i promise he’s friendly . .”
biting at your lower lip, your brows knit warily as suguru gingerly tugs you forward, which you halfheartedly obliged, toying with the hem of your skimpy pleated miniskirt while taking a skeptical, hesitant step toward your pet-mate.
he’s utterly ethereal ── a living doll with disheveled hair colored the same as his milky white fangs, round, twitchy ears and elongated, pristine tail adorned in piano-key rosettes, and skin contrastingly pale, almost translucent, tinged in a blush pink that beautifully underscores his lean, sinewy figure. and, of course, he’s donning a pretty, little collar similar to yours.
‘sa-to-ru.’ your shy gaze wavers curtly to the floorboards below, but the snow leopard boy immediately kneels, imitating an adorable wave motion with your dropped stuffed animal’s limbs, almond eyes beseeching approval, lashes batting coyly.
giggly, you can’t help but eventually hum, offering him an assuring, honeyed yip that has him giddy, overly doting on you with bruising, kittenish nips and lacquering-wet, syrupy licks along either clavicle as he nuzzles into your saccharine, cloying scent, damp in viscous droplets against your stomach.
you’d otherwise find this spotlight appalling.
“what a good girl . .” happily relieved you warmed up quick, suguru softly kneads the sensitive flesh just above your waist before caressing his giddy kitty-cat’s giant, waggish tail curled ‘round your thigh. “okay, you can calm down, hot stuff ── ”
maybe exceptions can be made. just for these two.
an . hoping to make this a mini series ( smutty too? ) ╱ not my best work but entirely self-indulgent . .
