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This blog engages with dark content and if you’re a minor I can’t stop you so watch out !
I will start posting my writing one of these days I swear😓
a/n: this took me a month to write, but this song by SABI is stuck in my head, it’s so catchy and sexy i can’t explain it...
this was also inspired by howl from howl’s moving castle because i just watched that movie for the first time and DAMN i love that man.
synopsis: the things they do that go beyond bare minimum and raise your standards. inspired by my mootie seungminsno1fan and her cute relationship UGHHH tell your man to start a university or smth bc these men need to take notes 😭 (also inspired by haaland getting his gf a chair on the pitch when all the other players’ gfs were sitting on the gross, he really is as sweet as blueberry pie).
he’s landed after a 14-hour flight, slept maybe 3 hours in total because media duties kept him awake, and the first place he drives isn't home or the training facility, but straight to your apartment because he's calculated that if he leaves immediately, he'll catch you before you head to work, and in a way he can’t explain, that 15-minute hug in your doorway is worth sacrificing every bit of sleep he desperately needs.
every single one of his schedules – his matches, interviews, sponsor shoots, recovery sessions, even when he's free to call – is shared with you without you ever having to ask because he never wants you wondering where he is or feeling like you're competing with soccer for his attention, and if something changes, you're hearing it from him before you hear it online.
whenever he travels overseas, he unconsciously starts collecting tiny things that remind him of you – a bookmark from a bookstore in madrid because you'd like the cover art, your favorite snacks that aren't sold back home, a silly keychain from an airport gift shop – and by the time he returns, his suitcase somehow contains more gifts/souvenirs for you than clothes for himself.
after every single match, whether he scores a hat trick or gets knocked out of a tournament, he looks for your face before he celebrates with anyone else because your reaction grounds him more than the scoreboard ever could, and if you're watching from home, you're receiving a facetime call before he even finishes changing out of his kit.
he remembers the tiny throwaway comments you made months ago – how you once mentioned your phone battery dies quickly, your favorite café closes early on mondays, the perfume you smelled walking past someone in the airport – and then quietly fixes, buys, or plans around them without announcing that he remembered because to him, paying attention is simply part of loving someone.
itoshi rin
rin isn't verbally affectionate very often, but he will drive 3.5 hours after an away match at 1 in the morning just because you texted, "i miss you," and when you open the door in complete disbelief, he simply shrugs, walks inside, and mutters, "you said you missed me," like crossing half the country was the most logical solution.
he learns the mundane details of your life with almost obsessive precision – your work schedule, the routes you take home, which convenience store stays open late near your apartment – not because he's controlling, no, no, but because if anything ever goes wrong, he wants to already know exactly where to find you without wasting a second asking questions.
if he notices you've been quietly overwhelmed lately, you'll suddenly find groceries already stocked in your kitchen, your laundry mysteriously folded, dinner waiting in your fridge with reheating instructions scribbled in his terrible handwriting, and when you ask if he did all this, he looks almost annoyed that you even felt the need to thank him.
during the season, when free time practically doesn't exist, he still protects one day every month that belongs only to you, and no amount of sponsorship offers, interviews, or appearances are allowed to touch it because, in his mind, if the rest of the world can book him in advance, then the person he loves deserves the exact same priority.
he pays attention to your safety in the quietest ways imaginable, always texting when he lands, making sure you get home before he finally goes to sleep despite the time difference, replacing worn-out locks or tires before they become problems, and treating your peace of mind like it's simply another responsibility he's chosen to carry.
itoshi sae
sae is the busiest person you know, somehow living between countries, time zones, and nonstop competitions, yet he's mastered the art of making you feel like none of that matters because every trip is planned around seeing you whenever physically possible, even if it means booking inconvenient flights, shortening his own breaks, or sleeping in airports just to squeeze another evening together.
he remembers dates that even you forget – your job interview from eight months ago, your grandmother's birthday, the anniversary of your first date, the day your favorite author releases a new book – and without fail, flowers, gifts, or handwritten notes arrive exactly when they're supposed to because he refuses to let distance become an excuse for carelessness.
instead of expecting you to constantly fly out to his matches, he's the one quietly arranging transportation, hotels, tickets, and entire itineraries whenever he wants you there because if he invites you into his hectic world, he believes it's his responsibility to make sure you never have to stress over the logistics.
he protects your privacy with almost ruthless efficiency. i’m talking interviews end immediately if reporters become disrespectful toward you, invasive photos disappear through legal teams before they can spread, and your comfort is consistently prioritized over public approval because fame is something he chose, not something he expects you to endure without support.
no matter how glamorous his life looks from the outside, he never lets you feel like you're standing behind his career. instead, every achievement somehow becomes yours, too, because he'll always be the first person saying, "i couldn't have done this without you," even when nobody else realizes how much you sacrificed alongside him.
nagi seishiro
nagi, the human embodiment of "that's too much work," surprisingly becomes the kind of boyfriend who willingly wakes up before sunrise just to drive you to the airport because you have an early flight, spends the entire ride with messy hair and pajamas under his hoodie, and then waits until your plane actually takes off before finally heading home because leaving earlier "felt wrong."
despite hating phone calls with literally everyone else, he notices that hearing his voice helps you relax after stressful days, so suddenly your evenings are filled with him absentmindedly rambling while playing games, letting you sit comfortably in silence if that's all you have energy for, never making you feel like you have to entertain him.
he quietly starts learning the things you enjoy, and yes, they're suddenly his hobbies, too, but seeing your face light up is enough motivation for someone who usually avoids effort altogether, so he'll finish an entire book series you recommended, sit through your favorite movies, or spend hours visiting museums with you without complaining once.
if your love language is quality time, he protects it fiercely, turning down gaming sessions, sponsor parties, and even opportunities to relax by himself because he'd rather spend an ordinary evening lying on the couch with his head in your lap than attend another glamorous event where he has to pretend to socialize.
whenever he's away for long tournaments, he records little videos instead of just sending texts – showing you hotel views, weird snacks from vending machines, random cats he spotted outside training facilities, or himself sleepily saying goodnight – because he knows hearing from him makes the distance feel smaller and that's worth every ounce of effort.
mikage reo
reo has every luxury available to him, but instead of using his wealth to replace genuine effort, he uses it to remove burdens from your life, quietly arranging things like surprise housekeeping before your busiest work week, sending your car in for maintenance while you're occupied, or hiring movers when you casually mention wanting to rearrange your apartment because he wants your energy spent on living, not constantly solving problems.
even during the most demanding stretches of the season, he somehow manages to attend your important moments – graduations, presentations, family gatherings, birthdays – sometimes arriving directly from airports in designer clothes with barely any sleep, because to him, if you're always cheering him on from the stands, then missing your milestones would never be acceptable.
he learns your family as thoroughly as he learns yours, remembering everyone's birthdays, checking in on your parents after surgeries, sending thoughtful gifts to your siblings for achievements, and making the people you love feel just as cared for because if they're important to you, they're automatically important to him.
whenever his schedule keeps him overseas for extended periods, he plans entire countdowns rather than simply saying, "i'll see you soon," sending flowers halfway through the trip, ordering your favorite dinner on particularly difficult days, organizing virtual movie nights despite impossible time zones, and making the waiting itself feel like something you're experiencing together rather than separately.
perhaps the thing that raises your standards most is that he never makes love feel conditional on convenience. no matter how successful he becomes, how packed his calendar gets, or how many people compete for his attention, you never have to beg for consistency because he decided a long time ago that if he was going to love someone, they would never have to question whether they were a priority.
bachira meguru
bachira is the type to treat distance like it's a minor inconvenience rather than an actual obstacle, so if he has two free days between league matches, he's already on the earliest train or flight to see you, grinning from ear to ear the second you open the door because to him, 24 hours together is infinitely better than waiting another month for the "perfect" opportunity.
he notices when you've been emotionally exhausted long before you admit it, and instead of asking you to explain everything, he'll whisk you away somewhere quiet without telling you the destination, showing up with your favorite snacks, a weighted blanket, and absolutely no expectations besides spending the day making you laugh until you forget the weight you've been carrying.
every city he visits somehow becomes a scavenger hunt for things you'd love, whether that's handmade jewelry from a tiny local market, a sketchbook because yours is running low, or flowers pressed inside a random book he found while wandering around, and every gift comes with an animated story about how he found it because the memory matters just as much as the object itself.
he celebrates your achievements with the same excitement he celebrates his own goals, posting about your accomplishments with absolutely zero embarrassment, telling teammates about you every chance he gets, and making you feel like the coolest person in every room because your happiness genuinely feels like one of his greatest victories.
even after exhausting 90-minute matches where he's barely able to keep his eyes open, he'll still stay awake long enough to ask about your day in full detail, listening so attentively that you almost forget he's running on pure adrenaline and exhaustion, because loving you has never been something he squeezes into the leftover parts of his schedule.
shidou ryusei
shidou doesn't understand the concept of "too far" when it comes to you, so if he suddenly has one unexpected day off, he'll impulsively buy a ticket across the country just to surprise you with breakfast, acting like spending hundreds of thousands on last-minute travel is completely reasonable because, in his eyes, seeing you smile is worth every single yen.
he becomes ridiculously protective of your happiness, and if he hears you've had a terrible day, he's already outside your place with takeout from three different restaurants because he couldn't decide what you'd want, insisting the entire evening belongs to you while refusing to let you lift a single finger.
no matter how chaotic or unpredictable his own life becomes, you never have to chase him for communication because he refuses to let you wonder where you stand, sending voice messages from locker rooms, airports, hotel elevators, and team buses just to remind you that you're constantly on his mind despite everything happening around him.
he's incredibly attentive in ways people don't expect from him, memorizing your coffee order after hearing it once, replacing your favorite top because he noticed the sleeves were fraying, or carrying pain medication, hair ties, and portable chargers in his bag simply because you once needed one months ago and he refused to ever be unprepared again.
when you're together, he treats the outside world like background noise, happily ignoring teammates blowing up his phone, sponsorship emails, and interviews running late because if he promised you the day, then that's exactly what you're getting, undivided attention and all.
karasu tabito
karasu notices problems before you even realize they're becoming problems yourself, quietly fixing things behind the scenes – booking appointments you've been putting off, researching solutions when you're stressed, reminding you about important deadlines. he doesn’t think you're incapable, but he believes partners should make each other's lives easier whenever possible.
after away matches, he'll drive several hours instead of flying if it means he gets to spend the ride talking to you on speakerphone the entire time, happily arriving home at three in the morning completely exhausted because hearing your voice made the trip feel shorter than any flight ever could.
he learns the people closest to you surprisingly well, becoming the boyfriend your friends and family trust because he's always checking whether everyone got home safely after gatherings, remembering important details about their lives, and making an effort with the people who matter to you without ever being asked.
he never leaves emotional labor entirely on your shoulders. difficult conversations happen the moment something feels off instead of weeks later, apologies come with changed behavior instead of empty promises, and he consistently proves that maturity isn't about never making mistakes – it's about refusing to repeat them.
despite being one of the busiest athletes in the country, he still somehow becomes your biggest supporter outside of soccer, showing up to events that have absolutely nothing to do with him, sitting through hours of something he knows nothing about with genuine interest simply because seeing you passionate about your own world makes him proud.
kaiser michael
kaiser has access to private jets, luxury hotels, and practically every convenience money can buy, but the thing that surprises you most is how often he chooses the inconvenient option if it means spending more time with you, willingly sitting through six-hour drives together because you once mentioned road trips felt more romantic than flying.
every luxury he offers is thoughtfully personalized instead of excessive, so rather than showering you with random expensive gifts, he remembers the exact necklace you paused to admire months ago, replaces your worn-out laptop because he noticed it struggling, or quietly upgrades your plane ticket after you've had an exhausting week because he wants your life to feel gentler whenever he can help it.
he has an almost frightening memory for the smallest details about you, recalling conversations from over a year ago with complete accuracy, so when you casually mention wanting to visit a tiny coastal town someday, you later discover he's somehow organized an entire vacation around that single passing comment without ever bringing it up again.
despite his reputation and enormous ego on the field, he makes sure you never feel like you're competing with his image, introducing you proudly instead of keeping you hidden, shutting down disrespect from reporters without hesitation, and making it abundantly clear that the opinions of strangers have absolutely no influence over the respect he gives the person he loves.
perhaps the biggest surprise is that he never expects you to revolve your life around his career; instead, he's the one rearranging training breaks, flying overnight after champions league fixtures, or sacrificing his own comfort to attend your milestones because loving you means fitting himself into your world just as much as inviting you into his.
ness alexis
ness is unbelievably intentional, so every time he travels abroad, he keeps a running list on his phone titled "things she’d love," adding to it throughout the trip until he returns home carrying books in your favorite genre, pastries from tiny bakeries he waited in line for, perfume samples he thought matched your vibe, and little handwritten notes explaining why each item reminded him of you.
he pays attention to your routines with incredible care, automatically learning what time you usually wake up, when work becomes stressful, the days you tend to forget to eat lunch, and gently building little habits around those moments so you always feel quietly looked after instead of having to ask for help.
because he knows professional soccer often forces him away for weeks at a time, he prepares for your loneliness before it even happens, leaving handwritten letters around your apartment for different occasions – "open when you've had a bad day," "open when you miss me," "open if you can't sleep" – making the distance feel a little less empty every single time.
he never allows his career to become an excuse for inconsistency, so no matter how late training ends or how chaotic travel gets, he always finds time for a proper conversation instead of sending one-word replies, believing that if you can dedicate your patience to supporting his dreams, then he can dedicate 30 uninterrupted minutes to hearing about yours.
he loves you loudly in private, but gently in public, instinctively stepping between you and invasive cameras, making sure you're comfortable at crowded events, fixing your coat when it's slipping off your shoulders, memorizing the little things that make your day easier, and constantly proving that real devotion isn't measured through grand declarations, but through hundreds of tiny acts of care repeated every single day.
chigiri hyoma
chigiri understands better than most how precious time is, so even with a schedule packed full of league matches, recovery sessions, and endless travel, he still finds ways to make you feel woven into his everyday life, calling you while he's stretching after training, sending photos of sunsets from whatever country he's in, and never letting more than a few hours pass without reminding you that he's thinking about you because he refuses to let distance slowly turn into unfamiliarity.
no matter how exhausted he is after a match, if your flight lands late at night or your train arrives after midnight, he's already waiting outside with your favorite drink and one of his jackets because the thought of you coming home alone when he could be there simply never crosses his mind as an acceptable option.
he pays attention to the little ways you take care of everyone else and quietly returns that same energy tenfold, replacing your skincare products before they run out, restocking your favorite tea because he noticed the box was almost empty, and buying fresh flowers for your apartment simply because he knows they make you smile after long days.
he never expects you to constantly adapt around his career, instead making sure you always have a say in your relationship despite how demanding professional football can be, planning vacations around your availability rather than his convenience and making it abundantly clear that your own goals deserve just as much consideration as his.
when the media inevitably becomes invasive, he protects your peace with unwavering calm, refusing interviews that cross personal boundaries, keeping your relationship sacred instead of performative, and making sure that behind closed doors you're never dating an international superstar – you're simply loved by hyoma.
barou shoei
barou treats taking care of you as naturally as breathing, so before leaving for lengthy away fixtures he'll meal prep enough food to last the week, leave detailed reheating instructions on the fridge, restock every household necessity without mentioning it, and somehow make your apartment cleaner than when he arrived because, to him, love should make someone's life noticeably easier.
he'll drive ridiculous distances after matches just to spend a single evening with you, arriving well past midnight still smelling faintly of fresh grass and stadium lights, refusing to stay at a hotel because sleeping beside you – even for a few hours before driving back for training – is infinitely more valuable than getting perfect rest.
he notices practical problems immediately and fixes them before they inconvenience you, replacing broken furniture, changing light bulbs, repairing things around your apartment, carrying heavy groceries without a word, and making it impossible for you to remember the last time you had to struggle with something alone because he's already halfway through solving it.
despite his intimidating personality, your family quickly realizes he's unbelievably dependable, always the first person volunteering to help your parents move furniture, showing up early to family gatherings carrying enough food for everyone, or quietly checking whether your younger siblings made it home safely after nights out without ever asking for recognition.
he has impossibly high standards for himself as your partner, so if he ever disappoints you, he doesn't hide behind excuses or pride – he changes his behavior immediately, believing actions are worth infinitely more than apologies, and making sure the same mistake never happens twice because he refuses to become another man who only promises improvement.
yukimiya kenyu
yukimiya makes an active effort to learn every version of you, paying attention to how you act when you're happy, anxious, overwhelmed, exhausted, or excited until he knows exactly what kind of comfort you need without forcing you to explain yourself every single time, making you feel understood in ways you didn't realize were possible.
even during the busiest fashion campaigns and football seasons, he still plans intentional date nights weeks in advance because he refuses to let your relationship become something that only exists between obligations, proving over and over again that romance isn't reserved for special occasions – it deserves to exist in ordinary life, too.
he somehow remembers every compliment you've ever given him and quietly returns them through actions, so if you once admired how peaceful a certain café looked online, he surprises you with reservations there months later, or if you mentioned wanting to watch a meteor shower together someday, he's already found the perfect location long before the date arrives.
when you're feeling insecure, he never dismisses your emotions with empty reassurances. instead, he patiently reminds you through consistent affection, thoughtful words, lingering glances, and countless little gestures exactly why he chose you, making your confidence something he nurtures instead of something you have to rebuild alone.
regardless of how many fans recognize him in public, he never lets you feel invisible standing beside him, instinctively including you in conversations, reaching for your hand without hesitation, introducing you proudly to teammates and colleagues, and making it obvious that the person whose opinion matters most has always been yours.
iglesias bunny
bunny somehow makes a globe-trotting football career feel astonishingly intimate, sending you postcards from every country he visits even though texting would be faster because he knows you'll tuck the postcards into books, display them on your desk, and reread his messy handwriting whenever you miss him, turning ordinary pieces of paper into tiny reminders that you were never forgotten.
whenever he finally gets a stretch of time off, he doesn't immediately book luxurious vacations or extravagant getaways – instead, he asks what you've been putting off because you've been too busy, then spends his entire break helping you accomplish those things together, whether that's redecorating your apartment, visiting family, finishing personal projects, or simply sleeping in without alarms for the first time in months.
he's endlessly curious about your passions, showing up to events he knows absolutely nothing about, asking thoughtful questions, remembering the names of people important to your hobbies or career, and making you feel like everything you love automatically becomes worthy of his attention simply because it's part of your world.
even with sponsors constantly pulling him in different directions, he fiercely protects your private traditions, making sure birthdays are always celebrated together, anniversaries are never outsourced to expensive gifts, and little rituals – like sunday breakfasts or late-night supermarket walks whenever he's home – remain untouchable no matter how famous he becomes.
he constantly reminds you through both words and actions that you're a partner rather than an accessory to his career, checking in before making major decisions, asking how certain opportunities would affect your shared future, and making sure every dream he chases leaves room for yours alongside it.
hugo vivian
hugo has an incredibly demanding career with endless travel, media appearances, and championship pressure, yet he somehow makes consistency look effortless by ensuring that no matter where he is in the world, you never have to question whether you'll hear from him that day because loving you isn't something squeezed between appointments – it's built directly into his routine.
if you've had an important event he couldn't attend because of a match, he doesn't simply apologize and move on – he recreates the celebration himself as soon as he's home, dressing up, taking you out, bringing flowers, taking photos together, and insisting your accomplishments deserve to be celebrated properly even if he has to do it a week later.
he quietly studies the little inconveniences in your everyday life and starts eliminating them one by one, arranging transportation when your commute becomes stressful, replacing things before they wear out completely, researching solutions whenever you casually complain about something once, and making your life noticeably lighter without expecting praise for it.
he's incredibly emotionally available despite the pressure surrounding his career, never making you feel guilty for needing reassurance or wanting more time together, willingly having difficult conversations even after exhausting matches because he'd rather lose sleep than allow misunderstandings to grow into distance.
perhaps the biggest thing that raises your standards is that he never makes you feel like you're waiting around for him to finally have time to love you – even as one of the world's biggest football stars, he consistently proves that the right person doesn't merely fit you into their schedule – they build their schedule around making sure you always feel chosen.
You are both the most diligent worker at Sakamoto's Store and the most hypersexual person that Shin knows. Overhearing your thoughts and accidentally seeing your fantasies routinely leads to profound psychic damage for him, as well as the most poorly timed boners in the world.
All of this only gets worse when the two of you start hooking up.
6k words. comedy, smut. all the sex scenes are vanilla; however, the reader constantly reads and thinks about horny fanfiction tropes including: free use, omegaverse, and breeding. these are all mentioned but not discussed in detail. warning: the reader has a warped/unhealthy relationship with her sexuality, this fic is about shin fixing her with his stroke game lol. credits to @/cafekitsune for the dividers and @hansolen for the fic brainrot <3
You are the worst coworker that Shin has ever had.
This is saying a lot, given that he's worked with countless two-bit assassins who could barely a handle a gun (no one he worked with in his late teenage years could hold a candle to Mr. Sakamoto, truly), as well as Lu, who can barely orient herself within the store. You are, in contrast, brutally efficient with your work, incredible with the customers, and very cooperative with Shin. You even know how to handle a gun, and you do it with such pinpoint precision that it's always nonlethal despite being brutally debilitating. (Your skill level does hold a candle to Mr. Sakamoto in this respect, and Shin wonders if his boss has given you some kind of private training—a thought that fills him with such jealousy that it makes him want to chew on the sale stickers in his hands.) There's just one problem.
You are probably the horniest person alive, and Shin is about to lose his fucking mind listening to your thoughts.
Now, Shin is used to hearing the unfiltered stream of consciousness of the average human being. This naturally includes carnal desires here and there. He’s desensitized to most people’s erotic fantasies about their favourite gravure idol, memories of their last sexual encounter, intrusive thoughts about their friends, et cetera. He habitually tunes it out. But whereas a regular person might have these thoughts once or twice a day, you seem to have them once or twice an hour. And none of your thoughts are ever brief or underdeveloped. They usually last at least ten minutes each, with detailed internal monologuing and accompanying 8K UltraHD visuals, and you really only ever stop when you're trying to remember a code at the till or doing some quick mental math with the accounts.
Needless to say, Shin tries to keep you at the register as much as possible.
You used to tell yourself (in your head) that your mental fixation on sex was a natural consequence of your dry spell. After quitting the assassin life, you'd been celibate for the first time in at least a decade, forced to attain sexual gratification with nothing but masterfully written fanfiction and your vast collection of vibrators. (Your favourite one is hot pink, seven inches, rabbit eared. You sometimes have trouble getting it to fit, but it’s worth it for the way you cum when you do, and this knowledge makes Shin want to die.) You were convinced that getting laid would bring you enough relief to stop thinking about sex every hour of the day. You had thought that you'd go back to “normal” after that, though Shin doesn't know what “normal” entails for you. (One free-use fantasy a day instead of twelve? Daydreams strictly featuring humans rather than tentacle monsters? It's hard to say.)
Regardless, Shin had to agree: surely, there would be a limit to your sex-obsessed thoughts. It made a lot of sense that you were simply frustrated and in need of an outlet. Naturally, after sleeping with you, he'd expected your thoughts to quiet down.
(Yes—Shin slept with you. It was an accident, through and through, and he routinely feels bad about it. He'd been meaning to ask you out, treat you to dinner, maybe even get you flowers depending on the vibe. The type of thing that Mr. Sakamoto did for Aoi, when they first started dating. If everything went well, then you two could consider getting intimate. His interest in you has nothing to do with sex, after all—no, not even the fact that you've had explicit fantasies about deepthroating him while he works the cash. He'd die if you ever tried that, actually.
The plan was always to take things slow and maybe even start a relationship if the two of you really hit it off. He'd even asked Mr. Sakamoto for advice on what a civilian romance should look like! But then Shin walked you back to your apartment one night when you were feeling down, and you invited him upstairs, and one thing led to another, and, well… it turns out that you aren't the type of person to take things slow. Or think about relationships. Shin’s never overheard any thoughts from you about actually dating him, come to think of it. And no, before you ask—that doesn't bother him. Not at all. Not one bit.)
To both his surprise and yours, getting laid somehow had the opposite effect on you. Rather than being calmed, you're somehow even hornier—and now all your horny thoughts are about Shin.
It's nonstop. Shin can't believe it. Whereas you used to think about all sorts of people in your sexual fantasies (mostly your fanfiction men, but also some BL characters, occasionally Keanu Reeves, and very often that Nagumo guy), you now think solely of Shin. You're thinking about him right now, pausing as you finish restocking the onigiri.
Shin can hear every single thought from across the room, the way you feel the edges of your sanity fraying with the memory of his touch. The whole day, you've been remembering how it felt to have your pussy stretched around his cock, how it felt to have his hands on your curves, how he seemed to know exactly how to touch your body to make you keen. (Shin admits he cheated; a little ESP goes a long way in bed.) You soaked the sheets when you finally came, and he kissed you relentlessly through your orgasm. It made you so horny that you had to immediately go another round.
No other man’s ever made you cum like that, you keep thinking. You've fucked more people than you can count, but not a single person has ever felt so good inside you. The realisation is driving you crazy, and Shin feels like he's about to go crazy with you. In the absence of a cold shower, he wants to shove himself into the freezer right now. There's no other way to get rid of his raging boner.
How did it feel so fucking good?! you keep thinking, oblivious to his struggles. I need his cock inside me again. I need him to hit it raw this time. I need him to bend me over the counter and cum in my pussy right now—
It makes him want to die, listening to your thoughts. It also confuses him, somewhat: he isn't that experienced, and objectively he’s a little clumsy in bed. His performance is probably mid in the grand scheme of things, which makes him wonder why you feel like his dick is heaven-sent.
But more than anything, Shin wonders if you ever think about anything other than his dick. Sex isn't the only thing the two of you have done together. The first time you hooked up, he'd spent the night at your place. You clung to him in his sleep and you drooled on his chest and he thought it was kinda funny. He was careful not to wake you as he wiped your chin. You’d cooked him breakfast by the time he'd woken up: homemade miso, fresh rice, tamagoyaki. He made you burnt coffee after. You gave him a goodbye kiss, which somehow turned into a goodbye blowjob, which then escalated into wasting the day together in bed. You were really cuddly the whole time, and Shin could hear you think, how weird, I hate it when people hold me, and I hate it when people kiss me, but you liked it from Shin. You liked it so much that your pussy started dripping, and then what else could you do but suck him off again? (He returned the favour, of course.)
There was a lot more than just fucking, but you never think about any of that other stuff. You only ever think about his stroke game.
Not that that bothers Shin. Not at all. Not one bit.
By noon, he reaches his limit.
Shin considers himself a responsible guy and dedicated employee. He'd ordinarily never want to take off in the middle of the day to fool around with you—or anyone else—but it's his lunch break, and he has to get you to stop fantasizing. His dick is so hard that it's painful, and even with the apron it's getting tricky to cover up. As soon as the clock hits 12, he's throwing it off and making a beeline for you.
“We need to talk,” he says, grabbing you by the hand, and the face you make is so giddy that he can't help but sigh. You’re practically beaming as you take off your apron and say bye to Lu. We’ll be back in 30! you tell her in a sing-song voice, because you’re a very conscientious worker even when outrageously horny.
“You heard my thoughts?” you ask as the two of you climb the stairs to his room, and he snorts.
“How couldn't I?” He gives you a miserable look, cheeks flushing. “Were you doing that on purpose the whole morning?”
“No.” He raises a brow. “I'm serious—I wasn't trying to cause any trouble for you! It's just…” You bite your lip, and it takes all of Shin’s self-control to stop himself from staring at its glossy sheen. “I really just need to be touched again.”
“I don't believe you,” he says as he pulls you into his room.
“You're an esper! You should know I'm telling the truth!”
“I also know you like to torture me with your thoughts.”
“Well, yeah…” You smile at him, sheepish. “But I really just need a bit of relief. Want me to prove it to you?”
There's a sudden glint in your eye that makes Shin nervous, out of his depth. Sometimes he gets the feeling that you want to eat him alive, and he never knows how to handle it. He’s never gotten this level of attention before, and never in his wildest dreams did he think he'd get it from someone like you.
(Yeah—you're way out of Shin's league. For all his plans of a civilian romance, he wasn’t sure if he could actually score a date with you. He still isn't sure if he can score one. He's also not sure he’ll survive this encounter.)
He swallows. “Prove it…?”
“Uh huh.” You look so pretty right now, sitting on the edge of his bed. “Let me show you.”
You read too much hentai. Shin knows this firsthand (you read a lot of it on the clock, and all the images get blasted right into his prefrontal cortex), but he can also tell from how you act. It’s just way too fucking outrageous when you spread your legs for him, pulling up your skirt, and he's greeted not by the sight of your panties (you wore a lacy pair to work and kept bending over in hopes of flashing him—you had not been shy at all in this thought), but your bare, glistening cunt.
No fucking way.
“You’ve been working like that?!” he blurts out, mildly horrified even though his dick is jumping at the sight of you. You laugh, and you conjure up your panties from somewhere. They dangle from your fingertips, sheer and drenched.
“Took them off as we came up here. They're useless now anyway, see”—they’ve been soaked through for hours, and my thighs are all sticky—“and besides… I wanted to give you easy access.”
He thinks he's going to pass out.
“Easy access,” he repeats stiffly, bright red.
“Uh huh. Wanted to be efficient—we only have, what, twenty minutes?” Before he can even react, you're already turning around, bending over for him, ass up. From this angle, he can see just how wet you are—and how you're clenching around nothing, your cunt empty and needing to be filled. You glance over your shoulder, give him a teasing smile. “What are you waiting for?”
It’s a wonder that Shin doesn't cum on the spot, really. Like he said—he isn't an experienced guy. He's never slept with anyone so forward, or so—well. Smoking hot, for lack of better word. Half of him has a mind to just stand there and say that he can't believe you, and half of him has a mind to fuck you like you've been hoping all morning. Thankfully, this latter half of him wins out—probably for the better. If he helps you work this out of your system, you'll probably stop assaulting his mind with all your horny thoughts and his dick can exist in peace for the rest of the afternoon. Right?
Right?
(He ends up being extremely wrong.)
By the time he's pulled down his pants, put a condom on, and started pushing inside you, the two of you have seventeen minutes left. He worries briefly that it won't be enough time to get you to cum (nor him, though that isn't his goal currently), but it turns out to be a non-issue. Your pussy swallows his cock easily, stretching around him so perfectly that he nearly chokes. He always hears you talking about how sex with him feels leagues better than with any other person, but he’s not sure if you know that the same is true for him. No one's ever felt as good as you, and it takes every ounce of willpower in him not to cum immediately.
You're already close to the edge, too. Probably pent up from squeezing your thighs together all morning and thinking about his touch. You moan in a way that is obscene, like something out of an AV—but Shin knows that it isn't a performance. He can feel your body and hear your thoughts, all the genuine bliss you get from being filled up. When he starts moving, it's with intent. He fucks you like you’ve been fantasising all day, all week—with a relentless pace, focused on giving you nothing but pleasure. You tighten around him like you were made for him, and—
—apparently you feel like you're being used? Like a hole? The fuck! Shin almost stops mid-stroke to balk at you—he wouldn't do that to you!—but then you moan and he feels you getting wetter at the thought, and then he has no choice but to keep going. He's not about to kill your high.
Nine minutes left. Your clit is throbbing, neglected, and as soon as you think about touching yourself, Shin’s fingers are circling it instead and making you keen. He hits the spot inside you that has your eyes rolling back and your spine arching beautifully, and you can’t speak with your mouth, but he hears you anyway: the begging, the neediness, right there right there you're doing so good Shin you feel so good don't stop don't stop don't, don't—
“Oh fuck,” you whimper, pressing your face into the sheets, and then Shin feels you pulsing around him, drenching him. He gets dragged over the edge with you, gasping sharply as he finds his own release. You collapse as he twitches inside you, spilling himself inside the condom, and he almost snorts when he hears you thinking, wish you were cumming in my pussy instead. Do it raw next time, okay?
“You know we have to use a condom,” he says between pants.
“But I'm on birth control! Read my mind—you know I'm telling the truth!”
“And I also know that birth control is only 93% effective,” he says, rolling his eyes. He glances at the clock. “C'mon—we only have five minutes until our lunch break ends.”
It feels a little weird, rushing you. He’s never had a quickie before, but he understands that you can't exactly take your time with cleaning up afterwards. Still, he thinks about what it was like the last time the two of you did this—how slow and soft it was after, how he stayed inside you for a bit, how he kissed you long and cleaned you up carefully. It just felt like the right thing to do after sleeping with someone, especially given that that someone was you. He'd much prefer to do that right now.
But you are both punctual workers, and anyway Shin’s heard enough of your idle thoughts to know that you’re fairly apathetic to aftercare—you never expect it, and you’re never particularly sad when you don't get it. Sometimes you even fantasize about being used roughly and then discarded (a thought that he finds so unpleasant that it instantly kills his boner every time).
So it's probably fine to rush back downstairs, he figures. He throws you some wipes, lets you clean yourself up. You do it without complaint. You're not upset. He can even hear your mind humming with satisfaction, coming down from the highs of sensory pleasure.
Which is why he's confused when he hears you think, Huh. That didn't feel as good as I thought it would.
It's not like it felt bad.
This is what Shin hears all afternoon: You had a good time. You generally like being treated like a hole. You hadn't thought that Shin would have it in him to do that (neither did he, he admits), but it was kind of thrilling that he did. You want him to do it again for sure. He hit your g-spot with the kind of precision that only an esper can manage, and your vision nearly went white as you found your climax.
And that's what matters, right? You came. You had an orgasm. The little death. The ultimate goal of sex. You used to have a hard time with it, but after so many missions your body started to enjoy sex and now you cum very easily. And you came very easily with Shin, so that means you must enjoy having sex with him too, right?
But it was better the first time you had sex. Objectively better. You came way harder. You even squirted during your second round with him! Your orgasm was so intense that you felt blissed out for the rest of the night, and even the morning after. When you woke up and realised that Shin was not only still there, but also holding you, it made you so horny that you nearly woke him up with a blowjob. It was only with great self-control that you woke him up with breakfast instead.
You don’t feel like that right now, though. You don't feel horny and you don't feel like cooking and the euphoria of your orgasm melted away a while ago. You just feel sort of… empty.
You don't feel bad, though. It's a beautiful day. The char siu bao in your hand is incredibly fragrant. Piisuke is on your shoulder and chirping in your ear. Shin looks really handsome in his apron—did you know that, Shin? you ask him in your mind—and he goes bright red at this thought and looks away. You don't feel bad, you mentally reassure him. You just don't feel as good as you thought you would.
But Shin does feel bad. He feels miserable, actually. He's not a very experienced guy, but even he can tell that you’re the type of person who needs to be held after having sex. It seems like you probably don't realise it, but it's clear as day to Shin, and for the rest of the afternoon he hates himself for not having done it. It wouldn’t have had to be for very long.
Lu could have covered for an extra fifteen minutes, he keeps thinking. Fuck!
Eventually, you ask him to come over in the evening, and he scrambles to agree, desperate for a do-over.
Shin’s not really good at this hook-up business.
Now—he isn't exactly good at relationships either, but he feels exceptionally awkward about coming over to your place with the express purpose of having sex. He isn't familiar with dick appointment etiquette, especially not appointments involving a friend. Was he meant to bring a gift? A Netflix movie recommendation? It would have felt wrong to show up completely empty-handed, so he ends up bringing your favourite snacks and two bottles of Pocari Sweat. If this is anything like the first time he stayed over, you'll probably both need it.
You're delighted by the snacks and amused by the drinks. He wrestles with himself over what kind of small-talk to make—there’s a PS5 out right now, and your TV screen is paused on Leon Kennedy’s face, so maybe he can start a conversation about the horror genre? He watches a lot of films—but you're dragging him into your room before he can overthink it.
“I missed you,” you say, voice all sweet with affection as you straddle his lap.
“It's been two hours,” he points out, somehow managing not to stammer.
“Eight hours since we fucked.”
“That's not very long at all.”
“Felt like forever to me.” Your whisper is so tender in his ear, incongruent with the absolute filth you're thinking about right now. You need his cock so, so bad—you’d have it inside you 24/7 if you could have it your way, though he's also free to help himself to your body at any hour of the day. Sure, he can't smoke on the premises, but there's no rule against hiking up your skirt and pushing your panties to the side so he can—
“I wouldn't do that in the store!” he squawks, and you giggle.
“Then you should start taking me up to your room more often.”
Shin would be more than happy to host you, actually. He’s been thinking lately about having you over for dinner—Aoi’s been teaching him how to cook—and getting to know you better, in a non-Biblical way. But Shin knows that's not what you mean. You want him to carry you upstairs without asking and to throw you onto his bed and to fuck you into the mattress. You want to go back to your shift without your panties, his cum dripping out of your pussy and sliding down your—
“You really want me to finish inside you,” Shin remarks, bewildered at your sheer obsession over it, and you tilt your head.
“Don't you?”
“No. I mean, yes. I mean—we shouldn't. It's, uh. Risky. I don't want to get you, y'know… pregnant…” His dick twitches in a way that makes him grateful that you don't have ESP. He's realising something about himself that he absolutely cannot think about, and which you would absolutely exploit if you figured out. He clears his throat, hoping he looks normal. “Like. You know. It's better to be on the safe side.”
You study him carefully. “I dunno, Shin.” You smile knowingly. “I don't think I'd mind it if you wanted to breed me.”
Shin is going to die.
The next twenty minutes pass in a horny blur. The two of you spend it all over each other, his cock sliding along your opening—dangerously close to pushing in. You beg him for just the tip, both verbally and mentally—pleaaase Shin please please please it'd be so easy, I'm still stretched out from before, you know it'd feel good—and he's watched enough adult films to know that this is a blatant trap. He somehow pulls away, and immediately feels bad at the crushed expression you make, so he decides he has no choice but to make it up to you by putting his head between your thighs. Within minutes he’s sucking on your clit and making you keen, his fingers curling inside you. He knows your orgasm is intense both from the way you gush all over his face and how your mind goes pleasantly, blissfully quiet for a moment.
It doesn't stay quiet for long.
The most debauched image possible comes to his mind—you, underneath him, your legs folded into a mating press as you take his cock. He’s giving you another load, pumping you full. It's filling up your womb, and you'll definitely get pregna—
“You’re fucking evil,” he groans. “And you read way too much hentai. Those visuals were so goofy.”
You laugh, unbothered. “Sorry, I'll adjust them for realism next time.”
“Please don't,” he begs, even though he knows he's going to spend the next week being mentally assaulted by your breeding kink fantasies. He just hopes they stay relatively normal and don't devolve into the weird omegaverse stuff. Or the monsterfucking stuff. Or the gangbang scenarios. Please, God, anything but the gangbang fantasies. He’ll scream if you imagine another threesome with him and that invisible asshole who kidnapped Lu. He’ll simply resign if you add Nagumo.
To your profound disappointment, Shin ends up using a condom. He doesn't give you much time to feel sad about it, settling quickly between your legs and practically knocking the breath out of you as he thrusts into you. He’s left kind of breathless too. You weren't lying—you are still stretched out from earlier in the day, wet and pliant for him, and there's hardly any resistance as he starts pumping into you. He watches you carefully, laid out underneath him—your eyes squeezing shut as you're made to take his cock. Your mind goes a little quiet again, overwhelmed by pleasure. It's simultaneously a blessing and a curse: Shin’s finally getting a break from your psychic teasing, but the knowledge that he's fucking you dumb is doing something horrible to him.
He changes his angle, and a whimper leaves you. You tighten and gush around him in a way that makes it obvious what he’s hitting; he doesn't need ESP to know to keep doing it. Still, your thoughts are going haywire, a tangle of desire, and it's impossible for him to ignore. I need, he keeps hearing as your thighs starts to twitch, as you start tearing up, I need I need I need I need—
Your eyes land on his lips, and Shin hears you.
His kiss is open-mouthed, clumsy, but you’re hungry for it anyway. You’re panting into each other’s mouths when you start pulsing around Shin’s dick, and you end up cumming so hard on his cock that it's dizzying for you both. He fucks you through your orgasm, and it's only when you're glassy-eyed and limp beneath him that he finally lets himself finish. He pulls back as he does, gasping sharply, but not for long—you draw him back in quickly, clinging to him as you seek out another kiss. The two of you stay like that for a long moment—still connected, breaths heavy with exhaustion, lips slow and lazy against each other.
“Enjoy yourself more this time?” Shin asks, and you hum sweetly against his mouth. You’re still too mindless from your orgasm to form any real thoughts, but Shin can tell that you don't really want to talk. You want to keep kissing him. And you want him to hold you while you do it, which he happily obliges.
Some ten minutes later, you make a small noise of protest when Shin pulls out of you, and it turns into a look of outright betrayal when he gets up. Shin’s heart clenches immediately.
“Just getting stuff to clean up,” he explains, and you relax visibly.
“Oh,” you say. “Right.”
You seem antsy. You feel antsy. You're antsy because you just realised how much you like kissing Shin. Specifically, you've realised that kissing him elevates your orgasms into mind-blowing experiences, and now you're questioning every other orgasm you've had. Maybe I don't actually enjoy sex that much? you wonder. Or maybe I always needed to be kissed to enjoy it more? Wait, no. I hate it when people kiss me. It's gross. Except for when it's Shin. Why Shin? Hm… that apron must really be doing something for me.
Your head hurts. Shin patiently watches you replay your past experiences in your head, comparing all those nights with this one, and he can’t help but frown. Deeply. Your eyes go wide when he gives you an alarmed look at one particular memory.
“Shit, sorry! I forgot you’d see all that.”
“No, I'm sorry,” he says, feeling—not for the first time—guilty about his powers. “If I could turn it off, I would.”
“Don't be sorry. You can't help it. That'd be like if I were sorry for breathing.” But despite your easy words, you’re watching him carefully, and your mind is stirring in an unsettling way. I'm nervous? you realise. Your heart is beating in a way that suggests a flight or fight response. It gets worse the longer you stare at him. Why am I nervous? Tell me, Shin.
“I wouldn't know.” Except he’s got a good guess, and he'd rather die than say it out loud because it would be embarrassing for you both if he were wrong. He'd have to resign. Nevertheless, he tries to guide you in a specific direction: “Have you really never liked it when people kissed you?”
“No,” you reply immediately. “I don't see the point of kissing during sex.”
He gives you a long look. “What if it’s not just sex? What if it's just a regular kiss on a regular day with, like, a partner? Someone you're really serious about.” He blinks at the confused stare you're giving him. “You mean you don't like that either?”
It's suddenly very noisy. Shin can hear your mind buzzing as you stare at the ceiling of your room, not with coherent sentences so much as shapeless confusion. His skin crawls with the echo of your discomfort; it's a wonder you aren't slipping out from the sheets to run away.
“...I don't know,” you finally decide. “I don't have much real dating experience.”
“Huh? You’ve said before that you've dated lots of guys.”
“Um.” You’re careful not to look at him. “Yeah, I guess. They all sucked though. I, like, wanted to kill every single one of my exes.”
“Like they were shitty boyfriends?”
No, like they were assassination targets, you think, and Shin has to keep a straight face as you reply, “Yeah, something like that.”
You rarely lie to Shin. You did it somewhat frequently until you figured out that he was capable of ESP, and then you stopped because you didn't see a point anymore. You only do it now when there's something you really don't want to talk about, so Shin relents. He focuses on cleaning himself up, and he interrupts the tense hum of your thoughts when he turns his attention to you. By the time he's finished and slid back into bed, your more complicated emotions have vanished, and you're back to marveling at the quality of the orgasm you just had. Apparently you like to keep things fairly simple in your inner world.
When Shin puts an arm around you, he can hear your pleasant surprise—and your immediate desire to press into him.
You're so happy just being held by him, it's shocking. And painfully endearing. Shin tries to pretend not to notice the warm glow of your thoughts, as well as your confusion over them: surely the simple act of being close to someone can't feel so good. Maybe the whole kissing thing was just a coincidence and Shin happened to be hitting it just right when your lips met. Or maybe he used his ESP on you to make you cum extra hard and he's still influencing you, and that's why you feel so tenderhearted right now.
“My powers only allow me to read minds,” he tells you. “I can't control other people.”
“Aw,” you say, “that's too bad. I bet forced orgasms with ESP would feel amazing.”
“...”
Shin realises something else about himself that he absolutely cannot let you know. Thankfully for him, you're none the wiser. Your mind’s somewhere else entirely when you climb on top of him, smiling neatly. Mind you, what you're thinking is still making him feel nervous. He's always a little out of his depth with you.
“Shin…”
You lean in, breath sweeping over his lips. His heart jumps.
“Y-yeah?”
“I'm still confused about how that felt so good.”
“I’ve noticed.”
You hold back a laugh. “Yeah, I guess you would have.” Then you give him an apologetic look. “Sorry I'm so stuck on it. I just thought I knew my body, y'know? I felt like I had tried everything worth trying. Sex was starting to feel boring, including the freaky stuff. But this is very new to me.”
This close up, Shin can feel the brush of your lashes when they flutter. See the glossy swell of your lips from all the kissing. Take in the fragrance of your hair. He starts to feel dizzy. “I-is it? I don't think we've been doing anything, uh. Crazy.”
“I didn't think so either.” Your thumb traces his lip. You're thinking about kissing him again, and you're also thinking about riding him as you do it. “I can't help but want to try it a few more times, you know? Just to make sure it wasn't a fluke.”
“A few more times,” he repeats, and you smile.
“You don't have anywhere you need to be tonight, do you?”
The two of you get two hours of sleep that night, and you end up going through both bottles of Pocari Sweat and all the snacks. There's no time for breakfast or burnt coffee the morning after; you make the executive decision to just eat something at the store instead. Shin leaves behind a toothbrush and you tell him he should also bring an extra set of clothes next time. He tries not to get too excited about the fact that there's going to be a next time. He fails.
Mr. Sakamoto sees the two of you as you make it to work just on time together and immediately figures out what's happened. Shin gets a mental reprimand for not marrying you first, and the disappointment from Mr. Sakamoto is so strong that he briefly considers resigning out of disgrace. But he stays on, and the days pass, and your relationship with him remains the same. Sort of.
Because, see. Now that you're regularly getting laid, your horny thoughts have finally (finally!) calmed down. You now have one free-use fantasy a day instead of twelve, and your daydreams only occasionally feature tentacle monsters. You do like to torture Shin with breeding kink scenarios, but that's only once a day, and they never involve any other guys. Shin considers this a victory, respite from the psychic agony that he was previously experiencing.
There's just one problem.
You want to kiss Shin all the time now, and it's making him feel like the horniest person alive.
He can't believe it. He doesn't have a particularly strong sex drive, and he rarely ever has sexual fantasies. But holy shit is he having them a lot now, and he can't say it's strictly your fault.
You spend most of the day now thinking about what it felt like to kiss him in bed, and what it felt like to hold his hand as he moved inside you, and what it felt like to be in his arms afterwards. What it would feel like if you were to do those things that you used to hate—kissing someone, linking fingers, embracing them—with Shin. Not just in bed, but on a regular day, out in the open. In a secluded park somewhere, or maybe at the top of a Ferris wheel, or even on a random street corner if the mood is right. All of these daydreams are usually followed by very explicit fantasies about public, unprotected sex, but the kissing is the most important part of it. The subsequent creampies are pretty significant too, but not nearly as much as the bits where you make out.
And somehow, the thought of cumming in you is not the part of the fantasy that's driving Shin crazy.
You give him a meaningful look. A week ago, this would have been a sign that you wanted him to bend you over the counter and give you backshots. Now it means you want to sneak away to kiss him and hold hands, and this makes him want to do things to you that would get him fired immediately.
Shin sighs, and he contemplates shoving himself into the freezer.
END
I wrote this with one hand and did not proofread it. my apologies if you see any errors. I just needed to be free of these thoughts asap. release me...
PS - I know the Resident Evil/Leon Kennedy mention must have felt very random, but it's set-up for potential future sequels haha.
your nerdy fuckbuddy gojo has a tongue piercing?!?
“gojo—“ you said. “pause. stop.” you added, pulling his head up, away from your pussy. normally, you’d never stop him. ever. he pushed his slightly fogged up glasses up the bridge of his nose, and then spoke, his tone quiet and worried. “wh—what’s wrong? did— does it not feel good? a—am i going too fa—“ you shook your head quickly, and then sat up on your forearms.
“no, no, of course not— it’s .. i dunno. something feels.. weird. sort of.. cold.” you spoke, feeling sort of uncertain and deluded. you had never felt this feeling when he ate you out. you grabbed his chin lightly, and then thumbed at his lips. “do you have ice in your mouth or something?” you asked.
“uh—no..? but.. i.. can if you’d like that?” he said, looking up at you with a worried expression on his face. as he spoke, though, you noticed something shining in his mouth. “open your mouth.” you ordered. and he did so. quicker than you’d expected. he stuck his tongue out, and you gasped. “when did you get that?” you said, staring at the metal ball on his tongue.
“um.. a few days ago. i lost a bet with my brother.” he said, scratching his head and looking away, almost like he was embarrassed. “your brother.. the one in the fraternity?” you asked. “that’s the one.” he confirmed. wasn’t too far off from him. you’ve met him before— saturo. the sleazy, disgustingly sexy yet dangerous frat boy. you’d be lying to yourself if you said you didn’t want him.
“hm.” you said quietly. “do you like it?” he whispered, going back down so his nose was level with your cunt. “does it make you feel good?” he said, his breath fanning over the sensitive flesh. he gave you a long, slow lick, from your hole to your clit, not breaking eye contact. “when i got it done,” he said quietly, giving your clit a sweet kiss, and snaking his arms around your thighs to hold you down, so you wouldn’t twitch so much. “i couldn’t stop thinking of you. i was so excited to use it on you..” he murmured against you.
he reached up his hand, dragging his middle finger and ring fingers from your clit, down to circle around your hole, and then finally, inserting them in. he leaned up to you, giving you a sweet kiss on the cheek, then another against your ear as he fingered you. “satoru—“ you moaned, watching as his fingers disappeared in and out of you. you bit your lip, and then he leaned down to capture your lips, wasting no time to use his tongue.
his tongue circled yours, and you moaned at the taste of yourself, and the feeling of his metal on your tongue. “i lost the bet on purpose.” he whispered against your lips. “i overheard you talking about guys with tongue piercings, and..” he said softly, giving your lips a chaste peck, his thumb moving up to work your clit as he fingered you. “i got jealous. jealous that you potentially didn’t have me in mind.” he said, brushing his nose against yours. “i wanted nothing more than for you to experience this. nothing more than for you to use me for as long as you want to.” he said, his tone almost whiny as he pleaded.
nsfw content mutual!gojo satoru keeps his promise by flying overseas and sending you to poundtown. part one + part two
two months… satoru’s been thinking about you for two whole months. each day felt like a time lag, and every week felt like a never ending simulation. it felt as if the earth decided to stop spinning ever since that day he witnessed you using his gift — the toy he’d replicated of his own dick.
the late-night live you streamed for your onlyfans was now a file downloaded on satoru’s phone — ever since then, he’s been finding himself constantly looking at the download. whether it was for the sole purpose of admiration, or desperation… that video never stopped circulating within satoru’s head. it was as if his mind had been corrupted with an extreme sense of want.
a ‘want’ so desired, the longing has lasted longer than sixty-one days. it’s basically became a routine: wake and hit the gym, shower and jerk of to the only nsfw downloaded on his files, eat breakfast, head to campus, head home, buy takeout, study and then doom-scroll on twitter and converse with you for the rest of his night.
and good habits, or not — satoru’s also found himself secretly getting off to the sound of your voice whenever you’d call him because for some reason, he just couldn’t discard the image of you stuffing your insides with his dildo.
the video was practically burned into his retinas, setting off an unjust trigger of frustration he’d been holding in. it was almost unbearable — he had to find some kind of way to reaching you just as he did in his dreams because the life of a cuck was never something he’d foreseen as his own reality.
satoru had to get out of japan, it was the only step that would make it possible to see you — and, the only possible way to subside his carnal craving for you. but the thing is, he needed an excuse. he needed a reason to be overseas because no matter how much he joked about giving you the real ‘thing’, and expressing how crazed you make him — that’s not enough reason to fly out, no matter how impulsive he may be.
he had to strategize it, make the reason why he’s in your hometown sound believable. he’d call it an overseas ‘collaboration’. the kind of travel that content creators do for networking purposes, expanding their growth and earning more profits — it was a perfect idea.
“hypothetically speaking… what if, and i mean what if.” satoru’s voice grows in pitch as you hear his excitement over the phone. “not again, toru. i’m tired of your ‘what if’ questions, let talk about something else.” you sigh.
satoru’s been buzzing in your ear for the past few hours about absolute nonsense. first it was about him traveling overseas for vacation, then it was about him “visiting friends” overseas — which never bothered to mention, and now here he was again.
“fine—” he pursued his lips, “last one. what iffffff.” he drags before pausing as you hum in response, but there’s an awkward beat of silence. “what iff?..” you repeat after him, before hearing him giggle like a little boy with a crush.
you raised an eyebrow, listening to satoru on the other side of the phone. the only times you’ve heard satoru giggle like a child was either because his favorite game has finally been released, or because he had something mischievous in mind.
“what if— and this is a hypothetical, okay? but what if i went overseas for a collab?” he utters out quickly, as you hear a grin creep onto his lips. “then i guess you’ll be overseas for a collab? i don’t know.” you respond slightly confused, unsure why’d he even tell you that.
“you’re no fun.” satoru huffs, and it’s safe to assume he was expecting more than just a slightly dismissive response. “i mean… why are you so intent on traveling outside the country?” you ask, “you’ve been mentioning traveling overseas every time we speak on the phone.” you’re talking while trying to figure out why satoru’s so fixated on traveling, before it it clicks to you.
“don’t tell me that collab has you losing months worth of sleep because you just can’t wait to go.” you roll your eyes with cringe, which earns an incoherent groan from satoru.
“you just wouldn’t get it.” his voice softens as he accepts quiet defeat. and it’s unfortunate really, it’s not like he could tell you that the collab would be with you without sounding like a desperate loser.
he sent you a molded figure of his dick two months ago — half jokingly, half hoping that there’s a chance that you’d use it. he honestly thought the odds were against him, until they weren’t. until that sole day he’d find himself seeing you as more than just a mutual friend, but an unfulfilled desire.
“get what, toru?” you let out a small laugh, mixed between amusement and disbelief. “get how you’re basically crushing on one of your mutuals.” you tease just enough to hit that sore spot that’s been slowly killing satoru.
“whaaat? y’ jealous?” he taunts, as if the ache within his chest is inexistent. “definitely not.” you scoff lightly.
“yeah, sureee.” he lets out a laugh. “i’m sure after using my replica, you feel a little territorial over me, no?” he adds, half a playful, half truth as he anticipated your response, but all you do is let out an inaudible laugh.
of course satoru was a menace, he always has been since the day you two became friends — but the one thing you could never get used to was his tactless behavior. either he was stupid, or just abnormally impulsive.
“nah, but i’d definitely get territorial if you’re giving out money to other women on their streams.” you jokingly tease back, but there’s truth hidden between your words before you’re hearing satoru’s laugh break your phone’s sound barrier.
“give me a personalized stream and i’ll have you set for life.” he says over the phone, as if he doesn’t have a downloaded file of you on his phone.
“you’re a college student, toru.” you deadpan your phone as if you’re on facetime. “i’ll indulge in my savings for you.” he replies, soft and stupidly, but only satoru knows there’s a hell of a lot more things he’d do for you.
“yeah, suree.” you drag sarcastically, “goodnight, toru before you make me lose the little brain cells i have left.” you wish him a good night, earning a laugh from him.
“sighhhhh!” satoru sighs the actual word out loud, “you always think i’m joking.” he says, and you can hear the pout in his voice. “but goodnight— i’ll see you tomorrow, love you.” he lets out a smooching sound before ending the call.
—
text from satoru: you home? sent at 7:38 PM
your phone buzzes on the couch’s armrest making you reach across the sofa to grab your phone.
you: no
you: did you bring me another one of your gifts ?? 🧍♀️
your fingers tap against screen of your phone, as you’re reaching to put it back down against the armrest before your phone is buzzing again.
text from satoru: WHY ARE YOU NOT AT HOMEE
text from satoru: I HAD A GIFT FOR YOU 😔😔, i was gonna tell you to open the door so you’d be surprised but NOOO you decided not to be home
the texts from satoru are coming in one after another, and you can’t help but giggle because in truth, you actually are home, but it’s not as if he could prove it.
you: 😭😭
you: it’s okay, just take the L tonight ☹️
text from satoru: this is more than a L
text from satoru: I JUST GOT SHOT FIFTY TIMES
text from satoru: BY YOU btw.
you laugh as you rise from the couch, kicking on your slippers before making your way to the front door as you unlock the door — swinging it open, before being met by a towering silhouette as you jolt in surprise.
“oh!” the lower voice exclaims.
“what the hell!?” you practically scream.
“s—surprise..!”
you raise your head to the familiar voice as your gazes meet. “satoru? oh my god?!” you let out the biggest exhale as your body fights off the adrenaline coursing through your body.
there’s no way that — that ‘gift’ satoru was spiraling about would actually be him in physical form. “are you supposed to be my gift?..” you ask shockingly, almost at a loss for words.
“… yes i— WAIT? i thought you weren’t home.” he shouts in realization, as he’s standing awkwardly at your front door. his soft blue eyes roaming all over your face, taking in every little feature as his eyes slowly make their way down before instantly flicking back up once he hears your voice.
“and i thought you were just traveling for your collab.” you purse your lips as the words taste a little bitter on your tongue, which makes satoru grin. “you’re poutin’ because i have a collab coming up?” he teases, before you’re taking a step back in your house and closing the door.
“wait, wait! i’m joking.” he hastily utters, subconsciously stopping the door with his hand before letting go as he scratches the back of his head with an awkward smile. “can i come in?”
—
satoru’s been roaming around every inch of your apartment like a curious puppy. “hmm, so this is your room?” he asks, peeking his head through the door frame.
“you can go in, you’ve seen my room a thousand times on face-time.” you insist as he trails behind you with his mouth parted like this is the most surreal experience ever.
you watch as satoru wanders around, and he’s touching everything within sight before halting at your streaming station. it’s quite a messy setup, the camera stands are fallen on the floor, your camera is tilted against the dresser while still being opened, and to make matters worse. the box you collect all of the toys gifted to you are all inside that box.
and given the curious nature satoru has he’d probably open it up without a thought. you make your across the room, towards the storage box grabbing to put it back in its proper place — your closet.
“what’s in it?” satoru questions, voice soft and inquisitive as he watches you open the closet. “uhh it’s nothing, i just use it to prop up my camera sometimes.” the lie slides off of your tongue, but you can also feel your throat getting uncomfortably dry as there’s a brief pause in satoru’s next words.
“hmm…” his eyes are practically drilling a hole into the back of your head. “i see! so you don’t use the camera stands sometimes, that’s actually smart.” he says lightly, forcing his gaze elsewhere. satoru can’t help, but fixate on how snug and thin your tank top is, or how loose and short your bottoms are.
he’s waited two months — sixty-one days and he’s finally gotten where he’s been yearning go, and there’s absolutely no way he’s going to ruin this moment. not even the bulge slowly growing inside his pants as he shakes his head to keep his thoughts more appropriate.
you finish hiding the box inside the closet, taking in a quiet inhale in attempt to calm your nerves. it was just a dumb storage box that was forgotten to be put away, but it wasn’t forgotten. no, it was satoru’s unexpected presence that made the simplest of things less casual than it should be. plus he’s practically seen your entire collection before, what’s the difference now?
you shut the regaining the composure that was lost as you look over your shoulder to see satoru already looking at you. “what are you looking at, toru.” you groaned, turning on your heels towards your bed before plopping down on the mattress.
“mind if i sit too?” he points to your bed, kicking off his shoes once you hum in response as the mattress dips beside you.
there’s nothing but silence… awkward silence. you honestly never expected things with satoru to ever be this awkward. the two of you were great friends, or great friends online that is. but maybe that weird tension between you both came from the fact that neither of you knew how to act around each other outside of a phone screen.
you steal a glance at satoru only to find him sprawled comfortably against your pillows as if he belonged there. one leg stretched across the mattress while the other bends loosely, his attention seemingly focused on his phone despite the occasional flick of his eyes toward you.
“so did you fly overseas just to stare at me in silence.” you quip with your cheek smushed into your pillow, which makes the corners of satoru mouth curl upwards. “yep, so i could look at the face all day.” he sits his phone down with a grin as you huff.
“seriously though.” you mumble into the fabric of your pillow, “what even is this collab?” you ask making satoru sigh, watching him slouch deeper into your pillow as his shirt rides up his abdomen, exposing the flex of his abs.
“just a collab somewhat outside my skill set.” he sighs, already dreading the conversation. “your skill set?” you repeat after him.
“yeah… rough, and mean.” he says, as if his entire twitter isn’t videos of him rag dolling a fleshlight and his fist. “that’s literally your middle name.” you let out a laugh while satoru lets out a whine.
“no it’s nott.” he sinks further into your pillows again, “there’s no reason to be nervous, toru— unless… you like her or something.” and there’s brief pause before satoru lets out a quiet laugh, though it sounds more nervous than anything.
“what if i did?” he asks.
“then it should be easier i’d assume.” you reply, watching the way satoru’s attention is fixated on your ceiling, “not really.” he replies back.
“why not?” you ask, completely oblivious to it all.
“becausee.. i don’t know.” he drags, throwing his body to the slide to face you as his eyes meet yours as your heart grows heavier.
he’s so close, just within a reach grasp and you can sense the change in satoru’s demeanor as he shifts closer towards you. his gaze flickers down for half a second before returning to your eyes, his lips parting like he’s debating whether or not to cross a line.
“can i ask you something.” he murmurs, as you nod. “sure.”
“want to help me practice?”
—
and maybe that’s how you found yourself straddling satoru. barricading either side of his waist with your thighs — rocking your hips into his, and grinding against the mound of his sweat pants.
“f— fuck…” satoru groans, his hands reach out to grab at your waist. the way you’re roll your hips, and slowly drag yourself against satoru’s bulge has him in a trance of him re-visioning the way you grind on all the silicone didlos you own.
the corners of his lips curl into a grin, “you gonna use me the way you use your toys?” he teases, as if you aren’t the one doing him a favor as his hands wrap around your waist, pressing you closer onto his lap as he pivots his hips up.
you let out a soft exhale which was heavier than expected as the damp fabric of your panties molded into the folds of your lips, making you feel every graze against your clit catching onto the hem of satoru’s sweatpants.
“why not.” your eyes flicker to satoru’s face as his eyes are already drawn upon yours. “i thought you needed my help…” you murmur, rolling your hips deeper against the outline of his sweats, earning a small grunt from satoru as you feel him twitch against you while inching your lips closers to his.
“you’re no different than my toys right now, right?” your breath fans against his parted lips, before pulling back as he lets out a chuckle in remembrance of exactly how crazed you make him feel. “damn, i almost forgot how mean you are to me.” satoru groans almost gutted in complete pleasure, you’d thought he’d already came.
you feel one of satoru’s thumbs tug against the hem of your shorts, indicating to take them off as you lift your hips up in response, feeling him tug them off before tossing them across the room while he’s working himself out of his sweatpants. and you can see exactly how long he’s been waiting for this very moment.
the raging bulge in his briefs are oozing pre-cum. satoru’s mind is absolutely broken, completely empty and thinking about none other than being inside you.
you can even see a little bead form on top of the cotton as satoru’s slender fingers rack down to grab a flesh full of your ass, pulling your lower half flush against him making you both moan to the blissful sensation of less cloth as your clit catches against the prominent vein of his cock.
“mmmh, shit…” he’s raising his hips to match the rhythm of his hands pressing you against him — attempting to fuck you through barricading fabric. “your clit is fuckin’ swollen— bet that’s how hard she gets grindin’ on other dicks, yeah?” satoru taunts, low and mean as he flashes a canine.
and you can feel every inch of his clothed dick dragging in-between your folds, over and over again. your chest is pressed against his, feeling your nipples harden against the material of your tank top from constantly rubbing against it.
your arms wrapped around his neck, letting him mouth words against the column of your throat as your vocal cords vibrate with a gentle laugh. “yeah she does, you jealous?” you mock, referencing a past conversation as satoru’s jaw tightens.
indeed he was, inevitably so. ever since the day he confirmed that personalized shipment overseas to your address — he was more than just jealous. and you can hear satoru grit his teeth before he’s flipping you over, back against the mattress.
the hem of your thin tank rising above your stomach, and the strap falling off your shoulder — feeling the soft strands of satoru’s silver hair brush against your forehead. your lips are parted, letting out a gasp to the sudden shock as you’re practically pinned beneath satoru as he leans over you.
he rises up, snaking his arms across the lower half of his torso before tugging his hoodie over his head, revealing each plane of his abs.
“‘m a little jealous.” he admits with a playful edge, though his actions are the complete opposite as he tosses his hoodie to the side before ducking down.
and your eyes follow his every movement, from the way his hands snake underneath your shirt before traveling down the sides of your waist to your hips.
you let out a small hitch, almost forgetting that this is just practice as his eyes focus on you — fixated on every little reaction he gets out of you. starting with the way your chest rises up and down and how whenever you both lock eyes, you immediately avert yours.
satoru chuckles amused, “do you want me to be jealous?” he murmurs, soft and intrigued before you’re muttering.
“stop going off script.” your lips purse, feeling your body run warm as the gravity of the situation finally dawns on you. satoru halts for half a second, his eyes scanning over you once more before pressing his lips against yours.
his tongue pushing against your teeth, ushering access to the inside of your mouth making you open your mouth as his tongue catches yours. exchanging saliva and making a mess as your feel once of his hands slide between your thigh and his other hand trailing up to cup your jaw, never breaking the kiss.
and there’s barely any time to breathe. not when his tongue is at the back of your throat, spit dripping down your chin as you’re moaning into his mouth from the pads of his fingers ducking into your panties as his fingers work to find your swollen clit.
satoru breaks the kiss, and there’s a little string of salvia connecting you two as you gasp for air.
“there is no script.” he breathes out hoarse, and there’s nothing holding him back now. his eyes flicker down to the hand buried inside your panties before tugging away the fabric, as he nudges your thighs further apart with his knees.
and he almost drools at the sight of your pussy on display. a moment just for him — the moment he’s waited for months on end as he pushes his hips against your bare cunt, grinding his clothed dick against your clit as you moan at the friction.
“there she is.” he groans, almost sounding frustrated by how affected he is. “been waiting fuckin’ months.” he lets your clit throb against his bulge as you shudder.
you throw one of your arms over your face, embarrassed by how much this is affecting you as well before satoru’s grabbing your wrist and pinning your hand to the side.
“c’mon, angel.” he coos, watching your teeth sink into your bottom lip. “don’t be shy, yeah? i know this pussy better than those toys do.” he lets out a quiet, almost guttural groan as if he’s remembering the countless clips he’s seen of you stuffing your pussy full.
his words travel straight to your core making your hole involuntarily twitch as you knit your eyebrows. “you talk too much.” you say quiet, and breathless before his other hand is taking your other hand and guiding it towards his pelvis, making you palm at his bulge through his briefs as he’s humping into your hand with a breathy laugh which quickly dissolves into a groan.
“feel it?” he grinds deeper into your hand, and you can feel the warmth of his stiff cock twitch against your palm as you nod. “that’s what you do to me.” he drags your hand near the band of his briefs as one of your fingers catch the hem of it, before he’s making you tug the band down freeing himself as his dick instantly springs out and slaps heavy against his lower abdomen with a groan.
“been hard the second you opened that door— almost gave me blue-balls.” he whines with a pout as his eyes drop down to the unfathomable size difference between his dick and that tiny hole he’s gonna stretch open.
and your mouth drops because there’s no way he’s going to fit inside of you. it looked physically impossible, satoru’s dick was even bigger than the molded replica he had made for you.
your throat runs dry, and you swallow hard as your fingers brush against satoru’s pelvis. “t—that’s too big…” you stammer out before pushing against his lower half as he’s swatting your hand away, before pulling you into him as his length slides in between your folds, gathering slicks as the head of his dick grazes against your clit making you both moan in unison.
“yeah?” he responds, voice shaky because there’s no disagreeing with that — not when he practically dwarfs you in every physical way possible. he watches the way his cock drags back and forth through your folds, slowly dragging down near your entrance before ghosting over it with a strained moan.
“toru…” your voice trembles a bit. you’re trying to mentally and physically prepare yourself for what’s to come as satoru uses his free hand to cup the back of your knee, pushing it towards your chest.
“yeah, baby?” he hums, rocking his hips closer against your entrance that’s squeezing around nothing. and all he earns is silence from your nervousness as he lets out a reassuring grin while unpinning your wrist with his other hand. “just relax f’me.” he drags his hips down, lining up flush against your entrance.
“m sure you’ve been stretchin’ yourself out on replicas for me this whole time.” he teases, his eyes locking onto yours. “look at me, pretty girl.” he tilts your chin gently towards him as he leans in.
“been wanting to see how pretty you look taking me for months.” he murmurs against your lips, before slowly rocking his hips into yours as the head of his cock slips past your entrance making you wince.
“crap…” satoru breathlessly chuckles, sounding a little delirious, his head dropping to your shoulder as he realigns himself with your entrance. “just one more time, angel.” he whispers, nudging his hips into yours as the tip of his dick finally sinks in.
“f- fuckk, fuck!” you choke into a whimper feeling yourself get split apart as the pressure slowly stretches you out. your hands find any kind of leverage as one of your hands claws into the back of satoru’s neck while the other digs into his bicep.
“mmmghh, you feel so—” satoru groans against your shoulder, hips stuttering for a second as if he can’t handle it — sinking deeper into you, until he’s pelvis flush against your bum as your back arches off the mattress.
his hands snake tight around your waist, engraving moon-shaped crescents into your skin his movements pause because this is the vision he’s replayed in his head a million times over.
the decision of taking his sweet time with you, and making passionate love until you’re saying ‘i love you’ —or fucking you raw until the sun comes up and you’re screaming his name.
the halt in his movement gives you time to better accommodate around his length. though the burn is still there, and your pussy feels indescribably full as the head of satoru’s cock nudge sweet against the sensitive spot inside of you.
a moan escapes from your throat, and your canines are sunken into your bottom lip. this is the moment satoru’s dreamed about, even fucked his palm to the thought of just how warm, and tight you’d feel wrapped around his dick. he lets out a low, strained groan beginning to rock his hips forward.
maybe he should be gentle with you, and watch you slowly fall apart on his dick — but that’s not the way you used his dick on stream.
satoru’s rhythm picks up, his thrusts getting meaner, and his strokes getting longer as he begins snapping his hips into you.
“shit— you’re taking me s’ good…” his lips part into a gasp as he watches the way your pussy swallows him whole with every thrust that has your body rocking up and down beneath him.
every roll of his hips causing your walls to involuntarily squeeze around him. “t— toru…” you whimper, thighs trembling within his hold as his cock drags in and out of your hole.
“mmm, that’s my name.” he hums, swallowing a moan. his eyes roaming every inch of your body before finding your face. your eyes are glossy, and your bottom lip is swollen from gnawing at it. “gonna let ‘toru fuck you the way he’s been dreamin’ about, yeah?” satoru lets out a shaky exhale.
his grip tightens around the back of your knees, as he’s shifting his position in a way that drops most of his weight onto you forcing your knees against your chest.
you choke at the sudden fullness, your eyes flicking down to see a small bump in your lower stomach. you couldn’t even talk, satoru was so deep inside of you in ways no toy could. one of your palms trail down to push against satoru’s lower abdomen, feeling the flex of his abs.
“see that?” satoru grins, pupils blown wide at the sight of him deep inside of you. his hand sliding over your stomach while pivoting his hips at an angle to hit deeper against that sweet spot that makes your toes curl.
“that little toy never reached this deep, did it?” he taunts, pressing his palm against the bulge in your stomach, making your breath hitch and your walls choking around his cock earning an escaped whimper fall from satoru’s lips.
his hips are basically moving on their own. snapping into yours as he practically pounds your pussy into the mattress. “fuckk— can’t stop.” he chokes, each thrusts sloppier than the last as you throw your head back moaning his name.
“yeah, yeah— thaat’s ittt.” he drags, as he slowly begins to lose himself. “mmhngh— keep milkin’ me just like that…”
the head of his cock is repeatedly pressing against that wet, spongy spot inside of you. “nngh, toruu!” you whine, each stroke makes your stomach feel weird and your core tighten in a way that makes your bladder swell as euphoric waves course through your veins.
you can feel satoru twitch inside of you, his hips stuttering with each thrusts. he’s ducking his head down, burying his face into the crook of your neck and panting against your skin.
the sound of bare skin slapping against each other, and the exchanges of whimpering and moaning bounce off the walls. “s-shit… hated watching those streams knowin’ it wasn’t me.” he grits, panting against your neck.
“should’ve been me.” his voice quakes, muttering into your skin, almost sounding frustrated by it as he drools against your neck. “i should’ve been the one making you feel this good, not some fuckin’ toy.” he moans into you, and his pelvis flush against yours.
his dick nuzzling sweet against your cervix. your breath catching in your throat with your mouth open, “fuck, fuckk— ‘m cummingg!” you shriek. your legs shaking in satoru hold, as your nails rack desperately against satoru’s back as your spine lifts off the mattress.
your body seizing at the orgasmic wave of pleasure shooting throughout your body as your vision flashes white. a plethora of broken whimpers spill past your lips, eyes shut tight — feeling every drag of satoru’s dick against your sensitive walls as he chases his high.
“‘m close.” he exhales, as your pussy strangles his dick, milking him with every thrust as he feels himself involuntarily spill inside of you. his hips are slamming into yours, thrust gut-deep before nuzzling his length as deep as possible into your pussy as his cock swells inside of you before pulling out.
instantly spurting cum onto your stomach as he grinds against your body as you’re both moaning, trying to catch your breaths.
you let out somewhat of a incoherent sigh as satoru collapses on top of you — sticky bodies flush against each other.
“so…” you sigh, snaking one of your hands against the back of satoru’s head, running your fingers through his soft locks as his arms wrapped around your torso.
“are you ready for your collab.” you ask, muscles feeling like jelly as you play in his hair. “yeah.” he hums absently, “i can go more rounds…” he breathlessly laughs.
using the replica dildo your nsfw content mutual!gojo satoru gifted you on stream. part one + inspo ask
ever since you’ve received that stupid gift from satoru, he hasn’t left you alone. constantly asking if the quality of silicone was that of a good quality. and asking if it felt like the real thing — a subtle hint of ‘did it feel like my dick?’.
but the truth is, you haven’t used it — you couldn’t even fathom the thought of how something so big could possibly fit inside of you.
“sooo… how’d it feel, hmm?!” satoru says over the phone, and you could practically hear the smile he’s biting back as your eyes flicker over to the hyper-realistic dildo.
it’s almost scary how similar the replica is to the videos of himself on twitter. the texture of the silicone is soft to touch, representing a faux skin. even the girth of the toy is surrealistic — the way your able to curl your hands around it, and squeeze it as the skin around it wrinkles in just the way satoru’s does when he’s fisting his dick on live.
“i already told you, toru.” you pan your attention back to the conversation. “i will not be putting that monstrous thing inside of me.” you reach a hand towards your phone, watching satoru’s lips curl downwards into that signature pout of his.
“monstrous?! you’re so mean.” he sighs, “thought you wanted a gift straight from japan, something you could even put to good use.” you watch his lips follow his words as he rambles on. his gorgeous, feathered eyelashes batting with each blink he takes, and the way his bottom lip is glossed over with a coat of his saliva.
satoru’s beauty always made you question how such a pretty face could be carrying something so, deadly within their pants. and you’d be lying to yourself if you said the thought of using the dildo never cross your mind at least thrice.
“not monstrous in a bad way, just you know…” you add to satoru’s mini yap-session. “this thing is way bigger than it looks on camera. if i put this inside of me, i’d probably die.” you say in an a way that left you speechless which earned a chuckle out of satoru.
“you’re not gonna die, we have infinite compatibility.” he grins, revealing the dimple at the corner of his mouth. “compatibility, or not it’s still gonna hurt like hell.” you reply, though there’s a little pause.
just a beat of silence before satoru responds. “should i fly over there and just give you the real thing instead?”
his tone is playful, but there’s a linger that makes it feel heavier than it should have. the kinda feeling that makes your stomach fill with warmth. “w— what, toru?! stay where you are!” you stutter out, a little flustered because he’s stupidly persistent and annoyingly bold.
—
and now you can’t help but wonder — what if satoru had flown to your city. what if your first taste of satoru’s dick didn’t have to be the replica he sent, but the real him… wondering just how warm your bodies would feel against each other. how, if it was too much, would he praise you through it? or would he accidentally bottom-out inside you?
a connection shared between you two in which a piece of silicone could never replicate.
so maybe that explains why you’re active at such an abnormal time — logged into your onlyfans during past hours, disregarding the posting schedule you had planned for unreleased content as you hit the ‘go live now’ button.
you rarely go live after midnight. and the one thing you didn’t expect was for your subscribers to be so active after midnight as the view count doubled, and tripled over the span of minutes.
though this wasn’t an ordinary live — no, this one was different. your setup was slightly ajar, as if you were in some sort of rush. you didn’t even use your camera display, instead you used some cheap tripod you found lying around your room and connected your phone to it.
the quality of your phone in dim lighting wasn’t the best, but at least your body’s still clear enough on the camera. you’re in nothing, but a thin-cottoned tank top and panties. your back against the mattress, thighs parted with your knees tucked towards your chest and the tripod is held between your thighs. exposing the damp spot of fabric practically molded onto the mounds of your lips.
it was honestly pathetic how wet you could get from just a few thoughts of delusion. inappropriately thinking of all the ways you’d take satoru at any time, and place. how knowingly he’d come running like a dog if you’d just say the word.
but you don’t have to say the words — not when satoru’s almost instantly pressing on the onlyfans notification with your username titled in bold.
“freakenuinelyy/n is now live!”
his screen being met with your body on full display during his lecture. he isn’t even in a moral environment to be watching something, so explicit as he makes his way to the nearest bathroom in the building.
and as unusual as it is for you to go live during the middle of the day in satoru’s timezone — he’s never missed a stream of you a day in his life.
satoru watches you through his screen. watching the way you tease yourself through those dangerously thin panties, as your fingers rub over your clothed clit. he loved hearing the soft moans escape from your lips whenever you’d touch yourself, it made the blood flow straight to his dick immediately.
you were like an addictive drug to him as he fumbled around to get himself free from out of his pants. mumbling under his breath once he began stroking himself to you, imagining just how perfectly you’d take him. how fucking beautiful you’d look underneath him while being stretch out by his dick.
he’d watch you tug your panties to the side, pupils blown as he focus on how soaked you were. like you’ve been edging yourself all day just to find relief at the end. satoru groaned at the sight of your hole clenching around nothing, practically begging to be stuffed as he squeezes his cock harder with a pleasurable wince.
your fingers graze over your clit, dipping down to where you’re soaked before gliding your index and middle finger through your slit with a moan as you bit down on your lip. that’s satoru’s favourite part because whenever your fingers dip down and disappear into that tiny hole, he can’t help but replace your fingers with the image of his cock sliding in.
he watches as he fists himself, biting back noises before realizing that your fingers never once dipped inside your pussy. instead you’re reaching for lube, and drizzling it messily over yourself as it drips down the inside of your thighs down the crevices of other areas.
a part of him is hoping that you reach for the gift he sent you, and not some other random subscriber’s gift. satoru wrapped his fingers around the base of his shaft, practically strangling it as he pauses his movements in anticipation. feeling the circulation slowly cut off, making him more sensitive as he watches you pull a dildo into the frame.
his dildo. the dildo he shamelessly begged you to use even though you’ve repeatedly told him no. “well, fuck me…” satoru let out a breathlessly chuckle, and threw his head back against the wall behind him as his dick involuntarily twitched in his hand.
this reality felt a little different than how he’d imagined it. his jaw tightened as he watched you glide the silicone between your folds, watching the way your slick coated the length, and how’d he wished it were him.
the size difference drove him absolutely insane, he even started to understand why you thought it wouldn’t fit as his eyes drifted towards the comments.
@torusthroatgoat: no fucking way that things gonna fit
@iswalakum: i’ve never seen dildo look THAT realistic before
@oggoonetter: wait … why’s that dildo look so familiar ??
@dilftojiidk: if you can take that like a champ, let me gift you something even better
@463352cs: is that theblueeyedgoat’s dick ???
satoru closes the comment tab while groaning, before he’s getting numerous notifications from twitter of people tagging him under your page.
“@theblueeyedgoat, @freakenuinelyy/n is using a dildo that looks similar to your dick?!?!!”.
the parasocial subscribers are going crazy. but nothing’s crazier than the jealous pit lodged at the bottom of satoru’s stomach. the way he watches you dip the head of dildo near your entrance, and hears the way you whine at the first attempt to push it in? he’s losing it.
satoru didn’t expect to feel a sense of inferiority… no, he thought watching you struggle to take his dick would be the best thing life had to offer, but that was completely wrong. he’d made the the biggest mistake of his life. and now he’s stuck paying the price — watching you gain pleasure from something that he should’ve tasted for himself.
the camera is shaking as you’re pushing the tip of the dildo against your entrance, struggling to fit the silicone inside. it’s too big, and you can already feel the stretching burn every time you push it deeper.
you’re cursing under your breath, small whimpers falling from your lips as you go for another attempt. this time more assertive than last as you gnaw at your bottom lip, feeling the slow, aching burn stretch you open as the head finally disappears inside of you.
there’s a strained lump in your throat that makes you swallow down hard because there’s no way you’re taking satoru’s ‘dick’ right now, in-front of thousands of people. and within those thousands of people there’s a certain someone watching… locked in a campus bathroom stall with his pants dropped to his ankles and a hand desperately fisting at his cock.
he’s watching you fuck yourself with the dildo he made you — the dildo he replicated just for you and yet he’s gritting his teeth, and tightening his jaw out of pure jealousy.
the way you’re so visibly tight around the silicone. how your breathing staggers each time you push and pull another inch of the toy in and out of you. even how you’re able to accommodate the size of something that looked physically impossible to handle.
it should’ve been satoru inching his way into you — he should’ve been the one splitting you open on his cock. you were supposed to be the one clawing your nails into the flesh of his back, while he felt you struggle to take him as he cooed you through the pain of it all.
or… that’s what he thinks should’ve happened instead of gifting you that stupid, fucking dildo he’s basically been cucking himself with as he watched the way your hole devoured the silicone repeatedly through the screen. thinking about how warm, and tight your insides would be while milking his dick for all he’s worth before he’s shooting a heavy load into the palm of his hand with a desperate groan escaping his throat.
satoru watches as you’re still rearranging your insides on screen while he’s still pulsing out ropes of cum, before he’s opening the chat box again. this time tapping his fingers against his screen.
“theblueeyedgoat has tipped $2000.”
and there’s a message sent along with the donation.
“you’re taking me so good princess. think ya’ can handle the real thing too?”
part three here
lowkenuinely tagging the ppl who wanted a part two, hope you enjoy !! ᰔ : @therealkenzieeee , @m1lfl0verrr , @oidloid , @novxccaine , @meennish , @miacutiepatootie , @gojomio , @luvxpink , @eyekoniccs , @grandqueen1533 , @itsthegrabber , @lumiq-q ,
“kiriiiiiiii.” you whine shutting the front door behind you. “ugh! kiri!!!” you kick your heels off and toss your purse on the bench.
“shit..” you hear him stumble out of his room. “what’s wrong baby? are you okay?” he’s in front of you in seconds.
“bad date.” you pout up at him.
“yeah?” he cups your cheeks. “i’m sorry.”
“dinner was ok.. but the sloppy makeout in his car was.. UGH!!” you toss your head back.
“i dunno where you find these guys.” he pulls you further into the apartment.
“tinder like.. you’d think they’d know anything from fucking so much.. but god he shoved his hands under my panties and just.. i had to pretend to cum to get him outta there.” you hug him from behind and press your forehead to his back.
“i’m sorry.” he pats your arm, jaw set, blush creeping up his neck.
“i just wanna cum kiri.” you whine. “and not with my vibrator.”
“i could.. you’d know.. if you want..” he doesn’t turn to look at you. “um help.”
“help how?” you giggle, scooting around to face him.
“however you want.” his pupils are blown. “anything you want.”
“with your fingers?” you tilt your head.
“yeah.” he nods.
“your mouth?” a sound escapes his throat.
“yes.” he’s practically panting.
“what if i want both?” you grin up at him, watching him squirm.
“yeah. i can.. both.. anything.” he can feel the heat pouring off your body.
“and if i want you to make your fingers hard while you’re fucking them into me?”
he scoops you up and carries you to his room, his fingers digging into the plush of your thighs. when he tosses you back onto his bed he watches you dress ride up and stares at the panties that some loser got to touch before him. he grabs your ankles and yanks you to the edge of his bed and falls to his knees.
“can i.. take these off?” he rubs his hands up your thighs towards your little lace panties.
“please.” you nod, propping yourself up on your elbows so you can watch him.
he hooks his fingers into the waist band and slowly pulls them down, groaning when he finally reveals your perfect pussy. he tosses them somewhere he’ll find later so he can wrap them around his cock and think about what he’s about to do.
“are you sure?” his breath fans across your heat making you squirm.
“please kiri.” your chest is heaving.
the first lick is tentative, nervous even, until he hears your whimper. he swirls around your clit, groaning when you shove your pussy in his face. he sucks the little bud into his mouth, focusing his tongue to lap agaisnt it until your thighs are shaking. he plans to make you cum with his mouth, then his fingers and then both.
“ngh! kiri! it’s s’good fuck y’so good t’me.” your fingers tangle in his hair.
he’s been imagining these sounds and the way you gasp his name for months. you give a sharp tug on his hair and he responds with a little nip at your clit, chuckling into you when you buck against him with a cry of his name. he teases your clit, point his tongue and flicking it over and over until-
“oh fuck! kiriiii!” your thighs slam around his head as your orgasm washes through you.
he licks you through it until you’re shaking, only pulling back to slides two fingers up your puffy pussy. “feeling good, baby girl?”
“mmmhm.” you look down at him with heavy eyes. “nghhh!” your toes curl when he presses a long finger into you.
“doing okay?” he slowly fucks his finger into you, cock throbbing at the sticky sounds that accompany it.
“nother! please kiri, want another.” you plead and he slips a second finger in.
he grins watching your head fall back to the mattress as he slowly fucks you. “don’t know why these dumbasses don’t know how to make you cum.” he mumbles. “‘s so easy.” he thumbs at your clit. “you’re so responsive.. all they gotta do is listen.” he curls his fingers and a high pitched cry leaves your lips. “there it is.”
you arch off the bed as he fucks his fingers into you faster, hitting that spot over and over. you let out little pleas of ‘hah- harder!’ and he knows what you mean so when you feel his fingers harden and the ridges scraping against your gummy walls your body goes taut and you burst all over his hand.
“that was quick.” he hums, dipping down, never stopping his fingers.
he sucks your clit into his mouth and you claw at his hair, pulling him closer and away all at once. “kiri! kiri ‘s too much! i’m gonna- ahh! gonna- nghhh!”
it’s instant that you cum again, messy, wet, everywhere. he slows his fingers, licking up the mess you made and groaning into you. he pulls his fingers out and licks them clean as he stares at you trying to catch your breath on his bed.
“that was.. better than my vibrators.” you blink at the ceiling.
“yeah, you’ve never been that loud.” he grins.
“what?” you squeak. “you hear me at night??” you prop yourself up on your elbows.
synopsis ✿ hakari is bad at answering your texts, so you decide to send his phone's notifications something better: fraud alerts as you max out all his credit cards
✿ BEFORE YOU READ ── female reader ; established relationship ; reader is a lil bit bratty ok but he likes it ; financially irresponsible reader LOL ; reader calls him kin-chan ; oral (fem receiving) ; edging ; unprotected vaginal sex ; creampie ; not proof read pls forgive typos and errors ok say u still love me :,)
꒰ word count ꒱ 4.1k words — ur telling me my first fic of 2026 is hakari smut . bro ur fucking lying to me HELP
꒰ commentary ꒱ yeah . so . i wanna be that ex that maxed out his cards SOBS. though i do not fancy being an ex so i think we will stay together thanks
It started out as a petty fight.
You hiss, you never answer my texts, Kinji!—and Hakari hisses back, don’t text me so many times when I’m busy, then!
And you decide he deserves it after that. He does. He never wants to check his stupid phone that’s in his stupid hand most of the time, so you give him a reason to check his fucking phone. You give him a reason to pay attention to the notifications that pop up on his screen, one after the other, because he deserves it. He does.
He deserves it when you charge his card. Once. Twice. Ten times. Even more.
If he won’t answer texts, you think, he’ll surely answer transaction alerts.
You start small at first—an overpriced jacket you don’t need (not when you always wear his, anyway). Then a pair of shoes. Then you decide your living room could use some remodeling, too—that couch could use a replacement. You get a sick thrill in it, imagining his screen lighting up with a message as you make one large, concerning purchase after another.
FRAUD ALERT.
A charge was made to your VISA credit card ending in 3467
Reply YES to confirm or NO to report fraud
You picture his eyebrow twitching. It makes you grin smugly at the idea. By the time you’re done, you’ve hit all three cards—and he seems to have let you, too. Not a single purchase gets canceled as a fraudulent transaction. You hit the limit on the third and hum in satisfaction to yourself.
Your phone buzzes immediately.
Kinji ♡:
What the hell are you doing?
You stare at the message. Let it sit. Let him feel ignored the same way he ignored you. Your phone buzzes again.
Kinji ♡:
Did you just max three cards in twenty minutes?
You ignore him yet again. And then, he actually calls you—and you stare at his contact photo with petty resolve as you let it ring until the call is missed. He doesn’t let that stop him, though, and sends another message.
Kinji ♡:
Pick up my call woman
He calls again, and you don’t listen to his demand. The call rings out again before you type back: Wow. So you do know how to look at your phone huh?
The typing bubble appears instantly.
Kinji ♡:
Don’t start
You scoff as you start anyway. Your thumbs type furiously before sending: I wouldn’t start anything if you didn’t fucking ignore me.
There’s a pause this time. A long one. You imagine him running a hand over his face in irritation, jaw tight, eyes sharp in that way they get when he’s trying not to snap. He’s good about not snapping at you, for as moody as he tends to be. He’s good about keeping himself patient when it’s you. Usually.
But your phone rings. You decline it. It rings again. Decline. Rings one more time. Decline. You can practically see the steam coming out of his ears, and you’re almost giddy by the image in your head.
He calls yet again—this time, it’s a FaceTime. You answer at the last second just to be petty.
“What,” you say flatly as soon as his face pops up onto the screen.
“What,” he echoes, incredulous. “That’s it? S’all you got’ta say? Are you out of your mind?”
“You said don’t text you so many times,” you shrug. “So I found another way.”
His eyes narrow. “So you maxed out my cards?”
“You weren’t answering.”
“Was this s’posed to make me answer?”
“It made you call me, didn’t it?” you grin cheekily, giving him an annoyingly victorious look.
His mouth opens. Closes. His gaze flickers, eyes narrowing at you. Annoyed—he’s thoroughly annoyed. Still, underneath it, something else. Something warmer. Something that looks…dare you say, a little too much like amusement.
“You think this shit is funny?” he asks.
“I think you finally responded. Just like I wanted.”
There’s a beat of silence. He’s studying you with a look that makes you shiver slightly, even if he’s only looking through a screen. Then he leans forward, closer to the camera. His voice drops.
“You need my attention that bad, huh?”
Your stomach flips despite yourself. “Don’t flatter yourself. I don’t need your attention—you’re supposed to answer me when I talk to you. That’s the principle of things.”
“Yeah? So makin’ stupid purchases is the principle of shit, too? S’that it?”
“Yeah,” you say stubbornly, “it is, actually.”
He studies you. Over it—he’s so over you and your petty drama and the schemes you always seem to have pulled out of nowhere to give him a migraine. He’s over it. But he’s also not—because then he gives you a sharp snort. “You’re lucky I can afford your fuckin’ nonsense.”
“I know,” you snap in return. “That’s why I used your cards.”
For a second, you think he’s going to yell when his face twists in surprise at your audacity. But then, instead, he laughs. It’s loud, obnoxious. A cackle more than a laugh, and your eyes narrow at the fact that he is not taking you as seriously as he should. Not when you could do some serious damage to his credit score.
“Unbelievable,” he mutters. “You’re a damn, spoiled brat. I ought’ta teach you some appreciation for hard-earned money.”
“You hardly earn anything,” you shoot back. “You gamble it. Like everything else—one of these days you’re not going to gamble wisely how long I’ll put up with your shit.”
That wipes the grin from his face. The line goes quiet.
“Don’t antagonize me, woman.”
“I can’t antagonize you when you’re ignoring me,” you reply smartly. He doesn’t seem to like that.
“I’m not ignoring you,” he counters, “I’m out here makin’ money that you just tossed down the drain like a damn brat.”
“You’ll make it back.”
His eyes flash. “That’s not the point.”
“Then what is?”
“The point,” he says, rolling his eyes, “is that you’re fucking spoiled.”
You shrug. Yeah, you’re a bit spoiled. You are. So what? He makes you spoiled. He gives you his cards, and he lets you spend on them as you like, and he pays good attention to you when you’re there. You’re spoiled because what else would you be? He makes you this way, and then he complains like it’s your fault.
But it’s not. And you make sure to tell him.
“That’s on you,” you say flatly. “Not on me.”
And that, as you expected, is his final straw. “Stay there,” he hisses.
“What?” you flutter your lashes innocently, “what’s that mean?”
“It means. Stay. There.”
And then he hangs up, and you lean back in your bed with a ghost of a smug smile on your face.
Twenty minutes later, your door is swung open, and an agitated Hakari is walking into your shared room with a look on his face that has you clenching your thighs together. He’s not happy. Unhappy Hakari means he’ll fuck you right—fuck you hard and good and proper until he’s no longer unhappy.
“You need’ta learn to be patient,” he grits.
“You need to learn to answer your texts.”
He clicks his teeth in irritation. You always talk back—way more than you should. Way more than you used to before you learned he lets you get away with pushing his buttons like that.
“Next time,” he says, crowding into your space as he leans down to hover over you, “if you want my attention—” his hand hooks around your waist, pulling you flush against him, “—you ask. Nicely. With manners.”
Your heart is pounding too loudly. Too filled with anticipation. There’s a distinct ache between your legs, and you’d be a little embarrassed if you weren’t so excited by it.
“You didn’t answer when I asked,” you huff.
His thumb tilts your chin up. His gaze is piercing as he scoffs at your stubbornness. “So then you be patient. But it’s okay,” he adds, eyes glinting again, “you’re paying me back.”
Your jaw drops. “Excuse me?”
“In installments,” he says smoothly, giving you a hungry grin. “Starting now.”
And then he kisses you. Hard.
It’s a rough kiss. It’s all teeth and tongue, and relentless in that way that steals the air straight from your lungs. You hardly have a moment to take a breath in between, and he doesn’t pause to let you have one, either. But your body wants him even if your lungs protest—your hands fist into his jacket automatically, pulling him closer like you’ve been waiting for this exact moment since he pissed you off to start with.
He makes a low sound against your mouth—satisfied. Hakari is satisfied when you melt into his touch. He’s satisfied when you can’t help but let whatever snarky sentence it is you’re about to say die off in your throat as he keeps that mouth of yours occupied.
“Installment one,” he murmurs against your lips, pulling away.
“You’re insufferable,” you breathe.
He slides a hand under your shirt, thoroughly pleased to find no bra there to serve as an obstacle in his wandering palm’s path. His hand squeezes around a tit, and you gasp against his lips as his thumb teases over your nipple.
“Installment two,” he gives you a cocky look. “Installment three is a little pricier, you know.”
“I can afford anything,” you shrug easily.
He raises a brow. “Yeah? Is that why you use my card?”
“That’s exactly why I can afford anything,” you grin, and it’s a cheeky little thing that you flash him.
He gives you an irritated look at that—there’s no real heat behind it, though. You know you’re right. Hakari can afford it. That’s why he gave you his cards in the first place. But you like that look on his face when you talk a little too much and sound a little too smart for your own good.
He doesn’t say anything else. Just moves to hover between your legs as he slowly pulls your sweats and your panties off in one swift movement. You’re already dripping—that much gives him a bubbling sense of pride. It makes him scoff to himself a little, too. You’d go through any lengths just to get a little attention from him, wouldn’t you? he thinks to himself. And he likes it, a little. Likes that you need him and want him so passionately, so fervently. So desperately.
“I’m taking my payment now,” he mumbles, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses along your thighs. He grins as you shiver. Feels himself hardening between his own legs when you try to spread your legs wider and make more room for him in anticipation.
“Your payment is to reward me?” you ask, giving him an amused look.
He snorts, giving you a look in return that’s even more thoroughly entertained. “You keep hoping, baby.”
With that, he’s buried in your cunt. His nose bumps your clit as his tongue licks a stripe along your entrance, and you gasp at the sensation. He dips his tongue past your folds, groaning at the taste of you, and the vibrations against your heat make your eyes flutter shut as you whine. You grind yourself down into him more, trying to feel the pressure against your clit and feel him press deeper past your folds, but his large hands keep a firm grip on your waist, holding you in place.
“K-kin,” you moan, “s’not enough—”
“This is my payment, not yours,” he grunts, “keep quiet.”
That shuts you up because, well, you know, brattiness will do you no favors right now. You display a rare moment of restraint, and he takes what he wants with his tongue, tasting you slowly, deliberately. Maybe even a little cruelly, with how achingly long it takes for him to give you what you need.
“Please,” you gasp, voice shaky, “p-please, Kin.”
“Say you’re sorry, then,” he says.
You lift your head up and stare at him in disbelief. Sorry? He wants you to say sorry for being ignored? After he caused this petty argument and your petty show of defiance? You press your lips together in a firm line before letting out a huff that tells him all he needs to know.
You’re not apologizing. And he doesn’t seem to be bothered. If anything, he seems excited—his pupils dilate as he watches your stubborn behavior.
Maybe because you’re so stubborn is why Hakari likes you so much. Maybe because you’re firm and resolute and…passionate about what you want and how you’ll get it is why he’s so enamored by you. You don’t stop. Never know when to quit. Never know when a limit is a limit and when a boundary is a boundary. All you know is when to cross them. When to push them. When to be in a fever-induced state of your desires, and you don’t break the fever until they’re yours.
“Not gonna say it, huh?” he mumbles, “okay. Suit yourself, brat.”
Then his fingers sink into you—and your arch your back at the intrusion with a soft cry. His fingers are thick. Thicker than yours and longer, too—that’s why you always need him so badly. He can give you better attention than you can give yourself. He likes the idea of that, even if it does tend to make you even more demanding of his time.
His tongue moves to lap at your clit, dragging back and forth along the sensitive bundle of nerves as his fingers work in and out of you, stretching you open and coating his digits in your arousal. Your head falls back against the pillow, and you let out a sharp cry of pleasure when his fingertips brush along your sweet spot.
He knows you. Knows your body. Spent a good, long amount of love-filled labor to learn it so well. Burned himself hot and bothered getting to know it better than he knows himself. He paints quick circles along your clit with his tongue while his fingers work slow and deep into your folds, every thrust of his wrist taking its sweet time to fill you with the pressure of his touch.
“M’close, Kin,” you breathe after a bit, voice strained as it comes alongside labored pants.
He raises a brow. “Yeah? Is that right?”
“Uh-huh,” you nod.
Sweet little thing you are. You look so pretty and fucked out just from this—he takes a moment to stare at it a little longer before he pulls away completely.
Your body jerks at the sudden stop, and your head lifts as you stare at him in pure disbelief. It aches—right between your legs, at the apex of your thighs, there’s a sharp, uncomfortable pressure that makes itself painfully noticeable. You can feel the deliberate throb of dissatisfaction he leaves you with, and you’re not happy.
“Hey!” you hiss, “I was…I was gonna—”
“Cum?” he interrupts, “is that it? You thought I was gonna let that happen so easily? No, baby—you gotta work for it. So you know it ain’t easy earning your payments.”
You’re about to argue, but he’s already stripping out of his own clothes, and that gets you relaxed instantly. He’s going to take you now—which means he’ll fuck you good. Fuck you right. You have enough reason to let his act of cruelty slide when you can look forward to that. His shirt comes off, and you can now stare at the hard planes of muscle along tanned skin, and if that view isn’t enough, the sight of his stiff, leaking cock is when he’s kicking off his boxers.
He smears the pre cum dripping from his tip before his fist wraps around himself and he strokes once, twice, then a third time, and he groans low and deep at that. His eyes pinch shut, and his teeth press into his bottom lip as he curses under his breath before pulling away from his length. Instead, he takes to hovering over you, giving you an expectant look as he lines himself up with your pussy, but doesn’t quite give it to you, just yet.
“Say you’re sorry,” he hums, tip nudging just past your folds, but not quite pressing into you just yet. You give him a defiant glare, but he only grins, “C’mon, baby. You know how to use your words—I taught you that much, at least.”
“M’not sorry for anything,” you huff.
“Hm,” he chuckles, “that’s a shame.”
The thick head of his cock pulls out, tapping against your clit. It’s coated in you. Coated in a mix of your slick and the pre cum that spills from his slit—it’s filthy. Messy. You’re fucking aching to feel him fill you up and make things even messier.
But Hakari is taking his sweet time. He has enough restraint for now that you’re positive you won’t get what you want until he makes a lesson out of this. A lesson you are unwilling to learn so easily.
“Stop fucking teasing me, you asshole,” you hiss, angling your hips to try and press into him. He pulls away, chuckling as he gives you a cocky, amused look.
“You have’ta say you’re sorry, baby,” he insists, “that’s the only way you’re gettin’ what you want. I can’t have you spoiled more than you already are—I’d be making more trouble for myself.”
You glare, and he seems to relish the feeling of pulling that look from you. The tip of his cock presses back into your folds, making you gasp as you buck into him desperately. He’s fast, though. Pulls his hips back just enough to make up for the little bit of distance you managed to bridge between the two of you as you attempt to sink down on him. He’s pulled away enough that he’s still just barely pressed into your cunt, just the tip teasing your entrance while he grabs your hips and keeps you still.
“Kin,” you whine, “s’not fair!”
“Course it is, baby,” he snorts, “you did some serious damage to my bank. Got all the shit you wanted. You think I’m giving you what you want again?”
“You should,” you huff, “I deserve it.”
“You will once you say you’re sorry,” he corrects. “Now say you’re sorry like a good girl—you know you like being good for me.”
That much is very true. He’s right. You love being his good girl—the one who gets to slide next to him on the couch when he’s drinking at some shady club, the one who gets to curl up on his lap when he’s in a crappy mood, the one who gets to feel his rough hands turn oddly gentle when you need him close.
You like being his good girl. His girl. You like being his.
You huff through a pout as you ask, “I can still keep all my things, right?”
He rolls his eyes at your question. But you’re spoiled by his own doing, after all, and Hakari has a habit of giving to you just as often as you take. So, he grunts, “Course you can.”
You beam. His eyes soften just a fraction. “Fine,” you murmur, “I’m sorry, Kin-chan.”
Kin-chan.
His pupils all but dilate when you call him that. They always do—it’s cute, you think. Cute that he cares what you call him. Cute that you mean enough to him that he wants it to be something laced with familiarity.
“Yeah?” he murmurs, leaning down as his hands move to grab yours. They lace with your fingers before he lifts them to pin each hand over your head. “You’re sorry, huh?”
“Mhm,” you nod, gasping as his cock pushes into you deeper, slowly, inch by inch. “Yeah, I am.”
“Sorry for what, hm?”
He’s halfway pressed into you. He’s taking his sweet time. Pushing the thickness of his length little by little so you can really feel him stretch you out. Carve you to fit him. Mold you so only he can sink into your cunt and take you this way.
“S-sorry that I—hah—used your money,” your voice shakes as the last of him sinks in with a deep thrust of his hips. He hums at the sound of your words, lips hot and searing against your jaw as he presses kisses along the angle of it.
You shiver as you feel the vibrations of his voice along your skin, hands squeezing his as he murmurs, “No, you’re not,” he snorts, “but that’s okay, baby—you know I like it when you push my buttons.”
You do. When you push Kin-chan’s buttons, Kin-chan fucks you like he means it. When you give Kin-chan a reason to give it to you hard, he fucks you with passion. Burns hot with it as he snaps his hips into you and pulls you closer, pulls you flush against him. When you act spoiled rotten with Kin-chan, that’s when Kin-chan knows he’s loved you good. Loved you hard. Loved you hot with fever.
“And I like it when you fuck me,” you whine, “so maybe you should get on tha—oh.” You break off with a soft moan.
“You’re always so fuckin’ spoiled,” he grunts as he makes you cut yourself off with that sharp, unpunishing thrust of his hips. You know what that means. He’s had enough of waiting.
He pulls his hips back so that his cock has almost slipped out completely before slamming into you again. You gasp, arching into him. You can feel the sweet reward of friction—every ridge and every vein dragging along your slick walls before the blunt head of his cock presses against a particular spot in the back that makes your eyes see white.
You are spoiled. Because Kin-chan turned you spoiled. And a spoiled you makes Kin-chan excited, try as he might to act like it doesn’t. It’s just the way things happen. How you both just are. How that cycle always tends to just go.
You burn hottest when you want something, and he burns hottest when he gets to give it to you.
“Don’t you love me when I’m spoiled?” You give him a pouty look. It doesn’t last too long, though, because he rolls his hips and your face scrunches with pleasure.
He gives you a throaty laugh, his hand grabbing the ankle hooked on his shoulder before he turns his head and gives your calf a soft kiss. “You know I do, you crazy fucking thing,” he mumbles. You clench around him at that, and he laughs again. “You know I love you.”
“Then don’t ignore me,” you warn.
“Yeah, whatever,” he rolls his eyes.
He leans forward, all but bending you in half as he snaps his hips faster, bullying past your folds with a sloppier pace as he starts to get closer and closer to his own high. His lips find yours, pulling you into a hot, breathy kiss. Your hands wrap around him, clinging to him as your nails dig into his skin. He likes that. Gives you a low grunt of approval as the sting makes itself known.
“C-close,” you whimper, “m’so close—fuck!”
“That’s it,” he hums in satisfaction, “cum for me, then.”
A few more punctuated thrusts of his hips and you do. You feel that familiar coil in the pit of your belly snap, and that build-up of pressure break free between your legs. He works you through it—makes sure to drag his cock along your sensitive walls hard and fast as they flutter around him and squeeze him in.
“Kin!” you gasp through the height of your pleasure. Your ears are ringing, but you can just barely make out the satisfied sound he makes when you say his name, so you slur it a few more times just for him.
He groans as you squeeze around him with every spasm of your walls, muttering, “S’so fuckin’ tight,” under his breath before he’s claiming your mouth again, kissing you so you can swallow his own sounds as he follows right after you.
You feel him twitch before he’s filling you up—hot, thick ropes of his seed pumping into you while he stills for a moment and shivers. When you’ve both come down from your highs, he slumps down beside you on the bed, pulling you against his chest, where you happily curl up.
“Learn your lesson?” he grumbles. He follows it with a delicate kiss to your forehead because, of course, he does.
“Yup,” you hum happily.
“And what’d you learn?”
“Kin-chan loves me so much, he’ll let me buy whatever I want and fuck me for it,” you smile. Still so cheeky. Still so smug.
It burns him with excitement just looking at that defiant little spark in your eyes. “Yeah?” he laughs, “well alright, then. Guess I just have to teach you a little harder.”
a/n: this was supposed to be freak!zu and somehow it became domestic 💔
thinking abt roommate!izuku who is slowly turning you into his lil housewife. like you complain about your job once and he’s telling you to quit saying you’re too pretty to stress about anything.
he’ll wave you off when you say it’s too much for him to pay for everything and says he doesn’t mind as long as you cook and clean and places a kiss on your forehead before heading out for the day.
he gets rock hard when he steps into the apartment and finds you in the kitchen in a cute frilly apron making him dinner and you turn to him with the widest smile saying it’s a new recipe and telling him to come try.
and he leans in behind you while you cook and rests his chin on your shoulder, wrapping his arms around your waist, whispering the softest words that bring heat to your cheeks.
after really long days he’ll come home and just collapse on the couch and you stand behind him and rub his shoulders, pretending that every groan isn’t going straight between your thighs.
“c’mere pretty girl. just wanna hold you.” he pulls you around the couch and down onto his lap and wraps his arms around you holding you close.
“you work too hard.” you hum, running your fingers through his hair.
“gotta keep the wife happy.” he lets out a breathy chuckle.
“then.. lemme help my husband relax while dinner cooks.” you pull back.
you’ve felt how hard he’s been since you’ve sat down and you’re quick to pull him out of his pants and pump him a few times. he watches you with parted lips and starts to shove up your dress. he tugs your panties to the side and slides his fingers through your folds like he’s already mapped you out.
you lift up and slide his tip through your slick before lining him up at your entrance and slowly sinking down. your toes curl as he splits you open, hands trembling on his shoulders as his eyes stare into yours.
the moment you ass meets his thighs, he’s pulling you into a sloppy kiss and grinding his hips up into yours. you’re gasping into his mouth, rocking against him unable to keep a rhythm.
“i got you.” he mumbles, holding your hips and fucking up into you.
and he’s not fucking up into you with a purpose he’s just slowly plunging in and out of you. sighs slip past his lips, fingers dug into your plush as he loses himself to your perfect pussy.
“my pretty wife.” one of his hands cups your cheek. “so perfect and so sweet.” he nods. “cooks and cleans and then rides me after a long day.”
“i.. i wanna ride you zuku.. lemme- ngh! lemme take care of you like a good wife.” you nod, thighs shaking as you start to bounce.
when you start to actually ride him, his head tips back and his grip breaks on your waist. you feel the coil in your tummy and chase your pleasure knowing he’ll cum with you by the sounds coming from his lips.
“izu!” the first pulse of your orgasm pulses through you.
“fuck.” his fingers dig into you again.
you keep humping against him when you feel his warmth start to fill you. he yanks you against his chest, stilling you and panting into your neck. the timer goes off on the oven and you pull back.
“dinners almost ready.” you smile and press a small kiss to the corner of his mouth and get up.
“wanna get married?” he calls after you watching his cum leak down your thighs.
— “do i really need to be shirtless for this?” hajime asks gruffly, sitting neatly on your dorm floor as you write on a piece of tape, godzilla t-shirt tossed unceremoniously on your bed.
your anatomy exam is coming up, and you’ve been studying like your career depends on it (spoiler alert: it does), but you’ve been going batshit crazy just staring at your notes. so what better way to get off the books than to hang out with your boyfriend?
“yes,” you reply, placing ‘pectoralis major’ on his chest. “it wouldn’t work the same if you had a shirt on. active recall, visual learning, and such.” “right,” he mutters, brow furrowed as he watches you. “so…?” “so, flex your deltoid,” you demand. “c’mon, haji. this is important.” he flexes his shoulder obediently, looking away as you stick another label on his body.
you’re kind of surprised hajime agreed to this in the first place; though honestly, you really didn’t give him much of an explanation, simply texting him, “come to my dorm @ 10pm,” with no further instructions. you laughed when he called at 9:42 saying he was at the building, having to hold it in as you led your bright-eyed boyfriend into your room.
“you will be to blame if i don’t pass this,” you tell him, revelling in the slight twitch of his body as you slide a finger over his skin to pat down the adhesive. “right. can’t have that,” he says under his breath. you snicker. despite his reluctance, he’s not angry. maybe just disappointed. you’re not worried, though. he’d get what he came for soon enough.
sneaking a glance at him, you quickly scribble ‘teres minor’ on another scrap of tape. hajime’s ears are bright red, but his bottom lip is pursed up and his jaw is tight. tell-tale signs of his enjoyment.
“i know you’re a little embarrassed, but i need you to lift your arm up for me,” you tell him sweetly, tape hanging from your fingertips. hajime lets out a flustered grumble in reply, dim light highlighting hard planes of muscle as he accedes.
“it’s kind of itchy,” he says, after a moment. “well, it’s tape,” you answer matter-of-factly, pasting ‘frontalis’ on his forehead, then look at him doubtfully. “also, you need to stop scowling. you look cute when you’re not scowling.” “‘m not scowling,” hajime says under his breath, but his eyebrows relax immediately. you bite the inside of your cheek. cute.
another couple minutes pass by as you continue to stick labels on him, humming a tune while you treat your poor boyfriend like a whiteboard.
“...how long will this take?” hajime asks, stiffly, two pieces of tape hanging off the hollows of his cheekbones. you stretch out, making a big show of checking the clock on the wall. it’s almost midnight. “i’m basically done,” you reply. “i’m not going over the accessory muscles.”
hajime tilts his head, narrowing his eyes knowingly at you. “yeah, just wanna know, so i’m not peeling gemellus inferior out of my butt tomorrow,” he remarks wryly. you mirror his expression, enthused. “hah. i forgot you know this already.”
hajime pinches your inner thigh playfully. it doesn’t hurt—he could never hurt you—but you yelp anyway, more tickled than anything. “hey, i’m pretty smart, you know,” he reminds you, smoothing over the subtle sting with a callused thumb.
you scoot over towards him, running your hand down the label reading ‘rectus femoris.’ “i know you’re pretty smart,” you say, gaze locked on his, “otherwise i wouldn’t allow you to be sitting shirtless on my floor.” you pull, and the screech of tape being taken off skin is the only sound in the room for a second.
the sudden dilation of his pupils makes you laugh through your nose. “oh, that’s all,” hajime says lightly, body hot under your touch. “because i’m smart.” “and muscular,” you add, leaning over him as he sits back on his forearms, watching you intently. “mm, that’s part of it?” he asks, voice just breathless enough to make your stomach tighten.
“yeah,” you murmur, hooking a fingernail under ‘external oblique.’ your eyes drop to his bare chest, then drag back up to his face as you smile. “do you take a makeout session as gratuity for your model work?”
hajime swallows, his jaw fluttering. a blush blooms over his cheeks and he rolls his eyes. “that’s what i thought you called me here for,” he mumbles, warm hand coming up to rest on the curve of your lower back as you giggle. “c’mere.”
he peppers your face with soft kisses, leaving wet marks. your laughter fills the small room when you feel something sticky on your cheek.
“haji, i can’t take you serious with that stuff on your face!” “take it off, then!”
hello. folks. birfday post 4 me and him cuz we junebugs like dat
the prank lasts exactly 4 minutes and 32 seconds because any longer than that and he'd probably start opening a powerpoint presentation titled "signs my girlfriend secretly hates me: an analysis."
he's dropping you off somewhere before heading to practice. everything is normal. suspiciously normal, actually. you're in the passenger seat stealing fries from his bag while he's parked outside your destination.
"yoichi, i literally took like six fries."
"you took eleven."
"wow. counting them is kinda possessive."
"they're my fries."
and then right before you get out, he leans over, presses a quick kiss to your forehead, and says it automatically.
"i love you."
normally you'd say it right back. today?
you smile. "thanks."
…
the silence is immediate.
isagi hasn’t moved, hand still on the steering wheel.
"thanks?"
"mhm."
"thanks."
"yeah."
you open the car door. he doesn't stop you. because he's busy trying to process what just happened.
you get maybe three steps away before your phone starts vibrating.
isagi: what does thanks mean
isagi: like thanks thanks???
isagi: or
isagi: THANKS
isagi: wait don't go inside yet
you ignore him. another text.
isagi: did i do something
isagi: was it the fries
isagi: BE HONEST ABOUT THE FRIES
by minute two, he's already replaying every interaction from the past week.
by minute three, he's convinced he accidentally upset you and somehow forgot.
by minute four, he's sitting in the parking lot looking like a man whose favorite soccer cleats just got launched into the ocean.
finally, you come back to the car.
"yoichi."
"yeah?" he answers so fast you'd think he was waiting for you to come back (he was).
"i love you."
the relief is VIOLENT. this man actually groans. full-body relief.
"oh geez."
"what?"
"don't ever do that again."
"do what?"
"YOU KNOW WHAT."
and then he's immediately embarrassed because now you're laughing at him.
"i wasn't spiraling."
"you texted me 14 times."
"okay, but only because i was being strategic!”
sure, king.
itoshi rin
the prank lasts 5 minutes exactly because rin is somehow the most difficult person to prank and the easiest person to emotionally damage at the same time.
it's late. you're both in bed. rin is half asleep already, which means he's entered that rare state where he's actually affectionate instead of pretending he isn't.
his arm is around your waist. his face is buried in your shoulder. everything is peaceful.
then he mutters, "i love you,” so quietly you almost miss it.
and instead of saying it back? you pat his head. like he's a dog.
"aw."
…
rin slowly lifts his head. the expression on his face. it’s devastating. offended. but most of all, confused.
"aw?"
"mhm."
"what does that mean."
"it means aw."
"are you stupid."
"that's kinda mean, rinnie."
"i said i love you."
"and i said aw."
the stare he gives you could peel paint off walls.
he spends the next few minutes pretending he doesn't care. keyword: pretending.
because suddenly he's suspiciously awake. suspiciously quiet. suspiciously staring at the ceiling. you can practically hear the gears turning.
eventually, he rolls over. away from you. dramatically. which is how you know he's bothered.
three minutes later: "if you're upset about something, just say it."
"i'm not upset."
"then why didn't you say it back."
"say what back?"
he turns around immediately. hook. line. sinker.
"don't play dumb."
at the five-minute mark, you finally laugh and grab his face.
"i love you, too."
rin stares. realizes. stares harder.
"... fucking hell, you're annoying."
and then immediately pulls you closer. because he's not letting you escape after that emotional terrorism.
itoshi sae
the prank lasts 3 minutes and 10 seconds because sae identifies the prank almost immediately.
you're at the airport. he's leaving for training overseas again. it's one of those annoyingly cinematic goodbye moments.
you hug. he kisses your forehead. adjusts your jacket. then says, "i love you."
and you hit him with: "that's crazy."
…
sae’s expression remains the same. but he blinks. once.
"that's crazy?"
"yeah."
"that's your response."
"mhm."
he narrows his eyes. and immediately knows. there is absolutely no panic. no confusion. only pure annoyance.
"you're doing something."
"doing what?"
"getting on my last nerves."
"wow."
"how long are you planning to keep this up."
you don't answer. he already won. he figured it out in two seconds flat.
so now he's just waiting. watching. letting you commit to the bit. which somehow makes it worse. because you can't even enjoy the prank now. he's treating you like a child who proudly drew on the walls with crayons.
after three minutes, he finally sighs.
"are you done."
"with what?"
"this prank or whatever it is."
"..."
"you started smiling before you even answered."
caught red-handed.
when you finally admit it, he just shakes his head.
"you're terrible at lying."
"you still said i love you first though."
"because i do."
and then he walks away before you can tease him further. only to turn around 5 meters later and point at you.
"don't try that again."
he definitely smiled afterward though. you just weren't there to see it.
nagi seishiro
the prank lasts 4 minutes and 1 second because nagi becomes weirdly clingy the second he suspects something is wrong.
it's morning. he's leaving the apartment. very slowly though. since every task in nagi's life is performed at 0.75x speed or slower.
shoes on. bag packed. sleepy kiss. everything normal.
"i love you."
"okay."
…
nagi stops putting on his shoe.
"... okay?"
"yeah."
"okay."
"mhm."
another pause. he stands up. narrows his eyes at you. sits back down.
"that's weird."
"what is."
"you."
"wow."
he ignores that. because he's now conducting a full investigation. you can literally see him thinking. which is very rare. nagi usually avoids thinking whenever possible.
by minute two, he's abandoned all plans of leaving. practice? irrelevant. his entire focus is on you.
he ends up laying across your lap like a giant cat.
"do you still like me."
"what."
"just checking."
"where did that come from?"
"because you usually say it back."
and now he's staring up at you. unblinking. this man becomes a human lie detector when he wants attention.
minute three? he's holding your hand.
minute four? he's got his face squished against your stomach.
"if you're mad at me, can we solve it tomorrow."
"why tomorrow?"
"too tired today."
you burst out laughing.
"i love you, too."
nagi immediately relaxes.
"oh."
"... oh?"
"okay."
"that's it?"
"yeah."
a pause.
"let’s cuddle all day?"
mikage reo
the prank lasts exactly 5 minutes because reo is accidentally the funniest victim imaginable.
he's dropping you off after a date. everything went perfectly. he paid for dinner. opened doors. looked pretty. the usual.
when you get out of the car, he smiles. that stupid charming smile that works on everyone.
"i love you."
and you respond with: "thank you for your service."
…
reo's smile vanishes.
"my WHAT."
"your service."
"am i in the military???”
"maybe."
"what does that mean??????”
you close the door. walk away.
reo is already out of the driver's seat.
"HEY."
the next five minutes are incredible. because unlike isagi, who spirals internally, reo spirals externally. he needs answers ASAP. so he's following you down the sidewalk.
"what service?"
"the service."
"WHAT SERVICE?"
"thank you for it."
"STOP WITH THIS RIDDLE ME THIS RIDDLE ME THAT CRAP??? PLEASE???"
by minute two, he's listing possibilities.
"did i forget an anniversary."
"no."
"your birthday."
"no."
"did nagi say something."
"why would nagi be involved."
"he's involved in most of my problems." (fair.)
minute four? he's deadass bargaining.
"if you're upset, i'll buy you food."
"reo."
"two foods."
"you just took me out to dinner?"
"three."
when you finally crack and tell him “i love you, too,” he just stands there staring. processing. recovering. recalculating. then he points at you.
"okay."
"okay what?"
"war has been declared."
"reo–"
"don't reo me. you're getting karma for this."
the scary part? unlike everyone else on this list? reo absolutely means it. he's already planning revenge before you've even finished laughing.
bachira meguru
the prank lasts 4 minutes and 22 seconds because bachira starts off thinking it's funny, then somehow manages to convince himself you've secretly stopped loving him, then convinces himself you're joking again, then gets sad, then gets confused, then gets distracted by a bird, then gets sad again.
you're both walking home after grabbing snacks from a convenience store. bachira is happily swinging your joined hands between you two while rambling about some random training story.
he's halfway through describing a goal he scored when he suddenly stops.
"oh, by the way."
"hm?"
“i love youuu."
without missing a beat, you reply, "that's nice."
…
bachira physically stops walking.
"that's NICE?"
"mhm."
"like… a sweater?"
"yeah."
"like a coupon?"
"those are nice, too."
he stares. you keep walking. so he follows. slowly.
"wait."
"what?"
"that was weird."
"was it?"
"very."
for the next two minutes, he's practically orbiting around you. walking ahead. walking beside you. walking backwards in front of you. trying to inspect your face for signs of unusual activity.
"do you still love me?"
"why?"
"you didn't say it back."
"maybe i forgot."
"YOU FORGOT? DO YOU REMEMBER NOW?"
he looks genuinely horrified. is love a homework assignment you accidentally left at home?
minute three is when he gets dramatic. he wraps himself around your arm.
"if this is because i stole your chips yesterday, i can explain."
"you ate the whole bag."
"they were calling to me 😭”
when you finally laugh and admit it was a prank, bachira gasps. then immediately starts laughing, too.
"help, i was about to start performing."
"performing?"
"yeah. i was gonna win your love back."
"how?"
"serenading you with a song i made just now.”
shidou ryusei
the prank lasts 3 minutes and 3 seconds because shidou refuses to believe you don't love him back.
you're hanging out on his couch. he's laying upside down with his head in your lap because sitting normally is beneath him.
out of nowhere, he grabs your hand. kisses your knuckles. and grins.
"i love ya."
you glance down. "cool."
…
shidou starts CACKLING. full-body laughing. tears in his eyes. wheezing. because he genuinely thinks you're joking.
"good one."
"what?"
"the bit."
"what bit?"
slowly… the laughter dies.
"pause. you're serious?"
"about what?"
"THAT."
suddenly, he's sitting upright. pointing at you.
"nuh uh."
"nuh uh?"
"NO."
"what does that mean?"
"means i reject your reality."
he literally refuses to accept the prank.
minute two becomes a courtroom trial. shidou presenting evidence.
"exhibit A: you made me pancakes yesterday."
"okay?"
"people don't make pancakes for people they don't love."
"that's not true."
"OBJECTION."
by minute three, he's grabbed your cheeks, squishing your face with one hand. while the other holds those black and white hypnosis spiral videos.
"you love me."
"do i?"
"yes."
"..."
"yes."
"..."
"YES."
you break first because his confidence is absurd. the second you admit it was a prank, he cheers like he won a championship.
"LET'S GOOOO."
he acts like he conquered an enemy nation.
karasu tabito
the prank lasts two minutes because karasu notices immediately (as always), but decides to see how far you'll take it.
you're sitting together in a café. karasu's scrolling on his phone while waiting for your drinks.
before standing up to grab them from the counter, he leans over. quick kiss. easy smile.
"i love ya, pretty girl."
you nod. "appreciate it."
…
karasu slowly lowers his sunglasses.
"appreciate it…?"
"yeah."
"that's what we're doin’ today?"
"doing what?"
he already knows. you can see it. he already knows.
but instead of calling you out? he starts playing along. and suddenly, you're the one in danger.
"appreciate it is crazy."
"i don't know what you mean."
"oh? then i'll start respondin’ like that, too."
you narrow your eyes. he grins.
minute one becomes a competition.
"love ya."
"thank you for your feedback."
"love ya."
"your application has been received."
"love ya."
"we'll get back to you in five to seven business days."
now both of you are trying not to laugh.
by minute two, karasu finally points at you.
"alright. game's over."
"what game?"
"the one yer losin’."
"i'm not losing."
"yer smilin’."
caught.
he looks so smug afterward. ugh, him and his stupid sexy brain.
kaiser michael
the prank lasts 2 minutes and 47 seconds because kaiser is physically incapable of handling rejection.
you are in his hotel room. he's getting ready for an interview. already dressed. already pretty. already insufferable.
before leaving, he checks his reflection one final time. then casually says, "ich liebe dich, schatz."
the confidence. the arrogance. the certainty you'll say it back.
and then you hit him with: "mhm."
…
kaiser slowly turns around. "excuse me?"
"hm?"
"mhm?"
"yes.”
he stares. absolutely scandalized.
"that's all?"
"what else would i say?"
kaiser is having a genuine crisis. because in his mind there are only two possible explanations: 1. you're joking. 2. society has collapsed.
minute one is denial.
minute two is interrogation.
"are you upset."
"no."
"you’re lying."
"no."
"yes."
"mihya."
"yes?"
"you're panicking."
"i don't panic." he says while actively panicking.
the funniest part? his ego won't let him admit he's bothered. so he keeps trying to act cool. which makes it painfully obvious.
eventually, you start laughing. and his eyes narrow immediately.
"you little–”
"i love you, too."
the relief is instant. but followed immediately by offense.
"you think that's funny?"
"very."
"unbelievable."
he spends the next hour complaining. while holding your hand.
ness alexis
the prank lasts 3 minutes and 26 seconds because ness genuinely thinks he messed up.
and oh boy. the guilt hits FAST.
he's about to leave for training. already standing by the door. bag over his shoulder.
before leaving, he smiles softly. that rare smile he only really shows you.
"i love you."
and you respond with: "drive safe."
…
"sorry?"
"drive safe."
"i heard that part."
the poor man looks so confused. immediately trying to figure out what happened.
"did i do something wrong?"
"no."
"are you sure?"
"yes. i’m sure."
"really?"
"yes."
"really really?"
it's been thirty seconds. THIRTY. and he's already conducting a full investigation.
he sets his bag down. takes his shoes back off. training forgotten. this is more important.
minute two? he's apologizing for things that happened months ago.
"was it when i forgot to buy milk?"
"ness."
"or when i accidentally spoiled that show?"
"ness."
"or–"
he looks like a kicked puppy. the saddest puppy imaginable. you almost crack immediately.
by minute three, he's sitting beside you, looking genuinely worried.
"if something's wrong, you can tell me."
and that's when you finally surrender. because now you feel bad.
"i love you, too."
the relief on his face. INSANE. this man practically melts. then realization hits.
"... wait. was this a prank?"
"... maybe."
ness stares. long and hard. before dramatically flopping onto your shoulder.
"why would do that to me? 💔"
and then five seconds later, he's hugging you again because unfortunately for him, he loves you way too much to hold a grudge.
halfway through his list of reasons he's toying worh himself through his pants, stroking and moving it, showing off the outline. his other hand is over your shoulder, gently brushing fingertips over your tit.
"you know i'm huge, right?" he says. "Pornstar big."
"Shut up."
"i'm serious. im massive." "touch it and see."
when you go to reach, he's pushing down his pants to give you a proper handful of the biggest cock you've ever seen-
one negative aspect of having a professional gamer boyfriend is that on the rare occasion you want to go out to celebrate a fun holiday, he's busy streaming and can't come with you.
most of the time when he doesn't want to go out with you, after enough pleading and begging and doe-eyes, because he's whipped he'll eventually come around and the two of you actually end up having a nice time together. however, on this occasion he is shockingly firm in his notion that he cannot go out to celebrate with you, because he's already scheduled a halloween livestream for his fans.
which is annoying, but you don't worry about it too much because you know there is one tactic that you have yet to try that will undoubtably work and cause him to cancel his stream to spend time with you instead. and that is:
ragebait.
for your 'halloween costume', you didn't even need to buy anything new for it because all it consisted of was a black bra, a black miniskirt (which you cut even shorter), a cat ears headband and a clip-on cat tail, all of which you already own (unsurprisingly). then, you would draw whiskers on your face with eyeliner.
of course, this wasn't your true costume. but merely a decoy costume that you would use to elicit a reaction out of him. your plan was that, once kenma saw that you were going out in something so egregiously revealing, his protective boyfried instincts would kick in and he would insist that he comes with you to the party.
or at least, that's what you thought would happen.
in reality, when you appearing in the doorway on his bedroom, twirling and making all sorts of fuss over your 'amazing' costume, all kenma did was spare you the briefest glance and mutter, "you look nice. have fun tonight."
the doorway wasn't in view of his camera, which is why you felt comfortable doing another twirl, and trying to show off your outfit (or lack thereof) again. "i don't think you got a proper look at it the first time, kenma." you urge. surely if he wasn't freaking out by now, it was probably because he didn't see it right. "c'mon, take another look."
he sighs, and mutes his mic. this time he turns fully towards you, giving you his undivided attention and getting an unobstructed view of your skimpy costume. though, he still didn't seem bothered.
"you're a black cat, that's cute. i like your tail." he points at it, and you can't help but swoosh it around a little. "i hope you have fun tonight. sorry that i couldn't come with you." just as he is about to turn back to his stream, you interject,
"can you at least kiss me goodbye?"
he smiles warmly at you, and nods. "yeah. there's a break coming up in five minutes. i'll meet you at the door."
"okay." you murmur, defeatedly leaving the room and kicking the air as you do so. you can't believe your masterplan didn't work, and that, more importantly, he doesn't seem disturbed at all that you're going out in virtually nothing.
well, you're obviously not really going out in this; even on halloween, you'd just arrested for public indecency. but you can't let him think you were bluffing (even though you were), so you'll probably just sit in your car for a while and watch something on your phone, maybe go to a drive-thru and get a bite to eat. something like that.
dejectedly, you pad to the foyer and put your heels on. and as promised, a couple minutes later kenma joins you. he strolls up to you and pulls you in for long hug, which you reciprocate, even allowing yourself to melt into his embrace slightly. which you immediately regret when you move to give him a kiss and he jerks away.
"huh?" you splutter, staring at him with wide-eyes; a crazed expression like someone who had just been shot. "my goodbye kiss?"
kenma snickers, and nods again. "here." he says. and you're not quite sure what he means, until he gets on his knees in front of you and wraps his hands around your thighs, shuffling closer towards you so his head was right between your legs.
your thighs instinctually press shut and a flustered heat rises to your cheeks in response to his unexpected actions, "what about your stream?"
"paused it. i told them that i needed to give my girlfriend a kiss goodbye. so, let me give you a kiss." his thumbs dig into your thighs, and despite your initial confusion, you soon allow him to part your legs and duck under your skirt, where he's met with a peculiar sight.
"no panties?" he mutters while pressing kisses on the inside of your thigh. "that's risky considering how short your skirt is."
"i just— i forgot to put them on." you splutter, as if that was any more belieable than you choosing not to wear them for aesthetic purposes. regardless, that only makes it easier for his tongue to make contact with your sweet folds.
he licks and sucks at your cunt, lapping at it like a parched man until your entire pussy is glistening with a mix of his saliva and your juices. he pays special attention to your clit, nipping at it to tease you and and fiercely sucking it between his teeth, causing your knees to tremble at his attack on your sensitive bundle of nerves.
he spits on your hole to moisten it , yet it feels so affectionate. he does this repeatedly to prep you, and uses two fingers to push the it inside you, to ensure it fully lubricates you. yet, there's still strings of arousal and spit hanging from your hang and spilling down your thighs.
"ready, kitty?" he asks hoarsely, with his mouth still connected to your cunt, so you feel when his lips creep into a smirk at the silly nickname. "want it?"
"yeah.." you whine, feebly grasping at the edge of your skirt for an inch of solace.
"how bad? tell me how bad you want it, princess." he says, pulling his head back, out from under your skirt so he can glare at you. however, this doesn't work out in his favour, because when he sees you're glossy lip trembling and your angelic eyes gazing down at him innocently, he immediately folds.
"you're lucky you look cute as a cat. i can't make you beg for it when look so sweet." he huffs, diving back under your skirt, only so he can lick one final stripe across your cunt before plunging his tongue into your sopping hole.
you recoil at this forceful action, but he holds you firmly in place. "stay still." he commands, speaking more into your pussy than he was to you. "let me take care of you." your pussy drips around his tongue while he loses himself inside you. thrusting in and out at an erratic pace and curling in all different directions in deperate attempt to locate your gspot.
his hands caress the back of your thighs while his tongue slams into your cunt over and over, with such force that it almost splashes back in his face. "so tight.." he groans, the vibrations tickling your clit just right and ripping a shriek-like moan from you that echoed through the whole foyer. his tongue wormed around your insides, while his lips still worked on slurped up your excess and stimulating the rest of your pussy. "mpph, fuck, you taste like heaven, kitten."
you're unsure how long this went on for, but by the end of it, the coil in your stomach had been wound so tight by kenma's unabating and expert tongue abusing your gspot and his lips destroying your clit, that you were sent into the most mind-numbingly intense orgasm. your walls were spasming and your moans were so loud that they wrapped back around and bacame largely silent. and you're knees buckled under you, and kenma had to grip your waist and slowly lower you down.
"shit.." you curse, laying on the floor and staring at the ceiling as you struggle to catch your breath.
"hope you're satisfied with your goodbye kiss." kenma smirks, finally getting up from knees and heading back to his room where he was streaming, but not before giving you a peck on the cheek first.
you didn't even have the energy to leave the house after that. which upon greater consideration, you realise may have been apart of kenma's plan all along. hmph.
TSUKISHIMA 🕸 x pirate
wrapped up in your fitted corset and pirate costume, you're stood in front of the mirror, adding the finishing touches to your makeup before you're ready to head out.
just as you're adding a final dash of blood to the fake wound on your face, you can feel his unwell presense as he enters your room, without even looking away from the mirror. partially due to the frequent sniffling. although, before he fully comes in, he lingers in the doorway for a moment, crossing his arms as he gives your costume a once-over. "a pirate?" he scoffs.
"yup." you hum, refusing to pay him any attention and staying concentrated on completing your sfx makeup.
and despite noticing your deliberate attempts at ignoring him, he contiues, "not historically accurate at all." he scowls, eyes glued to your body. but that was perhaps in part due to the fact you were wearing a flowy white blouse that barely covered your ass, ripped tights and a cinched corset. of course you had other accessories too like a prop sword and a hat, but the bodice alone was enough to elicit complaints from your boyfriend. "why would swashbucklers wear corsets and heeled boots?"
very opinionated for a man burdened with the flu. you could tell he was just trying to get a reaction out of you, and your suspicion is only confirmed when you turn around and see a shit-eating grin plastered on his face. hence, you sigh and collect your stuff, preparing to leave for the party, "thanks, tsukki. i'll keep that in mind for next years costume." that amount of sarcasm was enough to amuse even tsukishima.
"hey. i just don't want you to go to that party, and everyone starts making fun of you for having a historically inaccurate costume." he places his hand on the side of your head and lovingly strokes your head with his thumb, "you don't deserve that." there was a shocking amount of sincerity in his voice for a man who was clearly joking. but for some reason this display of pity had you inwardly swooning and melting into his stupid, illness-infected hand.
"thank you, kei. but i think i'm willing to take that risk."
"suit yourself." he shrugs, shifting his hand behind your head and pushing it so he can pull you in for a hug. as you wrap your arms around each other, he says in a nasal tone, "have a good time tonight. sorry i can't come with you." then, you feel his spare hand snake down your back, until it's resting on the curve of your thigh, at the very edge of your blouse. "i'll be here when you get home."
at first you think it's sweet that you're usually standoffish boyfriend is being so affectionate. that is, until you think the hug is over but he pulls you in again. okay, maybe he just wants it extra long because you're going to be out all night, that's fair. but then after an additional thirty seconds, you try to pull away again and he just squeezes you even tighter.
that's when you realise. "you don't want me to go, do you?"
"why is your dress so short?"
"oh my god, kei!" you groan, yanking yourself away from his crossing your arms over your chest, affronted. "stop being so overbearing. you're not my parent!"
"fine. go to your stupid party." he grumbles, looking away awkwardly, "don't yell at me. i'm sick, remember?" he fake coughs twice.
such a drama queen, how do you put up with him? you ask yourself. "okay. thanks. goodbye, tsukishima." you sigh, collecting your stuff and heading towards the door. until, he interrupts one last time by calling out after you:
"wait. at least let me give you something before you go."
famous last words. now, he had you bend over the bed, with your dress hiked up and your panties pushed to side while you rammed into you from behind. his fat cock splitting your cunt open repeatedly, while your face was half-pressed into the sheets, surely smudging your makeup in the process, but were far too lost to care.
you're hole quivered around his length and you're knuckles were painted white with how hard you gripped the duvet beneath you. it was frightening how much stamina he had for someone who has been virtually bed-ridden with illness all day. it's like he managed to shake all the unwellness off himself in an instant, and is now back to drilling into you at his typical furious pace.
your walls squelched at each thrust, and your juices leaked out of your pussy, which he used as lubricant as he rubs his fingers over your clit. "oh, fuck, kei.." you groan, legs tensing as the wet friction causes electric jolts through your core. and despite this stimulation, his fierce drilling into your tight cunt never ceased for even a moment. he's adamant on keeping you stuffed. "mmph— ts— tsukki!"
"can't dress like slut and expect me not to fuck you like one." he grits, keeping an iron grip on your waist while letting his other hand freely roam your back. it would wander up and give you teasing tugs on your hair, forcing you to look up at the wall in front of you. then it would retreat downwards to grab and squeeze at fistfuls of your ass, like he owns it. "you think just cos i'm sick that i'm not gonna fill you up? please." his point is underscored by the sniff he does halfway through, due to his blocked nose.
due to his hips constantly slamming down against yours and his dick fighting against the restrictions of your tight hole, it wasn't long before he lost himself in your heat and finished inside you — no rubber so his seed was left to conjest your walls and paint your cervix.
audibly breathless, he pulls out, and you can feel the mix of liquids he left behind him drool out of your cunt. though he hastily sorts that out by fixing your panties and adjusting the fabric so it's snug against your pussy again. pleased with his work, he gives you a quick pat before collapsing down next you on the bed. you've never seen him so worn out after sex before, but you figure it's expected considering he's poorly today.
"have fun on your night out, sweetie." he snickers. if it wasn't made clear he was being condescending by your shivering, fucked-out figure on the bed, that is in no state to be going out clubbing. then, the fact he called you 'sweetie' is a dead giveaway — he typically only calls you petnames when he's being patronising.
"and sorry for messing up your makeup. but considering your costume, you'll be glad i gave you something to keep warm."
BOKUTO 🕸 x fluffy bunny
his strong arms snake around your waist as soon as you pause for one second, just to touch up your mascara in the mirror. you try to pay him little attention, as you're already in a rush, but that becomes difficult when he nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck and you can feel him grin against you.
"aren't you just the cutest little bunny ever?" he laughs, hugging you from behind, so close that you can feel his muscled chest against your back and it's a little distracting. he continues to press open-mouthed kisses onto your neck, and for a moment you wonder whether he's already drunk from the pregame, or if he's being his normal lovey-dovey sickeningly-sweet self.
"thank you, kou. but we need to hurry." after placing your mascara back in your purse, you march straight towards the door. however, bokuto doesn't let go of your waist for some reason and ends up stumbling along behind you. "we're already running late."
bokuto finally drops the hug, but only so he can stand up and admire the sight of your ass almost peeking out of your short dress while you're bent over, scrambling to put your shoes on. he's especially excited by your fuzzy little pompom tail that was sewn onto the dress, just under the small of your back. in fact, you're whole outfit was just so cute, he could hardly bear it. those floppy rabbit ears, the sparkly makeup that makes your face glow, even the fluffy bracelets you wore.
naturally, he couldn't help but give in to his lesser urges, and reach forward to squeeze your pompom tail. it was only sewn onto your clothes so you didn't even notice, until his other hand followed suit and grabbed a fistful of your ass.
which automatically caused you perk up and gasp, "kou!" you stand up straight and instantly whip around to face him, only to be met with a his wobbly smile and prominent redish flush. yeah, he's definitely tipsy.
"c'mon! look at that tail! it's too adorable not to grab." he chuckles, making the motion with one hand, while the other trails down your leg, kneeding your thigh. "such a sweet bunny. can't believe you're all mine."
his head flops onto your shoulder but you're quick to push it upright again, so he can look you in the eyes as you declare, "thanks. but there's no time. we're already super late, bokuto, so we need to hurry. do you understand me?"
"ughh." he tosses his head back dramatically and groans, "why do you we need to go? why can't we stay home and so i can fuck my little bunny's brains out all night?" he pouts, glossy-eyed and seeming genuinely disheartened.
"do you not want to go?"
"no." he states firmly, shaking his head, and almost losing balance in the process. "i want to spend tonight with you, baby. hang and fuck like rabbits— hah, get it?"
"i do." you grimace, quickly pivoting, "but you promised kuroo that you would go to his costume dinner and you said you've been looking forward to th—"
"fuck kuroo and his costume dinner!" he yells definitively, before pulling you in my the cheeks for a dramatic yet sloppy kiss. at first you're astounded and try to say something, but then you realise there's no point in arguing with him since he seems to have made up his mind. all you can do now is enjoy your night.
your lips crash against each other, and you can feel his erection as he flagrantly grinds it against your thigh. your stomach flipped at the sensation and the reminder of just how big he was; your panties slickened in preparation to take him.
you eagerly hike up your dress and try to further close the distance between you and bokuto, but you drunkenly forgot that you were in middle of putting your heels on, so you lose balance and stumble forward in his arms. however, he ends up faling backward as a result, which you landing on top of him. thankfully he braced himself so neither of you were hurt. now you were strandling his thigh, while he's laid on his back.
after a couple of moments frantic 'you okay?'s back and forth, followed by some hearty laughter, he pulls you down to resume kissing passionately. his large hands roam your body, possessively rubbing every dip and curve, and further hiking up your skirt to reveal your dampened panties.
"shit, you're so perfect, baby." he moans, but with such an anguished undertone, it almosts sounds like he's in pain. "i need you so fucking bad. my sweet girl." while one hand tenderly cups your face, the other reaches down to free his cock, which he haphazardly manoeuvres it until the tip is rubbing against your clothed cunt.
you whine into his mouth, then clumsily tug your panites aside, relishing in how his shaft drags along your wet cunt. the friction alone drives you insane, and you let out a deep sigh of relief once he finally slips himself inside your hole and you get that lewd stretch you've been waiting for.
your knees are planted on the ground on either side of him, yet you're far too involved in the heated make-out session to bother ride him. even when you briefly tried, the alcohol immediately started to hit, making it virtually impossible to stay coordinated without fumbling or getting dizzy. thus, while you kissed, bokuto planted both hands on your ass and utilised this grip to slowly drag you up and down on his cock.
emphasis on slowly. inch by fucking inch, it drove you crazy. you'd never gone this slow with him before, usually he pounds into you like a madman but not he was letting you feel him and fully experience the friction of his dick against your walls. giving you time to get familiar with every last vein and curve.
"you comfortable, bunny?" he holds your head with both his arms, hugging you to his chest in a comforting manner, as you struggle and whine while taking his whole length. "cos i think we're going to be here all night."
ATSUMU 🕸 x cheerleader
"are you ready to g—"
atsumu barges into your room, and notices you stood in front of the mirror, fixing up your hair. you even turn to flash him a smile, yet he still looks utterly dumbfounded. then, he quickly bows his head and retreats, muttering, "sorry, i thought you were done changing."
"wait!" you call out after him, and he freezes in his tracks. confused, you clarify, "what are you talking about? i'm already dressed. plus, even if i was in the middle of changing, when has that ever stopped you in the past?"
you giggle, and you expect him to laugh at your joke too, but instead he just turns to you, wearing the most horrified expression you've ever seen. "your dressed?"
"yes."
he motions to what you're wearing. a top that was so cropped it resembled a bra, with the word 'cheer!' written across it. and a matching glittery microskirt. atsumu felt light-headed just looking at it. "that's your whole outfit?"
you tut, crossing your arms over your chest and rolling your eyes. "no, of course not."
atsumu huffs the biggest sigh of relief, practically hunching over as he does so. "good, that's what i thought. so what are you missing? a jacket? leggings? the rest of your shirt?" he throws the suggestions at you, but you think it's better if you just show him.
you shuffle over to your bed and pick up the two cheerleading pom-poms you bought, and excitedly shake them around. "these!"
atsumu's face abruptly drops into a frown. "that's it?"
"yup." you nod happily. but there's a beat of silence, during which atsumu's unusual lack of commentary — ironically — tells you everything you need to know. "what? you don't like it?"
he grimaces, opening his mouth to say something before realising that there's probably a better way he could approach this situation. "don't you think you're going to get cold in that?"
"no." you shake your head, and pout. from his demeanour alone you can tell that the problem is, you're hasty to whine, "you just don't like my costume!"
"huh? i didn't say that." he furrows his brows, cautiously edging towards you with an arms outstretched, as though he was trying to offer his scent to a volatile cat. however, in this case, he lets his fingers tap at the exposed skin of your waist, and despite your gloomy attitude, you let out the slightest 'hmph' of approval, which he takes as permission to wrap his arms fully around you.
holding you in his ridiculously warm and loving embrace, he hums, "i love your costume. wish you'd dress like this when you come and watch my matches with the jackals. looking in the audience and seeing you wearing this," he steps back and admires your outfit, squeezing your waist as he does so, "would give me some real motivation."
"the wrong kind of motivation." you tease, nudging his crotch where you can feel his length stiffening against your thigh.
he litters kisses from your collarbone up to your ear, where you can then hear him growl, "n' that's your fault for having your whole ass out." he puntuates his point by delivering a harsh slap on your cheek, and chuckling when you yelp and bounce in his arms at the impact.
there's a momentary lull, as his hand drags from your thigh, up between your legs until the pad of his finger is grazing your labia through your panties. the subtle yet perverted touch is enough to send shockwaves up your spine, and mixes with the arousal in your abdomen that was also caused by his gruff voice in your ear, "it's a shame we didn't meet in high school."
"y—you think?" is all your able to stammer out, as your panties are tugged aside and his fingers shamelessly delve between your damp folds.
"yeah. i would've loved a hot cheerleader dancing for me at all my matches." you can feel his lips pull into a smile as his daring fingerwork causes you to squirm in his arms. his middle finger would prod at your clit before two would slip into your soaked hole. they'd remain relatively stagnant at first, allowing you to adjust to it before they started to move.
"we had a cheerteam but they weren't anything like you." his hot breath burned your neck; he was so near to you, and there was no where you could go to escape. by now his fingers were rapidly pumping into your pussy, while his chest was pressed against yours and his arms are wrapped around you. even his face is slotted into the curve of your neck. you were as close as close could be.
"fuck, if you were there cheering for me though.. in this slutty little outfit." he chuckles at the comment, though his heart races at the mere thought of you as a real cheerleader for him. his eyes drifted shut and he let himself get lost in the fantasy. "god, i don't know what i'd do. probably try to get my hands on you first."
"yeah, yeah, you'd be mine. then i'd bend you over under the bleachers the first chance i got and fuck your lights out." you don't know if he realises it but the longer the rambles on, the rougher he gets with you. his fingers drill repeatedly into your wet hole like a machine, until you're emitting squelching noises with each thrust. he's got such a stern grip on you, his knuckles are white and his nails are virtually digging into your thigh. while his other hand is wrapped around the back of you, with his index and middle finger feverishly abusing your pussy while his thumb presses against your asshole, just to keep you in place.
"shit, you don't know that you're stupid costume is doing to me.." his breath his heavy, and so is yours. but in your case, it's due to the fact that his fingers are curled in such a way that he's repeatedly hitting your sweet spot, and white spots are beginning to cloud your vision as you eventually submit to your orgasm. a climax that leaves you a whiny, shivering mess in your man's arms.
"tsu—atsumu!" you cry out, being partially muffled by his chest. your hole feebly flutters around his unrelenting digits, and he shifts his spare hand up to cradle the back of your head. he kisses your earlobe and whispers, "that's it, baby. ride it out. c'mon."
once the molten grit in your stomach dies down, atsumu slides his finger out of you and you're able to catch your breath. although the orgasmic lust still lingered in your mind, it was usurped by the remaining desire to go out and party on halloween, so you find the strength to utter groggily to him, "aren't we going to go out?"
atsumu laughs and affectionately tucks a strand of your costume-wig hair behind your ear. while making eye-contact, he states bluntly, "no."
"why not?" you immediately whine in protest.
in a shockingly gentle manner, he explains, "honey, you can go out half-naked any other day of the year. but this is the only night i can fuck a cheerleader under the bleachers."
before you're able to even question what he means, he rummages around in the pocket of his jacket and pulls out his car keys. flashing you a smile, he offers you his jacket, and then his hand, "hm?"
cw: size kink, pussy drunk! bokuto, unprotected sex, overstimulation, manhandling, reblogs and comments are very appreciated!!<3
“Fuck—‘m sorry, baby, I can’t—I can’t stop—”
Bokuto’s voice was wrecked, his breath hot against your skin as he slammed into you, holding you down like you’d disappear if he let go.
His massive frame caged you in, thick arms wrapped around your waist, keeping you still as he fucked into you with desperate, hungry thrusts.
You were already so fucked out, legs shaking, body limp beneath him, but Bokuto—Bokuto wasn’t done.
“T-too much—‘Koutarou—!”
“Nah,” he groaned, pressing his forehead to yours, eyes wild, blown-out and glassy. “Feels too good, baby. So tight—fuck, I swear you’re getting tighter—”
A deep, broken moan ripped from his throat, his hips shuddering as his fat cock dragged against your sensitive walls, hitting spots so deep they made your toes curl.
“S’too big, ‘Ko—!” You sobbed, your hands gripping his biceps, fingers barely able to wrap around the thick muscle.
“You can take it,” he panted, voice dripping with something dangerously sweet. “Know you can. My good girl—always takes me so well.”
He pulled out almost all the way before snapping his hips forward, burying himself to the hilt in one brutal stroke, making your back arch off the bed.
“Ohhh, fuck, yeah,” Bokuto whined, his voice breaking as he ground himself deep, rolling his hips like he was trying to mold you to his shape. “Fuck, baby, you’re squeezing me so good—gonna make me cum so fast—!”
His cock throbbed inside you, his thick veins pressing against your walls, sending sparks of pleasure up your spine. You felt so full, stretched to your limit, your stomach bulging just slightly from the sheer size of him.
Bokuto groaned at the sight, pressing his palm to the little bump, feeling himself inside you.
“Shit, look at that,” he murmured, his voice dropping into something almost dangerous. “Splitting you right open, huh? Fuck, baby, you were made for this dick—made for me—”
Your walls fluttered around him, and Bokuto gasped, his grip on your hips bruising.
His pace stuttered, thrusts turning erratic, desperate, his breath ragged as he buried himself as deep as he could go.
“Gonna fill you up, baby,” he moaned, his voice breaking. “Gonna make you so full—fuck, take it—take all of it—”
With a final, wrecked groan, Bokuto spilled inside you, his whole body trembling as his cock twitched, filling you with thick ropes of cum. He shuddered, pressing his face into your neck, still rolling his hips in slow, deep thrusts, pushing it all deeper.
“Shit,” he panted, arms tightening around you. “Still so hard—can’t get enough—”
And with the way he was already rutting back into you, his cock twitching, aching for more—you knew he meant it.
AUTHOR‘S NOTE: BOOMSHAKALAKA THANK YOU ALL FOR THE GREAT SUPPORT
I haven’t read this essay in… twelve years? I think? But someone (ETA: that someone was @whetherwoman who deserves the credit) linked it today and rereading it was a) a treat and b) honestly really helpful. If you, like me, want to write smut but often find it difficult, this essay may help a LOT.
