mdni. suguru volunteers to models for your art class and you didn’t expect him to have such a perfect dick.
you fidget with the edge of your sketchbook in the empty studio. the room smells like turpentine and charcoal, familiar and safe, but right now your stomach is doing flips.
suguru leans against the table across from you, arms crossed, long black hair loose over one shoulder. he’s wearing a loose white shirt and gray sweats that hang low on his hips, and even fully clothed he looks like something you’d spend hours trying (and failing) to draw right.
“so,” he says. “you need a model for anatomy homework?”
you nod too fast, cheeks already warm. “yeah. um. life drawing. nude. if—if that’s okay. i mean, you can totally say no, it’s super weird to ask your friend to just—”
“relax,” he cuts in gently, pushing off the table. “i said yes, didn’t i?”
you swallow. he did say yes, casually, over coffee yesterday, like it was nothing. but now that it’s real, your heart is hammering.
he steps onto the low platform in the center of the room, kicks off his slides, and grabs the hem of his shirt. you’re supposed to be professional—this is art school, you’ve seen naked models before—but this is suguru. your suguru. the one who sits beside you in figure drawing, who shares his fancy pencils when yours break, who always smells faintly of sandalwood and clove cigarettes.
he pulls the shirt over his head in one smooth motion, tosses it aside. the light hits his chest perfectly—lean muscle, defined but not bulky, the long line of his torso tapering to narrow hips. a thin happy trail disappears under the waistband of his sweats. your mouth goes dry.
he hooks his thumbs in the waistband and pauses, one brow raised. “you sure you’re good? you’re already blushing.”
“i’m fine,” you lie. you flip open your sketchbook too fast, pages flapping. he smirks, but doesn’t call you out. instead he pushes the sweats down, steps out of them, and straightens.
oh god.
he’s… perfect. long legs, strong thighs, the sharp cut of his hipbones. and between them—jesus—he’s half-hard already, thick and heavy, curving slightly up against his stomach. it’s big. stupidly big. you’ve never seen one that size in real life, and definitely not on someone you’ve been low-key crushing on for months.
you force your eyes up to his face. he’s watching you with that half-lidded look he gets when he knows exactly what he’s doing to someone.
“where do you want me?” he asks, voice velvet.
you gesture weakly at the stool. “uh. seated? one leg up, arm on your knee? classic contrapposto but… sitting.”
he settles onto the stool, one foot on the floor, the other knee drawn up. his arm drapes over it, hand hanging loose. the pose opens his hips just enough that his cock rests against his thigh, thick and impossible to ignore. the head is flushed darker, a bead of moisture already gathering.
you pick up your charcoal with shaky fingers and start blocking in the big shapes. shoulder line, ribcage, the long curve of his thigh. but your eyes keep drifting. every time you look up he’s staring right at you, calm, unashamed, like being naked in front of you is the most natural thing in the world.
after ten minutes your face feels like it’s on fire. you’re breathing shallow, thighs pressed together under the easel. you can feel how wet you are—embarrassingly wet—just from looking at him.
he shifts slightly, making his cock bob against his leg. “you okay over there? you’re breathing kinda fast.”
“fine,” you squeak. “just—just concentrating.”
“mm.” he tilts his head. “your ears are red. and your neck. actually your whole chest is flushed.” his gaze drops deliberately to where your thin tank top clings. “cute.”
you press your lips together, trying to focus on the shadow under his pec, but your hand trembles and the line wobbles.
he chuckles softly. “you know, most models don’t get this kind of reaction. you’re making me feel special.”
“shut up!”
he stretches, rolling his shoulders so every muscle shifts under golden skin. his cock lifts with the movement, fully hard now, curving up toward his navel. the bead at the tip trails down the underside.
you make a tiny, involuntary sound.
his eyes darken. “getting hot over these, artist?”
you bite your lip, charcoal smudging on your fingers. “you’re… distracting.”
“am i?” he sounds innocent, but the way he spreads his thighs a fraction wider is anything but. “thought you needed accurate anatomy.”
“i do,” you whisper.
he leans forward slightly, elbows on his knees now, cock hanging heavy between his legs. “then look closer. don’t be shy.”
you can’t help it. your gaze drops, lingers on the thick vein running along the underside, the way his balls draw up tight, the faint sheen of sweat at the base. when you drag your eyes back up he’s smiling.
“you’re soaked, aren’t you?” he murmurs. “bet those little shorts are ruined.”
your charcoal snaps in your hand.
he laughs. “don’t worry. i won’t tell anyone our prim little art student gets wet drawing her friend’s dick.”
you drop the broken charcoal, hands shaking. “suguru—”
“you’re shaking,” he says, voice low, almost rough. “can’t draw like that.”
he shifts on the stool, thighs spreading a little wider, and wraps one big hand around the base of his cock. it’s fully hard now and a fresh bead of precum wells up as his fingers close around it.
“think i need to get rid of some tension before we keep going,” he murmurs, giving himself one slow stroke from root to crown. his thumb swipes over the head, spreading the slick, and his abs flex when he exhales. “that okay with you? you can watch. or look away if it’s too much.”
“yeah,” you whisper. “it’s… okay.”
he hums, pleased, and starts moving his hand properly—slow, deliberate pulls that make his cock glide through his fist. the wet sound of it fills the room. his grip twists a little on every upstroke, just under the head, and his hips rock forward like he can’t help it.
“been like this since you asked me to strip,” he says, eyes locked on yours. “watching you stare and try not to was fucking killing me.”
you swallow hard. your nipples are tight against your tank top, and you know he can see it. heat is pooling low in your belly, slick soaking into your panties. you shift your weight and he notices—of course he does. “touch yourself if you want,” he says casually, like he’s offering you a pencil.
you shake your head, too embarrassed, but your hands won’t move from where they’re clenched at your sides. watching is already too much.
he speeds up a fraction, breath hitching. “fuck, you’re cute when you’re all worked up.” his free hand slides up his own stomach, fingers tracing the lines of muscle, pinching one nipple hard enough to make him groan. his strokes get firmer, louder—skin on skin. precum drips over his knuckles now, making everything shiny.
“look at that,” he mutters, tilting his wrist so you can see the way his cockhead bulges through his fist on every pass. “all because you couldn’t stop staring.”
he’s breathing harder, chest rising and falling, hair sticking to his forehead with sweat. his balls are drawn up tight, heavy, and every time his hand drops low they shift like they’re aching.
“close,” he warns, voice rougher now. “gonna make a mess. you sure you’re good watching?”
you nod frantically. “please.”
that does it. his head tips back, throat exposed, a low groan dragging out of him as his hips jerk. thick ropes of cum shoot across his fist, splattering his stomach, one stripe hitting high enough to catch on his chest. he keeps stroking through it, slower, milking every last drop until it’s dripping down his shaft and over his fingers.
the sight punches the air out of your lungs. you’re throbbing, soaked, dizzy with it.
he finally lets go, cock still half-hard and glistening, cum cooling on his skin. he looks at you through the fall of his hair. “better,” he says, voice husky. “think you can focus now?”
you shake your head honestly.
he laughs, soft and filthy. “yeah. didn’t think so.”
he wipes his hand on his discarded shirt, then stands, closing the distance in two steps. he’s still naked, still smeared with himself, and towering over you.
“your turn,” he murmurs, thumb brushing your bottom lip. “or we can skip drawing altogether.”
︵ ೀ mdni. suguru wants what he’s not allowed to have ( dubcon / non-con thoughts )
suguru always knew you were off limits.
satoru’s little sister. the one person on earth his best friend would actually kill him for touching. he repeated it like a prayer every time you walked into the room in those tiny sleep shorts, hair still wet from the shower, pretending you didn’t notice him noticing.
but sometimes he wondered if you did it on purpose—the way you’d bend just a little too far to grab something from the fridge or stretch lazy on the couch so your shirt rode up. innocent? maybe. but the glance you’d shoot him after made him think you knew exactly what you were doing.
he’d force his eyes away, repeat the mantra: off limits. off limits. but his body betrayed him every time, cock twitching at the thought of pinning you down and making you admit it.
he kept telling himself it was fine. that jerking off in the shower with your name stuck behind his teeth was enough. that coming hard enough to see stars while picturing your mouth, your thighs, the way you’d gasp if he ever got his hands on you, was as close as he’d ever get.
it wasn’t enough. not after the hundredth time. he’d leave early from hangouts, feign headaches, anything to escape the ache of wanting what he couldn’t have.
he kept his hands to himself for two years.
then came the night satoru passed out drunk on the living room floor after a college party, snoring loud enough to drown out the rain. you found suguru on the balcony, cigarette between his fingers even though he quit months ago.
you leaned beside him, shoulder brushing his, stealing the smoke without asking. exhaled slow, eyes on the wet city. voice barely above the rain.
“tired of pretending yet, suguru?”
he took a drag, let the silence stretch, played dumb.
“pretending what?”
you smiled, stepped closer until the balcony light caught the lace edge of your bra through the open neck of his borrowed shirt. leaned in just enough that he could see straight down if he let his eyes drop.
they dropped.
“that,” you whispered, breath warm against his jaw. “exactly that.”
he snapped. cigarette flicked into the dark, hand already fisting in your hair to drag you in, mouth crashing against yours like the rule had never existed.
slow at first, lips barely parted. then deeper, mouth opening on yours with a low sound that rumbled in his chest, tongue sliding against yours. his other hand came up to cradle your jaw, tilting your head just right so he could lick into you slow and deliberate, swallowing the small noise you made when he sucked on your bottom lip.
you felt it everywhere (his teeth grazing, the faint sting when he bit down soft, the way he breathed your name against your mouth like it hurt to say it out loud). the rain kept falling, cold on your skin where the shirt slipped off one shoulder, but his palm was burning, dragging down your throat, thumb brushing the frantic pulse he put there.
seconds later, he has you pressed to the mattress in the guest room your parents never use, your thighs over his forearms, folded so deep your breath shakes.
he’s thick, impossibly so, and he knows it. takes his time pressing in, just the blunt head at first, slow nudge that has you gasping into the pillow. he watches your face, eyes black with want, jaw locked tight while he feeds you inch by inch, letting you feel every drag, every pulse.
you’re so wet it’s unreal, but still tight enough that he has to stop halfway, breath shaking, forehead dropping to yours.
“fuck,” he whispers. “feels so good.”
he bottoms out all at once, sudden and deep, hips flush to yours. you gasp loud, the sound echoing too far in the quiet house.
his hand clamps over your mouth fast, palm muffling the noise while his eyes lock on yours. “shh,” he breathes against your throat. “we’re still pretending he’s asleep down the hall.”
you whimper into his skin, body clenching hard around him, and he groans low, staying buried, letting you feel every twitch. he stays like that, hand over your mouth, hips perfectly still while you pulse around him, every clench pulling a ragged breath from his chest. his free hand slides down your side, thumb tracing the dip of your waist, fingers splaying wide.
slowly he eases back, just enough to feel the drag, then sinks in again—deep, deliberate, grinding at the end until stars burst behind your eyelids. you bite his palm to muffle the whine, tears slipping hot down your temples.
“good girl,” he murmurs, lips brushing your ear. “be quiet for me, yeah?”
another withdraw, another thrust, building that maddening rhythm while the rain hammers the window, drowning out the slick sounds between you. his mouth finds your neck, teeth grazing the pulse he races, sucking soft marks you'll hide tomorrow.
you arch into him, legs wrapping tighter, heels digging into his back as he hits that spot over and over. every slow drag back inside you rips another memory loose.
the couch where you fell asleep during movie nights, head on satoru’s shoulder while suguru stared at the inch of skin your shirt rode up to expose, hand clenched around a pillow so he wouldn’t reach. the kitchen counter you leaned against in tiny shorts, laughing at something stupid, and he pictured bending you over it until his teeth left marks on his own tongue. the hallway when you hugged him goodbye, tits pressed soft to his chest, and he had to count backwards from ten so he wouldn’t drag you into the bathroom and drop to his knees.
all those nights he came with your name on his tongue, pretending the fist around his cock was you instead.
now he’s buried in the real thing, tighter, wetter, better than any fantasy ever let him have. your body takes him like it was waiting, like it knew the whole time. every thrust proves the dream was a pale fucking shadow.
he bottoms out again, hips flush, grinding slow just to feel you flutter, and thinks: this is what i ruined myself for. this is why nothing else ever worked.
reality wins. every single time.
he pulls out slow, cock slick and heavy, and you’re still shaking when the first thick pulse of him spills across your folds. he watches, breath ragged, thumb spreading it lazy over your swollen clit, pushing a little back inside.
more leaks out, white against your skin, dripping down the curve of your ass onto the sheets. the sight punches the air from his lungs.
he thinks of satoru downstairs, snoring, trusting him with his life. thinks how his best friend would actually, finally kill him if he knew suguru just came inside his little sister raw, if he ever put a baby in you.
then he looks at you, thighs trembling, pussy painted with him, and the thought flips violent and possessive: satoru would absolutely hate it, but that's half the thrill.
he pushes more back in, finger curling just enough to make you gasp.
cw: MDNI, sukuna x f!reader, sukuna shows you his dıck piercings, he has a little crush on reader and is oddly respectful
Sukuna was widely known for two things:
1. Being an asshole.
2. Having multiple piercings on his dick.
And despite his shitty attitude, women still flocked to him in hopes of at least getting a peek.
You’re no better than any of them. The thought of what his dick could possibly look like has always lingered in the back of your head in the years that you’ve known him. Going out of your way to scratch that little itch you have is something you wouldn’t dare to do though.
It’s not like he was a friend or anything. Just an acquaintance, which was close to enough to know that if that side quest ever went wrong, there was no avoiding him. Yeah, you may not talk much at parties or random get togethers, but his presence alone was too demanding to ignore.
And on the off chance’s that you do talk, he is suffocating. It’s not even because of the way he acts. Surprisingly enough, you’ve never actually been on the receiving end of his temper when it’s soiled. It’s just his presence— the weight of his stare, the bass of his voice, the way he demands space.
Sukuna makes you nervous, and you’re pretty sure he knows that too. You wouldn’t say you were a timid person by any means. You could hold your own, had a decent amount of confidence, but it was never enough to handle him for longer than small increments of time.
He knows that too.
It’s why he keeps his distance. Look, he’s not a monster, and you’ve never done anything to bother him. He knows what he’s like, and if he’s too much for you, keeping his distance isn’t something he minds doing.
Sukuna’s not perfect though. He’ll come up and bug you after he gets a couple of drinks in him. His version of it. Which is, in a slightly lame way, just talking. Maybe a little flirting— saying that you smell nice, or that he likes whatever the fuck you did with your hair, yada yada. Sometimes you fold, sometimes you don’t. It’s different every time, he thinks of it as a little game he likes to play once in a while.
On this particular night, you had a little more to drink than what you usually had, and lucky for him, you didn’t actually crumble 5 minutes into talking about something as mundane as your job.
He wasn’t following you around and marking his territory on you like some dog, but he can admit that there were a few times he lingered around you. Not that you noticed, it was one of the very few times you let loose, so therefore you weren’t overly aware of your surroundings.
It wasn’t until everybody left when things got interesting though. You both just so happened to be spending the night at a shared friend’s house. Separate sleeping arrangements, of course. But you two were the last ones awake, in the basement, sitting and talking on the couch he was planning to sleep on.
It started with him asking about your dating life, if you had anybody you were seeing or not. You two were still drinking. Not too much, but enough for the conversation to inevitability turn suggestive.
Until he straight up told you that he enjoyed putting women in headlocks and fucking them until they cried. It was a piece of information that you definitely didn't mind being told, but it was only a matter of time before it'd circle back to you.
"Alright, what about you?"
“I don’t know,” you let out an awkward laugh, clearly flustered from the sudden pressure he put on you.
He just smiles, eyes drifting down to your lips. “I’m just asking what you like— nothing to be shy about,” he hums.
You take a moment to think about it, deciding for once to push past the shyness you tend to feel around him. "Alright, fine."
And without hesitation
“What about dick piercings?”
“I don’t— huh?” Your brain short circuits, already telling yourself that this can't be happening. It’s too good to be true. “I’ve never been with anyone that’s had one before, but I guess they’re nice.”
You really don't know why you say you guess. They are nice.
Your answer makes Sukuna look at you as if you’ve experienced nothing but back-to-back tragedies in your life, all because you've never been with someone pierced before.
“Yeah— feels good, too.” His response of course does not match his face or his tone, it sounds more like he’s pitching a sale. “Especially when you have a few of them stacked over each other like mine.”
Jesus fucking Christ.
“That’s—“ your throat grows dry at the thought, “did it hurt?”
“Nah, felt more like a pinch.”
“And there’s… how many?”
“Five,” he says the number like it carries weight and meaning, and at this point, it does. “One right under the tip and the rest is a Jacob’s ladder.”
You try to imagine it and end up looking confused as you open your mouth to say something, only to close it due to the words dying in your throat.
It happens 3 times before he eventually cuts in again.
“Wanna see it?”
What kind of a question is that? Of course you wanna fucking see it. Why wouldn’t you? You still hold on to what little respect you have left though.
“That wouldn’t be weird or anything?”
“Maybe, but it was me who brought it up. Can’t blame you for wanting to see.”
He’s full of shit and knows exactly what he’s doing. But you go along with it because this is something you've thought about for years. Less than a minute later, he’s unbuckling his belt and zipping his pants down.
There’s a moment of (fake) reluctance when he palms his boxers and remembers that it’s not just the piercings you’re going to see. It’s also his cock, which, in his honest and humble opinion, is a work of fucking art. Especially when it’s hard, like right now. He almost feels like he has to warn you, but decides not to and instead asks if you're ready.
You weren’t sure. You’ve been internally screaming this entire time though, and knew you’d explode if you didn’t see it already, so you gave him a nod.
Then your jaw nearly drops as he pulls his boxers down low enough for his entire cock to spring out. Spring’s not even the right word to use, it was too heavy for that, and if anything, just settled right on his stomach.
It was long and thick, a couple prominent veins running down his shaft. Big, dark pink tip that had some precum dripping from it. And then the five piercings.
Holy shit
It didn’t help that his hand was loosely wrapped around the base, lids growing heavier the longer you stare.
“Oh my god?”
“Yeah,” he rasps.
“You’re fucking huge.”
“I know.”
You don’t really care that much about the piercings despite them being the only reason why he has his dick out right now, but he is not complaining. By all means, stare at it. Please.
Drool, even.
He huffs out a laugh as he sees a little bit of it collect at the corner of your mouth, and swipes it off with his thumb before raising it to his mouth and licking it clean.
“Sorry,” you say without an inch of shame.
“You’re good,” he casually says, not trying to ruin the romantic moment you’re currently having with his dick. “Probably from one of the drinks you had earlier.”
“Mhm.” Neither of you believe that, but just go along with it. “Do the piercings ever get caught in your boxers?”
“Never,” he shakes his head. “They’re smooth against everything. . . You can touch them. If you want.”
Your hand’s already reaching out before that sentence is even finished, and his abs involuntarily flex at the feeling of your fingertips brushing over the underside of his shaft.
You say nothing, because you can’t think of anything respectful to say, and just continue to trace up until you get to his tip.
He feels you pull back and takes a good guess at why you did as he watches you rub your fingers together.
“Shit, sorry— fuck, you’re kidding me,” he suddenly groans out.
You licked precum off your fingers, but didn’t realize it until after.
Your eyes widen in panic. “Oh my god— that was so weird, I’m sorry.”
“No, that was— it wasn’t weird,” he tries to put a response together, but he’s honestly just as shocked as you. “You're fuckin’ nasty— did it taste good?”
You can’t even believe you’re saying this right now, but, “Honestly, yeah.”
“Jesus,” he lets out a low laugh, throwing his head back for a moment to take a deep breath, which turns into a deep, drawn-out hum when he feels you wrap your hand around his base. “You’re fuckin’ killin me right now.”
“I know, I’m sorry,” you whisper at first. “We should just—“
He opens one eye. “Fuck?”
“Yeah.”
notes: dick piercing kuna deserved his own spot in my master list so i freshened this up from side character reader 🫶🏻
Synopsis: in which popular girl!reader is done with shitty players and wants to try the newest delicacy: virgin nerds. It’s game on to seduce the physics student, who seems more than ready to abandon his life of celibacy.
But their arrangement only works if they’re both on the same page. What happens when one expects a little more than sex?
Is it game over?
Chapter ONE: when your bestie challenges you to find a nerd to date to prove you can bag a good guy, you take her up on it. problem is, the one nerd you want isn't taking the bait. you need to figure out to reel him in
Content: mean girl!reader, sexually promiscuous!reader, reader is shallow, kinda sexually harasses gojo, reader gets harassed by some guys (nothing happens), no smut, not proofread - pls let me know if you spot typos!
Word Count: 7.9k
Masterlist
“Have you ever actually dated a decent guy?”
Your jaw drops. Putting down your nail file, you glare at your so-called friend. “Excuse me? Are you victim-blaming me right now?”
Brittany rolls her eyes, popping a bubble with her gum. “I’m just saying, babe, you’ve tried the airhead athletes, the stuck up DILFs, the tattooed bad boys, brooding emos, and guys with serious mental issues always talking about racial supremacy or whatever. And every time, they’ve been major disappointments. Why don’t you try dating a nice guy? The kind of guy that’s the complete opposite of all those other losers.”
Sitting on the marble of the campus fountain, it’s clear you made the wrong choice of complaining to your no-shit-taking bestie one too many times about the recent asshole who’s broken your heart. You should have brushed it under the rug, like a healthy person.
Whatever it is that you wanted on a random Tuesday — a shoulder to bitch on, validation, a pat on the back — it sure wasn’t a rude awakening.
“They weren’t that bad, don’t be ridiculous,” you say, scoffing.
“Are you serious?” Her sudden rise in volume catches the attention of passing students, who either glare at her impoliteness or ogle her spilling cleavage. If she notices, she doesn’t say.
You, on the other hand, don’t even flinch; you’ve long been desensitised. Or deafened. Hard to tell.
“Babes, you’ve been cheated on, belittled, psychologically fucked with, neglected, and gaslit like a motherfucking stove. How many times have you come crying to me? How many times have I had to dye your hair or bankrupt myself so you could reinvent yourself?”
“Only a couple times…” you grumble under your breath, pouting a little.
With a sigh, she adds, “I love you, like so freaking much. And I’m not blaming you — those guys were genuine assholes, and no one deserves the shit they put you through. But, let’s not pretend you have the best taste in men. Let’s not pretend you didn’t get pretty fucking crazy with them too, and liked it. The others know it too.”
“Jeanette and Eleanor don’t know shit,” you spit out. Those skanks have been talking shit about you behind your back, commenting on your relationships, when they themselves don’t have healthy ones? The fucking nerve.
They’re half the reason why you’ve had bad experiences with guys!
Sighing, she adds, “Look, all I’m saying is, why don’t you try something new? Maybe go for the opposite of what you usually like. Go for a… a nice guy! Yeah, go for the complete opposite of you.”
“Wow,” you say, unoffended by the insult but registering it regardless. “And what would you have me go for? A nerd? As if.”
Specks of invisible dirt brushed off her skirt, she smiles, in the creepy way you hate. “Ah, you’re right. Forget it.” Brittany stands up, and you have to crane up to glare at her. “Even if you set your mind on it, no one with an actual working brain would go for girls who are all tits and lipgloss.”
“What makes you think that a nerd will treat me right? You actually think a virgin could fuck me half as good as jock who literally trains to maximise their stamina? Do nerds even know what a clit is?”
She shrugs, adjusting her bag over her shoulder and eyeing her reflection in her handheld mirror. “Who knows? No guy’s perfect — I guess I’m just curious to see if you’re simply super unlucky, or if you have some kind of quality that makes you turn decent men into psychos.”
Rising to your full height, you meet her amused stare with a determined one. “You’re on, bitch.”
And so begins your search for a nerd to prove her wrong.
You part ways — one girl totally smug and overjoyed at having baited the other, and one stomping her Prada heels like she could make the ground hurt.
There’s no time to waste; the sooner you can find a man that fits the criteria, the sooner you can make her eat her words. There’s nothing wrong with you. It’s men. They just suck.
Nerds included.
Naturally, you march inside the number one place to find a smartypants: the library.
You haven’t been inside here since, well, ever. It’s a wonder you even found the place at all. Granted, you did have to ask three people on the way for directions, but you’ve arrived regardless.
The air in here smells like paper, dust, and a distinct nerdy odour. The ceiling feels too high, the lights too soft, everything hushed and reverent. There’s a stifling silence that everyone’s basking in, and you’ve just clomped in wearing shoes that were absolutely not designed for their sacred ground.
Whispers begin making waves around the hall. Eyes follow you as your heels click tip tap tip tap. You’re used to having people stop and stare — you’re gorgeous, so of course people will gawk. Men, women, husbands, wives, teens, old men, parents, teachers, pastors. It comes with the territory of having a tight miniskirt that’s barely the size of a belt and a shirt that shows the outline of your nipples if someone stares long enough, and people do.
But it’s different this time. Most of the stares are still out of attraction and desire, you can tell, just lined with a fat drop of moral judgment.
Whatever.
You pause inside, hands on hips, eyes narrowing as you begin your search.
Okay. Criteria: you are here on a mission. This is not recreational. You are not here to ‘broaden your horizons.’ You’re here to find a nerd. A good one. A safe one. One you can parade in front of your best friends like a laminated receipt that says, see, I can pick decent men.
Your brain flips open the checklist automatically.
Too loud? No.
Too greasy-looking? Absolutely not.
Weird smell? Immediate disqualification.
The guy with glasses typing away on his laptop is kind of cute, but he has a long ponytail. No, thank you. There’s another with broad shoulders you can cry on, but he’s basically your height and who actually wants a short king.
“Are there no hot nerds?” you mutter under your breath. Must you sacrifice physical attraction for intelligence? Is this your version of Sophie’s Choice?
Someone asleep over a textbook gets a maybe until you get closer and hear the faintest snore. Off the list.
You wander deeper, past the obvious study zones and into the back, where the shelves grow narrower and the lighting dims. And then you hear it.
Dice.
The soft clatter of them, unmistakable, followed by muted but intense arguing. You round the end of a shelf and there it is: a table tucked away, littered with notebooks, graph paper, little figurines, snacks that definitely violate several library rules, and a screen propped up with a digital map glowing faintly.
At the centre of it all sits a guy with pristine white hair. Is that natural?
Wearing thick-framed glasses, he leans back in his chair like he owns the place, long legs stretched out, one hand idly spinning a die whilst the other gestures animatedly as he talks. He’s wearing that look of total focus mixed with complete unseriousness, arguing using terms you don’t recognise with the confidence of someone who has never once doubted himself.
His friends are clustered around him, equally absorbed, throwing numbers and terminology back and forth. This is life or death for them, instead of a fantasy campaign involving dragons and emotional backstories.
You stop dead.
This is…interesting.
You peer at him from behind the shelf, checklist already reshuffling itself. Clearly a nerd with a geeky hobby to pair with it. Social circle that doesn’t involve club promoters or mysterious men who ‘can’t text right now.’ He laughs, loud and bright, and a few heads from nearby tables snap up again, scandalised. A librarian looks over sharply. The guy lowers his voice by exactly half a notch and keeps going anyway.
He’s super cute. Like, hot — if you’re into men who probably cry after sex because he thinks he just insulted feminism.
From a couple metres away, you don’t smell an immediate bubble of B.O, which is a good sign. There’s no body pillow of a thirteen year old ‘waifu’ full of suspicious stains sitting in the empty next chair to him. Stretching your neck out closer, you look for toes poking out of leather sandals.
None.
Just a beat up Converse.
You smile to yourself.
Found you.
With the clock nearing 2pm, they start packing up, getting ready for their next classes. You rush out of the library, careful not to be seen by your target, and hastily lay your trap. First, by snatching some random book off a shelf.
Standing by the doors, you wait impatiently for that white hair to exit. When he does, laughing with his nerd friend, you make your move.
“Oh— I’m so sorry.”
Your forehead bumps into a hard chest, much harder and filled out than you expected. The book clatters to the floor. You stumble back a couple steps, he grabs you by your elbow.
Sparkling blue eyes meet yours. You stop breathing for a second.
He says something. You don’t hear it. Blinking, you say, “Huh?”
“Are you okay?” he asks again, brows furrowed in concern.
“Oh, yes, thank you.”
The stranger smiles widely. You flinch with its brightness. Politely, he says, “Good. Sorry I didn’t see you there. I can be a bit careless when I walk. Here, lemme grab that for you.”
He picks up your book, stepping to the side to let people walk past. He glances at it and makes a face of surprise. “Adult Diapers and Their History, huh? Was it any good?”
Fuck.
You really should have looked at the book and judged it by its cover first. Plastering a glossy smile, you lean close and purr, “I’d love to tell you all about it over a cup of coffee. Are you free anytime today?”
Sucking in a breath, he runs a hand through his hair. “Ooof, no, sorry. I’ll be sure to check it out after you though. See ya!”
And then he’s leaving, doing a half-jog to catch up to his friends who wait at the bottom of the stairs, staring at you. They ask him a question. He looks back at you, and shrugs.
Jaw hanging, you stand there, holding a book no one would ever want to be caught reading, and wondering what the fuck just happened.
Did you just get rejected?
You stay there for a full three seconds, smile still frozen on your face, before it slowly cracks.
Fine. Whatever.
One encounter means nothing.
You’re playing the long game now.
Over the next few days, you become a regular.
You ‘accidentally’ wander back into the library at the exact times his D&D group tends to meet, hovering near enough to be seen but far enough to look coincidental. You pretend to browse shelves you clearly don’t recognise, pulling books at random and flipping them upside down, occasionally knocking something over just to create noise. Each time, you catch flashes of him laughing, leaning back in his chair, gesturing wildly. Once, your eyes meet across the aisle. Your heart jumps.
He squints at you.
Then he looks away.
The next time, you make it much more obvious. You pass right by his table, smile sweet, slow, practiced. “Heyyy…”
He glances up. “Sorry,” he says automatically, scooting his chair in. “We’re kinda in the middle of something.”
You blink. “It’s me. From the stairs. The book?”
His brows knit together. You can practically see the wheel spinning behind his eyes. Then, “Ohhh,” he says, stretching the word out. “Right. Diapers.”
Your smile twitches.
“Anyway,” he adds cheerfully, already turning back to his friends, “good luck with… whatever you’re looking for.”
Strike two.
By day four, you’re irritated enough to escalate.
That’s how you end up in the physics department, a place you definitely do not belong in, holding a student ID between two manicured fingers like it might bite you. You’d stolen it from the floor when he’d accidentally swiped his arm out in anger at his friend’s retaliation to something or the other and knocked it off the table. You snatched that shit up faster than birth control.
Satoru Gojo. Physics Dept. Third Year.
“Nice to meet you, Satoru,” you said.
Inside, the department feels even stranger than the library. Less quiet and more intense. There are whirring machines, exposed wiring, half-built robots sitting on tables with exposed wires. Whiteboards covered in incomprehensible equations are everywhere. It’s horrifying. Where are the pictures? The motivational posters all over the walls? The frat guys handing out condoms?
You drift past projects that blink, beep, and move on their own, marveling like you’ve wandered into a sci-fi movie.
Nerd heaven.
Absolute jackpot.
Still, not a single nerd hottie around. You’ve been hoping you’d find another. At least then you could stop humiliating yourself with Satoru Gojo. No such luck though.
You spot him near the back, sleeves rolled up, talking to someone while gesturing at a mechanical arm. You straighten instantly, smoothing your expression into Nice Girl Mode. Steps soft. Smile gentle. Non-threatening. The epitome of grace and kindness, the kind of girl that would be approachable to him.
Hell, you’ve even dressed down in jeans and a pink cardigan.
Approaching, you cordially cut into his conversation. “Hey, I’ve been looking all over for you.”
Satoru jolts when he hears your voice, like you’re a robot he didn’t turn on. His eyes fall not to your great tits or amazing smile but to the ID you hold in your hand. “Hey! That’s mine.”
“Yep!” you chirp, handing it over to him. “I was looking for you. Wanted to return it to its rightful owner personally. How would you get around without it, right?”
“I didn’t even notice I dropped it.” He pauses. Looks at you. Really looks this time. “Wait, do I…know you?”
Your eye twitches. “The library? We’ve bumped into each other a few times…” When that doesn’t seem to spark anything, you grit out, “Diapers?”
Satoru laughs suddenly, scratching the back of his neck. “Ohhhh, heyyy. Thanks for coming all this way. That’s super cool of you.”
You nod, gracious, forgiving, absolutely seething. “Of course, what are friends over? Actually, I was thinking, maybe we could get coffee while I’m here?”
Glancing over your shoulder at the robot arm, which immediately drops a bolt and sparks, he says, “Ah. Rain check? I’m kind of in the middle of something.”
Then he zooms past you without another glance.
Strike three.
After that, it becomes a pattern. You run into him in hallways, outside lecture theatres, near vending machines. Each time, you light up, sweet as sugar, voice gentle, eyes doe-like. Each time, he hesitates just a beat too long before recognition dawns, and sometimes it doesn’t dawn at all.
“Hey,” he says once, smiling apologetically. “Remind me where we met again?”
Something inside you snaps.
You start counting his rejections like capital crimes. Library. Stairs. Physics lab. Courtyard. Café. Always polite. Always friendly. Always fucking unavailable. And every time he forgets you, it feels personal, like he’s rejecting not just you but the concept of you.
His eyes never run down your body, you never feel it linger on your ass when you walk away, he doesn’t ask for your number, or even your fucking name. It’s always, hey, hey, hey, and never fuck me, fuck me, fuck me.
By the end of the week, your Nice Girl smile is starting to hurt.
You watch him laugh with his friends, easy and unbothered, and think, with mounting irritation, that you are going to get this man if it kills you. Not because you want him specifically anymore. But because you have to. You don’t even remember why.
Perched on the edge of the water fountain in the courtyard — the very same one you were sitting on a week ago — legs crossed, phone face-down beside you, you replay Brittany’s voice in your head like a curse you can’t shake: “no one with an actual working brain would go for girls who are all tits and lipgloss.”
Yeah?
Well, maybe this Satoru Gojo doesn’t have a working brain, maybe he’s just visually impaired and looks like a nerd. Maybe he’s failing Physics and he’s the laughing stock of his entire nerd department.
The water laps and sparkles in front of you, sunlight catching on the surface, and you stare at it as if answers might rise up from the stone basin if you glare hard enough. What did the Disney princesses you used to be obsessed with do? Throw money and make a wish? Do you have a coin to throw in? Does the fountain take Apple Pay?
“Why is he so fucking annoying?” you groan aloud, and sneering at cunts who look at you.
So far, the strategy of being sweet, approachable, and vaguely mysterious has achieved absolutely nothing. He forgets you every single time, like you’re a ‘MILF 5 miles from you’ pop-up his brain automatically closes without reading. You run through the past week in your head with growing irritation, every almost-moment, every polite smile that went nowhere, every rejection wrapped so gently it barely counted as one.
Clearly, escalation is required.
Being nice is overrated anyway.
Your gaze flicks down your outfit as you start mentally workshopping new plans, jaw tightening as ideas pile up — maybe tighter skirts, higher heels, more lipgloss. Maybe an engineered accident where you both fall and somehow gravity does the flirting for you, your body positioned just right so he has no choice but to notice your tits.
The fact that you’re thinking this hard at all makes you scowl; men are usually easy. Half a smile, a little attention, and they fold. Why is this one immune?
Sighing, you resort to calling your friend. She picks up after a couple rings.
Breathless, Brittany asks, “What the hell do you want— nope. That’s rude. Sorry, I’m with my boyfriend right now. Hey, bae, you good?”
“You’re having sex, aren’t you?”
Which boyfriend’s this one now? The barista at her favourite coffee shop? The pizza delivery boy? Her neighbour’s son?
You can hear her sheepish smile through the screen. “Yeah, whoops. You’d understand if I cut this call short though, right?”
Lucky her.
“Wait, wait,” you hurriedly say. “I need your help. With the nerd boyfriend search, I think I’ve found a good one. Do you know anything about a Satoru Gojo?”
A moment of silence passes. Then immediate laughter. No, chortling. With a couple snorts dotted along. Rolling your eyes, you check your nails, seeing they’ve grown out quite a bit. Finally, she comes back to the phone, amusement still lingering in her voice. “Babe, you’re so fucking funny, I can’t even.”
“Do you or do you not know him?” Your heels tap on the floor impatiently. What was so fucking funny?
“Wait. You’re serious.” She takes your momentary silence as the answer. “Oh, um, I know of him. Mostly rumours.” Shuffling on the other side suggests she’s swapped ears. “I think you’re better off setting your sights on someone else. Someone more…accessible.”
Offended, you say, “Excuse me?”
“No, no, that’s not what I meant. What I was trying to say is that the rumours say he’s like the hottest ticket in the nerd department. All the girls have the hots for him. But he doesn’t entertain any of them. No one really knows why. I thought it was ‘cause he’s gay, but my cousin, who’s super gay, tried to hit on him last month and got rejected hard.”
“Maybe your cousin isn’t his type.”
“That’s what I thought too! But then I heard something else super interesting: word on the streets is, he’s got…erectile dysfunction, and that’s why he isn’t with anyone.”
Fed up, you groan. “That’s obviously bullshit — he’s our age. Guys our age don’t get erectile dysfunction. The problem is getting them to stop being hard.”
She snorts. “Look, I’m just sharing what I’ve heard. It’s up to you to decide what to do with the information.” Suddenly her voice becomes more serious, more determined. “Just…just be careful, okay? Our little experiment is mostly a joke. Don’t put yourself in a position you don’t want to be in just to prove a point, alright? I know you, and I know you always have to be right.”
“I do not!”
“Uhuh.” Her voice becomes distant from the speaker, likely talking to her boyfriend. She returns, sighing. “Gotta go, babe. His balls aren’t gonna empty themselves. Talk to you later. Love ya!”
Frowning, you say, “Bye.”
Erectile dysfunction. Gay. Doesn’t entertain women. Those possibilities make you feel a lot better about yourself; the chances that the problem is him and not you have increased. But you’re not satisfied. You can’t give up just because of some rumours. You’ll need to find out for yourself if he really is gay, perpetually flaccid, or women-hating. Then, and only then, will you call it quits. Guess you’re going to have to forge another fake ‘meet-cute’ tomorrow.
“Hey,” a voice says right as you pocket your phone away, too confident and too close for comfort. “You look bored.”
A shadow falls across you, cutting through your thoughts. You don’t even bother looking up at first, eyes still on the water. “I’m busy,” you reply flatly.
When a second guy joins him, grinning like this is some kind of group activity, you finally lift your gaze and assess them properly. Too smug. Too loud. Cologne doing most of the work. Immediate no.
“C’mon,” one of them says, undeterred, “we’re just talking.”
“Talk to someone else,” you say, crisp and unimpressed, already done with this interaction.
“Damn, you’ve got an attitude.”
“Yeah,” you shoot back, eyes narrowing, “and standards. Shocking, I know.”
“Oh, come on, baby. Don’t be a bitch. Let’s get to know each other.”
Ugh, you hate the faux confidence, the sleazy way he forces himself to drawl. It’s obvious he’s seen it in a couple Chad movies and thought he could replicate it to maximise pussy grabbing. Disgusting. And pathetic.
They step closer and you inch further away, ass nearly dipping itself into the water.
“She’s not interested.”
The voice is light, almost lazy, but there’s a firmness under it that makes both guys pause. You look up and there he is again. Satoru. He steps fully between you and them, shoulders broad, stance casual but solid, planting himself to completely cover you from their gaze.
When one of the guys scoffs and puffs up, Gojo doesn’t move an inch. He just rolls his shoulders slightly. The fabric of his shirt pulls in a way that makes your brain stutter.
Oh.
Oh.
He’s not just built. He’s built built. The kind of strength that doesn’t come from mirrors and flexing but from actual use, from carrying heavy things and not making a show of it. You almost have to tell your pussy to calm down.
Your irritation evaporates into something warm and dizzy as you stare, entirely distracted by the sudden, undeniable fact that he could absolutely pick someone up if he wanted to. You almost have to tell your pussy to calm down.
You barely register the way the guys’ expressions change, bravado leaking out as recognition sets in.
“Wait,” one of them mutters, squinting. “That’s…Gojo.” The other swears under his breath. They straighten instantly, tone shifting from cocky to cautious, muttering apologies that aren’t really meant for you. They back off quickly, suddenly very busy with not being here anymore.
When they disappear completely from sight, entering a building, Gojo turns to you, concern softening his expression again, like he hasn’t just made two guys rethink their life choices. “Hey. Are you okay?”
There it is. That pause. That tiny hitch in his gaze as he searches your face, clearly trying to place you. Your jaw tightens as recognition crawls in late, slow as ever. “Are you fucking with me?”
“Oh,” Satoru adds, a second later. “It’s…you. From earlier this week.”
You stare at him, chest rising, the spark of attraction fizzling dangerously into rage. “Wow,” you say flatly. “You almost remembered me. Gold star.”
He winces, sheepish but still courteous, still distant in that infuriating way. “Sorry. I’m not great with—”
“Faces, names, women throwing themselves at you, yeah, I know,” you cut in, forcing a smile that feels like it might crack your teeth. You inhale, regroup, and try again, sweet as sugar. “Look. You helped me out. Let me thank you. Dinner. My treat.”
Satoru blinks, clearly surprised, then shakes his head with a small apologetic smile. “That’s nice of you, but I’m good. Really.”
Something in you cracks so hard it’s almost audible.
“Are you serious?” you hiss, stepping closer before he can retreat again. You don’t give him time to answer. You grab his wrist, fingers curling around warm skin and muscle, and drag him toward the nearest building, heels clicking sharply against the pavement. He sputters in surprise, but he follows, too polite to yank away, too confused to stop you before you shove open a door marked JANITOR and pull him inside.
The door shuts behind you with a dull thud, fluorescent lights buzzing overhead. You spin on him, chest heaving, eyes bright with frustration and something close to mania. “What is your problem?” you demand. “Do you just enjoy rejecting me? Or do you genuinely not see what’s right in front of you?”
Satoru stares at you for a second, clearly taken aback, then exhales slowly, hands raised in a placating gesture. “I’m not trying to mess with you,” he says gently. “I just… don’t want to lead you on.”
“Lead…me…on…”
You can’t process what you just heard. He thinks he’s leading you on? He thinks he’s better than you, that he’s out of your league, and you’re punching hard? The nerve. The delusion. The stupid fucking asshole.
Poking his chest with a manicured finger, you glare at him. “Listen here, buddy. I’m hot. Like unbelievably so. I’ve had literal politicians chase after me. I’m modern day Hellen of Tron—”
“It’s Troy, pretty sure,” he interjects, backing up with every jab of your sharp nail. “Tron’s the video game world. Super retro, but highly recommend, by the way.”
“—and you’re lucky to even be anywhere near me. So hurry the fuck up and whip your dick out; I know your loser ass is a fucking virgin.”
Satoru pushes his glasses higher up his nose bridge. He stammers, as if he’s trying to push away the urge to laugh, “This is sexual harassment, but forgive me this time and I won’t say a word.”
Screeching, you say, “Ugh, shut up! Just shut up! Date me already. I can’t keep chasing you and humbling myself. It’s bad for the soul and for my skin — I’m getting premature wrinkles because of you.”
Back up against the wall in the tight space, he has no choice but to take your lashings. His eyes flicker to the door, then down at you. His hands keep to his side. “Sorry about the wrinkles. Not so sorry about the not dating part. I really think you’re great, um, whoever you are. I just think I’m not ready for a relationship.”
“Because you can’t get it up?”
His jaw slacks.
A look passes his dazzling blue eyes. He looks away, stumbling for a response, and finding none. Pink tinges the tips of his ears.
Your jaw drops too. “Oh, my god! It’s true! You can’t get it up!”
Satoru’s eyes, which look even bigger through his glasses, look at the door again, panicking. His hands scramble to shush you, but you shove them away, laughing hysterically.
“This is perfect! I thought I was the problem, like you don’t think I’m pretty enough — obviously that’s not the case because I’m a walking wet dream, duh.” You pace back and forth, ecstatic. “Turns out, you’ve got a limp dick and you’re super insecure about it. Amazing!”
He sighs, running a hand through his hair at the same time he adjusts his glasses. “Yeah, yeah, whatever. Doesn’t change anything. We still can’t date.”
You shake your head, jumping over to him with a wide smile. Satoru eyes your grin with caution. “No, it changes everything. I won’t tell anyone, I won’t judge. I have plenty of sex toys so we can incorporate that into our future sex life, don’t worry. I’ll help you quit your porn addiction and throw out your hentai mangas or whatever you use.”
His brows furrow. “Porn addiction? Hentai? What are you talking about?”
“Isn’t that why you’re like this? I heard it’s pretty common in our generation, especially shut-ins and nerds like you. The extreme porn’s rewired your brain and makes it so that you can’t cum without seeing tentacle tits.”
Satoru bangs his head against the wall, staring up at the light. “No, that’s not me. Like, at all. I’ve been like this since I was a child, before I knew porn existed, by the way. My parents took me to the doctors and everything. I just can’t get it up. Simple.” He suddenly straightens up with a twitch to his lips. “Tentacle tits? That I’d like to see.”
“Perv.”
“Guilty,” he says with a bigger smile.
This is the longest conversation you’ve ever had with him, or anyone in a closet. Most interactions with guys in janitors’ closets have involved much less talking and much less clothes, so it’s a little weird for you.
After a moment’s thought, you confess, “I’m surprised you have any kind of interest in sex at all.”
“Hey now, just because I can’t get it up doesn’t mean I don’t want to make it get up.”
Humming, you try something. You wrap your arms around his neck, taking him aback with your tits against his chest. You have to get on your tiptoes to reach his neck, and when you make it, you leave an open-mouthed kiss, huskily whispering, “Is this doing anything for you?”
Satoru chuckles, patting your back. “Appreciate the effort, but I promise you nothing you do can fix me.”
That’s never failed you before. It’s how you got a Birkin, and a yacht trip around the Maldives for a summer.
He separates from you and makes his way around your body, heading for the door. “Look, sorry again about this whole thing. I’m sure I won’t forget you now, Diapers. Thanks for understanding, and I’ll, uh, see you around.”
You grab his wrist.
“I don’t fucking think so.”
Whipped around, he’s forced to face you.
Your face hardens again, humour gone. “Why don’t you want to date me? What’s the problem? And don’t say it’s your penis, because I already said I don’t mind.”
He groans, polite mask cracking. Satoru looks close to tearing his hair out with his impatience. “Are you still on this? Can’t you just take no for an answer?”
“No, obviously not!” you fire back, hands waving around like a crazy person. “I’ve never been rejected by anyone before, and I won’t let some nerd change that.”
“There!” He thrusts a hand out, gesturing to your entire body. “That’s why. Because you think you’re better than me, better than my friends, and, like, literally everyone I know.”
Unable to help yourself, you stomp your foot. “I do not!” You probably do. No, you definitely do, but you have enough tact to know not to tell him that right now.
Satoru makes a noise of disbelief. “You do, I can tell. It’s probably why my brain keeps wiping you out; you think you’re doing me a favour by giving me some kind of attention. I know I’m not an athlete or a rockstar, but it’s not like I’m a loser, despite what you think. I like things you don’t like, that’s it. Sorry I don’t want to date a vapid, shallow bimbo.”
SMACK!
A strange look overwhelms his eyes, a darkness that you don’t notice. A mark forms on his perfect skin. His head reeled, not from the strength of your slap, but from the shock of it.
He blinks, processing the feel of your palm colliding with his face.
A tongue pokes his cheek, testing the sting. A small smile grows on his lips, a pleasant surprise you don’t decipher in time, because you’re too busy fuming.
“How fucking dare you! Yeah, I think I’m better than the people in that library, the people who haven’t showered in days for ‘environmental reasons’, people who exclusively watch anime because it’s ‘superior’ to any other forms of media and who idolises Japan because they think they’re going to be immediately worshipped over them by virtue of being foreigners—”
“Be quiet for second.”
“Don’t tell me to be quiet! I’m not done,” you all but screech at him. “I’m totally better than the people who founded 4chan and stay in their parents’ basement, or people who have blue checkmarks on Twitter—”
“No, I’m serious. Shush.”
You shriek even louder, “You shush!”
Satoru rolls his eyes before slapping a hand over your mouth. He nods with your muffled words, waiting for the fight in your body to die out. It does, but the wrath in your eyes doesn't.
His hand better be clean. If your skin breaks out tomorrow, you’re going to freak out and stomp on his glasses whilst he’s wearing them.
“All done?” He sends you a pointed look. You huff. Releasing you, he smiles. It’s so much more dazzling than the polite ones he’s been giving you; it’s genuine, as real as your diamond earrings. He could blind you with it. “What I was gonna say is, I think I’m hard.”
“Huh?”
He laughs, staring down at his pants. You follow his gaze. Oh.
A tent has formed under his zipper, stretching the material out like it’s never been stretched before, which is totally the case. Satoru pokes it, watching it bounce, before meeting your eyes with a, did you see that?
“I’m not insane, right? That’s totally a boner, right?”
You bend over to get a closer look, marvelling at the thing. You poke it too. He hisses. It’s 100% a boner, if you’ve ever seen one. Teasing, you say, “Well, it’s not Mount Evernest, that’s for sure.”
“Mount Everest,” he mutters, before wriggling his hips a little to watch it sway. “It feels so weird. Is it supposed to feel so swollen and heavy?”
Thinking for a second, you hum. “I’ve never had one myself, but I think so. That’s how it’s always felt on my end anyway.” Then you blink. “Wow, did I just fix you?”
You said it as a joke, mostly — in truth, you have no idea what you did to make it like that — but he doesn’t correct you, doesn’t dismiss your ego. Wow, maybe you really did fix him. You’re feeling pretty proud of yourself now. Somehow, you played a part in fixing what doctors couldn’t. Or at the very least, witnessed a miracle.
It’s the new Christmas.
Satoru lifts his glasses up and down, trying to see if he’s seeing right. The thing bobs. He releases an impressed breath, like a damnnn. Absentmindedly, he asks, “What’s that about dinner?”
.
.
.
“So, tell me why you want to date me.”
You purse your shimmery lips, eyeing the interior of the retro diner he brought you to. It’s not so far from campus, a short walk away, which felt much longer in heels when the street turned cobble. The seats, like the booth you’re sitting on, are made up of red leather. The floors are black and white checkmarks. There’s even a jukebox playing a song you don’t recognise.
Nails tapping on the table, you shrug. “Does it matter?”
Satoru tilts his head, a small smile on his lips appearing at your response. “I think it does — girls like you don’t suddenly appear in guys like me’s life.”
At least he’s self-aware, you dryly think.
He’s eating loaded fries and a well-stacked, greasy burger with a tall, sickly-sweet-looking strawberry milkshake topped with whipped cream and a cherry. When he asked what you wanted, you couldn’t come up with an answer; the menu was packed, but not with anything you could eat. It was full of carbs, things that’ll make you bloat and break out like crazy. Not to mention the fact that you have a rule not to eat anything more than a salad on dates.
Guys like girls who are demure and low maintenance, after all.
The leather creaks under you, making an embarrassing peeling sound when you cross your legs. This is so not where you wanted to be. First dates are meant for upscale restaurants, not places that probably defrosts their old meat in the microwave.
“Well, this girl has, so count your blessings.”
Mouth full, he presses on. “No, no, you can’t just leave it at that. I’m asking seriously. You’ve been quite persistent. There must be a reason you want me specifically.”
You grin, batting your fake lashes at him. “Are you fishing for a compliment, Satoru?”
“I’m fishing for the truth,” he corrects you, waving a fry in your face, which washes away your grin. Frowning slightly at your empty side of the table, he adds, “Are you sure you don’t want food? It’s on me, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
He’s already doing better than half the guys you date, you think wryly. Grimacing at the thought of popping the buttons of your skirt, you shake your head. “No, I’m good.”
“Come on,” he drags the words out petulantly. “At least take some of my fries and dip it in the milkshake. It’s tradition at a diner.”
That brings another grimace to your face. “Ew, why would I do that? That sounds disgusting.”
“It’s the greatest thing ever, actually.” To prove his point, he submerges a fry into the pink liquid, swirling it around nice and good before consuming it all. He moans so loudly and so pornographically people turn to look at you, thinking you did it.
You sigh, wanting to get back on track. “Isn’t it enough that I just want to date you? Do I have to make up a grand story about love at first sight?”
Satoru takes a big bite of his burger, leaving you to wait for him to swallow it down. Then he groans. “This is so good — you sure you don’t want any?” You shake your head. “Alright, your loss. Where were we?” He thinks for a second. “Oh, right. Okay, look, I’ll be completely upfront with you.”
You lean forward just as he does.
“Earlier, when you slapped me,” he begins, and you nod. “I liked it.”
Not a hint of shame is on his face or in his voice, only excitement. It makes you draw back from how maniacal he seems.
“I’ve never been slapped before. I don’t even really know why it gave me a boner. But it did, and it felt good. Made me feel things,” he says ‘things’ with jazz hands. “I mean clearly, since I popped a boner and all. You basically cured my condition.”
There aren’t very many people in the diner, thankfully — no one’s close enough to hear the vulgar things he says. Although, if someone did, you wouldn’t really care. God knows you’ve said and done worse things. “Okay,” you say, unsure of where he’s going with this.
He continues. “This is a huge deal for me! It means I’m completely doomed, just particular about what I like. I really can’t thank you enough.”
“Yeah, you’re super welcome. I’ll happily slap you again if you like it that much.”
Satoru’s eyes sparkle. “That’s precisely what I was thinking. I think this is a sign.” Sensing you don’t know what the hell he’s talking about, he explains, “I should see this through, should see if the boner incident was a one off or if being with you is the answer.”
This really wasn’t how you expected the conversation to go. Getting him to agree was supposed to come from him being unable to resist your perfect body and gorgeous face. Your target wasn’t supposed to have erectile dysfunction, and he certainly wasn’t supposed to be treating the relationship like a science experiment. He’s supposed to be smitten with your feminine wiles, to bend over backwards wanting to please you, worship the ground you walk on because he knows he’ll never find anyone better.
He’s doing it all wrong.
But does it matter?
The challenge wasn’t to get married to a forgetful nerd; it was to bag a nice guy and prove you can have a happy and healthy relationship, that you’re not solely attracted to guys who’ll break your heart and smoke it.
“So,” you begin, nails tapping once more, “you want me to slap you around and abuse you?”
Satoru nods eagerly. “Obviously I won’t force you to do anything you’re uncomfortable with. I’m sure an inexperienced guy like me isn’t your thing. And I can’t promise I’ll be very good at sex, or even be a good boyfriend. But in exchange for helping me ‘overcome my condition,’ I’ll try my very best. It’s kinda why I wanted to know why exactly you wanted to date me — if I know what you want to get out of this, I’ll be better placed to serve you, don’t you think?”
That makes enough sense.
Sighing, you finally admit, “It’s a little bet my friend and I have: find a nerd to date. I’ve had a bad run with boyfriends, you see. It’s just shitty assholes after shitty assholes. I guess she had enough of me complaining because she basically told me the assholes don’t find me, I find them.”
He doesn’t seem to take any offence to finding out he was an unknowing and unwilling participant to a bet, almost as if he expected half as much. Shoving a bunch of fries into his mouth, he asks with his mouth full, “So you want to prove her wrong?”
“Yep,” you say, popping the p.
“Alright! That’s great — I mean, sorry about the bad people you’ve been with.” Satoru scratches the back of his neck, grimacing at his own tactlessness. He clarifies further, “It’s great that we’re on the same page.”
Uncertain, you frown. “We are?”
“Yep!” He pops the p too. “You want to be treated with respect and be cared for, and I want to be used and abused. We’re a match made in heaven.”
You can’t help but laugh. He smiles.
“Okay, but we gotta set some ground rules.” You’re on board now, feeling energised by his enthusiasm and easy-to-talk-to personality. He doesn’t seem like someone who minces his words or hides behind passive aggression, which makes him better than most people you associate with. “Like, how long are we going to do this for?”
He thinks for a second as he takes another bite of his burger — god, his mouth is massive; one bite for him is like three for a normal person. After his brain gets to work and he’s cleared his mouth with a gulp of his milkshake, he suggests, “Time limit maybe? Our respective goals don’t require our whole life to accomplish. All you need is your friend to believe you, so once she sees how loveydovey we are, she’ll admit defeat, right?”
You nod.
“And I only want to see if I can sustain erections through intercourse, and if what I’ve been missing this entire time was the right kind of stimulus. That only requires us having coitus a couple times.”
The nerd’s starting to lose you. The sciency words are entering one ear and exiting through the other. But you get the gist. Satisfied, you sum up, “Okay, so should we say till the end of the school year? We can tell our friends we broke up during summer or something.”
“Sounds good to me. We’ll go all out, make the experience as real as possible. We’ll go on dates, get to know each other, have sex of course, but we’ll probably not want to introduce each other to our families — I think it’ll be counterproductive if we dig a hole too deep. And it goes without saying,” he says, lowering his voice conspiratorially and making his brows dance, “we really, really shouldn’t fall in love.”
That brings a scoff out of you.
You were never going to introduce him to your family anyway. As far as you’re concerned, you only need to flex how obsessed a nerd is with you to your best friends. And love was never, ever on the table.
It’s good to be clear though, you suppose. The last thing you need is a clingy stalker, who can’t bear to part with you, ruining your life and future relationships. You just hope you don’t break the poor guy’s heart too badly when it’s all over; you’ll end up being the ex he’ll cry to his friends about, and unlike the dirtbags, you’re not so cruel that you could sleep peacefully at night knowing you ruined someone’s life.
“Perfect,” you conclude. “Apart from that, we’ll be as real a couple as any college ones. Dates, sex, no falling in love, and max two months.” That’s a lot more than you’ve gotten from any of your previous boyfriends so this is already going great.
Satoru grins, adjusting his glasses to hide the sudden mischievous glint in his eyes. “I think we should seal the deal with a fry dipped in milkshake, don’t you?”
“Oh no, no no no.” You shake your head frantically. “I’m not doing that.”
Burger obliterated, and fries almost depleted, the food stares at you mockingly. You love food like anyone else, but fries dipped in a strawberry milkshake sounds downright repulsive. It’s like putting ketchup on ice cream. It’s weird. You couldn’t do it.
He wipes his hands clean with some tissues, sighing deeply. “Guess you don’t want this bad enough. Sucks. Thought we had something. I’ll see you around then, Diapers. Good luck with proving you’re not mean-boyfriendsexual.
You grab him by the sleeve of his sweater before he can get up and leave. Gritting your teeth, you say, “Fine, I’ll do it. And by the way, I really don’t appreciate you pretending you don’t want this just as bad.”
His grin widens. “You got me.”
Snatching the smallest fry you can find, you dip just the tip into the milkshake. Satoru tuts, giving you a pointed look. You grumble under your breath. Dipping almost the entire thing, you take a tentative bite.
The flavours hit your tongue. Saltiness and sweetness blending into one.
“So,” he asks, watching your face intently, “how is it?”
You gulp, anger simmering below the surface. “Actually…really…fucking…good.”
Satoru laughs, throwing his head back. “I told you!”
Then, he flags down a server and orders more of what he ordered more, for himself and for you, and this time, you don’t fight him on it.
He sends you a wink that you fight not to smile at. “We’re already improving each other’s lives, Diapers. I think we’re on the right track.”
Your lips curl, resolve to remain stoic failing. “I think you mean, ‘we’re already improving each other’s lives, girlfriend.’”
“Oh, yes. You’re right. As of right here, right now, we’re girlfriend-boyfriend. Lovers. Sweethearts. Better start acting like it, right…”
His smile reflects your own, sitting across from each other, like two accomplices to the perfect crime.
wc: 7k || based on : ̗̀➛ this ask || ac: verazpberry || SMUT
summary: shoko really fucks up one night. after you come home from a party, she gets awfully jealous and calls you things you'd never expect from your sweet girl. never in your life had you felt so torn apart, so utterly heartbroken. you start to pull away, and the relationship you used to adore with all your heart starts to fall apart at the seams. angst to fluff to smut *ೃ༄
everyone loves a hot lesbian couple, and that’s exactly what you and shoko were.
you were sexy in that flashy, it-girl kinda way, and she was hot in that alternative, mysterious kinda way.
shoko mostly kept to herself, dressed in clothes only the really cool people in the city wore, and almost always only talked to you. her long-term, younger girlfriend.
you, on the other hand? good lord, if you weren’t her polar opposite.
with tens of thousands of people tripping over their feet for you on instagram, and a social circle that rivalled that of star football players at your college, you two couldn’t have been more different.
still, this didn’t stop you two from being that couple. the kind of couple everyone either wanted to have a threesome with or wanted broken up because they were ferally jealous. straights and queers alike.
you were totally infatuated with one another, and it showed in the way you were both glued at the hip. almost every post of yours featured your pretty girl posing candidly, her mousy brown hair framing that beautiful face. every smoke session shoko was invited to had you tagging along, despite not smoking yourself.
if anyone were to describe your relationship in one word, it would be perfect. utterly perfect.
you always knew perfect was a fragile thing, but it felt so good being perceived as such.
you liked being loved loudly because it meant you didn’t have to ask for the one thing you so desperately wanted. with shoko, you tried to be better with this unhealthy world view, but in your heart, you knew love was something you could earn by behaving well.
and you were always on your best behaviour with shoko.
you were constantly bettering yourself for her, always making sure things between you two stay sweet. you never questioned whether she would hurt you or not, because after all, you two were perfect.
so imagine everyone’s surprise when they hear through whispered rumours that there’s trouble in paradise…
~
you are, for lack of better words, shitfaced.
tonight marked the night of finals coming to an end, something you’d desperately wanted to celebrate with your friends. preferably your girlfriend as well, but she opted to stay home despite your insistent pouting.
“pleaseee, baby, it’ll be so much fun! we haven’t been to a party in, like, ages!” you’d whined that morning in the shower, cradling her face in your palms as she rubbed soap over your naked body.
“you go, sweetheart. i wanna relax tonight, maybe watch yellowjackets or something. i’ll be okay,” she’d replied, pinching the fat of your slippery hip teasingly.
“you promise?”
“i pinky promise.”
so yeah. you’d gone to geto’s frat for an end-of-semester bash, had a blast, and now you were ready to come home to your lover.
very much in the mood, might you add. you were always a very touchy, very horny drunk.
you stumble through the wooden door of yours and shoko’s apartment after being dropped off by yuki (bless her soul, always the dd), hopping on one foot as you drunkenly fiddle with the criminally small buckle on your heel. once it’s unfastened, you slip it off and laugh as it tumbles down. the stiletto lands in the foot hole of shoko’s grey converse.
your scrambled mind thinks it’s the funniest shit on the planet. something of yours poking into something of hers.
even when you were off your face, you could make almost anything about strapping her. god, you were down bad for this woman.
“shooo, are you—hic—awake?” you call out, swaying from side to side as you giggle your way down the hall and into the lounge.
you peek your little head around the corner into the room and see your pretty girl sitting quietly.
she isn’t watching anything on tv or scrolling on her phone, no. she’s sitting back against the cushions with one leg crossed, her slender elbow hooked over the armrest, and a cigarette lit between her fingers.
her fingers… you wanted her fingers.
you smile so wide you’re scared your cheeks might split. the way she could so effortlessly draw you in by doing literally nothing seriously needed to be studied.
“heyy, sho?” you repeat, prancing over to the couch and plopping down beside her. you’re so happy she’s not asleep, that she’s here and with you, not in bed.
as she feels the couch dip, she hums in response. although it’s barely a sound. her cigarette lifts to her lips, then lowers.
you grin anyway and shuffle over, your body all heavy and loose. you turn and stretch out without asking, your cheek settling into her lap lovingly like you’d always done.
but, surprisingly, her hand doesn’t move to sift through your hair.
somewhere in your dizzy head, that registers as weird, but you choose to ignore it.
“why’re you up so late?” the words slur out despite trying to sound sober in front of her. you flush a deep pink in embarrassment and tip your face away.
“couldn’t sleep,” she mutters, taking another drag of her cigarette.
okay, you were used to your girlfriend being all mysterious and hot, but this seemed more like mysterious and upset.
“th’ party was dumb,” you mumble, trying to get something else out of her. “too many people. too loud. kept thinking about you the whole time.”
complete and utter silence.
oh.
you lift your head from her lap. “sho?” you ask quietly, your voice stripped bare of the slur from before. “you okay?”
she lets the smoke from her lungs slip from her nostrils, blowing it toward the open window beside the couch.
“m’ fine.” she takes another huff, then taps the smoky ash into a tray.
you sit up properly, folding your legs beneath you and turning to face her. you feel like you’re sitting where you shouldn’t be. her eyes don’t feel as kind or welcoming as usual.
“you don’t look fine,” you whisper under your breath, trying to keep that gentleness about you so she didn’t feel any sort of combative energy from you. “did something happen, baby?”
you see the last flick of light die from her eyes as she turns to look at you. “i dunno… just thought you’d be home earlier,” she murmurs flatly. “guess you were having a little too much fun,” she says with mock resolution, then doubles down, “with gojo and geto.”
those tiny wrinkles pull in between your eyebrows as your face scrunches in confusion. “hmm?” you ask. “what’re you talking about?”
instead of answering, she reaches for her phone on the coffee table. dully, she unlocks it and holds the screen out toward you.
it’s a video.
upon closer inspection, you recognise it instantly. it’s a replay of gojo’s story you’d seen earlier, @/sstoru heading the frame as a shaky video plays, grainy but in an aesthetic kinda way.
it’s of him and geto, laughing and looking like they’re having the time of their lives.
and then there you are.
wedged tightly between the two of them, smiling like you always do when you’ve had a few too many. the three of your bodies are packed so close. the place was packed, and there wasn’t anywhere else to stand.
the clip restarts.
then again.
and again.
fuck. you knew how bad this looked.
“that’s not—” you start to explain, then stop. your still-tipsy mind isn’t really helping you form coherent thoughts right now, let alone words. you look at shoko, then back at the screen. “i promise, honey, that’s not what it looks like.”
she lifts an eyebrow, barely.
“yeah?” she says. “because it looks pretty straightforward to me.”
you lean in, pointing without touching the phone. “no, listen. utahime was with me! i was just trying to get past them, it was wall to wall in there n' they were blocking the way to the kitchen.”
her face stays stone-cold and judging. your heart cracks at the look on your otherwise nurturing girlfriend’s face.
you start to panic, your inebriated head hating the idea of making her more mad than she very clearly already was. “s-someone spilled a drink,” you add fast. “everyone almost slipped. that’s why we were laughing, and why everyone was so close. we were moving away from the spill.”
you weren’t lying. god, you’d never lie to her.
but the way you’d just described the situation wasn’t helping your case. you were terrified of making her more upset, your nervous overexplaining and rambling making you seem more and more guilty.
she locks her phone and drops it back onto the table.
“yeah, well… doesn’t look like that,” she sighs.
you don’t notice your fingers digging into the couch until your knuckles start to sting and cramp.
“you know i wouldn’t do that,” you counter. “i was with yuki most of the night. you can ask her, sho. ask anyone.”
“i’m sure,” shoko replies. “you usually are.”
oof. that one stung.
“what’s that meant to mean?”
she shifts then, turning toward you fully.
“you’re always with someone you know damn well wants more than to be friends with you. you’ve had a thing with yuki, for god’s sake.”
“that’s not fair,” you say right away. “you know how girls are with this stuff. that was four years ago, sho, and we weren’t even dating. you know i can’t help that.”
“you can help being around those two idiots, though.”
“they’re my friends,” you say. “they always have been.”
she scoffs quietly.
“friends who’ve tried to sleep with you,” she says. “more than once.”
“before we were together,” you snap back. “and i shut it down. every single time.”
“and they’re still into you,” she says. “that part didn’t magically disappear.”
the space between you feels wrong now, like there’s not enough room to move without scraping against a wall with fifty thousand needles poking out of it.
“that doesn’t mean anything, okay? i’m with you.”
“how do i know that? when you’re out at these things with tons of people who would gladly fuck you silly,” she says. “how do i know you’ll stay with me? when you’ve had too much to drink and your head’s not on straight, how do i know you’re with me? i know how you are with attention, [name].”
you get goosebumps. your body goes still as you sit there and stare at her in shock at what just came out of her mouth.
“the fuck?” you quiz. “what are you saying?”
she holds your gaze sternly. the cigarette is gone, burned down to nothing. she rubs her fingers together, ash smudging into the crevices of her fingerprints.
“i’m saying people don’t respect boundaries,” she says. “especially gojo and geto. they never have. how am i supposed to be okay with you out there with guys like them, giving you all the love and praise you could ever ask for?”
“so what,” you scoff. “i’m just some attention whore? some untrustworthy hoe who can’t help but give in to a little temptation? just a bimbo who’d cheat on my girlfriend because a few guys give me a little too much of their time?”
you can tell you hit a nerve because her pretty eyes turn wicked with offence.
“that’s not what i’m saying,” she replies. “i’m saying you’re young. you’re still new to this whole committed relationship thing. i—”
you cut her off with a short laugh, pure disbelief more than anything. “‘new to this’? we’ve been dating for two fucking years!” you’re at the stage of being pissed off where every word out of her mouth feels like poison, and she’s getting there too.
“i haven’t thought of anyone else since the day i met you, shoko,” you say. “sure, i’m not as ‘old and wise’ as you think you are, but that doesn’t mean i’m just some dumb kid with no morals.”
“then why do you keep ending up in situations like that? why stay out so late? why get that drunk to the point they’re getting bold enough to post you practically grinding on both of them?”
“because i didn’t think i had to monitor every move i make,” you fire back. “because i trusted you to trust me.”
“sorry i don’t want my girlfriend out there not only looking like she’s single, but getting laid claim to by some assholes who don’t respect our relationship.”
she pauses before continuing.
“really makes you look slutty, [name]. what aren’t you getting about that?” she says it like you’re a child, using that belittling tone of voice you absolutely hate.
it’s clear she’s looking down on you, not face to face like you should be in a relationship.
you’ve never felt so small and worthless in your entire life.
shoko had always radiated that older, cooler girlfriend energy, but it never made you feel insecure for being less than or inexperienced.
but now? it feels like she’s looking at you like gum on the bottom of her shoe, like you’re too ditzy to handle grown-up situations.
at the start of your relationship, you’d tried so hard to leave your old lifestyle behind for her. the constant drinking, the constant functions, the constant attention. for two whole years, you stayed away from it all just for her.
you thought you’d done a good job bettering yourself, but now it seems like all your work was for nothing because she still sees you as an insignificant worm who can’t do this relationship thing right.
if the one person you care about most can’t appreciate the way you changed, then what’s the point of changing at all?
if she wants to veiw you as some reckless child, you’ll show her reckless child, ten times as hard.
~
after that night there was no sort of apology. not a half-hearted one, nor a defensive one. not even a muttered sorry thrown at your back when she thinks you’re sound asleep. shoko stands by what she said, and you can tell because she never takes it back. ever. not even when you're very clearly on the edge of losing your mind.
you stop reaching out to her like you'd always done. you don’t cuddle up to her on the couch anymore. you don’t climb into her lap to attack her face with kisses, and you don’t absentmindedly play with her slender fingers while she smokes. when she talks, you listen, but it’s sort of surface-level listening. like, you're politely landing an ear as if she were a stranger, not the woman you used to build your whole day around.
you used to be so sweet, that's why you attracted so many. everyone saw you as a bubbly, affectionate, always touching, always laughing at everything kinda girl. after all, you were the person who dragged her out of her shell, who made her feel less alone in rooms full of eccentric people.
now you just look tired.. fed up, bored, even.
you answer her questions with shrugs. with “mhm.” with “i dunno.” you don’t pick any fights, but you don’t smooth things over either. when she gets quiet, you don’t rush in to fix it like normal. and when she looks at you like she wants some sort of reassurance, you give her absolutely nothing.
if she wants to treat you like a reckless kid, you’ll show her exactly what that looks like.
you start partying like you were in freshman again. almost every weekend you'd go over to yuki or utahime's to pregame before the sun could even get a chance to set. then, you'd rock up to whatever frat had a function that day.
you post more, and it's not couple pics. not soft candid shots of shoko reading or smoking by the window. it’s just you now. lots of mirror selfies, pretty, blurred videos of you dancing with your friends.
and you start getting absolutely pissfaced.
nine times out ten you're ending the night with your head in a toilet or a shoved in a bush, throwing your guts up of the copious amounts of alcohol you'd consumed.
it feels like spitting in the face of the version of yourself you worked so hard to become.
and it feels good.
one night you're really letting loose at a backyard mixer, skulling alcohol and grinding up on utahime for the gag while people laugh and egg you guys on.
from across the yard a few of the guys you used to party with before shoko are gossiping like high schoolers.
they don’t think you can hear them at first.
“isn't that a sight for sore eyes,” gojo says, nodding toward you. “either she and shoko finally broke up, or she’s going through something.”
sukuna follows gojo's gaze and snorts. “mm, miss when she used to be fun like this. even let me touch up on her last week.”
“shit,” toji chuckles, “she's acting like she wants someone to pick her up and drag her home.”
gojo grins. “mhm, not exactly single behaviour. maybe we should try our luck.”
sukuna’s eyes flick back to you. “if she’s not hitched anymore, i’d say she’s fair game.”
they all laugh and smack eachothers shoulders like the horrible testosterone filled assholes they are, and continued eye fucking you from afar.
you knew the kind of attention you got when you acted like this, but you really couldn't bring yourself to care.
this is what shoko thinks you are, right?
fine. let her be right.
you let strangers touch your tighter when you dance, letting their greedy hands rest on your hips as you rock back and forth to whatever pitbull music was bumping over the speakers. you don't shoo them off like you usually would or tell them to get a life when they blatantly flirted with you, you just smiled and gave them a wishy washy answer that could be taken either way.
you don’t sleep with anyone, of course. but not because you couldn’t, but because an evil part of you wants to see how far you can go without crossing that line, wants to see if shoko will crack first and admit that this is mostly her fault..
when you come home, it's always so, so late.
sometimes she’s asleep, sometimes she’s on the couch, cigarette burning down in the ashtray, her once full sparkling eyes suddenly looking far more hollow. you don’t argue anymore nor do you ask any reassuring questions about how she's going. you drop your bag, toe off your shoes, lean down and press a faint kiss to her cheek.
then you go to bed, and you pass out.
you used to nag her twenty four seven, lovingly and always with a sweet smile.
you used to tell her to cut back on smoking then tell her she’d feel better if she got some air, if she went out, if she didn’t shut herself away all the time. you’d drag her out to do everything and anything with you, got her out of that depressive negitive feedback loop, always told her she deserved more than four walls and a pack of cigarettes.
now there’s no one doing that.
now she smokes four times as much.
she stays in more and isolates harder. she feels like the ghost of the girl she was. she skips meals. sleeps weird hours. lets the sink fill up with dishes because you’re not there to tease her about it anymore.
and it eats her from the inside out.
because she knows this didn’t come from nowhere. she knows she pushed you. knows she said something she can’t ever take back. she watches you pull away day by day, watches you turn into a self destructive version of yourself she both hates and recognises as her own fault.
she starts getting sick.
headaches that don’t go away. chest tight with an intense, agonising worry. her hands shake with uncontrollable anxiety when she lights a cig. she checks her phone every three seconds, monitoring your location, your stories, your posts. every party makes her stomach churn and sink like she's swallowed a bomb and it was set to detonate any second. every skimpy outfit feels like a threat to whatever's left of your relationship.
is she safe?
is she drunk?
is she with someone else?
does she still love me?
those thoughts don’t ever shut the fuck up. not when she’s alone n' not when she’s trying to sleep. not even when you’re right there in bed turned away from her.
she wants to reach for you so badly it rips every valve of her heart from the base. all she needs to do is apologise, and god she wants to, but her pride keeps her quiet.
and fear.
because what if she does apologise, and you don’t come back anyway?
so she stays stuck in her own head, watching you destroy yourself. watching herself sink to rock bottom right alongside you. knowing deep down that this spiral, this agonising distance, this is on her.
and she’s paying for it with every sleepless night, every cigarette, every unanswered “are you home yet?” text that stays on delivered, not even read.
~
choso [4:45pm]: sho
choso [4:45pm]: there's a party on friday, can you come??
shoko [4:47pm]: don't really feel like it, sorry choso
choso [4:47pm]: pleasee
choso [4:47pm]: you haven't been out of the house in ages... it's not healthy.
choso [5:23pm]: shoko?
choso [5:38pm]: if you come i'll give you a pack of 50 for free?
shoko [5:39pm]: mkay
shoko [5:40pm]: do yk if y/n's going?
choso [5:41pm]: shouldn't you know that?
she rolls her eyes at that last message and throws her phone aside in bed.
yeah. she should know, but you weren't really speaking to her at the moment. around three weeks have passed and what used to be polite conversation had diminished and turned into full on ignoring on your part, you were being so childish. that's what she thought, at least.
she could hear the run of the water from the bathroom, you were showering like you'd always done on weekdays, only she used to be right in there with you... rubbing her hands over your soapy breasts, pinching the nipples under the excuse of, 'cleaning them properly'.
shower sex was right up there in the things she missed in her now dead relationship. even thinking about it was making her clit twitch with need, you hadn't fucked in far too long. her fingers late at night while you partied weren't cutting it, she needed you grinding down on her, short of breath and kissing her neck in between gasps while your rode out your orgasm.
when the water turns off, the wetness in her panties dries from fear of being caught awake and feeling. she turns to her side under the sheets and takes a deep breath, shutting her eyes as if she were never there for you to ignore in the first place.
she bites her lip as the bed dips. you smell delicious, you feel warm and soft even from the distance you'd put between yourselves. you were so incredibly tempting, but she knew she didn't deserve it. not when she couldn't even muster up the courage to admit she was wrong, better yet apologise.
"sho, you awake?" she almost choked when she hears you mutter that softly into the air.
"yes." she manages to breath out.
"i.. good night."
"good night."
no, no! what were you gonna say? what were you thinking?! she wanted to know —fuck that— needed to know.
"y/n, i—"
"go to sleep, shoko."
...
"kay."
~
that party seemed to crash up on her faster than she'd anticipated, because now shoko was sitting lazily in a busted up lawn chair next to choso, smoking her lungs away from the pack he'd tossed her when she first arrived.
parties are supposed to be fun, that's what you were always making them out to be, so why the fuck did the pit in her stomach decide to open up and swallow her whole as soon as she sat down?
her anxiety was through the roof, but surprisingly it wasn't because of the people. she just couldn't spot you, anywhere.
when she got here, her first instinct was to try and pick you from the crowd like a good girlfriend would do. but you were no where.
the two of you didn't talk about this function, didn't see one another leave in seperate cars, or debrief about any sort of meet up during said function like any regular couple would do.
so she's left there with this dork choso, looking out onto the massive lawn like a loser, sifting through heads of hair like a gold panner.
after about an hour of worry warting and sipping her drink, she finally spots a silhouette that looks all too familiar playing beer pong about ten meters away.
she watches as you laugh and sink ever cup you try for, you were always so good at everything you did.
you finish the game with an overly dramatic flourish, slamming the last cup back and throwing your arms up. people crowd in around you, patting your back, shouting and laughing.
you feel free and young.
this is what you wanted her to see.
that you’re not delicate. that you’re not some kid she needs to manage or protect or lecture. that you can be loud and messy and wanted without her approval.
your eyes flick over the crowd, and for half a second, you see her sitting there watching.
your smile inflates, good.
you turn away almost immediately, letting yuki pull you toward the pulsating music again. you dance up against her and utahime with your back arching and your hands in the air.
choso peers over at his stressed out friend and decides to poke the bear.
"doesn't seem like you had much to worry about, she looks... normal."
this makes her sigh, because yeah, you weren't really doing anything she needed to be fretting over. just playing games with your friends, looking semi-coherent, and dancing away. everything was fine.
until it wasn't.
until half an hour goes by and she sees you down, not even kidding, around four drinks. one after the other.
she's jaw dropped, she hadn't seen you knock em' back like this since before you promised her you'd stop being so dependant on the stuff. before all of this messy bullshit.
"she's really throwing them down." choso mutters.
"choso, shut up." shoko was getting very antsy.
she gets worse when she sees a certain beefed up, green haired, pierced monster stalking his way towards you.
he slides in besides you smoothly and drags those gross yellow eyes all over your body. he's big, like, really big. it makes shoko a bit insecure seeing his hulking muscle and the way he absolutely dwarfs you in height.
you seem to be entertaining him, naoya, smiling sweetly as he leans down to talk.
“been a while,” he says, moving in just enough to be heard over the music.
you laugh, a little breathless, and nod. “yeah? feels like i saw you just yesterday at one of these things.”
his gaze dips down to your chest, then comes back up slowly. “well, don't you look good.”
you tilt your head, pretending to think about it. “i know.”
from across the yard, shoko's gone completely still.
she watches him move his body closer, watches him flex his arms without even pretending not to. she chose as his hands look like they're about to shoot out and grab you. that's fucking naoya, the guy who's known for quite literally being the worst, most misogynistic man there was. she knew you didn't know that, after all, you were two grades below her and naoya, but it made her go white.
her cigarette drops from her lips down into her palm, then into the grass, completely forgotten. her teeth latch onto her tongue and press down hard enough to draw blood.
this is what she was afraid of. not because she doesn’t trust you (contrary to popular belief (well, your belief.)), but because she knows how men, especially men like him, look at you. how quickly they decide you’re theirs to touch.
naoya laughs at something you say, loud and cocky, then he reaches out.
his fingers close around your arm.
that’s it.
shoko is on her feet before she’s fully aware she’s moved.
she doesn’t think nor does she weigh out the consequences. she cuts through the crowd with purpose and her chocolate eyes locked on you.
her hand closes around your other wrist and you don't realise until she's pulling you away from the towering man.
“hey—” you chirp, a laugh still slipping around on your tongue. she's unrelenting.
“sho, what the fuck—” you try again, but your words trip over themselves, drunk and confused and suddenly very aware of the way everyone is staring at you and your girlfriend.
she's got you dragged behind her as she squishes inside, then straight up the grand stairway into a quiet room, it looked like it belonged to nanami.
"hey, the hell r' you—"
"what the hell do you think you're doing?!"
oh.
she was yelling... at you... had you ever heard her yell before?
"do you know how—" she looks away from you with her forehead in her palm. "—jesus fucking christ— do you think? ever?! what the fuck do you think you're doing with that guy? you know he's literally known for assaulting girls!" she snaps.
you're still a little buzzed, so you shake your head and try to explain, "he's just friendly... yr' just j—hic—jealous."
"jealous? you think me being worried about my girlfriend getting potentially assaulted is jealousy?"
"i think you're pent up and need to chill the fuck—"
"y/n."
you pause. "...shoko?"
"i'm sorry."
...
"what?"
she wipers a hand down her face before looking you straight in the eye, elaborating.
"i know this is my fault, baby. i know..." she's backed up and sat down on nanami's bed, the room is perfectly dim for such a conversation. she turns her head towards the opens window, then takes a breath and continues.
“i fucked up,” she sighs.
you stare at her.
your head is still swimming, alcohol sitting heavy behind your eyes, but that cuts through it clean. the words land wrong because they’re right, and because you’ve been waiting for them far longer than you want to admit.
“you don’t just get to say that now,” you mutter, your arms folding. “not after weeks of acting like i deserved that shit.”
her eyes fall to the floor, “i know.” another deep sigh. “i kept telling myself i was protecting you, or that i was being realistic. but really, i was just scared, and i took it out on you because it was easier than admitting that.”
you scoff. “you called me slutty, shoko.”
her face crumples at that distasteful memory.
“i know,” she repeats, voice cracking now. “and i hate myself for it. i said it because i wanted to hurt you. because i felt small, and instead of dealing with that, i tried to make you smaller too.”
that stings worse than the insult did.
you turn away, pacing the edge of the room like a caged animal. nanami’s shelves blur past you. the open window lets in cold air that smells like smoke and dew.
“do you have any idea what that did to me?” you ask, not looking at her. “i spent two years trying to be better for you. trying to be enough. and then you made it sound like i was just pretending the whole time.”
she stands like she’s afraid you’ll bolt.
“i never thought you were pretending,” she says. “i thought you were slipping away from me. and instead of telling you i was scared, i tried to control you.”
you laugh under your breath. “congrats. worked great.”
“i know.” she rubs her face with both hands. “and watching you lately… it’s been screwing with me. every party, every post. i kept thinking you were punishing me.”
you stop and turn back to her. “i was,” you say. just say it. “i wanted you to see what you thought of me. i wanted you to hurt.”
she nods again, bubbly tears sticking to her messy mascara now. “i deserve that.”
“no,” you snap, then push a hand through your roots. “you didn't. i went overboard, i know that, sho... i just... i just wanted you to admit you were wrong.”
she rakes her eyes from your head to toe, squeezing her eyes shut letting the built up tears flow down.
“i missed you,” she chokes. “even when you were right there in front of me. god, especially then.”
“you think i didn’t miss you?” you shoot back. “i came home every night hoping you’d say something. anything. and you’d just sit there like you were waiting for me to finish ruining myself.”
her shoulders curve into herself. “i was scared if i spoke, you’d leave.”
“so instead you let me spiral?”
“i didn’t know how to stop it,” she admits. “and i didn’t think i deserved to.”
that takes the wind out of you.
you sink down onto the edge of the bed exhausted. the fight in you drains out.
“i was wrong,” she says softly. “about you. about trusting you. about everything i said that night... it was so fucked up, baby, i—"
you swallow. “—i was wrong too. for trying to make you jealous instead of just telling you i was hurting."
she huffs out a pretty laugh. jesus, you missed that laugh. “we’re a mess.”
“yeah,” you reply. “i guess.”
her hand hovers between you for a second before she lets it fall back to her lap. “can i… can i touch you?”
you nod, then her delicate fingers brush over yours slowly, and when you don’t pull away, she curls them around your hand, tight and achingly missed.
“i missed this,” she admits.
“me too,” you reply. your voice goes soft despite yourself. “i missed you. not the girl who was kinda being a jerk, but yeah, you.”
she squeezes your hand and laughs gently again. “i'm gonna try my best to be better, honey, trust me. i can't fucking deal with you not being right next to me."
you look at her, eyes glassy, makeup probably smeared, pride stripped bare.
“so will i,” you say. “but i need you to stop seeing me as something you have to nit pick.”
you lean into her then with your forehead pressing into her slender shoulder. she wraps an arm around you tenderly and nuzzles your neck.
“i missed you so much” you whisper. that girl who liked to be dependant on your lovely girl was creeping back up on you, you felt all gooey, like you needed to be cradled and fussed over after weeks of neglect.
“i know,” she says, voice breaking. “i know.”
deep down you both know this doesn't completely solve things, there’s still a lot of emotional damage to deal with, still some habits to unlearn (again), still trust to rebuild.
but this was a start, a start to healing the love between you and the girl you'd admired most in this world.
"love you, sho."
"i love you more."
you both spend an hours just sitting in the company of one another, talking and sharing your emotions fully and completely. you converse deeper than you ever had before as she twirls your middle finger with hers. the motion is so familiar. you begin to mourn the loss of her, of her fingers... of the way only she could make you feel.
"shoko, can we go home? i... i want to be with you."
she seems to understand your whiny little plea immediately, she tilts your head to look up at her. "horny even now, huh? what a desperate thing you are."
~
now, after driving you home and missing you sensless the moment you'd walked through he the door, she's got you pinned to the bed you'd previously spent weeks not touching eachother in.
“shoko,” you choke out, your voice is already so fucked out from the kissing she jsut laughs. she tilts her head, watching you like she’s both amused and sadistically obsessed. “please, god,i need you.”
“need what, hm?” she teases, the bow of her lip disappearing as her smile grows.
“you,” you whisper, and the little quiver in your tone satisfies her greatly.
her hand teases your with small squeezes moving across your skin in ways that make your heart smack against your rib cage embarrassingly fast. “here?” she asks, with hers hand pressed into the plush of your thigh. you shake your head, breath catching, and she adjusts, placing it at the lowest part of your tummy, pressing down making you moan softly.
“closer,” you choke, and her finally slip down under your soaked panties and find their rhythm pumping slowing in and out of your cunt. she watches your face contort and churn together in pleasure, obsessing over the adorable way your eyes flutter before your irises roll back.
“tell me,” she whispers. “how much do you want me, sweetheart?"
“so much,” you whine, hiding your face in her shoulder so sweetly. she hums softly as her hands start pulling you closer. this makes her pick up the pace, plunging deeper and deeper with each pull from your throat.
“just me, right?” she smirks. “no one else?”
“only you,” you breathe, she presses a soft kiss to your temple, letting you melt against her.
the way she's finger fucking you is addicting, the moans spilling from your throat are otherworldly. every curl of her fingers has the pads hitting your sweet spot over and over again, abusing the poor nerve until tears flow down your cheeks while you chant, "shoko—shoko—shoko—!"
she coo's maniacally and shoves her lips against yours to catch the way her name tastes on your tongue.
every sigh, every tremble, every breath between kisses makes her embarrassingly wet, but she'd rather tend to you than ever put herself first.
“good girl,” she teases, drawing you closer and closer to your climax.
“you're mine,” she whispers, pressing another kiss to your lips, letting her free fingers toy with your hardened nipples.
you moan in ecstasy, finally letting go as she rubs you just the right way.
“always,” you manage to spit out after your collapse.
she cradles you in her arms as you go limp, “easy,” she smiles. the teasing glint in her tone had completely vanished replaced by her nurturing voice.
she reaches into the drawer grabbing out the wet wipes you kept handy. she washes you off briefly, then helps you get comfortable. tugging the blankets up and tucking them around you tenderly. her thumb wipes at your cheek, careful and apologetic.
“i’ve got you,”
she pushes a kiss into your hair, then another, then rests her chin there. “i missed you, baby,” she admits in the quiet.
"me too, shoko."
A/N oh boy, i'm glad that's over. talk about a messy,, undeveloped plot line 😭💔 i wanted to make this so much longer, but alas, i have too many requests to get through 😔
tw + tags // nsfw. minors dni. fem! reader. vaginal, fingering, vibrator, dildo, squirting, anal plug, male masterbation, camgirling & a bit of voyeurism.
the blanket is thrown lazily over his lower half, while his torso is slumped against his headboard as he absent-mindedly scrolls through his twitter feed. which, by now, mostly consisted of amateur porn and thirst traps.
but on this occasion, that's exactly what he's looking for. he's just been so pent-up all day, and he's truthfully not the type to immediately resort to jacking off — when he woke up with an agonising case of morning wood, his first instinct was to just go on with this day and ignore it. but that didn't work, so he tried going to the gym to work it off. but that didn't work either.
in fact, when he came home and took a nice hot shower, that only seemed to make the problem worse. so now he's on his last resort, lazing in his bed with his cock free from his sweats, palming it with one hand while the other holds his phone.
the room is dark; the only source of light being his phone screen and his dim bedside lamp. he groans lowly from the blunt satisfaction of his hand against his crotch. usually such lacklustre touch wouldn't do it for him, but since he's been repressing his urges all day, perhaps he's extra sensitive. regardless, any pleasure he's experienced must purely be from his own touch, as the videos on his feed aren't doing it for him at all.
it's all the same shit, really. girl with unfathomably big tits. mirror selfie. amateur 69ing. streamer fingering herself and giving the most obviously exaggerated moans. another girl with unfathomably big tits. male streamer thrist trap with corny caption. amateaur doggy style that is so blurry it looks like it was filmed on a microwave. more tits—
so repetitive.
that is, until he stumbles across a new account. at first, he processes it as 'just another girl fingering herself' video and almost automatically scrolls away. but he falters for a moment and lingers on the video for a bit longer. and thank god he does. once she starts to pick up the speed, it's like nothing he's ever seen before. gojo is immediately engulfed in the video, eyes glued to her pussy, watching intently as her gorgeous, creamy hole swallows her fingers over and over.
in theory, it's nothing special. yeah, she sounds cute and has got a nice body, but she's not even showing her face — the money-maker — hence why the video has barely over a thousand views.
but to gojo, everything about it is hypnotic. the way her breath hitches as she whines and muffles her moans; he loves a girl whose cute and timid — he has a fantasy where he makes a shy girl open up and scream on his girth. he also likes how the video is a bit grainy and low exposure, looks like it was filmed in the dark. it makes him think that she hid away in her room because there's other people around, and she had to stay quiet so nobody would hear her. but the moans that do slip out are just so sweet and needy, it's like she's crying out for him in particular.
overall, she's got this air of familiarity and intimacy about her that's just so sexy to him. he's fisting his cock at the same pace she's working her fingers into her pussy, and he ends up cumming as soon as witnesses her shaking and squirting all over the camera.
in a lustful haze, he doesn't bother to question why he feels so attracted to his content creator specifically. instead, he's guided by his raging hormones and need for another orgasm to click on her profile and search for more useful videos.
xxangel is her username. befitting.
strangely, she's not got an OF link in her bio, so despite the fact he was fully willing to fork out some cash to see more of her, gojo instead has to manually scour through her profile.
there's lots of replies to comments and retweets of other girls' content. with the occasional cute tit pic taken with the front camera. gojo idly rubs himself while he searches for something more substantial to get off too. however, he eventually stumbles across an image that sends shockwaves down his spine and he instantly realises why he's so attracted to her.
it's an image of you knelt in front of a full-length mirror, wearing bunny-themed lingerie, with the phone covering your face. a very typical photo for a nsfw twitter account. however, gojo recognises the background. in fact, he recognises everything. the mirror frame, the walls, the wardrobe behind the mirror, the plushes on your bed caught in the mirror's reflection.
that's your room.
a rollercoaster of emotions overcome him. at first, he felt embarrassed and a bit guilty that he wasn't able to immediately clock that the account was yours, just based off your body and voice alone. what kind of best friend is he? but he quickly brushes that off, since admittedly his brain was clouded with libido.
but his guilt only shifts. now he feels bad that he's discovered your nsfw without your knowledge. this seems like an invasion of privacy; should he tell you that he found this or pretend he never even saw it? either way, there's no way he can continue watching porn made by his best friend. that's.. so wrong.
he taps out of the image so he can exit your profile, but unfortunately his finger somehow slips and he ends up scrolling down slightly. it's then he finds a long video of you doggy-style on bed with a vibrator in your pussy, and he accidentally clicks on it and watches the whole thing. the camera is positioned behind you, so he still can't see your face, but he can only imagine the adorable ways your face is contorting to cope with the immense pleasure of that vibrator ruining your sensitive cunt.
after he's done watching you squirt all over your bed and soak your duvet (he's slept in those sheets, by the way. now that he knows that they've previously been covered in your juices, that causes his erection to throb in his hand), he intends to leave your profile but then it autoplays the next video and he's sucked in again. this one is short-form, and it's just you sat on the ground with your legs spread, toying with your clit and releasing the most precious, soft moans. your glistening pussy on display the whole time, teasing the camera.
and by now, he's so close. he wants to stop, he really does. he wants to be a good friend and respect your privacy, but it's gotten to the point where he needs to finish, and he knows that you're the only one who can help him.
he opens another video, but it's also way too short to lead him to his climax. still, he watches you spread your cheeks and — if the caption is true — insert a plug into your ass for the first time. it's small but still way too big for your tight hole, hence you writhe and struggle as you push it in. your thighs are damp and he can see a sliver of pink peeking out from between your pussy lips. a couple minutes later, you manage to fit it inside you and simultaneously end up cumming from the vibrator, gushing all over your floor. (he never realised you are such a squirter; he makes a mental note to tease you about that later.)
anyway, that video wasn't nearly long enough to help him climax, so he continues to look through your profile until he finds the holy grail — a video of you riding a six inch dildo on your bed. your face towards the camera, but the frame cuts off around your neck. still, he can see your tits jumping wildly with each bounce and his cock pulses in his hand upon hearing your lewd, pornographic moans. he didn't know you were capable of making such indecent noises, but now he's addicted to the sound. his eyes are fixated on the point where your pussy greedily consumes the dildo, leaving semi-translucent streaks on it every time you pull up.
gojo finds himself tugging his cock at the same rate you're hopping on the dildo, pretending that it's him you're riding. his eyelids feel heavy when his orgasm approaches, however he fights to keep them open so he doesn't miss a second of your video. he wants to see you and keep imagining what that tight pussy would feel like around his cock.
his chest heaves from the rapid motion of his hand and eventually he ends up spurting strings of his cum over his hand and sheets, hushed groans and whimpers rumbling in his mouth as his eyes roll back. meanwhile, as he's coming down from his sticky high, he can hear you finishing in the video too, squirting on the silicone toy and your bedsheets — no surprise there.
gojo frowns. it's really over. there's a heavy sensation in his chest, and he's unsure whether it is satisfaction from his orgasm, or guilt. either way, he pants, and the air feels different now.
gojo: hi princess
gojo: how was your day?
y/n: why are you calling me princess 😭😨
y/n: gojo what did you do
y/n: ur guilty of something, i know it!!!
gojo: hahaha no i'm just horny
y/n: LOL oh okay makes sense
gojo: can i show you a twt video i found??
y/n: EW no i don't want to see twt porn GROSS
y/n: (yes please show me)
huskerdust x fem!reader. a birthday present for the wonderful, inimitable @mckeeks. if anyone deserves to be lovingly spoilt (and dicked down) by this duo, it is unequivocally her. ❤️ happy birthday, babe!
when you reluctantly reveal to the other residents of the hazbin hotel that you're still a virgin, angel graciously offers up his and husk's services in rectifying that condition for you. and how could you turn down such a kind offer from hell's best couple?
(as always, the dynamic here is one in which husk serves as the hinge between the reader and angel). way longer than I thought it'd be - 7.8k.
featuring: afab/fem-presenting reader, established!huskerdust, polyamory, soft!dom angel dust, voyuerism/exhibitionism, praise kink, lowkey daddy kink, oral sex (reader receiving), handjobs (husk receiving), masturbation, facials, husk has barbs (and you're into it), unprotected sex (it's hell so who cares), gendered petnames, the hotel rooms have cuck chairs (sorry).
“Sooo…” Angel draws out liltingly, his glass clasped between two hands, and you immediately regret accepting his invitation to join him at the bar. His voice isn’t teasing – just curious – but you can still feel your face begin to burn before he even gets the question you know is coming past his lips and into the air between you. “…A virgin, huh?”
Dear God or whoever is listening, if there is any chance that the ground could open up and swallow you whole, you really needed it to happen right about now.
“Angel.” Husk says from his usual position on the other side of the bar. He has his back to you as he sorts the bottles back into their designated positions after a long night of ‘family bonding’ with the rest of the residents. You’re grateful, for once, that his eyes aren’t on you. Husk’s voice is edged with a gentleness you think might be reserved just for the spider. Still, there’s a warning there, too. “Leave it.”
Where he’d usually make some teasing or sarcastic remark, Angel’s silent for a moment. When he speaks again, his voice stays gentle, still curious. “You one of those god-fearin’ types or ya just never had the opportunity?”
You loved Charlie, you really did, but right now…
Right now, fuck her and her bonding activities.
“I just…” you swallow the knot sticking in the middle of your throat, keeping your eyes trained pointedly away from Angel’s face. You notice that maybe Husk’s hand pauses for a moment, as though he’s waiting for an explanation too. Well, who wouldn’t? You might have died younger than most, but not young enough to just chalk up your inexperience to the innocence of youth. “I just never met anyone I liked, I guess. And Hell’s not exactly lousy with decent men.”
“Huh.” Angel says simply, finishing his drink. He sets the glass back down, stretching one pair of arms above his head, the other two behind him. He settles all four of his hands in his lap as Husk refills his drink. And then,
“You should get Husk to help ya out with that.”
Your cheeks flame, and Husk chokes on the drink he’s just taken. Eyes watering and his throat burning with the whiskey that sticks in it, he coughs his admonishment. “Angel!”
You grope for a response, for a joke that’ll get the conversation away from your sex life… or lack thereof. Before you can find one, Angel continues, ignoring the way Husk is still hacking up the last of his drink. Even as mortified as you are, you feel your lips quirk upwards slightly in amusement as Husk reaches blindly for a new bottle before he’s even done coughing up the remains of the first.
“Look at you two, blushin’ like some kinda…” Angel smirks as he glances pointedly at you. “…well.”
You frown. “I really don’t need you mocking me, Angel.”
“I ain’t mockin’ ya dollface,” he replies, raising two hands in surrender. Still, that placid note stays in his voice, something that could be read as sincerity if what he was offering wasn’t such a ridiculous notion. “I’m bein’ serious here. Huskie’s downright godly in the sack.”
Husk finally turns around to face the two of you properly, bright pink staining his muzzle. You notice his eyes dart towards you, and you could swear the blush deepens. The idea that it does sends a thrill through you, and you clutch tightly at your glass as though it could somehow stem the feelings churning inside you.
Husk was Angel’s. You’d accepted that, you had. You’d written off your attraction to the bartender as some silly crush. You didn’t think about him like that anymore.
You didn’t.
“Legs, I’m beggin’ ya,” Husk says, even as he refills the spider’s glass, “For the sake of whatever you believe in, please shut the fuck up.”
“What?” Angel protests, waving a hand almost dismissively. He actually looks confused by the objection. “I ain’t got a problem sharin’ if it’s with a friend.”
Husk sighs, directing his eyes towards the ceiling. There’s a tightness to how he stands, in the way his tail is switching back and forth behind him. He’s still avoiding your eye, his face still warm with colour.
“That ain’t the—” he breaks off, taking a deep pull from the bottle in his hand. He grimaces, tilting the bottle to read the label – watermelon vodka of all things – but shrugs and takes another drink as though it helps him gather his thoughts. Or his nerves. “She ain’t a toy, Angel. You can’t jus—”
“You tellin’ me ya ain’t interested anymore?” Angel interjects pointedly, raising a brow.
Husk stiffens, his ears dropping back against his skull. “I—”
“What?” you finally find your voice again, straightening slightly in your seat. You turn your attention fully to the bartender, and he meets your gaze with equally wide eyes. “You… you were interested? In me?”
“I…” Husk seems to struggle for words for a moment before he sighs, an almost sheepish, self-deprecating smile touching his lips as he exhales. “C’mon, doll. I’d have to be blind not to notice you.”
Something warm and wonderfully light settles in your chest, and Angel’s smile widens as he takes in your reaction. You jump as you feel one of his hands touch your arm.
“Told ya so,” he says, skimming his hand up along your arm as he stands. He continues to caress across your shoulder blades, moving to stand behind you. “Shoulda seen it, baby. How he’d bend himself all outta shape feelin’ guilty for feelin’ all warm and gooey over ya.”
“Angel, I didn’t—”
“’s okay,” he assures you gently, his hands taking your shoulders and waist. He leans against your back, meeting Husk’s eye as he speaks in your ear. Angel’s voice is low; his warm breath against your neck makes you shiver. “Like I said, I don’t mind sharin’.”
Your eyes flick back to Husk.
“So, why not get somethin’ out of it? Huskie here can be real romantic about it… he’ll make ya feel so, so good…”
You can feel your breath leave you unsteadily. Husk’s pupils all but eclipse the gold of his eyes, and his gaze falls to your mouth for a moment before he meets your eye again.
“There’s no pressure, baby,” Angel assures you, and you can tell he means it. “I’m jus’ sayin’, we’d have a lot of fun together.”
“‘We’?” you repeat, surprised enough to turn and face him. Angel wears his pride like a second skin, and as far as you were aware, he never swung back the other way without being paid for it. You try to find the right words as Angel beckons Husk to join the two of you, and heat pools in the small of your back as you hear, feel, the bartender round the bar towards you slowly. You choose the words carefully. “I didn’t think you were…”
Angel smirks, lifting your chin with two delicate fingers. That same heat burns in the pit of your stomach at the gentle dominance of the action. “Don’t panic, dollface. I ain’t joinin’ in the ride. It’s your show; yours and Husk’s.”
He leans down, bringing his face so, so much closer to yours. You feel Husk’s presence beside the two of you, and Angel reaches out to take his hand. Husk takes it wordlessly; he’s so close you can feel the soft fur of his stomach brush against your knee as he breathes. It puts images in your head of him stepping between your thighs, taking hold of your hips… trapping you between his body and the bar…
There’s a heat in Angel’s eyes that makes it impossible for you to look away; one that floods through every inch of you. It makes your entire body tingle with need for connection, for touch. Angel seems to recognize this; he reaches up with another hand to brush hair behind your ear and his smile twitches wider when you shudder.
Nerves war with the excitement that has bloomed in the very centre of you, and you feel alien and out of place sitting on the bed, one knee bent against the mattress, the other leg hanging off the side. Husk sits in a mirrored position, wings tucked tight against his back. He’s so close that his knee bumps against yours.
The lights are low, but his eyes still glow as they study you. Your eyes keep falling to your hands where they tangle in your lap before they find his again, and you can feel just how flushed your cheeks are under his gaze. The feathered end of his tail twitches back and forth slowly beside the bed, and he clears his throat.
“We don’ have to do anything you don’ want to, sweetness.” he says in a low murmur, his voice all warm velvet and silk. The pet-name makes you press your lips together, the tip of your tongue darting out to wet them. Husk’s gaze falls to follow the movement, and he inhales sharply. “We… I don’ want you to feel like we’re forcin’ you into anything y—”
You lean forward and press your lips to Husk’s impulsively in a brief, fleeting kiss. You hear, feel, the quiet mrrp of surprise he makes, his wings fluttering and relaxing behind him. You can feel the softness of his lips before you pull away again, your face aflame. He blinks at you before his lips curl into a smile, and your breath catches in your throat as he closes the distance between you again.
Husk’s hand cups your cheek in the same moment his lips meet yours. This time the kiss lingers, and your nerves give way to desire as you feel his other paw touch your knee. Husk kisses you softly, searchingly, his lips brushing gently against yours. Your own lips part, his nose bumping against yours as you take a breath. Then he’s kissing you again and you whimper as you feel his tongue touch your bottom lip, begging permission.
God, the way he groans quietly when you part your lips and meet his tongue tentatively with your own.
Husk strokes your cheek with his thumb, the pad of his palm soft against your skin as he slides his claws carefully into your hair. It makes you shiver and you lean into his embrace, reaching up with uncertain hands to card fingers through the fur of his chest. A rumble sounds from deep within him, a rusty purr that you feel as a light buzz under your fingertips.
You can’t help the light, breathless laugh that leaves you as you realise that’s what it is – you’ve made the bartender purr – and Husk smiles into your kiss as he pulls you back to him, catching your lips again. His touch on your knee becomes more confident as you relax into his embrace, and he ghosts the tips of his claws up over your inner thigh, teasing just under the hem of your dress.
“Husk…” you breathe his name against his lips and he chuckles, eyes closed as he presses his forehead against yours.
“Fuck, it sounds so pretty comin’ from you…” he murmurs, his nose cold against your heated skin as he moves to kiss you again.
Your hand journeys up from his chest to slide through the fur of his neck and up to his cheek, and Husk leans into your touch with a soft smile. His paws close around your thighs and he tugs you closer, your legs unfolding to rest on either side of his. Husk’s touch moves to your hips and he kisses you again, guiding you gently back against the pillows as his body covers yours.
Winding your arms around his neck, you feel his feathers tickle at your knees as you bend them to rest against his hips. The move brings him flush against you, and Husk breaks away from your lips with a breathless sound halfway between a groan and a disbelieving laugh.
“Fuck…” Husk lets his head fall forward, his forehead bumping against your collarbone. You feel his hips rock into yours before he can stop himself, and you whimper as you feel his arousal press up between your thighs. He exhales shakily, brushing his lips against your shoulder, your throat, your cheek before he meets your eye again. “’s this okay?”
“Yeah,” you nod, carding your fingers through the fur at the base of his ear. Husk shudders against you, eyes rolling back slightly at the touch. A crease forms in his brow as he forces himself not to move, not to grind himself down against your warmth. Your dress is bunched up around him, baring your inner thighs to his tickling fur, his breath warm against your cheek. “Yeah, please… do it again, Husk.”
“Christ,” Husk mutters as you tease at his ear again, knocking his hat off his head. He kisses you firmly, deeply, one paw taking hold of your thigh and squeezing the soft flesh in a way that you could almost call possessive. “You got no idea how dangerous you are…”
“Holy shit, you two are cute.”
Angel’s voice breaks through the haze between the two of you, and you pull away from Husk slightly as you’re suddenly reminded that the spider is there. Your cheeks flush with heat; you’d been so wrapped up in the man in bed with you that you’d almost forgotten your friend was watching. Instead of being cowed by his interruption however, you’re almost taken aback by how much it excites you, knowing he’s watching.
Husk presses another kiss to the edge of your jaw before he turns his head to roll his eyes and smile at his paramour. “You plannin’ on jus’ addin’ colour commentary here, legs?”
“For now, yeah,” Angel replies with a grin, lounging comfortably in the armchair in the corner. He’s watching the two of you with hooded eyes, and there’s something almost sensual in the way he strokes a hand lazily back and forth along the velvety fabric of the arm of the chair. “I’m jus’ waitin’ for ya to do that thing with your tongue that’ll make her go blind for a second.”
Husk snickers and, feeling daring, you lean up to tease the side of his throat with your lips. You feel him groan as your teeth graze over his pulse point. The bartender’s hand tightens on your thigh, hitching it higher against his hip. “Fuck…”
“Ooh, she’s a quick study,” Angel coos, and you thrill under the praise as Husk turns his head to catch your lips in another kiss. “Think you can keep up with her, kitty?”
“Don’ call me that,” Husk mumbles without breaking the kiss, and Angel giggles. Husk dusts kisses down over your throat, and you feel him grin against your neck when he sucks a bruise into the curve where it meets your shoulder and you curse. The sound of it is low and throaty and begs for more, and Husk rewards it with a louder purr and a trail of kisses that teases down along the neckline of your dress. You arch up into his touch as his lips brush over your sternum, his whiskers tickling at the swell of your breasts.
His paw continues its journey up your thigh, taking the skirt of your dress with it. His tail sways back and forth behind him, and when he reaches your hip, he pauses, pressing one more kiss to your chest before pulling back to meet your eye. A smirk plays over his features, eyes half-lidded and pupils blown wide with desire.
“You got me at a disadvantage here, sweetness,” he murmurs, lips catching yours again briefly. “You’re a little overdressed for the occasion.”
You giggle. “Well, of course you’d think that; you’re the one who walks around the hotel half-naked all day.”
Husk chuckles, and you hear Angel hum a laugh, too. The cat kisses you, his thumb hooking in the band of your underwear and snapping it tauntingly against your hip. “Cheeky girl.”
You sit up and Husk helps you tug your dress up over your head, and God the way he looks at you…
Pulling him down into another kiss, you massage your fingers against the base of his ears and Husk moans, rough and worn and needy. He retakes your hips as you buck up against him, eager to feel him again with one less barrier between you. Husk snickers, kissing your cheek.
“Slow down, princess,” he tells you gently, claws tickling against your ribs as he strokes them soothingly. He hooks them in either side of your underwear, and you whine. He draws them down your legs slowly, pulling away from you long enough for you to kick them away. “I’ve got you, baby. One step at a time.”
You hear Angel shift in his chair and look towards him automatically. The spider smiles and winks, still watching the two of you with that same addictive intensity. You hold his gaze as Husk kisses his way back down your chest, sliding your bra strap down your shoulder gently. You gasp, arching up under Husk at the first touch of his tongue to your nipple. Angel’s smile widens.
Husk’s tongue is warm and wet and deliciously rough, and you moan as he sucks a teasing pressure around the hardened point. It makes your fingers tighten in his fur, and his other paw comes up to brush is claws over your other nipple. He pinches it and tugs, and the sudden pain makes you jump, and Husk snickers into your chest.
“Fuck, Husk…” you whine, eyes squeezed closed. You shift long enough to reach behind yourself and unclip your bra, tossing it aside as Husk immediately returns his attention to your breasts, paw kneading into the soft flesh. “Shit…”
“Ain’t he jus’ got the most magic tongue:” Angel coos, standing slowly. He makes his way towards the bed slowly, focused intently on how Husk’s back arches as he grinds himself into the mattress between your thighs. “Oh, he’s gonna make you feel so good, baby…”
Husk lingers at your breasts a moment longer, still purring deeply, before he continues lower. He dusts soft, teasing kisses down over your belly, paws smoothing down over the curve of your waist. He pauses just above the apex of your thighs, pressing the cold heart of his nose hard against your skin and inhaling deeply, his eyes closed.
“Christ…” he mutters, running his paws down over your hips and over your thighs, pressing them gently apart. His back arches in a long, fluid motion as Angel scratches his fingers through the fur along the cat’s spine. The spider’s touch lingers between his wing joints, and Husk groans, bumping his forehead against your thigh. “Fuuuuck… you smell so good, baby…”
“Husk…” you murmur, an ache throbbing between your thighs. You press your hips up, desperate for him to bring his mouth lower. “Please…”
“Oh, don’t you sound so pretty when you beg?” Husk rumbles, pressing an infuriatingly chaste kiss to your inner thighs, first one, then the other, his eyes watching your face hungrily. The smirk he wears is maddening, as is the snicker you hear from Angel. The spider sits next to you on the bed, stroking his fingers through your hair. You lean into the touch, eyes closing, a frown tugging at your lips as your impatience grows.
“Don’t she?” Angel agrees, nails scratching pleasantly against your scalp. “Be a nice kitty for her, baby.”
Husk’s smirk widens and Angel slips behind you, lifting you gently just long enough to fold his legs under you so your head is in his lap. The spider winks at you again, upside down, just as Husk finally slides his tongue slowly up over your clit.
“Oh, fuck!”
Angel giggles at the way you gasp, your hips rising off the sheets. Your eyes roll back as Husk flicks his tongue over your clit and the cat groans into your cunt at the taste of you. His paws clutch at your thighs, pinning you against the mattress, and while he planned on taking you apart slowly, the taste of you is already too addictive to let him pace himself.
Angel keeps stroking your hair with two hands, and your own reach down to grab at fistfuls of the fur between Husk’s ears. The bartender’s wings quiver as your nails scratch at his scalp.
Grinding your hips up against his mouth as best you can under his hold, you bite your lip against the downright pornographic sounds you can feel catching in his throat as Husk tortures your clit. Angel smirks, another hand coming up to glide over your chin, gently unhooking you lip from beneath your teeth. He giggles as you wrap your lips around two of his fingers blindly, curl your tongue against them and suck.
“Fuck, that’s hot.” he sighs, and Husk moans between your legs as he watches. “Oh, you’re in for a fuckin’ treat if you get her on her knees, Husk-baby.”
Husk chuckles, fangs grazing your inner thigh for a moment before he slides his tongue over your clit and down into your dripping cunt. He fucks you with his tongue eagerly, pressing the pad of his thumb against your clit. When your fingers brush against the shell of Husk’s ears he purrs again, and you moan, loud and broken and keening as the sound vibrates up into your pussy.
Angel hums approvingly, withdrawing his hand to slide it down around your throat. He cups it, squeezes it just a little, and you cum with a hoarse cry of Husk’s name. There’s no doubt you’re being loud enough to be heard in the hallway but you don’t care, not with the way Husk’s tongue feels inside you, the way his claws are digging into the flesh of your hips.
Husk doesn’t stop until you’re shaking, your thighs clamping around his ears, one hand clutching at the fur between them. You can feel a wet patch on the comforter beneath your ass, and Husk’s expression is decidedly smug as he climbs back up your body, one suspender hanging off his shoulder. Angel intercepts him before you can kiss him, and you whimper as they kiss over you, Angel cupping the bartender’s head with two hands. You can see their tongues sliding against each other and when Angel moans at the taste of you, you whimper, grinding your hips up against Husk’s clothed erection.
He groans, breaking away from Angel with a breathless chuckle. “Needy little thing…”
Husk leans back down to kiss you, and you can taste a heady mix of the sweetness of Angel’s last cocktail and your own arousal on his tongue. When you reach between you to fumble with the fastening of his pants, he closes a large hand over both of yours, stilling you.
“Slow down, pet. I’ve…” he kisses you gently again, steadying his voice. “Hell ain’t exactly left me with the anatomy you’re expectin’…”
“Say it like that and you’re gonna scare her,” Angel teases, reaching out to rub his fingers against the base of Husk’s ear. The bartender purrs, leaning into it instinctively. Angel looks down at you, giving you a smile that’s somehow both reassuring and downright lascivious. “You’re gonna love it, aren’t ya, babydoll?”
You nod, and there’s a surprising thrill that’s curling inside you at Husk’s warning. Or maybe that’s the way his claws trail lightly up over your hip. He swipes his thumb over your clit again, and you jerk under the touch.
“Angel…”
“Look at her, Huskie,” Angel coos, giving his partner a teasing pout. “It’d be cruel to deprive our sweet girl now. She’s about thirty seconds away from beggin’ ya for it. ‘Sides,” he shrugs. “I got lube if she needs it.”
Husk raises a brow. “You’ve got lube?”
“What d’ya take me for? Some kinda amateur?” Angel says, affronted. “Course I’ve got lube!”
The bartender chuckles, rolling his eyes and apologising by pulling the spider into another kiss. You feel his paw loosen its grip where it still holds your hands against his zipper, and you palm his erection through his pants. Husk moans, shuddering under the touch as he pulls away to meet your eye. “We… we take it slow, alright?”
You nod, maybe too quickly from the way Angel smirks, but Husk accepts it and releases you. You make quick work of his fly as he slips off his suspenders, and your eyes widen as his cock is freed from the fabric. It’s tapered slightly, thickening to the base, and along the length of it are small, pointed barbs. Angel brushes hair away from your face, cooing softly. “They’re gonna feel so good inside you, baby… you’re gonna take his cock so good for us…”
You exhale shakily, a sound echoed by Husk as you wrap your fingers gently around the base of his cock. You stroke him experimentally, and the way the barbs feel against your palm… Husk moans as you squeeze him, stroke your thumb over the tip of his cock. He peppers kisses over your forehead, your temples and your cheeks, catching your lips again and kissing you deeply as you pump his cock slowly. Angel hums his approval and when Husk kisses your brow Angel hooks his fingers under the cat’s chin, bringing him up for another kiss of his own.
You can hear every reaction Husk makes to your touch, the way his breath catches, the way he moans into Angel’s mouth. He thrusts himself into your hand, and you stroke your other hand through the fur over his ribs. When Angel reaches past him to massage the base of Husk’s wings the cat gasps, jerking away from the both of you. “Christ, fuck, you two are gonna kill me here.”
You giggle, and Husk grins, leaning up to kiss Angel’s cheek before he settles himself back between your thighs. Your breath catches as the head of his cock presses up against your cunt, and Angel strokes your cheek as Husk slides an inch slowly into you.
“Oh, God, Husk…” you whine, hips shifting as you feel his cock stretch you open. “Fuck…”
“Look at you,” Angel whispers sweetly as Husk pulls back and presses into you again, sliding another inch into you. The bartender groans as you flex around him, his paws tight on your hips. “Look at how pretty you look like this...”
You reach up to clutch at the pillows and Angel wraps his hand around yours, interlacing his fingers with your own. Husk’s body is warm and firm and a wonderful weight over yours, his face buried in the curve of your neck as he tries to maintain this torturous, glacial pace. Each thrust of his hips stretches you further, and it aches wonderfully, each barb of his cock taking the breath from your lungs in a little ‘hahh’.
“You’re doin’ so good, baby,” Angel continues, trailing fingers of another hand along your other collarbone. “Bein’ such a good girl for daddy… makin’ him feel so good.”
Husk moans into your shoulder, teeth grazing the supple flesh. His paw spreads possessively over your waist, kneading into the flesh of your belly.
“Listen to how hot you get him,” Angel says, a third hand scratching the fur between Husk’s ears. “Look at how kitty fucks you… he’s tryin’ so hard not to hurt you, baby. But you’re so wet for him, aren’t you? You’re so wet and so ready and all you gotta do is say ‘please’… say ‘please’ pretty baby and Huskie’s gonna fuck you so deep and so good… fuck you like you deserve for bein’ such a good girl for him…”
“Fuck…” you whine, rocking your hips up to meet Husk’s. He’s almost completely inside you; the way he corkscrews his hips makes the barbs of his cock drag against the flesh of your cunt deliciously, and your eyes roll back at the feeling of it. “Fuck!”
“C’mon, baby,” Angel urges, sugar-sweet. The hand on your shoulder dips lower, teasing over the curve of your breast. He flicks his fingers over your nipple, and your breath catches in what could almost be a sob. “Beg nice and pretty for daddy and he’ll fuck you just how you need it. “
“Please,” you whine, brow furrowed in frustration as Husk pulls out completely, sliding his cock up against your clit. His breathing is heavy, torn with need of his own, and he dips his head to kiss you, hard and deep. You moan into his mouth as his barbs drag against your clit, and you wrap your arm around his neck, your other hand still locked in Angel’s. “Please, Husk… fuck me, please… Fuck… I need you to… please, Husk…”
“That’s a good girl,” Husk sighs, and the two of you moan in unison as he slides his cock back into you, his hips finally, finally flush with yours. “Holy… fuuuuck…”
“Listen to you two,” Angel says admiringly, his voice strung with his own desire. “Sound so fuckin’ pretty together…”
Husk fucks you deep; each time he pulls back he thrusts in again far enough to make your breath leave you in quick, cut moans. You raise your knees higher, trying to get him deeper, and Angel reaches down with his lower arms, hooks his hands under your knees and draws them up towards your chest. The angle makes Husk’s cock brush against something inside you with each press of his hips into yours and you keen with it, the sound tearing hoarsely from your throat, high-pitched and broken.
“That’s it, baby,” Angel tells you. “Tell daddy how good he feels; tell him how good he feels fucking you.”
“So good…” your breath catches in your throat as Husk touches a careful claw to your clit, your body shuddering with the added stimulation. “Fuck, it’s so good…”
Husk kisses the other side of your neck, tongue and teeth teasing over your pulse point before he kisses you again, sweet and deep and addictive. A purr rumbles through him as he speaks against your lips, bumping his nose against yours. “You feel so fuckin’ good, doll. Fuck, you’re like pure fuckin’ silk…”
Your voice comes out high-pitched, a whine that matches the tears burning in the corners of your eyes. “Please, Husk… I’m so close, I can’t… Husk…”
“’s okay, baby, I got you,” he kisses you again, brief but tender. “I got you, doll. Fuck, you’re so… Christ…”
You clutch at the fur at the back of his head, urging his face back down to your neck. Husk moves obediently, sinking his teeth into the side of your neck just as he thrusts deep into your quivering cunt. You moan aloud as you cum, eyes rolling back and rocking your hips up against his as soon as Angel releases your thighs. Husk groans into your throat, keeping his teeth buried in your sensitive flesh until he feels you slowly relax again. He laps gently at the mark he’s left behind, the roughness of his tongue making your body jerk with each stroke of it against your neck.
Husk’s breathing is just as laboured as yours, and he presses kisses over your cheeks, your chin as he steadies his hips. You whine as he slips his cock out of you, bucking up against him as he slides the barbs of it slowly against your clit.
“Fucking… holy shit,” you reach down to grasp at his hips, and Husk chuckles brokenly into the edge of your jaw as he stops moving. He kisses the bridge of your nose and you wrinkle it when it tickles, and you echo his laugh breathlessly as he brings his lips back to yours. Husk purrs against your lips.
“Fuck, you two are hot as shit,” Angel sighs, squeezing your hand. You hum happily, squeezing back, and Husk breaks the kiss to lean up and kiss him. It’s soft and languid and sweet, and Husk groans into it, rutting himself against your thigh. Angel coos against Husk’s lips, kissing him between words. “You still need to cum, don’t ya, kitty?”
Husk nods, groaning as you stroke your fingers through the fur of his chest. “Don’t tease me, legs.”
“Never, baby,” Angel promises with the sweetest smirk, petting the bartender’s cheek. “Now be a good boy and sit back for me.”
Husk does as he’s told, and Angel strokes your cheek with careful fingers. You lean into it contentedly, and his expression softens further with an affectionate smile. “How ya feelin’, dollface?”
“Take a guess,” you sigh happily and he snickers.
“Atta girl.”
You feel Husk smooth a paw up over your calf, and your body warms as you shift to meet his eye. He has his other paw wrapped around his cock, stroking it slowly. Each time he reaches the base he squeezes, his breathing unsteady. His pupils are still blown wide, his wings quivering and his tail switching behind him.
“Roll over for him, baby,” Angel instructs you gently. “Up on your knees.”
You groan at the soft ache between your thighs as you roll over, hear Husk’s breath catch as you bare your naked back to him. You feel his paw smooth up the back of your thigh to squeeze your ass, and you lean back against him, his fur tickling at your bare skin, his cock hard against the curve of your ass. He wraps his arm around your middle, claws digging into the soft flesh in what feels addictively possessive, his other hand catching your chin and turning your face towards him. He kisses you over your shoulder, that sweet purr vibrating into your back.
Angel leans forward, turning your face away from Husk’s so he can kiss him instead, moaning quietly into the embrace. When they part, Angel surprises you by brushing his lips over yours. “Bend over, sweet girl.”
You shudder at his tone, a moan catching in your throat as you do as he asks. Husk moves to slide his cock between your thighs, and he groans, low and rough. Angel smooths hair away from your face as he guides you down to rest your cheek against his thigh, and your excitement sparks even brighter as you notice the spider’s erection beneath the tight fabric of his skirt, only a few inches from your face.
Husk thrusts into you again, nice and slow, exhaling heavily as your warm, wet cunt squeezes around him again. A shiver rolls up your spine as he takes hold of your hips, palms pressing into the flesh of your ass, claws digging into your skin. Angel’s lower hands move to your shoulders, pinning your chest to the mattress so your back is arched almost obscenely. He moans as you nuzzle your cheek against his clothed cock, and he gathers your hair in his fist so he can watch your face as Husk rolls his hips into yours.
“Fuck, you’re an eager lil’ thing,” Angel giggles breathlessly. He pulls up his skirt, and you watch through heavy-hooded eyes as Angel strokes himself through the barely-there lace of his thong, the fabric damp with his pre-cum. “Look at how much you’re turnin’ us on, baby… fuck…”
He moans as you clutch at his thigh, nails digging into the lithe muscles hidden under downy fur. You rock your hips back to meet Husk’s every thrust, urging him deeper into you. The bartender is muttering a string of curses the closer he gets to release, the swearing broken by moans and half-there praise for the two of you. When Angel pushes his underwear to the side to wrap his delicate, talented fingers around his own cock, he and Husk moan in unison. Your eyes roll back as Husk’s hands tighten on your hips and his pace quickens desperately.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuuuck…” you grunt out each time his hips meet your ass, your throat raw. You reach beneath yourself to play with your clit, the sounds you’re making turning high pitched. Angel’s fingers grasp at your hair tighter, his hips rising beneath you to fuck himself into his hand. “Fuck, Husk… Angel… I… fuck…”
“Christ, baby, I can’t…” Husk moans, tail wrapping itself around your sweat-slick thigh. His feathers tickle at the soft, sensitive flesh of your inner thigh, at the back of your hand as you roll your fingers hungrily against your clit. “Fuck, I can’t—”
“Hear that, babydoll?” Angel asks you, his usually almost teasing lilt broken by his own desperation. Instead his voice is reedier, breathier, and it’s far hotter than any of the moans you’ve heard him make in any one of the pornos he’s showcased for the other residents. “Don’t ya want our sweet kitty to cum for ya?”
“Yes…” you choke out, your thighs shaking, heat pooling in the small of your back. Husk bends over you to press kisses along your spine, and you feel like you want to cry from all the warring sensations. “God, fuck yes—Husk…”
He growls in response, fangs grazing the middle of your back as he kisses the curve of your back. His paws tighten on your hips further, despite himself, and you find yourself thrilling at the idea that he might mark you.
“Gotta – shit – ask nicely, sugar,” Angel reminds you, nails scratching against the nape of your neck. “Beg for daddy.”
“Please,” you whimper immediately; you can taste iron from the way your teeth dig into your lip. You’re so fucking close, each thrust of Husk’s cock keeps you teetering on that precipice. Each graze of his rigid barbs against the inside of your cunt makes heat pulse through every inch of you and you need to feel him cum. “Please, Husk… please, I – uhnn—I want you to… fuck—cum for me…”
You reach back to grasp blindly for him, closing your fingers around his paw. You swear Husk almost whimpers at your touch.
“Cum inside me, Husk.”
The sound the bartender makes is sinful, an addictive mix of a deep, throaty moan and this cattish growl that you hope will be imprinted on your brain. He squeezes your hand back as he thrusts hard into you, his body curving over yours to press his chest against your back as he spills himself deep inside you.
A few more seconds rubbing furiously at your clit and you follow him, burying your teeth in Angel’s thigh in an attempt to muffle the way you cry out as you orgasm. Angel moans loudly, eyes rolling back, hips thrusting up, and you feel the warmth of his cum on your cheek. “Oh, fuck!”
The flush of the toilet seems a little too loud, and you stand on shaky legs in front of the bathroom mirror as you wash your hands, run damp fingers through your hair to tame it. Your eyes seem too bright, your cheeks still flushed and your bottom lip bee-stung. You touch fingers to the bruises darkening on the side of your throat, flashes of the way Husk’s mouth had felt there replaying in your mind.
Even after three orgasms strong enough to knock the breath out of you, excitement tickles between your thighs at the memory. You exhale shakily, trying to calm yourself, fill the glass on the side of the sink with cold water from the tap and swallow it down.
Holy shit.
There a few lighter bruises across your breasts; your nipple aches as you brush your fingers against the darker bruise beside it. You glance down, making a happy note of the scratch marks on your hips. They’re light, barely there, but a thrilling reminder all the same.
Holy.
Shit.
You’d just lost your virginity.
In a threesome.
With a former Overlord and Hell’s most famous porn star.
Holy.
Fucking.
Shit.
Pulling on the oversized tee-shirt you use a pyjamas and wishing you had a clean pair of underwear with you, you take another steadying breath, preparing yourself for an empty room. After all, Angel had explained at the beginning of all this that by going to your room, you’d ‘feel more comfortable telling them to fuck the hell off’ if you needed to. Now that the… experience was over, why would they stay?
So, when you open the bathroom door to find the two of them waiting for you on the edge of the bed, you almost trip over the area rug.
“We were startin’ to think you weren’t comin’ outta there,” Angel says lightly, giving you a reassuring smile. “You okay, sugar?”
You nod, tucking hair behind your ear uncertainly.
“You sure?” Husk asks. His expression is soft, and you’re surprised to see his muzzle is once again stained with a blush. “You look like you’re ready to rabbit. If we did somethin’ you ain’t—”
“What? No!” you assure him quickly, your cheeks warming to match his. “No, I just… I guess I wasn’t expecting you two to stick around.”
Husk raises an eyebrow, and something that could be hurt flashes briefly across his features. “D’you want us to go?”
“And skip the afterglow?” Angel says, like he’s playfully offended or shocked Husk would even suggest it. He stands, and you notice then that he’s changed his clothes – his everyday outfit exchanged for a pyjama set and thigh-high socks. He glances down at himself, offering by way of explanation, “Had to check on Nuggets. And ‘sides, I look cute as shit in this.”
The comment breaks some of the tension you’re feeling, and you huff a quiet laugh. Angel’s own smile widens and he closes the distance between the two of you. he turns and wraps an arm around your shoulders in the same friendly way he’s done a hundred times before, but this time he squeezes your shoulders, another hand coming up to play idly with the ends of your hair. You feel his lips brush your temple as he bends down to speak in your ear. “You want us gone, baby, all you gotta do is say so. But Huskie’s big on the aftercare and checkin’ in and all that. He waited here while I changed – don’t think he’s leavin’ ‘til he knows you’re happy.”
The sentiment warms you, and you lean into Angel’s side. You speak louder than he did, so Husk can hear you, too. You smile softly as his ears flick upward at the sound of your voice, husky and worn from overuse. “I’m happy. Still… not entirely sure if what just happened, happened, but happy.”
“If it didn’t, it might jus’ be hottest fuckin’ dream I ever had,” Angel laughs, fingers playing teasingly with the edge of your shirt. “Now go cuddle up to our boy before he combusts.”
Our boy.
Husk’s worried expression softens into a smile as you approach where he still sits on the edge of the bed, and he holds up a paw to you invitingly. His touch is warm and soft and wonderfully comforting as it wraps around your hand, and you blush when he turns your hand over to brush his lips to the inside of your wrist, a crease between his brows.
“How’re you feelin’?” he asks against your skin, his eyes opening to meet your gaze. You smile, bending down impulsively and pressing a kiss to the lines between his brows. A quiet purr sounds from him at the touch, ears folding down. The fur between his ears is dishevelled and it makes him look younger, less worn.
“I’m good.”
He smiles back up at you. “Good.”
“Fuck, you two are givin’ me a toothache over here.” Angel interjects in amusement, and you hadn’t even realised he’d made himself comfortable against the pillows and the headboard. “Now, am I gettin’ my ass cuddled good and proper here or what?”
You giggle, and he opens all four arms to you expectantly, a smirk playing over his features. Husk seems reluctant to let you go, his hand following you as you move to join his partner on the bed. Tugging your shirt down as best you can to cover yourself, you crawl onto the bed and laugh as you collapse into the spider’s waiting arms. He snickers, wrapping them around you, swatting your ass playfully with one hand. You shove him away with a laugh, breath catching in your throat as you feel Husk climb up the bed and wrap his arms around you.
You settle on your side between them, cradled against Angel’s chest and Husk pressed against your back. His wing curves around you, feathers tickling at your bare arm, his thighs pressed up against the backs of yours. He reaches over you to interlock his fingers with Angel’s, his face tucked in over your shoulder. Husk’s breath tickles at the side of your neck, and he hums contentedly as he inhales the scent of you.
“… Did you two change the sheets?”
Angel nods and grins, trailing fingers up over your thigh idly. “Ya left a hell of a wet patch, baby. Next time we should probably put down a towel.”
You swallow, tilting your head back to look at him. “… Next time?”
“Only if you want, baby,” Husk murmurs into the side of you throat. He shifts, leaning up over your shoulder. Angel hooks a couple of delicate fingers against your cheek in the same moment, turning your head so Husk can kiss you. It’s soft and sweet and wonderful, and you sigh into his kiss. Husk’s purr deepens. “No pressure.”
You turn back to the man you’re laying on, studying his expression. “Angel?”
His smile is warm and sincere, even as that teasing lilt to it remains. “Like I said, baby, I got no problem sharin’ with a friend.”
Husk rubs his forehead against your shoulder, up along the curve of your throat. His voice is soft and velvety, warm in your ear. “’s up to you, pet. We’d love to keep you.”
.
.
.
Again, happy birthday Keeks! Hope you liked this thoroughly un-proofread piece of smut. I am once again letting you know just how grateful I am to have you in my life - we've almost known each other for a year now, and I already cannot imagine life without you. You're an angel, and I love you :)
day five: sex club/exhibitionism/cream pie (husk x afab!reader)
husk indulges a kink of yours on the stage of one of pride's many sex clubs. 1.15k
There are eyes on you; you can feel them despite the way the pulsing lights of the club’s main floor makes it difficult to focus on any one face down there. From down there, the stage is lit for a show, glowing in shades of red and pink that are designed to make any perv think of sex, to soften the sinners on stage into glowing figures of pure lust. From where you are, positioned with your legs spread over Husk’s lap and your back against his chest, you’re every bit the display they’re treating you as.
Husk’s paws are wonderfully tight on your waist, claws pricking at the bare skin of your stomach with every roll of your hips against him. He kisses your neck, a purr rumbling through his lips and into your skin as he does, and you let your head fall back against his shoulder. The movement arches your back, and Husk groans when it presses your ass further against him. The bartender slips his claws under the waistband of your underwear, tugging on them in a way that clearly flirts with the idea of ripping them off.
You’re grinding yourself on his lap, stripped down to your bra and panties and on display for the faceless sinners hungrily taking in each swivel of your hips against Husk’s hard cock. His pants are open, suspenders hanging off his shoulders, and you can feel his precum slickening your thighs as you ride his lap. He palms your breast, bites your neck, and you whimper as he rumbles in your ear, “Look how hard you’re makin’ them.”
Husk’s claws scratch over the soft, pillowy flesh of your breast for a moment before he’s tugging the cup of your bra down, and sinners shout their approval as he reveals your hardened nipple to their greedy eyes. You press into his hand, just as greedy for more, for touch, and when your hand comes up to cover his and urges him to squeeze, he groans.
“That’s it, slut!” one of the sinners calls out. The music is low – all the better for them to hear how much you’re enjoying yourself – and your breath catches in your throat. Husk nips at the base of your throat, teasing over your nipple with his thumb. “Make him fuck you rough!”
“Is that what you want, doll?” Husk mutters in your ear, tongue and teeth teasing at your ear lobe. His wings shift slightly, as if to cover you, but he doesn’t. He knows you want this, to be fucked, to be claimed by him in front of everyone. “You want me to fuck you?”
You nod eagerly, teeth catching your bottom lip as he angles his hips to slide his cock up against you, the barbs of it grazing your clit through the soaked fabric of your panties.
“Say it, pet,” he urges, retaking your hips. “Tell everyone here what you want me to do.”
“Fuck me,” you whine loudly, needily, and Husk hums his approval into your neck. “Please…”
“That’s my girl,” he croons, barely audible over the catcalls of those watching you. “Shit…”
He chuckles through a groan as you raise your hips and pull your underwear to the side, lowering yourself onto his cock without hesitation. You let out a long, satisfied moan as you sink onto him, one echoed in sentiment by those around you. You reach behind you to unclip your bra, sliding it from your arms and tossing it to the floor. Husk rewards you by grabbing at the flesh of your stomach, your breasts, and he squeezes them lasciviously as you begin to fuck yourself on his cock.
The sinners watching you… you can hear them groaning, hear the sound of flesh as they stroke and jerk themselves over the sight of you. it’s joined by the sound of Husk in your ear, his breathing heavy, hot on your throat. You wrap an arm back around his neck and clutch at his shoulder, fingers fisting in his fur as you leverage yourself over him, rolling your hips so every downward movement as you bounce on him makes his barbs grind along the sensitive, soaking flesh inside you.
“Look at you,” Husk growls, voice rough with need and a possessiveness that makes you throb. “Look at them. Look at them all droolin’ and jerkin’ off over how fucking good you are for me… such a pretty doll for me, fucking me so… good…”
Husk groans as your hand tightens in the fur of his shoulder, taking your other hand and leading it between your legs. He snaps his hips up into yours just as you begin to circle your clit and it’s enough to tip you over the edge, and you cum with a loud, broken moan as your hips meet his again. Your cum soaks the fur at the base of his cock, the front of his pants, and sinners are moaning their appreciation of the sight as Husk keeps on fucking you.
His claws retake your hips, tighten enough that you’re sure he’s bringing up blood, and he all but fucks himself with you, guiding you into a brutal pace, the sound of your flesh meeting his filling the club. With it come your moans, the sounds guttural and torn and desperate, and you clutch art your breasts, rub furiously at your clit in a desperate bid to cum again.
You do, dripping over Husk’s cock as your body shakes with it, and he keeps speaking in your ear, his voice becoming more and more unsteady as he approaches his own release.
“That’s it, doll. That’s it… they’re gonna watch how good you take it when I… fuck, when I fill you up with cum… watch what a good girl you are for me… you gonna be a good little pet for me, doll?”
“Yes,” you moan, your fingers beginning to ache as they continue their desperate circles over your clit. Your thighs are shaking, your torso curving forward with the warring need to keep going and too much. “Fuck, yes… yes, Husk, please, fuck…”
“‘Please’, what, doll?” he taunts, even as his pacing becomes uneven. “Say it.”
“I want you to cum inside me,” you gasp out, eyes rolling back. “Cum inside me, please… fuck…”
You cum again and so does Husk, pulling his cock out just enough that the sinners get a show of his cum dripping out of you, dripping down his cock to stain the front of his pants. You turn your head to catch his mouth with yours, your body jerking with aftershocks as you kiss him. You can hear the other sinners cursing, moaning, cumming… and Husk slowly brings his wings around you as the two of you come down, shielding you from their sight and silently claiming you as only his own.
could I please request an human alastor x chubby reader were the reader is insecure about her body but then alastor confesses what he loves her just the way she is and that he loves big women better then there is a time skip were the reunite in the hotel and everyone including luci is shocked that alastor has a wife
A/n: I prey this is good because it has been so long since I've written for HH.
New Orleans had a way of humming — a lazy, golden tune that drifted through the heat and the jazz, wrapping itself around every cobblestone and corner. You’d grown used to the hum, to the feeling of being almost invisible in a city that never slept. But somehow, it never quite dulled the way your insecurities whispered back at you when the night grew quiet.
You were sitting on Alastor’s porch that evening, a mug of chicory coffee in your hands, legs tucked under you as the air thickened with the scent of magnolia and smoke. The radio in the parlor murmured an old tune, something slow and sentimental — not the sort of thing you expected from a man like him.
He stepped out of the doorway a few moments later, suspenders neat, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, that ever-present grin softening into something more human than you were used to seeing. His voice was velvet — dipped in charm and honey.
“Well now, my dear,” he drawled, leaning on the doorframe, “you’ve been awfully quiet tonight. That’s terribly unlike you. Has the heat gone and stolen your tongue?”
You gave a small laugh, trying to shrug it off. “Just… thinking, I guess.”
“About?”
You hesitated. The words were heavy, stuck in your throat like stones. “About… me. About why someone like you wants to spend time with someone like me.”
His grin flickered, not fading — just softening, like a flame lowering to a steady glow. He tilted his head, the faintest hint of static in the air as if even the world paused to listen.
“Someone like you?” he echoed, voice warm but edged with disbelief. “My dear, you’ll have to be more specific before I take offense.”
You looked down, fingers curling around your mug. “You know. I’m not like the women you see around here — not slim, not glamorous. Just… me. Too big, too soft, too—”
Before you could finish, Alastor was kneeling beside you, his hand resting lightly on your knee. His eyes — a beautiful shade of hazel that glimmered with mischief and something deeper — caught yours and held them.
“My darling,” he murmured, accent melting like honey over every syllable, “if you think your softness is a flaw, you’ve been listening to the wrong station entirely.”
Your breath caught. “What?”
He chuckled lowly, a sound like velvet static, leaning closer. “Do you know what I see when I look at you?”
You shook your head, silent.
“I see warmth. I see a woman who makes this dreary world feel alive. I see curves I could trace like a melody and a smile that outshines the moonlight itself. You call yourself soft — and yes, you are, delightfully so — but that’s not a sin, my dear. That’s a blessing.”
Your eyes burned, and you blinked fast. “You’re just saying that.”
Alastor’s grin widened, but there was no mockery in it — only sincerity and that unshakable charm that always seemed to pull you in. He took your hand gently, bringing it to his lips in a gesture that felt almost old-fashioned.
“I don’t say things I don’t mean,” he said softly, voice a low hum. “I’ve seen all manner of beauty in this world, chérie — but give me a woman with warmth in her soul and weight in her laughter, and I’ll take her over all the painted ghosts of New Orleans any day.”
You let out a shaky laugh, tears threatening now. “You… really mean that?”
He smiled — not the performative, showman’s grin the city knew, but a quiet, tender one reserved for you alone.
“Of course I do,” he whispered. “I love you just the way you are. Every inch. Every curve. Every bit of you that the world told you to hide, I adore. Big women have more to hold, more to love, and more to live. And you, my darling—” his voice softened to a hush— “you make me feel alive.”
The night air seemed to hush around you. Jazz drifted faintly from the parlor — slow, romantic, an old melody finding new meaning now.
You leaned in without thinking, and for once, Alastor didn’t hide behind laughter or static. His lips brushed yours, soft and warm, and the taste of coffee and something sweet lingered between you.
When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours.
“Now,” he murmured, teasing but gentle, “no more doubting yourself, sweetheart. You’re the most beautiful song I’ve ever heard.”
And for the first time in a long time, you believed him and his love for you would continue after death
The Hazbin Hotel was never quiet. Between Angel Dust’s swearing, Husk’s grumbling, and Charlie’s eternal optimism, there was always noise.
Then the door creaked open.
It was almost silent, save for the faint hum of static that seemed to shiver through the air as Alastor’s radio flickered to life for the first time that day.
And then every head turned.
The woman standing in the doorway was not a sinner they’d ever seen before—soft-curved, warm-eyed, and dressed in a simple 1920s-style dress that had somehow survived damnation’s fashion standards. The air seemed to still around her. Her presence didn’t scream chaos or sin… it sang something gentler. Familiar.
Alastor froze mid-sentence, his grin faltering for just an instant until it bloomed into something wide.
“Darlin’…” he breathed, static crackling faintly at the corners of his smile. His cane clattered against the marble as his fingers went slack.
Your own smile bloomed on your face as your hands clasped in front of you, “Alastor?”
The others exchanged bewildered looks. Angel Dust squinted. “Uh, wait. What? Did she just call him—”
Before Angel Dust could finish, Alastor crossed the lobby in two long strides and scooped you into his arms with a spin that made your feet lift off the ground.
“That’s where my darling wife has been hiding!” he announced, voice bright as a brass band.
The room exploded.
“WIFE?!” Angel Dust shrieked, nearly knocking over a glass near him.
Charlie’s jaw hit the floor. “Alastor, you— you got married?!”
Husk muttered into his drink. “Oh, this I gotta see…”
Even Lucifer Morningstar, who’d chosen that exact moment to materialize in a show of light and feathers, blinked in utter disbelief. “Wife? As in—legally, emotionally, romantically attached? To you? WHO?!"
Alastor chuckled, setting you back down but not letting go of your waist. His smile was the same charming, impossible curve it had always been—but there was a softness behind it, the kind no one in Hell had ever seen.
“But of course,” he said smoothly. “Did you all think I spent my mortal years merely talking to the radio? No, no— I was quite the domestic man once upon a time. My beloved was the finest part of me, weren’t you, sweetheart?”
A small squeak left your lips, half-hiding your face against his chest. “You still talk too much,” you murmured fondly.
Lucifer rubbed his temples. “You’re telling me this woman married you—and somehow ended up down here?”
“She’s my better half!” Alastor chirped cheerfully, ignoring the Devil’s incredulity. “Though I must admit, it seems the celestial paperwork lost her in transit. Tut-tut. How careless of the afterlife!”
Angel snorted. “And she chose you? Damn, lady, blink twice if you need help.”
You looked up at the spider demon, deadpan. “He cooks, cleans, and serenades me with jazz. I’m good, thanks.”
Alastor’s laugh filled the room—rich, smooth, electric. “You see? She appreciates quality!”
Lucifer leaned against the wall, still processing. “Well. This is a development I didn’t have on my divine bingo card. The Radio Demon… married. And—what’s the word—in love.”
Alastor tilted his head, smile never fading. “Oh, I do adore my dear wife. Even in Hell, one must keep their promises. And besides…”—his voice dipped lower, his eyes gleaming with that old mischief—“…love makes such delightful noise on the airwaves.”
You elbowed him lightly. “Still the same sweet-talking fool I married.”
He beamed, wrapping an arm around you. “And you, my darling, are still the melody that keeps me tuned.”
Charlie wiped her eyes, grinning wide. “Oh my gosh, this is actually… cute!”
Vaggie deadpanned, “We live in a nightmare.”
But for once, Alastor didn’t mind the chaos around him. He had you back—his warmth, his humanity, his reason for every smile that ever meant something real.
Summary: Alastor discovers how much his southern accent and French affect you… and uses it to his advantage.
Type: Romantic, Headcanon.
Warning:Intense flirting, deep voice, melting accents, stable relationship
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The day had been long and peaceful, and the house was enveloped in a gentle silence, the kind of silence that only exists when the person you love is near. You were in the kitchen tidying up, taking your time, enjoying the simplicity of the moment. The warmth of New Orleans drifted in through the window, mingling with the sweet aroma of wood and coffee.
You heard the front door open.
Alastor was back. His footsteps were unmistakable: light, elegant, almost musical. But when he spoke, you froze instantly.
"Afternoon, darling."
The Southern accent hit you full force, warm, deep, smooth like melting honey. You felt a shiver run down your spine so quickly that your hand went limp and you almost dropped the plate you were drying.
Alastor noticed it immediately. He always did.
"Everything alright here?" "—he asked as he entered the kitchen, his smile calm and that mischievous glint hidden behind his eyes.
You swallowed, trying to compose yourself.
"Yes… yes, I'm fine. I was just… surprised."
He approached slowly, like someone approaching a small animal they want to observe closely without scaring it. Or, in his case, like a man who had just discovered that his voice could make you tremble.
"Were you surprised… by what exactly?" he asked, leaning slightly forward to get a better look.
You looked away, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks.
"By… by your accent."
Alastor's smile became slow, satisfied, dangerously charming.
"Does my southern accent bother you?" he asked, moving even closer.
" "I-I didn't say that…"
He chuckled softly and took you by the waist, with a gentleness that contrasted with the firmness of his fingers.
"No, you didn't say it. But you showed it very well," he whispered near your ear.
Your knees almost buckled. Alastor felt it. He held you tighter, as if he'd been expecting it.
"Careful, my love… if you react like this to a word, I don't know what I'll do to you," he murmured with that marked, slow, delicious accent.
You hid your face in his chest, utterly embarrassed. And he chuckled softly, completely pleased.
Later, you were in the living room. You were trying to concentrate on a book, but he moved around the room with that irritatingly perfect elegance, as if he knew you were watching him out of the corner of your eye.
At one point, he needed a notebook and asked you:
"Pass me la petite noire, ma chérie…"
The sound of the French words struck you like lightning. Your breath caught in your throat. The book slipped from your hands and fell to the floor with a thud.
Alastor looked up immediately.
And when he saw your wide eyes, your flushed cheeks, and your mouth trembling, speechless… He set the notebook aside and walked slowly toward you, savoring every step. He crouched down to your level and placed a hand on your knee.
"Cherie… is everything alright?"
You didn't answer. It was impossible. Your throat wouldn't allow it.
He brought his face close to yours. His nose brushed your cheek. His warm breath caressed your ear.
"Does my French make you feel this way…?" he asked in a low, deep voice.
You let out a sound you didn't even know you were capable of. A small moan mixed with nervous laughter. Something completely involuntary.
Alastor smiled, sliding his hand up your thigh to help you keep from falling off the chair.
"God… you're adorable," he whispered.
He took you by the waist and pulled you toward him, sitting you on his lap as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Your legs trembled. He placed one hand on your back, the other on your thigh, holding you steady.
"If you only knew what it does to me to see you like this…" he said, this time in French, soft, slow, dangerously intimate, "viens ici, mon cœur…"
You clung to his shirt. Your chest rose and fell rapidly. You were far, far from being able to maintain any dignity.
He knew it. And he chuckled softly, a mixture of tenderness and mischief in his voice.
“My love…” he whispered, his lips brushing your neck without quite kissing you. “If I can melt you just by talking… imagine what I could do if I really wanted to.”
Your nails dug into his shoulder. He tilted his head, savoring every micro-reaction.
“Do you want me to keep talking?” he asked.
“Do you want… a little more of my accent?
Or… do you prefer my French, hm?”
The way your body responded was all the answer he needed. And he, smiling like the elegant devil he was even in human form, rested his forehead against yours and murmured:
“Very well, darling… Then I’m not going to stop talking at all.”
summary: your roommates sukuna and satoru have been competing for your attention for as long as you can remember
when you make the decision to start messing around with both of them without the other knowing, they start to realise that sharing might not be so bad after all
word count: 3k
content: 18+ mdni, smut, piv, blow jobs, secret sex, rough sex, public(ish) sex, double penetration, spitroating, threesome, cucking, future sukugo mentioned, kinda cheating but there's no established relationship so its a gray area and they're all into it
a/n: reader is kinda a bit morally off but we love a bad girl (please don't do this irl)
It had been almost funny at first, watching the two of them compete for your affection.
They’d do everything in their power to get you to notice them, always in a competition with the other, constantly attempting to stake their claim on you.
Sukuna would work out shirtless in the living room, acting all surprised when you’d walk in, like he wasn’t intentionally showing off his body to you. Satoru would take any opportunity to come into your room, begging for you to help him study despite the fact that his grades were fine.
You’d pretend not to hear them squabbling over you whenever they were left alone, arguing in the kitchen while making you dinner, yelling at each other over voice chat while playing CS:GO.
It was weird, they’d spit so much vitriol at one another and yet still spend all of their time together - as if their friendship overruled any disagreements or jealousy. Even if they were in a constant war when it came to you.
And you’d be lying if you said that you didn’t love the attention.
They were both so hot, and you’d gladly fuck either of them - both of them even.
It was just a shame that the two of them were too stupid to realise that sharing might be advantageous to them in this circumstance.
There was plenty of you to go around, and it wasn’t like you wanted to choose between the two of them - you liked them both equally. You enjoyed Sukuna’s wild, aggressive nature, but you equally adored Gojo’s softer, more humorous tone.
You weren’t going to pick one, because you knew you’d always be thinking about the other - it wasn’t fair.
But you supposed the question was, did you even have to pick?
Why not have both?
It was wrong, you knew that, but sometimes a girl’s gotta eat.
The sensible option would’ve been to pick neither, to turn them both down gently by highlighting that you wanted no part in ruining someone else's friendship.
Instead, you called both of them into your room one afternoon, separately of course, informing them that you wanted them, that they’d been chosen over your other roommate. You’d asked them to keep quiet about it, to not brag to the other because you didn’t want them to feel all dejected.
And because you knew both of them were absolutely going to brag the first chance they got, you made it very clear to them that if they did talk about it with anyone else, you’d be ending the arrangement immediately.
You knew that should buy you at least some time.
Sukuna had just shrugged, clearly only half listening, before pouncing on you, tearing off your clothes, sucking hickies into your bare shoulders, and sinking into you like he’d been waiting for it for years. He’d fucked you with your legs thrown over his shoulders, one large hand covering your mouth to keep you silent, grinning down at you as he made you come undone on his cock.
In hindsight, you probably should’ve made him wear a condom, a little humiliated by the way that cum was still leaking out of you when Sukuna sent Satoru in to see you immediately afterwards, eager for you to let his friend down for good.
You were grateful that Satoru was a little more laid back about the whole thing than Sukuna was, listening diligently and promising to keep things between the two of you, kissing you sweetly and acting understanding when you explained that you didn’t want to take things any further today, aware that he couldn’t be witness to the mess that Sukuna had left behind.
He returned to your room later that night with flowers, popping by to wish you goodnight, because he was the sweet one. From Sukuna, you received a ‘you up?’ text at around 1am, which ended with you face down on his mattress, whining softly as he gave you a second mind-melting fuck that evening.
Things only really escalated from there.
It had all started in a manner that you’d consider to be relatively tame, or at least, what you’d been expecting from this little game that you’d been playing. You’d wait until night and then spend the evening in one of their rooms, picking whoever you were feeling most attached to that particular evening.
It was nice and easy, no real complexity involved, just sex which could be kept completely private from the other. In the case that any noises were heard, they’d always assume that the other roommate had a girl over, never that the girl in question was you.
But it wasn’t long until they both upped the ante, almost as if they were still actively competing with each other, putting you in a position of much greater risk.
Risk that you fucking loved.
Sukuna would pull you into his room while he was gaming with Satoru, force you to sit on his cock and try to stay quiet while he played his damn game like you weren’t even there, rolling his hips into you whenever you weren’t expecting it, chuckling sadistically as you struggled to contain your breathy whines, desperate for Satoru not to hear you through the mic.
Satoru would employ a similar tactic, having you down on your knees beneath his desk while he studied, enjoying the thrill of calling Sukuna into the room to ask him something, holding a normal conversation with the man while you were choking on his cock, nails digging into his thighs as you tried not to gag.
They were both culprits of touching you up under a blanket while the other was in the room, slipping their hands beneath your panties while you were watching a movie, stuffing fingers deep into your pussy while you tried your best not to squirm.
Most of the time only one of them would be attempting that ploy on any given evening, but there was one incident in which you were sat in between the two of them, each man letting their fingers explore a thigh. You’d held your breath for a long time that evening, wondering if their hands might brush in the darkness, only to feel relief when nothing came of it.
Sometimes you wondered if they both already knew about your little game, because every now and then the timing would be suspicious.
Occasionally you’d make plans with Satoru for that evening, only for Sukuna to get a hold of you just beforehand, making you suck his cock and swallow his cum before sending you off to Satoru, claiming that he was in a rush to do something else.
You knew that he had nothing better to do, and yet he made it quick, like he knew you had a time limit, ensuring that the taste of him was still on your tongue when you kissed Satoru later that evening.
The same behaviour presented itself in the opposite scenario too, in which Satoru caught you on your way to Sukuna’s room one night, pressing you up against the wall of the hallway, dropping to his knees and eating you out until you were crying and shuddering, nails biting against the wall.
The door to Sukuna’s room had opened just as he was finishing up, barely pulling down your skirt as their eyes met. Satoru didn’t even try to conceal the way that he wiped your slick from his face, blue eyes glinting in the darkness as he held Sukuna’s gaze, the two men sharing a knowing smile that had you feeling uneasy.
But it couldn’t mean anything, right?
Those were just coincidences - there was no way that they knew, because if they did they’d be at each other’s throats, and you hadn’t seen so much as a single argument between them since this whole affair had started.
You were just paranoid.
That’s what you tried to tell yourself when you walked into the living room one afternoon to find the two of them sitting on the couch staring at you expectantly, the playful nature of their expressions sending your heart racing with anticipation.
They didn’t know, they couldn’t know.
“Movie night?” You asked shakily.
Satoru smiled at you pleasantly. “Maybe later, baby.”
Your lips parted at the nickname. It wasn’t something that he would call you in public, not in front of Sukuna. And yet, your other roommate didn’t even look mildly surprised, his red eyes focussed sharply on you, hairs raising on your arms.
“Mmmm, I think we’ve got something much more interesting to do right now.” Sukuna said with a grin, gaze trailing down your form.
“Wh-What?”
You weren’t really sure what happened next.
One moment you you were being stared down by the two men that you’d been fucking (separately) for months, and the next you were naked on the couch, positioned on all fours with your lips wrapped around Satoru’s cock, while Sukuna sank into you from behind.
“Thought you were so clever, hmm?” Sukuna rasped, his hand curling tightly in your hair, controlling the pace that you sucked Satoru’s cock. “Did you really think we didn’t know about your little game?”
He jolted his hips forward with a particularly hard thrust, leaving you to groan around Satoru’s cock, trying not to choke as the tip hit the back of your throat.
“Fuuuck, you’re doing so good, baby.” Satoru hummed.
“Don’t praise her, she doesn’t deserve it.”
“But she is doing good.”
“Of course she is, she’s a slut.” Sukuna snapped.
You could barely hear the two of them bickering, vision blurring at the lack of oxygen combined with the brutal pace of Sukuna’s hips.
You hadn’t expected this when you’d arrived home, hadn’t really expected this ever.
“Do you really think that we didn’t figure it out almost immediately?” Sukuna hissed, slapping your ass hard and bringing you back to reality. “You’d only come to my room half the time and when you weren’t in my room I could hear you fucking moaning in his.”
“Yeah and- fuck- and, you’d come over to my room with hickies on your shoulders and claim you didn’t know how they got there!” Satoru added. “What kind of an explanation is that?”
Perhaps you hadn’t been as careful as you should’ve been, but it was hard to really feel bad about what they were yapping about with Sukuna up in your guts like he was, the taste of Satoru heavy on your tongue.
If this was meant to be them punishing you for your behaviour then they were fools.
This was miles better than fucking them separately.
A pathetic little mewl left your lips as Sukuna pulled out before letting you cum, feeling the way that you were tightening around him only to take it away completely. The same couldn’t be said for Satoru though, cock twitching and finishing in your mouth as Sukuna pulled away, watching the display with heavy eyes.
You were so busy cleaning Satoru’s cock just like he’d taught you that it caught you off guard when Sukuna’s thumb began to rub at your asshole, drawing an anxious whimper from your lips.
“You almost ruined our friendship, y’know.” He purred from behind you. “Caught you guys fucking on the couch when you thought I was at the gym. Didn’t take me long to figure out your little ploy based on how hapless Satoru looked when I confronted him later that day.”
“S-Sorry.” You whimpered.
“You’re not.” Sukuna said simply. “You like this shit. I think you wanted to get caught. It's not like you ever made much effort to hide it.”
His thumb started to press into you, your body squirming at the unusual sensation. Your gaze moved to Satoru, who was still standing over you, watching with a sick sense of fascination.
“We gave a lot of thought about how to handle this. Figured we should humiliate you or something. But Satoru here is way too soft on you for anything extreme like that. Bet he even feels bad about those crocodile tears that you’re pulling out right now.”
You were crying, but in your defence, the tears weren’t fake. The pair had forced that reaction out in the process of spitroasting you.
“She just looks so sad.” Satoru said with a pout, pinching your chin as he forced your face up to look at him, discomfort in your expression with each subtle movement of Sukuna’s thumb.
Even in your current position, Satoru’s presence was still soothing to you, his blue eyes never failing to make your heart flutter. He leant in and kissed you softly, tasting himself on your tongue as he momentarily distracted you from Sukuna so diligently stretching out your ass.
A man who clearly had a plan in mind.
“Honestly, we were really mad at you at first. Thinking you could play us.” Sukuna hissed. “But then it became more entertaining than anything else, watching you scramble to stay on top of your web of lies, acting like you were in control while giving us everything we wanted.”
“It was cute.” Satoru added, his breath warm against your face.
“But we’re both sick of only having you half the time. Why split the time and pretend when we all know the truth? You can take both of us can’t you, baby?” Sukuna was leaning over you now, his breath hot against your ear, goosebumps rising on your back.
Maybe you should’ve just asked them to share in the first place, saved yourself all the grief of sneaking around.
Nah.
You’d had plenty of fun.
A yelp fell from your lips as Sukuna withdrew his thumb and wrapped his arms firmly around your waist. He hoisted you up and pulled you into his lap, your back pressed against his chest, his cock hanging heavy between his legs.
“C’mere Satoru.”
Sukuna spread your legs wide, glistening pussy on show for the white haired man.
“Eat her out. Need her nice and relaxed for this next bit.”
Satoru obliged without an argument. It occurred to you that they seemed to be getting along better than they usually would, working perfectly in sync.
It was a thought that fled your mind as soon as Satoru started lapping at your pussy. Letting out a moan, you sank back into Sukuna’s chest, legs shaking as Satoru easily drew an orgasm out of you.
That shouldn’t have been surprising, he’d been giving you head most days for months now.
He was better at it than Sukuna.
If you wanted to be eaten out, you’d go to Satoru. If you wanted to be fucked so hard you couldn’t remember your name, you’d go to Sukuna. Those were their established roles, and they seemed to understand that even now.
Sukuna’s fingers dipped down to your pussy, collecting some slick as Satoru continued to draw circles with his tongue. He brought his dripping fingers up to your mouth, slipping them past your lips and forcing you to suck them clean.
“Aren’t you enthusiastic.” He hummed, the praise leaving you squeezing Satoru’s head with your thighs.
You should’ve known that his words were a distraction, a misdirection to stop you from noticing that his other hand was lining his cock up at your ass. By the time he was forcing the tip into that tight opening you were already shaking as Satoru gave you another orgasm, the pleasure dulling the pain of Sukuna pushing into you.
“There we go.” Sukuna whispered. “First time for this hole, huh?”
You couldn’t respond, any attempt at speech coming out as nothing but tiny desperate gasps. Your hands were scrambling for grip on anything, finding their way to Satoru’s hair and tugging desperately. He’d moved back a little, giving your pussy some rest, staring up at you with big blue eyes.
“You’re doing so good.” he cooed. “Look so pretty taking him like that.”
The compliments had you relaxing a little, letting Sukuna move his hips with greater ease. His large hands moved to your thighs, spreading them further open for Satoru’s benefit. You’d assumed that he was going to eat you out some more, keep you distracted from the discomfort of Sukuna splitting open your ass.
Instead, he rose to his feet, blue eyes trailing down the length of your body.
“You can take us both, can’t you, baby?”
What were you going to say?
No?
This was what you’d been aiming for the whole time really. Your whole little game had hinged on the idea that one day you might get to have both of them.
The only answer was yes.
Your fingers dug desperately into Satoru’s arms as he pushed into you, the stretch familiar and yet strange when paired with Sukuna’s presence behind you. Satoru was leaning over you, planting soft kisses on your forehead as he filled you up, cooing and praising you for being such a good girl.
Sukuna stayed still beneath you for the most part, kind enough to let you adjust to Satoru before really fucking up into you. He wasn’t kind enough to stay silent though, whispering about all the deplorable things he was going to do to you over the next few weeks now that the cat was out of the bag.
It was in complete contrast to Satoru’s praise, but somehow both approaches had you equally turned on.
They really balanced each other out.
Although, once they both started moving you wondered if you’d signed up for more than you could feasibly take.
You’d taken both of them multiple times alone, and you were perfectly well acquainted with their respective sizes.
But the two of them at once was something else entirely.
Sukuna’s hands were gripping your breasts tightly, fingers rubbing over your peaked nipples as he drove into you from below, stretching your ass out with each violent movement of his hips. Meanwhile, Satoru was occupying your mouth, silencing any whimpers with his lips as he fucked into your pussy with slow, deep thrusts.
You could barely pinpoint where the pleasure was coming from, the knot in your gut tightening with each passing second. It was unlike anything that you’d ever experienced before, the feeling of being penetrated by both men entirely overwhelming.
“Doing so well.” Satoru whispered against your lips.
“Mmm, such ah- fucking good whore.” Sukuna rasped, slapping your breast hard. “Gonna cum for us slut?”
You tried to respond, words getting caught in your throat at the feeling of a particularly deep thrust from Satoru, his hand moving down to your clit, rubbing circles into it.
“Cum for us, baby.” Satoru encouraged, blue eyes fixed on yours with a desperate affection.
All it took was a couple more deep thrusts from both men to send you spiralling, the dam in your gut bursting with hot pleasure. Your vision went totally white for a few moments, toes curling as you grasped tightly at Satoru’s arms in an attempt to ground yourself, only to slump back against Sukuna’s chest, vaguely aware of his laughter far off in the distance.
You could hardly register what happened after that, body feeling light and weightless as the two men finished inside of you, gasping for breath for a few moments before maneuvering you off of them, setting you carefully down in your usual spot in the centre of the sofa, pulling a blanket gently over you.
The two of them took to their usual positions, Satoru on the left of you, and Sukuna on the right. Both men had an arm possessively locked around you, keeping you warm while you processed what had just happened, cum still leaking from both your ass and pussy, a reminder of the claim that they’d staked on you.
It had been the best sex that you’d had with either of them, that was for sure.
They really did compliment each other.
Maybe with enough convincing you could get the two of them to make out while you sat back and watched.
A dream for another day.
All that mattered for now was that you were theirs.
They might not like to share, but for your sake, they seemed more than willing to put up with each other.
a/n: as a major sukugo lover I don't know why I haven't written something like this before now but you may see more from me soon <3
summary: after dating satoru for years, you're eager to know what its like to fuck someone else - specifically satoru's roommate sukuna, ideally while your boyfriend watches. lucky for you, sukuna is open to anything
a/n: I'm back on my sukugo roomates bullshit AGAIN but this time its sukuna cucking satoru I hope you all enjoy
It shouldn’t have turned him on as much as it did - seeing you, his pretty girlfriend, on your knees, lips wrapped around another man’s cock.
He should’ve felt jealous, enraged that you were treating Sukuna with the same reverence that you’d usually treat him.
But he wasn’t.
Instead he was desperately hard, palming his cock through his jeans while he watched you give his roommate a blowjob.
This whole thing had been your idea.
You’d never been good at hiding your clear attraction to Sukuna, eyes always wandering when he’d show up in the kitchen, shirtless with nothing but a towel to cover his lower body, abs glistening with moisture following a shower.
And Satoru knew that Sukuna was equally culpable, because he’d never walk around in that state when you weren’t in the apartment.
No, that was a show that he was putting on entirely for your benefit.
Originally, it had made him feel insecure - the way that you’d blush when he’d grin at you, stumbling over your words when you’d try to speak to him.
He knew that Sukuna was attractive, that his roommate had no problem pulling whatever girl he wanted, and there was a big part of Satoru that figured Sukuna would probably pull you right out from underneath him too.
That fear had only grown when you’d confided in Satoru that you wanted to try fucking someone else. He had been the only man you’d ever been with, your first everything, and you couldn’t help but be curious about how things would feel with another person.
You’d made it clear that you had no interest in a relationship with someone else, that you loved Satoru and wanted to be with him forever, but that didn’t stop you from wanting to try something casual, no strings attached, purely sex.
It wasn’t like you’d pressured him - you’d made it clear that if he wasn’t comfortable he could just say no, the two of you could go on like before.
But he was never very good at saying no to you, especially not when you were pouting up at him all cutely.
So he agreed.
He didn’t like how quickly you proposed Sukuna as an option for your potential partner, practically stumbling over his name the moment that Satoru had given the green light on your little fantasy.
You could’ve at least made some effort to be sly.
But he supposed he’d rather have you in the hands of someone he knew and begrudgingly trusted over a stranger.
There was no way in hell he was leaving you alone with him though.
The thought of sitting in his room while he tried to ignore you whining out another man’s name through the thin walls was a whole new breed of pathetic. He’d hate to sit there and wonder what Sukuna was doing to you, what positions he was putting you in, what lewd things he was whispering in your ear.
He didn’t want to agonise over your reactions - to allow insecurity to bury itself in his mind at the thought that you might like being fucked by Sukuna more than you enjoyed sex with him. And for that reason he needed to be in the room, needed to watch the whole thing with his own eyes. The last thing he wanted was Sukuna winning you over without him there to do a single thing about it.
But who could’ve known that he’d figure out something new about himself that day?
He liked watching his girlfriend get fucked.
Sukuna’s fingers were wound tightly in your hair, pushing your head firmly down his cock, dictating the pace with the thrust of his own hips. Tears were streaking your cheeks, saliva dripping down your chin as you struggled to accommodate his size.
“That’s it, good girl. She’s real good at this, huh?”
Sukuna’s maroon eyes were fixed on him, challenging. A lazy smirk sat on his face, and Satoru couldn’t quite pinpoint why it made his heart flutter.
He should hate Sukuna for this, it should piss him off that you were doing such a good job, trying so hard for another man - especially when he was treating you so much more roughly than Satoru ever would.
But instead he was harder than he’d ever been.
Growing even more attracted to the situation as he watched Sukuna cum in your mouth, holding you in place as he sternly ordered you to swallow, only releasing your hair once he was content that you’d taken everything he was giving you.
You never swallowed for Satoru, you’d said it was gross.
But here you were being all obedient when guided by a firmer hand.
“Show me.” Sukuna ordered as he pulled out of your mouth, firmly tilting your face up with his hand. Your glossy lips parted willingly, sticking out your tongue for him, barely flinching as he leant forward and spat in your open mouth.
Satoru would’ve never even thought to do such a thing.
He always acted like you were something delicate, a princess to be treated with nothing short of worship. He wouldn’t make you do gross things, wouldn’t approach anything that could potentially cause you harm or embarrassment. He made love to you in the sweetest way possible, that was who he was.
It was who he thought you were.
An illusion that shattered as he watched you swallow Sukuna’s saliva, gazing up at the man like he’d gifted you the world, certainly not like he’d just spat into your mouth.
“Such a good girl.” He hummed. “I think it's time we gave Satoru a real show though, don’t you?”
Your eyelashes fluttered as you turned to glance at your boyfriend. There was a hint of guilt present in your expression, but it was buried beneath layers of lust. Your peaked nipples and the wet patch on your panties made it abundantly clear to him how much you were enjoying this.
And even though part of him hated you for that, he couldn’t help but feel glad that you were enjoying it.
He’d do anything to make you happy.
From what he knew of Sukuna and the type of things he was into, Satoru had assumed that he was going to put you on all fours and fuck you from behind until you were sobbing.
Sukuna always had sex in a way that wasn’t intimate, chasing his own pleasure before anything else, not keen on paying attention to the faces of any women that he passed time with.
That was ideal by Satoru’s standards. He didn’t want Sukuna to fuck you lovingly, gazing into your eyes and making you cum - he was terrified that something like that would make you actually fall for the man, and that would be the worst case scenario.
But interestingly, Sukuna didn’t really choose either of those options.
Instead he perched himself on the edge of the bed, sitting so that he was staring straight at Satoru. He then pulled you into his lap, positioning you so that your back was pressed against his chest, your gaze automatically falling upon your boyfriend.
You looked almost apologetic as your eyes met, but that sentiment was quickly forgotten once Sukuna started to touch you. A moan from falling from your lips as one of his hands wrapped around your breast, giving it a firm squeeze, while his other hand lined his cock up against your pussy, the tip sliding against the slickness of your folds.
You squeezed your eyes shut, refusing to acknowledge Satoru’s presence the moment that Sukuna started to push into you. The shameful pleasure was stark on your face, and Satoru was straining desperately against his jeans at the sight of you struggling to adjust to Sukuna’s size, squirming on the man’s lap.
“So fuckin’ tight. Did Satoru not stretch you out properly, pretty girl?”
His lips were pressed up against your ear, your body trembling at his words. But Satoru knew that the statement wasn’t really meant for you, not with the way that Sukuna was smugly staring him down, taunting him through the one thing he truly cared about.
“You’re s-so big.” You whined, wriggling in his grasp.
“Yeah?” Sukuna’s gaze never left Satoru. “Bigger than your boyfriend?”
“Mmmm.” You nodded.
Even if that was technically fact, it still wounded Satoru’s pride.
He was miles above average, it wasn’t his fault that he happened to be friends with one of the few men out there who were bigger than him. If he’d known that one day you’d ask to fuck his roommate, he would’ve done everything in his power to keep Sukuna out of his life.
…Probably.
The wet patch on his jeans suggested something different.
Sukuna’s hands were on your hips now, moving you on his cock like you weighed nothing, driving himself up into you, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the room. Your eyes were still squeezed shut, your hands clasped up against your chest like you weren’t sure what to hold on to.
That was understandable considering that Sukuna was completely in control of the situation, holding you so tight that his nails were no doubt leaving imprints on your skin. He was just taking you along for a ride.
And it was obvious that you loved it.
You were whimpering and whining, desperate moans of his name pouring from your lips after each deep, brutal thrust. Satoru had hoped that you might slip up and say his name, affirm his hopes that you were imagining that it was him fucking you rather than Sukuna.
But you gave him no such peace, his roommate’s name sounding from your mouth ceaselessly.
It didn’t make him any less transfixed on the scene, blue eyes honed in on the point where Sukuna’s cock was disappearing into you. It felt like watching porn that had been perfectly curated to his desires, but instead of searching for a star that looked like his girlfriend, it was actually you.
He’d promised himself before all this that he was just here to watch, that he was only in the room to ensure no foul play from Sukuna’s side. But with a hazy lust settling in his mind, he couldn’t help but unzip his jeans, pulling out his hardened cock.
“Oh? Well, would you look at that?” Sukuna hummed, eyes scanning over Satoru with interest.
Perhaps he should’ve felt disgusted by the way that his friend was staring at him, embarrassed at the very least. But the two of them had crossed too many boundaries tonight for shyness. Sukuna currently had his cock buried inside you - they were way past humiliation.
“Open those eyes, sweetheart.” Sukuna purred, patting the side of your face. “Look at him while I fuck you, yeah?”
Satoru let out a groan as your nervous gaze met his, his hand wrapping tightly around his own cock, jerking his hand at the same pace that Sukuna was fucking you, imagining that it was him inside you right now, pulling all those pretty sounds from your lips.
Your eyes were wide, filled with pleasure and desperation. It was clear that some sense of embarrassment was still flickering within you, squeezing your eyes shut every now and then only for Sukuna to slap your cheek or breast hard, reminding you to open them once more, forcing you to look into your lover's eyes while he ruined you.
“He looks pathetic, doesn’t he, baby?” Sukuna rasped against your ear.
With both of you staring at him he couldn’t help but feel an odd sort of shame, like he should stop and turn tail. Unfortunately, the shame just seemed to turn him on even more, because under the watchful gaze of the two of you, the sounds of gasping and slapping skin filling the air, he came all over himself.
He hadn’t been expecting it, his body had just instinctively responded to the way that Sukuna was talking him down, to the sight of you getting so thoroughly fucked by another man.
It was humiliating.
Sukuna chuckled, red gaze trailing up the length of Satoru’s body. Because he’d cum so unexpectedly, he’d ejaculated onto his own shirt, the sticky substance covering both the fabric and his own hands. He knew that he should get up and clean himself off, but he couldn’t tear himself away from the scene before him for even a moment.
It was clear that you were near your peak, the pitch of your moans changing a little as Sukuna adjusted his pace. His thrusts were deeper, more languid now. There was a cruel smirk on his face, an interested look that generally tended to be a sign of nefarious intent.
“Hey Satoru. Come over here.”
Satoru stared at him nervously, unsure of what Sukuna had in mind and not all that enthusiastic to find out. But at the same time, he wanted to be closer to you. Perhaps Sukuna would take mercy on him and let him fuck you.
Unlikely.
Sukuna wasn’t one for mercy.
But Satoru rose to his feet all the same, approaching the two of you, his gaze fixed more so on you, ignoring Sukuna in his periphery as best as he could. Your cheeks were flushed, body shaking. Sukuna had likely torn an orgasm away from you with his change of pace.
Edging was something that you’d claimed to dislike, getting frustrated at Satoru for leaving you on the brink before. But here you were, once again, being nice and pliant for his roommate.
It made him wonder if that stupid rhetoric about women doing whatever mean chads wanted was true.
Sukuna was treating you way worse than Satoru ever would and yet you were eating it up. If he were mentally weaker that idea would probably send him spiralling straight into the depths of inceldom.
It was lucky that he was fucked up enough to find this attractive instead.
Sukuna paused his movements for a moment, laughing at the way that you let out a disappointed sigh as he stilled within you. He took each of your wrists in his hands, moving your arms so that you were gripping your own thighs, guiding you to spread yourself open a little more.
Satoru sucked in a breath at the sight, treated to a clearer view of Sukuna’s cock buried in your pussy, twitching in a way that suggested his roommate was far more affected by the situation than he was letting on.
“Kneel.” He ordered Satoru, gesturing down at the space between his spread legs, beneath the two of you.
He hesitated for only a moment, saliva thick in his throat as he sank to his knees, the warmth of his breath fanning against your pussy. He tried to focus on that more than Sukuna’s cock, not eager to think about how big and thick his friend actually was up close.
“Go on.” Sukuna urged. “Make her feel good.”
You were peering down at him, all cute and fascinated, an expression that had his unease melting away. He leant forward and licked a stripe up your pussy, starting just above Sukuna’s cock and finishing at your clit, flicking the bundle of nerves affectionately with the tip of his tongue.
Jolting a little, you let out a sweet moan, emboldening Satoru to continue. He wrapped his lips tightly around your clit, sucking hard on it as he looked up at you, thriving on your sweet, shuddering reactions, revelling in the idea that he was the one who was going to make you cum rather than Sukuna.
That was before the illusion that Sukuna was allowing him to live came crashing down, of course.
“Aww, gonna leave me out?”
Satoru paused, looking past you into Sukuna’s ringed eyes. He wasn’t sure if Sukuna was making fun of him, testing to see how far he’d go, or if it was something more genuine than that.
Sukuna shifted his hips, drawing himself back from your snug warmth a little more, his cock shining with your slick. You whined at the lack of attention that you were being given from either of the men, your voice quickly silenced as Sukuna shoved a couple of his fingers past your parted lips.
“Come on, you know you wanna lick the taste of her off me.” He said with a sharp grin.
And while Satoru wanted to argue, so desperately wanted to point out that he was both straight and monogamous, he couldn’t resist the pull, the curiosity to follow Sukuna’s orders. You seemed so happy doing what he wanted, after all.
Satoru brought his tongue back to your pussy, lapping a trail down from your clit all the way to where Sukuna’s cock disappeared into you. And instead of pulling away like last time, he allowed his tongue to trace over that sensitive skin, running along a prominent vein coated in your sweet slick.
Things only escalated from there.
Sukuna picked up on fucking you once more, rewarding you with deep, hard thrusts while you sobbed softly, putting all your energy into holding your legs open to allow better access for Satoru. Sukuna’s fingers were bruising your hips with the strength of his grip, while Satoru lost himself in your pussy, splitting time between lapping at your sopping folds and running his tongue along the length of Sukuna’s cock.
He was vaguely aware of the way that Sukuna was praising both of you, cooing at you for taking him so well, all while condescendingly calling Satoru a good boy. Words that were clearly meant to put him down when all they actually did was build up searing desire in his gut.
It was humiliating, the way that he came undone again before either of you did, ejaculating completely untouched, the discovery of his apparent new kink pushing him over the edge with little effort.
He was sure that Sukuna would tease him about this later, that Satoru would never have the edge over his roommate ever again.
But he wasn’t sure he cared anymore.
You were next to come undone, whimpering softly as the combination of attention from the two men sent you hurtling over the edge, legs trembling violently. You called out Sukuna’s name, which wounded Satoru’s pride a little, but he supposed that it only made sense considering that Sukuna was the one all up in your guts.
He wasn’t sure why, but once you’d cum, slumping back against Sukuna’s chest and whining pathetically softly under the weight of his continuing thrusts, Satoru instinctively switched his attention to his roommate. He stopped lapping at your twitching pussy, his tongue fixated only on Sukuna’s length as it moved in and out of you, oddly infatuated with the way that your sweet taste mixed with the more salty flavor of Sukuna’s cock.
He liked it.
He liked this.
And as Sukuna came with a grunt, letting out a low groan as Satoru diligently cleaned the cum from his softening cock, he couldn’t help but think that maybe you weren’t the only one interested in Sukuna.
“Aren’t you both cute.” Sukuna mocked, eyes heavy lidded as he glanced between the two of you, a lazy smirk on his face just like always. “Now that we’ve all stopped lying to ourselves I think things will be much more fun.”
This whole time Satoru had been terrified that Sukuna was going to steal you out from underneath him, but maybe he’d had the wrong idea.
Maybe it had been Sukuna’s goal all along to have you both.
a/n: I think my sukuna favouritism is showing again hehe
if you liked this and want more sukugo roomates content I have another fic about them here :)
- He’s not super physically affectionate, especially in public. He’ll stay close to you though—like his hand will hover near yours but he won’t actually hold it. In private, especially when he’s tired, he’ll hold you without hesitation. Your touch is basically his comfort place.
- At first he’d hold you so gently, like you might break if he’s not careful—but the second you hug him back, he holds you like letting go would literally kill him.
- He’s 100% an “actions over words” guy. Sweet talk isn’t really his thing, but he’s always doing small things for you without you even asking.
- If you’re reckless or get hurt or sick, he WILL scold you… but then he spends the whole time taking care of you. Sometimes you’d wake up with him passed out next to you, still holding your hand.
- He LOVES teasing you. Like, playful back-and-forth banter is his favorite thing.
- He eats literally anything you cook for him. Anything. Even if it tastes kinda bad. He’ll only tell you the truth after he’s finished eating and only if you ask.
- He’s lost a lot of people, so the idea of something happening to you honestly scares him. In dangerous situations he’ll insist on sticking close to you, and even when you think he’s not paying attention, he definitely is.
- Saying “I love you” outright is hard for him. Instead he shows it by patching you up, making you tea when you’re sick, or pulling you closer in his sleep when he thinks you won’t notice.
- He’ll swear up and down that he “hates” cuddling, but if you lie next to him and try to move away, he’ll pull you right back and mumble something like “stay still.”
- He lets you shave his face. Actually, he likes when you do it, but he’d never ask you to first.
- Sometimes he’ll start rambling about medical stuff or world history. If you actually listen and ask questions, he gets so happy—it’s actually adorable—but he tries really hard to act like it’s not a big deal.
- His iconic hat? Completely off limits in public. But behind closed doors, he’ll put it on your head, give you the tiniest smirk, and say “Don’t get used to it.”
Suguru has been holed up for a long time, only going out with his two daughters, and occasionally his best friend - their 'uncle gojo' - and that works for him, he has a happy enough life. Success. Yet... when he meets the pretty new neighbor across the street, everything changes. His lack of inspo turns into a burst of inspiration - and his biggest fan - but he's scared, and so are you, both trying to overcome difficult pasts and move on - can you make beautiful art together?
pairings - famous artist! Suguru x art lover! reader
contents/warnings- Suguru is 32, reader is 28 - fluffy/sweet, emotional, light angst, they're down bad- both have had tragedies in their past, mentions of loss, he's a single dad to the twins. Cozy fall vibes, them finding love again, finding his muse and inspo in you, sexual tension like a mf, 'paint me like one of your french girls' getting painted naked, phone sex, masturbation, panty stealing, Sugu is so tortured artist, fingematuration, you through it, oral (f receiving) creampie, p in v sex - oneshot 11.1k wc
this is a commission for my DAY ONE girlie @nanasukii28 ! Ty for always supporting me, even when I had like 10 followers aha, it means sm <3 ILY
The movers are finishing unpacking your things to your new home when you see him for the first time – dark hair slipped half up in a bun, half flowing down his shoulders, two teenagers taking pictures of him on their phone as he tries to shove them off playfully. He looks too young to have them, maybe early thirties at best, but he’s clearly their father.
He smiles curiously at you, waving and walking over, the two of them close by, giggling behind their hands. You smile back curiously, shaking his proffered hand and telling him your name – and that’s when it happens.
You blush from a fucking handshake.
What is it, how big they are, how long his fingers were? Little specks of paint dancing along the back of them, raised veins pressing up from the back of his hand under tanned skin. Your heart races and you just stand there, not even moving your hand up and down like you should, no it just rests as you pause, and the girls next to him giggle.
“Kiss her hand,” Mimiko teases.
“Be a gentleman, dad,” Nanako says. Now it’s Suguru Geto’s turn to blush just a bit, looking down at your hand. “Maybe she’s old school.”
“Or shy.”
“You’re cute,” Nanako says, while you stand there awkwardly, both of you looking at each other. “Isn’t she dad?”
“Girls,” he chides quietly, as the two of you just stare at each other, it’s almost thanksgiving so the leaves are scattered and swirling around both of your feet, while you try to get your hand back. He’s not pulling back though, and neither are you, it’s embarrassing whatever effect this is.
You were ovulating and he is gorgeous, but surely you can fucking get it together!? The man has teenage children, he could be married, he could-
“I’m sorry,” you murmur then, blinking a bit, and Suguru gets a good look at your pretty face from this angle, taking in the shade your cheeks turn, wondering if he could ever capture that with paint. “I’m so…”
“No, no,” the girls are literally talking shit via text about their awkward dad with an even more awkward neighbor, when Suguru pulls your hand up, brushing his lips across your knuckles, smiling just a bit. “Nice to meet you.”
Oh fuck.
He kissed your hand!? Who kisses hands? And he might as well have kissed your throat, your collar bone, your lips, the intimacy of such a little act so foreign to the modern world wrecking you. Your lips are parted, searching for anything to say – you’re not like this, not so shy and awkward and a damn mess.
You take a breath, realizing he’s still holding your hand, and the two of you are in your front yard, movers walking in and out of a big white moving truck, carrying in your things. It just felt like you and him, meeting in some damn movie the way his silken locks fall, how charming he is but at the same time something…
Mysterious. That’s the word.
“Thank you,” you say then, never wanting to wash the damn spot his lips pressed like some lovesick teenager. You clear your throat and smile, tilting your head a bit, pressing a kiss on his, making him chuckle. “I figure this is our greeting.”
“I guess it is,” he murmurs, your lips leave a glossy little mark on his skin, and he can only imagine how it would feel to kiss you as your hands fall. He realizes his daughters are going to embarrass him to hell for acting like this, but he can’t really explain…
Something about you just makes his pulse race, his palms are even sweaty – him, Suguru Geto, an experienced man. He wasn’t Gojo for instance, his best friend who he’d had to coach in the ways of women, he was the one doing the coaching. At this moment though, his damn friend even would laugh at him, if the girls weren’t already texting ‘uncle gojo’ over his folly.
“Do you need help?” He asks then, rolling up the sleeves of his sweater, and fuck him for those forearms, your weakness, you can’t speak again.
“This is hilarious,” Mimiko whispers, and Suguru glares back at her, only to be met with her snapping another pic and grinning.
“Girls, introduce yourselves properly.”
“Yes dad,” they say that at the same time, you smile at the two pretty young ladies, who are just adorable.
“It’s so good to meet all of you, I don’t know anyone here really, I moved to do a new position out of state,” you murmur softly, while Suguru studies the way the sun peeking from the cloudy sky illuminates your pretty face, stunned again at the lights and shadows.
Suguru Geto is an artist, and he loves beauty, never more so than what’s right in front of him. Your sweater falls off a shoulder, revealing the smooth skin and gentle curve of your neck, he could almost feel his brush stroking against the canvas, imagining just how beautiful an art piece you would be, while you’re talking to him.
“Huh?”
He blinks, and Mimiko nudges him. “She said she’ll buy us all pizza and bake cookies if we help!”
“And she’ll buy you wine,” Nanako finishes.
“Oh…” How’d he not hear that, he watched that pretty mouth move… but his thoughts were not about pizza or food. Not at all. “You don’t have to get us anything, we’d love to help.”
“No, really, please let me. It’ll be nice to make friends.”
You turn away then, leaving the three of them staring after you, Suguru’s gaze locked on your swaying hips underneath leggings that cup your ass far too perfectly. He clears his throat and forces his gaze to the moving truck, wondering how bad it is that he wants to get to know his new neighbor so damn well when he’s a complete loner damn near in the neighborhood.
Wants to know you too well.
Suguru’s divorce was brutal and since then he’s really holed up, Gojo has been trying to get him out but he’s quite the hermit, staying in his art room aside from when he takes the girls places, or has events. She hurt him pretty terribly, and Suguru already had issues from losing one of his best friends when he was young.
He still has the painting of her – Riko – the sweet girl him and Gojo had gotten so close to once upon a time, hanging up in his living room. He thinks that’s when he threw himself into art, and getting with the girls’ mom very young left him a young father, and eventually a young single parent.
He doesn’t even know where she went off to, some other country maybe, but honestly that was better for the girls. She was not involved, and his girls deserved the world. Amidst the loss and pain, Suguru was holed up almost completely, quite different from the carefree, laughing young man he used to be.
Something about you though, made him feel just a little lighter, when you smile over a shoulder at him. “You coming? I’ll get all kinds of pizza.”
Suguru chuckles softly and runs up after you, letting his gaze linger on you again as you gesture at a bookshelf. “Holy shit, how many do you have?”
“I have a romance novel addiction,” you admit shyly, the boxes of books are a ridiculous amount. “I’ll do all that, if you could just help me put it together?”
“Of course…” The four of you all help put things in its place as the movers start to finish up.
Suguru would help you move all day if it meant he got to watch you bend over in front of him, that’s so fucked and he feels like such a pervert but his goddamn eyes won’t leave your ass. He is an ass man, but this is ridiculous. He eyes your kitchen table as he helps make sure the screws are tight and can’t help but imagine you bent over it, your legs just dangling.
It’s the perfect height for-
What’s wrong with him!?
He’s glad when pizza arrives later, and the movers are gone, the living room is nice and cozy with Mimiko and Nanako nibbling on their slices and lounging on your couch. Suguru is pulling out a painting that you ask so sweetly to go on top of your fireplace, when he pauses. It’s a large abstract piece he knows intimately, his own brushstrokes, his fingers touch where his initials are.
S.G.
You have his painting!?
He looks and you have multiple works of his, you must have been quite an art connoisseur because these are all originals of his. His heart races when you come near him, smiling at the piece. “It’s beautiful huh? He’s my favorite artist.”
Mimiko and Nanako look at the piece, then look at him, just smiling, not saying a thing. “Yeah, is he?”
That’s all he asks, as he adjusts it – his own painting in the pretty new neighbor’s house was surreal. He brushes his hands off and Nanako hands him a slice of pepperoni pizza. He takes a bite, leaning against the ladder, eyes flitting between you and his work, wondering how you found this piece… It was sold years ago to an art gallery owner.
You notice him staring at it thoughtfully, before his gaze flits back on you, holding out napkins and handing him one. “You like it?” you ask softly. Suguru just nods. “It’s one of my favorites… got it at an auction last year.”
“Is that what you do for work?” He asks curiously.
“I do work at a gallery, yes! But the one here in town is the best, so I relocated,” you notice the girls are yawning a bit. “Hey, want the cookies?”
“Yes!”
Suguru looks back at the collection of his own art, then to a picture of you that you have face down on the mantle of the little fireplace. Your home is set up the exact same style as his own. He sees you with what looks maybe like a partner, a man hugging you from behind, but he just sets it back down, making no mention.
You appear to be single, but he can’t assume.
And why is he wondering? Why is he jealous already at the thought of someone being with you – he just met you.
After sending the girls home with cookies, it’s just you and him in the quiet of your kitchen, you pull out a bottle of wine and grin. “It’s my favorite kind.”
“Oh?” He eyes the bottle curiously, before uncorking it and inhaling the scent, mixing with whatever your fragrance is, it is more intoxicating than your wine. “And you’re sharing with me?”
“Of course! I appreciate you so much, have at least a glass before you go home,” you offer softly, before sorting through your box of dishes. “Aha!”
He chuckles a bit at how cute you are, washing the glasses for the two of you, handing him one now, your fingers brushing. Goosebumps rise on your skin from just that, and you both pause once more. You can’t figure out what that is, sure watching him almost shirtless earlier and his muscles bunching and moving has you a little too excited.
Yet it’s different.
“Your daughters are beautiful,” you manage to say then, softly, pouring him a glass of a pretty pinot. “They’re so sweet too.”
“They’re brats, don’t let them fool you,” you laugh and sit next to him, sipping your wine carefully, hands wrapping the stem of your glass, your fingertips stroking it. Your hair is messy, you’re all sweaty and disheveled, baby hairs slipping around your brow.
You look so beautiful.
He swallows the wine quickly, the last thing he wants to be is your creepy obsessed neighbor, but you are already talking. “This may seem rude but you look too young too have teenagers?”
“Ah,” he clears his throat, smiling at you. “I was young. Like… eighteen.”
“Oh! Goodness, that’s so impressive that you’ve done such an amazing job, it must have been difficult.” Your words melt him more and more, it takes a lot not to lean over and kiss you then and there, practically a stranger.
He holds himself back, never a man to just jump on instinct, especially after his past relationship, but it takes a lot not to at least cup your cheek. “Thank you, it was pretty hard honestly, but we are very close.”
“And… their mom? Is that invasive?” Your brows draw together.
“She’s not in their life,” his tone is harsh for a moment, and you feel horrible for him then, sensing the pain he doesn’t say out loud. “Not for years.”
“Oh, well…” You sigh, shaking your head. “She’s missing out, hmm?”
Suguru smiles at you, a little relief in his gaze, sipping the wine and letting a little drip fall, you catch it with your thumb before you can think better, making him pause. The air around you both makes it difficult to breathe or move, Suguru’s hand gently touching yours then, before you pull back and look down nervously.
“She is,” he finally says, clearing his throat. “Is anyone moving in with you?”
“Oh, no, it’s been years for me too…” You murmur, sighing now, eyes fluttering shut. “I had a pretty serious relationship, but he passed away a few years ago. So I haven’t… dated since.”
“Oh…” fuck, the pain on your face says it all, and it’s one he has from losing his friend so young, your eyes glimmering, the prettiest jewels glossy with tears. “I’m so sorry that happened to you.”
“It was a long time now but I guess I haven’t put myself out there,” you admit softly. “Just shook me up, even though it was not too long of a relationship. He was still very special.”
“Losing someone like that will fuck you up,” he murmurs, brushing a messy lock of your hair back. “I understand.”
“I wish you didn’t,” you say softly. “I thought a fresh start in a new place may help, and so did my family. So the opportunity presenting itself? It seemed a little like fate telling me to go.”
Suguru smiles softly, his cologne and the lingering scent of the perspiration filling your senses as he leans close. “Fate, do you believe in that?”
“To an extent? Yes. See, some handsome strong man just saw me move in and offered to help,” you poke at a broad shoulder playfully, watching him laugh and shake his head. “And you? You got pizza and wine. Fate.”
“Fated pizza, huh?”
“Mhm,” you giggle and sip your glass.
It’s too comfortable, the silence even.
Soon you walk him over to your door, and the cool breeze from the night air works overtime to chill heated skin. “Thank you so much for making my first day here amazing, I was so nervous.”
“Of course, you feel free to come over any time. I’ll buy pizza next,” he says, as you two awkwardly sort of stand there again, him taking your hand. “This is our greeting so I suppose it’ll be our goodbye too.”
He places a cute kiss on your knuckles, hand swallowing yours with how huge it was, you giggle again, kissing the back of his rough knuckles. “Good night, Suguru.”
“Good night.”
Suguru can’t help but sketch you from memory that night, like a madness in his art room, peering over at your bedroom window. It was a cruel joke to have them facing each other, where he could see your silhouette behind your blinds, your window left just a little open, so there are hints of your frame.
He’d not drawn a thing in a month, not anything worthy of not being thrown out, frustratingly unmotivated. He had a good savings from how much he’s made with his art so it’s not like he had to work, but to not do what he loved felt so cruel, truly, like a piece of him had been missing.
Now charcoal flies right over the paper, the figure of you with those glittery eyes, a swipe or two of dust on your clothes from moving, that tremulous little smile. He sketches the curve of your waist, the jut of your hips hiding under that sweater, and it may be the first thing he hasn’t wanted to throw out in months.
Fate, did that exist?
Was his muse his brand new neighbor?
******
“Geto!” You greet your neighbor at the art gallery that weekend, surprised to see him there, looking far too attractive in a three piece suit. The man had no right to look that good. “I didn't know you enjoyed art!”
He flushes across those high cheekbones just a bit, clearing his throat with a little smile. “You could say I enjoy it. You… work here?”
“I do,” Geto procures two drinks from one of the trays, handing a little glass of pinot. “Thank you, where are the girls?”
“They are at a sleepover, they're growing up on me.”
“Aww, no don't worry, they adore you,” you touch his shoulder, making his heart hammers.
God you look pretty.
This little black dress is just clinging to your form in all the right places, tantalizing and tempting him in too many ways. In one way, he wants to paint you, in another he wants to drop to his knees and sip you up like the wine on his tongue.
Suguru was not someone to get nervous, to get affected like this. No he focused on his art, on his daughters – too busy and too choosy of who he lets in his life to have much interest in someone. Of course he appreciated beauty, he loved pleasure, but it's not often he's left speechless like this.
You're sweet, giggling and pointing at his own painting. Making him so nervous as you assess it, while he assesses you, the way the light hits the curve of your neck, how that red lipstick just makes your skin look so pretty. Everything about you standing in front of him makes it hard to concentrate.
“Are you all right?” You ask softly, Suguru clears his throat and smiles, focusing on what you're saying.
“I'm sorry, yes. You said…”
“This is my favorite piece,” you look at it almost lovingly. Fuck if you looked at him like that? He'd fucking drop to his knees, he almost does when you walk up to it. Fingers hovering an inch over the brush strokes raised on canvas. “I love this artist so much.”
“Yeah, do you?” You nod and grin all pretty, sipping your drink once more. “Why's that?”
“The emotion and… there's such a darkness,” your words are soft, contemplative. “A sadness they express so beautifully.”
“Ah, Mr. Geto!” Your boss comes up now, the owner of the gallery, shaking Suguru’s hand as you watch curiously. “We are so glad you could make it!”
“Of course,” amethyst eyes lock onto yours, his lips curving up, blush reddening his tanned skin. “I'm really glad you all wanted to display this one.”
You blink now.
Suguru is…
Your favorite artist!?
Your boss says your name and you snap out of it, feeling the cool rush of air while the doors open, barely brushing against your skin that’s far too warm, as more people walk in to admire the tall, dark haired man’s art. Suguru seems a little unused to the attention, rubbing the back of his neck and just smiling a little bit when more people come up to him.
How’d you not put two and two together? The fancy, scrawled S.G, that’s etched into the night sky in between the swirls of clouds. You had noticed some paint on his hands before but sort of assumed he was just doing touch ups to his home, if anything. It doesn’t help the crush you already have on your neighbor, the insane feelings making you tremble even now.
“Thanks,” he mumbles the answer while they are swarming around, girls giggling and giving you just a prick of jealousy. You don’t know why, either, you hardly know him – and of course he’s attractive and clearly talented. Yet his eyes meet yours over his glass, signaling almost for you to save him.
“Mr. Geto,” you cut in a little bit, and he says your name, his lips curving up. “Maybe you’d like to see some of my favorite work here?”
“I’d love that, excuse me,” Suguru takes the out you give him, and exhales in relief when you get him out of the throng of people, looking at you gratefully. “Thank you, love.”
Love.
Fuck he shouldn’t call you that.
“You want a little air?” You ask softly.
“Please, I’m not… good with attention,” you smile at just how cute he is in that moment, yes he’s tall, broad, handsome, but in that moment he’s just…
Shy.
Suguru Geto is a little shy.
You both step out into the gardens, where they have more art pieces put up on easels, the two of you so close your shoulder brushes against his arm, the suit material soft against your skin. Goosebumps rise at the proximity, Suguru pauses and turns to look down at you, taking off his jacket.
“You don’t have to!” You flush when he places it over your bare shoulders, you get an eye full of his dress shirt stretching around his broad chest, he rolls up his sleeves just a bit to taunt you with those veiny forearms and artist’s fingers. “Aren’t you gonna be cold?”
“Nah, feels amazing,” you look so pretty in his jacket, practically swallowing you when you hold it tightly, smiling gratefully. “Looks better on you anyway.”
“Me?” You giggle now, shaking your head. “I don’t think so.”
He can’t help but picture laying you on it, sprawling your hair out on the soft inner satin, and looking at how gorgeous you would be, underneath him. Would he paint you before or after he licked every inch of your body, explored all of that smooth skin with his fingertips?
The thoughts are maddening, he of course found you pretty when he saw you move in, but they’re getting worse by the moment. He’s scared to just… say it though, you seem lovely and sweet, but who knows your life? If you’d want to date him, when you don’t really know him.
The darkness comment was true – Suguru has been through tough times, and aside from the girls and his best friends he’s scared to open up again.
“I feel so silly right now, not knowing it was you!” Your words bring him out of his thoughts now. Suguru chuckles, brushing his fingers across the strands of your hair, they gently tickle your skin.
“No, don't at all.”
“You're like a famous artist!”
“I'm kind of niche and obscure,” Suguru shrugs a broad shoulder, while the wind starts whipping around the two of you, he tugs it close to your body.
“Thank you, Geto.”
“Suguru,” you flush at his words, looking down shyly. “Please call me that.”
“If you're okay with it?” He nods a bit, the moon is glowing softly and reflecting on the angles of his face.
He was a little too handsome.
“Suguru,” your words make him fucking ache, he bites back a moan. “I'd love to see any of your work you want to show me any time. No pressure though please! I'm fangirling right now."
Suguru chuckles, shaking his head at you. “Yeah artists don't really get ‘fangirls’ so this is new for me.”
“Well you have one now,” your eyes lower to the cleft in his chin, aching to press a kiss on it. “Your art is so beautiful Suguru.”
Suguru.
God every time you say it, it almost ruins him. Spilling from lips that are a faded red now, you're so beautiful he can’t stop the words from coming out.
“I need a subject,” he murmurs softly, bringing your attention to him. “For my art, a study of… anatomy.”
“Oh?” You look down at your heeled feet as the moonlight glows around you both, illuminating everything, casting a soft cool light.
“Yeah it's been a bit since I've taken on the female form,” he curses internally. “I sound so corny, asking this.”
You blink a bit and look back up at him. “Asking what?”
“Let me paint you,” he sighs and takes in your blush. “Like one of my French girls.”
You burst into laughter with him, shaking your head and sighing. “A titanic reference?”
“Mhmm,” Suguru is dying of thinking of just that, you naked on your side right on his couch. The curves of you right in front of him, bare for his gaze. “You wouldn't have to get naked though of course, just… anything you'd want to wear.”
“Are you serious or flattering me?” You tease. “You really would paint me? Oh my god I’m excited.”
“You are!?”
You grin now, nodding. “Let's do it.”
“Shit, yeah?” You nod and he slips his hand in yours. “I swear it's not just a hit on. It'll be beautiful to paint you.”
“Will you hang me in a gallery?” You ask softly, lashes lowering just a bit. But it makes his head spin.
How could he show anyone that body really?
“In my private gallery,” you giggle and finish the wine, inclining your head. “I’ll show you that some time too.”
“Then… let’s dip out early? Or do you want to wait?”
“Did you drive or…”
“No, just rode here.”
“Then come with me, we’ll sneak around the front.”
***
You’ve seen Suguru’s place so often but you’ve never been inside it before, and everything in it screams eccentric artist, boho chic would be the best term to describe it, messy in a way that’s not unclean. No, things are very clean, but intentional little things all over, tubes of acrylics, brushes across the counter, the chaise itself that you’ll get painted on is vintage, purple suede and gold.
Your fingers brush upon the edge of it, soft scents of cedar and hints of vanilla mixing together. He lights a couple candles, trying to organize a few things with a little smile. You see hints of the girls all over, their backpacks hanging on the hooks, pictures of them across his walls.
The way he loves them is so clear, and so beautiful.
“All right, ready for the nonsense?”
“Nonsense?”
“My art room,” he teases, you grin then. “Don’t get so excited, it’s a fucking mess. I haven’t had much inspo until…”
Until you.
You tilt your head curiously, and silence hangs thick in the air, but he falters just looking down at your pretty face, before clearing his throat, holding a hand out. “When you moved in I started drawing again.”
“Oh my god, am I like some really cool, edgy muse?” You make him laugh, nodding a bit. “Oh hell yeah, art girl’s dream.”
“Come on,” Suguru leads you into one of the rooms up the stairs, and you see several canvases stacked against the walls, many of them half finished or bare. Along the walls are beautiful portraits, many you’ve never seen. “The ones that just stay with me. Some special, some look like shit.”
“Oh, nothing you do looks bad,” you say, shaking your head, studying the ones lined along the walls curiously. “God, it’s like my dream.”
“You dream of a weird, introverted artist and his messy art room?”
“Fuck yes I do,” Suguru smiles, god you make him just feel so good, like he never wants it to end.
Nonsense, right? It’s too soon, it’s too new it’s…
You’re everything he’s ever wanted, personified in a pretty body, with an even prettier energy. No one sees this but the girls and his best friend, but he’s so comfortable now, watching you take each and every one in. Some are people, angels, demons with haunting eyes – others are landscapes, surreal or abstract. All a range but it all feels just like him.
Like Suguru.
It’s intimate im here with him now, he’s so quiet right behind you, walls covered in framed sketches. One drawing catches your eye – two young boys laughing, arms slung over each other’s shoulders. Clearly one is Suguru – and a cute, sweet little girl right next to them throwing up a peace sign.
“That’s Riko,” Suguru says quietly, noticing your gaze. “We grew up together.”
“She’s adorable, this is you, right? Is this… uncle Gojo they called him?” You ask, he nods and his lips curve up.
“That’s Satoru all right, he’s still my best friend, even if he’s annoying.”
You laugh, shaking your head then sobering up. “And Riko?”
Suguru’s eyes darken a bit, his lips pressing together. You put a hand to his chest, feeling his heart racing, stepping close to him then. “She’s… gone.”
You just tiptoe and hug him.
You hug him.
He’s frozen for a moment as you do, before he wraps arms around you, pulling you into a tight hug. Your tears are sticky against his chest, and he exhales, feeling his own emotions hit. “It’s all right, it was a long time ago.”
“It still hurts,” you whisper, he leans back and cups your face, a thumb tracing your lower lip then. “I know it does.”
“It does,” he agrees softly, then smiles at you, eyes lidded, those dark lashes casting shadows. “I do miss her, like I’m sure you miss…”
“Yeah,” he swipes a tear now. “I feel like you get it. If that makes sense. But I hate that you do.”
“I hate that you do,” he murmurs, before resting his head on yours. “Tonight, let’s just enjoy this.”
“Let’s.”
He guides you out of the room, hand entwined in yours, feeling far roo good. “You can get undressed right here,” he murmurs, gesturing to his bathroom. “Like I said, keep on whatever you want. I’ll go get the paint.”
“And more wine?” He chuckles.
“Of course more, white or red?”
“White please,” he sets his jacket down on the arm of the couch, and you nervously walk into the bathroom, glancing at the mirror and feeling your heart hammer in your chest.
Suguru Geto was going to paint you.
You slip down the straps of your dress as Suguru nervously and frantically tries to pick up a bit of the crap the girls have everywhere, it’s not too bad but he’s hoping to get the couch presentable for you. He’s drawn and painted naked women before back in his art school days, it’s just anatomy he learned then, but something about the thought of what you’d come out in drove him to distraction.
His always steady hands tremble just a bit, grabbing the easel, the paint brushes, putting down a cloth underneath it all to keep it clean. Would you wear something lacy, something simple? Either way he’d love it, imagining how good you’d look for him, in any stage of undress.
What he doesn’t expect is you to walk out naked.
His lips part, you’re a little nervously hugging yourself, cheeks a little flushed, one arm over your tits and one hand over that pussy snug between the plush of your thighs. That’s when Suguru Geto leaks so much pre it sticks to his slacks, looking at how fucking perfect you are.
He can’t say anything, his eyes wide, making you blush even more, clearing your throat and walking up to him carefully. “It’s insane but if my favorite artist is going to draw me Rose from Titanic style? I’ve gotta go all out.”
Your panties are on Suguru’s bathroom counter, next to your bra and your dress, neatly folded up, and you’re bare in his living room. He still can’t speak or summon up a damn thing, he just gently touches your hand covering your pretty breasts, watching your eyes dilate with the movement, guiding it down so that those tits gently sway, making him almost moan.
The rise and fall with your quick breaths, fingers dancing along your arm, gently pulling your hand off that cunt that makes him salivate as he looks down.
“This is crazy, isn’t it?”
He just blinks for a moment, before exhaling, stepping back to slip his gaze down your body, tracing the skin an inch away – not touching you, but the air near you, electric sparks just humming around his touch. He steps around you carefully, brushing your hair to the front, so it rests along your shoulders, fingertips barely touching your sensitive neck.
“You’re not saying anything, so I’m gonna ramble, and I’m freaking out. And-”
“Shh,” he’s back in front of you now, taking one of your hands in his own, so big it swallows yours, long lashes lowering over his purple irises. “You’re perfect.”
Perfect.
You aren’t un confident, but to hear that from him, while he gazes into your eyes rather than at your tits, your body, it’s too much. You’re trembling with need, embarrassing wetness dripping out of your hole, you almost moan just being so close to his proximity.
“You’re sweet,” you murmur, but he touches your lips to shush you.
“You’re going to be a beautiful fucking painting, I promise.” His words have you aching, wishing he could drag you against his body, kiss you, touch you. Yet he’s gentle as he guides you on his couch, gently laying you down. “Can I touch you to move you where I need?”
“Of course,” when he does you have to bite back a whimper, his big hands just a little rough from years of holding paint brushes. He takes your thigh, slipping it across the other and bending it at the knee, catching a glimpse of your pretty cunt and almost faltering. “Are you all right, love?”
“Mhm, just nervous, I need a sip.” He chuckles, a little nervous himself now, handing you the glass to sip on your side.
“I may use it, paint it in there,” he muses softly, your fingers touching each other. “Can you lean up on an elbow?”
“Y-yes…” You do just that, sipping some of the wine for courage. There was something so sensual about this moment, Suguru Geto positioning you where he needs you at, before he undoes the little row of buttons on his own shirt.
Your cunt throbs when you see him down to that thin little white undershirt, his muscles bunching underneath that skin pulled taut. You shift a little bit, thighs brushing against each other, core tightening as you sip the wine out of your glass, feeling his gaze drift along your body like a physical touch.
“Are you comfortable?” He asks, voice husky, he clears his throat a bit, grabbing the brush in his hands now. “Do you want some music on?”
You nod, so fucking gorgeous laying there it’s difficult not to stare, but he tries to keep it somewhat professional, putting on some soft music so it’s not just the sound of your breaths in the home. Though he loves that sound, loves the way you laugh, loves your energy in the room.
He sits down on the seat across from you and leans forward, that smile making his eyes crinkle at the corners, dipping the brush in the paint, swiping it across the canvas, doing a black line in the curve of your body. Hips he’d love to grab, waist he’d love to grip, puffy nipples he’d love to suck on.
You clearly are interested, the way your pupils dilate, the way you look right back at him, yet he’s just so nervous around you. The girls tease it’s been too long since he’s been out there – maybe it has, but then again maybe it’s just you that does it.
It’s a comfortable quiet as your beautiful body lays on the soft purple suede of his setté, you stay as still as you can, but you can’t help but move just a bit, hips arching, your glass slipping to your lips. Suguru’s strokes of something close to the pretty color of your skin work gently, dabbing in the areas where there is just a bit of shade, a bit of lighting, a soft glow.
“Am I being still enough?” You ask nervously, his lips curve up at the corners, leaning over to take a sip of his wine now.
“You’re doing amazing, the prettiest subject,” your blush dances on your cheeks, he decides to add a hint of that color to the picture. “Is that too bold of me?”
“Bold, I’m naked on your couch, famous artist.”
“God,” he shakes his head as you giggle a little, his gaze catching the base of your neck, where you can feel your pulse fluttering. “I’m not famous...”
“You are in the art world, I assure you,” you’ve moved just a bit, he puts down his brush with a quiet click, standing and drinking from his glass. He tilts his head to capture the light in your eyes, picking it back up.
He works on those lines, capturing the gentle swell of your breast, the dip of your waist, admiring every inch in front of him and on the canvas. It’s a comfortable silence between you both, broken only by the hitch in your breathing whenever his stare lingers too long, a certain part of your body that reacts immediately.
He continues until he pauses for a moment, tilting his head, you look down nervously then. “Did I move too much?”
“Just a bit,” Suguru kneels to reposition your bent knee, his breath ghosting over the inside of your thigh just a bit, you gasp out and your eyes lock. “I’m sorry, I should have asked again.”
“No, no…” You bite down on your lip, as your leg falls open a little wider than he’d intended, revealing the glistening puffy folds between them. His eyes linger for a heartbeat too long, pupils swallowing the violet of his irises, before he drags his gaze up to yours.
The heat in his look makes your nipples peak tighter, his fingers slipping up to brush a lock of hair behind your ear, you suck in a breath at how good it feels. You don’t want to be desperate, to beg for more, but everything about the situation and his breath on your skin is too much.
"Lift your chin," you do just as he asks, moving your chin up a bit, he looks down at you, lips far, far too close. “Perfect.”
“I’m feeling very pretty right now,” you murmur, a hand gripping his wrist when he goes to move his hand. “I may need… more repositioning.”
“Yeah?” He teases, chuckling softly, your thumb is brushing his inner wrist delicately.
“I’m not a good subject, too fidgety,” he eyes your lips, then lower, where your thighs spread just a bit again. “See? Entirely fidgety.”
“I see,” he touches your thigh and hears your sharp intake of breath, some of that dark hair falling down and brushing against your skin, to see your slick glittering on your thigh. His thumb sweeps the dampness from your inner thigh, your hand grips him tightly, a soft little cry escaping your throat. “You are moving too much, is there something I can do to help? Interfering with the painting.”
“Oh no…”
“Bratty art piece,” he teases, but he’s aching now, slipping that slicked finger and dragging it across your lips like a gloss, making you taste yourself. “How can I help you listen better, hmm?”
You lick your own slick off your mouth and lean up on your elbow, breasts brushing against his hard chest. “Maybe you could pin me down, make sure I stay where you need me?”
“Yeah?” Your intent is clear, when he leans ever closer, his breath mingling with yours, fingers finding your cunt, making him groan. “You’re soaked, love. Gonna make a mess of my couch.”
“Oh no,” your foreheads rest together, hips arching when the rough pads of his fingers drag through your syrupy folds, finding your little clit. “Mnh!”
“How do you taste?” He whispers, pulling his fingers back and sucking you off him, leaving you aching, watching his cheeks hollow. “Fuck…”
Suguru’s kissing you then, and everything shifts in that moment – he’s felt desire, but he’s never felt whatever connecting his lips with you is like. He moans against them, a hand entangling in your hair at the nape of your neck, your hands grip his broad shoulders, hips arching for more of him.
“Please,” your desperate little whisper almost does him in, your heart hammering under your pretty breasts, fluttering against his chest, his fingers slipping up again. Your head falls back, his lips brushing across your throat, fingers running circles on your clit, which jumps in response, your cunt drooling. “Suguru…”
He drinks in your moans, tongue sweeping inside the hot recesses of your mouth, pulling back for just a moment, a trail of saliva dripping from between your lips now. “I’m being unprofessional, huh?”
“Very,” you tease, but the laugh turns into a needy little whine, more pressure on that clit, your slick pouring down his fingers. He moans as he feels it, hot and wet, slipping just the finger tip down and in your gummy walls.
“So tight,” he whispers in wonder, thick finger stretching you, pulling back to let more slick pour out. “How should I keep you still then? Do you need to cum?”
You’re eagerly nodding, Suguru’s finger slipping all the way inside your hole, when the phone starts ringing. You tense and he curses a bit, eyeing it and then pausing.
“I have to take this one,” he eyes you carefully. “I’m so sorry.”
“No, no, of course,” you’re trying to gather yourself a bit when he picks up the phone.
“Girls, what is it this late?” He’s quiet, and you realize who it is, exhaling just a bit, gathering yourself. You’re too lost in that moment, in everything about Suguru Geto, down to the fact that he’s just that amazing of a parent too.
He’s quiet for a moment, then sighs, laughing a little. “All right, I’ll come get you then, but you owe me. Dishes all week.”
You laugh softly in the background, he comes back over and you’re already hastily getting dressed.
“I’m so sorry,” he says then, you’re just a little nervous anyway, what was that between you both? “We can finish the painting another night?”
“Of course we can,” you whisper, leaning up and kissing his lips, which still taste like you. He carefully adjusts the straps of your pretty dress, a kiss drifting on your forehead. “The girls come first.”
“They do, but I love that you… that it doesn’t bother you.”
“Never would,” you nervously shift a bit where you stand, eyes locking on his then. “Next time you could paint me at… my place?”
“I can, soon I hope,” he doesn’t know what to say or do, just a little awkward at that moment. “I'll walk you back.”
After reluctantly dropping you off with another heated kiss, Suguru heads in to get his keys, seeing black lace panties on his bathroom floor. He should return them to you, but instead puts them in his room for… artistic reasons.
*****
Sure.
Totally not to jerk it to with them buried against his face, putting it in his mouth like a gag to keep quiet that night, as he strokes his cock that’s aching. And of course, right as he’s working his cock up and down with his fist, whispering your name in his mind while your sweetness coats his tongue, the phone rings again.
“Fuck me…” He grumbles, but then he sees it’s you. “Shit… shit, shit, shit…”
Suguru’s already leaking pre from his pretty tip, this light tan that’s now drenched in streams of white, a hand reaching for the phone and putting you on speaker.
“Suguru, hey…” you bite nervously on your lip, still trembling from his touch. “Is this too clingy, to call you after?”
“No, no,” Suguru hardly bites back a moan. Is he filthy to keep stroking his cock, hearing your cute little sigh? “Are you all right, princess? I mean… shit…”
“Princess?” You almost fucking squeal, pressing your thighs together in need.
“Sorry, I-”
“I like it,” your voice is so sexy then, making Suguru moan out loud. You blink a bit then blush. “Are you um…”
“It's been a long time and you were right on my tongue,” He's so pathetic and desperate for you, but how can he not be? “I'll stop-”
“No, don't stop,” you lay back on your bed, fingers slipping down your body. “Let me hear you.”
Suguru Geto is in love.
“Hah – so you’re not the sweet little thing I thought,” he manages to whisper into the phone, stroking his cock again, hearing your little desperate gasp. “You’re touching that pretty pussy?”
“Is that t-terrible?” You gasp out the words, he shuts his eyes then, shaking his head even though you can’t see, spitting on his cock in a bubbly trail, letting it hit that thickened cockhead.
“No, princess,” you moan softly. “I wanted to do so much more before I had to leave.”
“Tell me what you wanted to do,” Suguru takes your panties now and strokes the lace on his cock, your half painted picture was sitting right in his room, half of the curves of that body were enough to destroy him. “I mean, if you want!?”
He chuckles – a broken little sound, stroking his cock faster with the silk, feeling so filthy yet everything about it was perfect. Your arousal lingering on his lips, your art hanging up right in front of him, your voice right in his ear when he takes you off the speaker, lips near the phone.
“Are you touching that little clit, or your tight pretty hole?” You’re soaked at his husky words, surprising you as much as they make you ache, make you throb. “I mean is that too-”
“Fuck keep going,” you’re lost, arching your hips and rolling your finger in little circles on your clit. “Mnh!”
“The sounds you make,” he huffs out softly, the sound of him stroking his cock filling the bedroom – he’s very thankful to be up on the loft floor all alone, far away so no one hears such debauchery.
Yet he couldn’t keep you quiet, no he’s sure of it.
“Can hear how wet she is on the phone,” he murmurs, as your fingers slip in your hole, nothing like his. “I wanted to make you cum all over my fingers to start – then I wanted to bury my face and drown in your cunt.”
“Oh my g-god…” You’ve never been talked to like that, trembling thighs clamping down on your own hand, already pulsing as Suguru leaks white sticky ropes against your once perfect, now ruined, panties. “You wanted to um… l-lick it?”
“Not lick it princess, hah -” his skin is coated in just a thin little sheen of perspiration. He’s moaning, stroking faster and faster – the fwap fwap fwap sounds so filthy and mixing with the squelch and click of your fingers on your cunt. “I want to suck on your little clit, feel you drool on m’face.”
“Suguru!” You’re lost in his words, in the images of his long dark hair against your skin. “You’re… I… you do?”
“You’re so fucking cute,” he exhales, eyes fluttering shut. “Yes, I want you to ride my face and spill all over it, soak me.”
“Ride your face?” You’re just a little inexperienced in that you’ve never ridden a face, blushing so furiously.
“Hmm, haven’t done it? Don’t worry, I’ll have your thighs on either side of me…” You cry out softly, hips jerking up, fingers curling deep inside yourself. “Are you imagining me?”
“Y-yes… I am, mnh!” Your eyes roll back, clit twitching, cunt slippery.
“Cum f’me, princess, picture my mouth right there.”
Suguru Geto was shy.
Suguru Geto was reserved.
Suguru Geto was freaky.
You cum so hard your fingers feel your own pulsing, touching that spot just enough to push you over that edge. Suguru groans when he hears it, your pretty whimpers while you’re cumming on the phone. “Your messy, pretty cunt… it’s so loud.”
You’re too lost to blush, or you would, as he hears the wet sloppy sounds your messy hole makes, spurting and gushing. His amethyst eyes flutter shut then, he’s so close now after hearing you, stroking faster and faster, panting your name in a desperate little whisper.
Suguru’s ragged breath rings out with your name on his lips over and over like a devotion, the painting just a bit blurry as his eyes fades. The phone is muffled against his cheek as he spills hot stripes across your panties – once a pristine black lace, now a sticky fucking mess of white.
“F-fuck…” he’s never done this, over the phone, a sweaty mess as his cock jerks with all of those aftershocks. “Oh my god.”
“Mnh…” you’re running your fingers through your slick as your heavy breaths fill each other’s ears over the phone.
“I can picture you,” he murmurs, running a thumb across his tip and exhaling.
“Can you?” you ask, fucked out alreadt, shifting on tangled sheets, your fingers slipping from your swollen clit that’s so sensitive you hiss.
“Mhm, skin shining, gripped those sheets with one hand,” you let that go and laugh, breathless. “Cunt is all puffy too.”
“You’re insane,” he laughs too, wiping a hand across his face. "Suguru?"
"Yeah," his voice is a little hoarse, you hear fabric rustle, picturing him wiping up his pretty cock. “I’m the creepy neighbor now, who was jerking it to you.”
“Never, I was already…”
“Yeah?”
“Shh,” he laughs again. "I... really liked hearing you."
"You did?”
“Oh yes,” you’re a trembling mess, slipping your shorts up, cunt just aching for all of him. “I’ve never done that.”
“Want a secret?”
“Yes.”
Suguru sighs, cleaning up his hands now. “I haven’t done that either. It’s been… a long time since I’ve done anything.”
“Really?” You sound a bit surprised. “You’re so gorgeous though.”
“Tch,” he sighs now, shaking his head, walking over to that half finished painting and brushing his fingers across it. “You’re gorgeous.”
“Oh, Sugu… I mean Suguru!”
“I like that,” he murmurs. "Your voice when you came, how wet you sounded, I need to really hear it, see it.”
Your breath catches, heart hammering in your chest.
“Is it too much?”
“No, no… Suguru I called for…” You wrack your addled brain, fucked out by just his voice. “A date tomorrow. My place, we... finish the painting.”
"Your place," he murmurs slowly. "What time? I’ll make sure the girls are… not gonna call again.”
You laugh softly. “They will always be the most important, that doesn’t bother me one bit.”
“I know,” he adores you already, so much affection and obsession it scares him just a bit. “I still want an entire night with you.”
His insinuation is clear, his voice smooth like honey, making you pulse with aftershocks. “Mnh…”
“God, how you sound,” he’s fucking getting hard again. “What time, you didn’t tell me?”
"Six work for you?”
"Gonna be torture, princess,"
“What?” You laugh nervously.
“That long.”
“Oh… you’re excited?”
Suguru chuckles, shaking his head and looking in the mirror for a moment, just as you do in your room, seeing both of your dilated eyes. “Yeah, I’m excited.”
“Then I’ll have dinner ready.”
All Suguru Geto wants to eat is you.
*****
“Have fun, best buddy,” Satoru Gojo has brought the limo to make sure the girls are good for the night. They love his mansion and the ridiculous, extravagant shit he buys them, already bouncing up and hugging him.
“Uncle Gojo!” They’re met with tousles of their hair and his chuckle, as he eyes you across the street then.
“Ooh, is that her?” He asks, lowering his sunglasses to study you, you wave all friendly and cute, earning a low whistle. “If it doesn’t work out for you-”
“Gojo, I swear to god,” Suguru glares and Satoru just flutters his fingers at you, before getting unceremoniously shoved into his own limo. “Bye now.”
“Seriously, no introductions!?” He is appalled, the girls are giggling. “Ya worried she’d like me too?”
Suguru rolls his eyes, the girls hug and kiss him good bye. “Good luck, old man.”
“I’m not even old, Nanako, god,” she just waves and hops in the obstentatious limo. Mimiko kisses his cheek.
“You’ll do great, just act like yourself.” Suguru’s heart melts at his daughter, he playfully tugs her pig tail then.
“Love you girls.”
“What about me!?” Satoru demands, crossing his arms and glaring as you walk up now. “No thank you? No I love you? No kiss?”
“For fucks sake, Satoru,” Suguru grumbles and lets his best friend hug him so tightly his damn back cracks. “I love you too, now go.”
“Aww, you’re in wuv with her,” Suguru finally gets Satoru’s lanky ass in the limo, waving goodbye.
“Aw, you should have introduced me,” you said when he walked over finally, his art supplies in his arms. “I’d love to meet your best friend.”
“Another time, he… had to go.”
“Oh! Okay, come on in, I made-” Suguru wastes no fucking time, after he sets the supplies down, kissing your lips. “Mnh!”
“Fuck,” he whispers, breath hot, cupping your face with his huge hands then that take you over. “Sorry.”
“N-no,” you tug at his sweater, bringing him down close to you then, exhaling and looking at him with your lidded gaze. “Don’t apologize, please.”
“I can’t even think of anything but fucking filling you up,” you’re kissing once more, as Suguru loses any tentative control he has, after jerking it till he was raw last night, already throbbing when he shuts the door behind you both. “God, you look beautiful.”
“Ah!” Suguru’s teeth sink against the delicate curve of your neck, his big arms around your waist, tugging you so close. He shocks you then, as you both stumble into the kitchen, his hands everywhere, your hands slip up his chest as you stumble back against your counter, the coolness against your back.
“Sorry, shit,” he tries to pull back, seeing the pretty meal you have all ready on top of the stove, salivating for an entirely different reason.
“Aren’t you hungry?” You manage to ask weakly, voice trembling, Suguru chuckles and lifts you up on that counter, spreading your thighs wide and shoving that dress up over the curve of your hips.
“Starving,” he answers, kneeling for you then. Suguru Geto on his knees, eyeing your pretty cunt and moaning. “No panties?”
“My last came up missing with you,” you tease, biting down on your lower lip as he gets a perfect view of your cunt that’s just winking and pulsing for his view, parting your puffy lips and spreading your folds wide. “Suguru you’re… you’re so in there!?”
“I sure am,” your cunt is spread wide for his artistic gaze, earning his moan when he sees inside you. “I can’t wait to fill it with white.”
You’re a flustered mess, spread wide on your kitchen counters in your brand new home for your neighbor across the street, hands gripping his raven locks and tightening, a whine escaping your throat. Thighs tremble on either side of his head, legs on each broad shoulder, letting him slip his tongue all the way inside like it’s fucking you, the wet muscle curling right up.
“Suguru! Ngh!” Just once delicious fuck of his tongue in your hole fucking destroys you, his amethyst eyes so dark you can barely see a ring of color, your pussy drooling down his tongue, down his mouth, you’re spasming around him, nose bumping your twitchy clit, eliciting another desperate little moan.
Your hands entangle in his dark locks, silky strands carding through your fingers, your hips arching up so that your cunt is right in his face, Suguru drinks you up like he’s a starved man, fingers dimpling the plush of your thighs. He’s lost in your pleasure, eyeing your pretty face that falls back, hair tumbling down your shoulders, thighs trembling with pleasure.
His tongue flicks up higher, teasing your clit, drinking up all your arousal with that long pink tongue that had just been shoved in your snug hole. He holds your hood up to watch it jump, tiny little thing that makes him smirk, eyeing you under dark lashes as he flicks it again, cock so hard he has to rub it over his jeans, gasping out at the need for friction.
But not until you came for him.
“Sugu…” That little name with your breathy cry is his undoing, he’s close to cumming from how you say it, how your thighs press against his face, your cunt slick and drooling down his mouth with every movement of your hips. “S’good, there, there!”
You’re arching and fucking his face, much to his fucking delight, coating him in your slick that just makes a mess of him. Suguru’s tongue is flicking over and over on your clit while two fingers swirl in your wetness, pressing in and stretching that tight hole out. Tacky, textured walls grip those calloused fingers so tightly he can only imagine the moment you milk his cock.
He’d give it all to you.
Suguru doesn’t ‘hook up’ at all, he doesn’t sink to his knees and bury his face for some random girl, or even a fling – no, you were special. Your juices coating his tongue and the way your heat consumes him is merely a fraction of everything he wants and needs from you, that spasming cunt spurting juices down his fingers, his hand, his wrist, slippery and messy.
“Mmph,” he barely is able to speak with his mouth so full of your juices, pulling back with a dripping mouth, eyeing your pretty face with those fucking heart eyes. “Gonna cum on m’face Princess?”
Your answer is a jerky nod, a soft desperate whine, when you shatter for him – food untouched, wine uncorked – just your cunt squirting ever so slightly, coating his face and surprising him. He almost busts then and there as it happens, as your hole spasms and spurts so much he’s coated. The orgasm has you rolling your eyes back, head smacking on that counter.
“S-Sugu…” He groans, lapping up a stripe that has your whole body trembling, so overwhelmed with how much he’d made you cum, made you shatter. “Nghhh! F-fuckkk…”
Suguru’s standing up and lifting you now, thighs straddling his hips while he kisses you, coated in your pussy, your tongues swapping the sweetness. Your arms cling to him even as you’re shaking – boneless and weak, so dizzy it’s hard to cling to him like this, the way he consumes you, the way your core has spread that heat.
You both barely make it to your couch, the one he plans on painting you on later, but for now all he can do is rut his cock against your cunt, thickness pressing and making your core tighten. You’re clinging to him with your nails pressing in his shoulders when he leans up, slipping your dress even higher, until it’s slipped right off over your head, leaving you bare.
“Tell me to slow down,” he murmurs desperately. “To take my time, to-”
“No,” you cut him off, hastily slipping off that sweater, gasping when you trail your fingers down the tattoos curving across his abdomen, watching the tense muscles flex underneath your touch. “I want this, I want you.”
“Fuck I want you, so much,” he’s hoarse and damn near whimpering when he frees his cock, smacking it against your puffy lips, glossy from his spit and your arousal, the sight of him pressing the tip into your hole almost his undoing. “Look at her, so tiny, gonna fucking fill you.”
He does just that, tugging a thigh up, cock sliding half way in and stretching your tight cunt then and there, a filthy squelch of your greedy hole sucking him in. “Mnh! S-so much…”
“Hah,” he leans forward, cupping your face with one hand, long dark strands slipping against your skin while he looks down at you.
Lovingly.
Suguru loves you.
There’s no sense to the timing, there’s fear there, but he can’t fucking deny it anymore.
“I love you,” he murmurs, you gasp, eyes widening. “You don’t have to say it back, I know it’s f-fucking… insane, yeah?”
You want to say it back then and there but he captures your throat with one hand, gently choking while his cock slides deep, and you can’t speak. Your nails pressing into the hot skin and strong muscles are your only answer, gasps and little weak whimpers mixing with your messy cunt. Suguru’s taking you over, seeing the way your tummy moves with him.
It ruins him even more, how your small little hole accommodates him, even as you struggle, as you whine out. “I know,” he huffs softly, leaning low over you and hiking your leg up. “Big stretch, hmm?”
You nod jerkily, tears of pleasure slipping from your eyes, letting him bury his cock to the hilt. Suguru has to pause to study your beauty underneath him, something to keep in mind for his art, before he works his cock in and out of your hole. Faster, deeper, folding you damn near in half as your body is buried against your own couch, sinking into the cushions.
“That’s it princess,” he praises you, you’re drooling from your mouth and your cunt as he moves, thrusting in and out, tip leaky on your cervix, you scream out in pleasure, body writhing underneath him. “Gonna cum f’me, all over me, yeah?”
You nod weakly, you’re already close – sensitive from his mouth, his tongue, his teeth.
“Then go ahead,” he whispers softly, lips brushing your nose in a cute little kiss. “Let it all out for me.”
You’re done, when those words sink in, when his lips capture yours, all you can do is orgasm all around his thick length, shattering and crying out. Suguru swallows your screams with his hot open mouth on yours, fucking you right through your orgasm, his tip dragging on the little spot in your walls.
He pulls every bit of pleasure out of you, shoving in deep and letting it drag one more time, making you a twitchy little fucking mess, dizzy and lost in him. Rain starts pattering outside – a rare thing this time of year, mixing in with your desperate little moans, your breaths, body weak.
“Good girl,” he says this shit to ruin you – you swear, when he starts thrusting again, this time so lazy and slow, each drag of his cock along your walls making you shake with overstimulation. Your legs tighten around his hips reflexively as he holds you close, hands tracing over your hips like he’s using his paint brush.
You feel like art underneath him, the way he studies you so quietly, but you didn’t need the words, just feeling everything. Your eyes flutter shut for just a moment when he kisses you, losing his rhythm now, he can feel his cock throbbing, about to bust deep inside you.
Every movement of his curved cock in your gummy walls is loud, messy, so good you're blinded. Eyes rolling back in your skull just for him to gently order you to open them. To see that pretty face hovering over you, his lips glossy, cock pulsing and impossibly thickening. Sweat drips from his slick skin to yours. Fingers tightening on a thigh to sink deeper.
“Want me to fill you up, princess?” He murmurs softly, breaking the heated silence, the rain pounding now on your windows, lightning illuminating the form over you.
“Yes.”
It’s so quick of an answer he blinks, slowing his movements inside you, groaning out when he feels you fluttering around his cock, pulsing pre. He lifts your legs higher around his hips, his hands taking over your breasts, lips trailing hot as they descend, his strokes lazy, pushing you over that limit again.
“Perfect,” his hot breath tickles your breasts, his tongue flicking lightly against your nipple, taut and sensitive, you gasp out while his wicked tongue swirls around your nipple before, drawing it gently between his teeth. “Mmm… s’fucking pretty. Can you take it all?
You nod breathlessly, your fingernails digging into his back and leaving crescent moons in his skin as he fucks you hard, leaned back shoving your thighs up high. Your hips jerk when that sharp pleasure shoots through you, when he bottoms out with his huge, veiny cock so deep.
“Gonna fill you s’good, pretty girl,” he busts so much it floods your cunt, you’re arching so that your tits are perfectly there for his bent frame to suck on, arching his back and holding you with huge hands, groaning. “F-fuckk…”
Suguru’s cumming so much it’s already pouring out, but he makes sure to shove it all back inside you, picturing how much his kids need a little sister or brother – insane thoughts overtake him. Yet, they have been since he laid eyes on you.
Drawing you.
Jerking his cock to you.
Stealing your panties.
Suguru needs you. You look up now, taking a shaky breath, eyes lowering to his lips, cupping his face then. “Suguru…”
“You don’t have to say it back, it’s okay princess,” he murmurs, but you’re blinking back tears. “Too intense?”
“Intense yeah but,” you lean up on your elbows, hair falling down behind you as a storm pounds outside. “I love you Suguru Geto.”
You’re met with a desperate, needy kiss, as the world around you both fades, leaving you covered in sheens of sweat, coated in each other. Soon Suguru lays you like you were just last night, but he makes sure to clean that cum that has slipped down your lips off with his tongue, to paint you while you’re both completely naked.
He’s moving the brush on the canvas, not able to really capture how fucked out your pretty eyes are, just sighing as his paint starts to form the silhouette of the girl he’s in love with. You’re still trembling, cum pouring from your hole that he hasn’t cleaned out completely yet.
“Suguru…” You murmur softly, he eyes you then. “Your art subject is… sticky.”
He chuckles then, putting the brush down, and walking to you, tilting your chin up as he kneels. “I can’t have my subject in such a state.” He sits you up, making you gasp when he spreads your thighs. “I’ll just have to clean her up more, won’t I?”
Patreon for more exclusive fics - Kofi link (commissions and🍷)
blessed are the readers, for they shall inherit the recs.
virgin ft dilf!gojo by @eraserbread (specifically shapeshifter, but the entire thing deserves a read)
the corpse bride ft choso by @j3llyc4kes
beauty and the beast ft beast!sukuna by @cursesandcigarettes
gotta catch em all ft nerd!gojo by @leclercloveletters
dead or alive ft toji x sukuna by @motel6killer
toji drabble by @tojipie
subby satoru by @sytorusdoll
sex.exe ft geto by @indiewritesxoxo
nanami drabble by @swearimnevergivingup
pornstars sukugo by @orgasmbunny
bulking szn ft hubby!nanami by @qoins
maybe i’m the pervert ft sukuna by @crude-saint
star girl ft yuki by @hotties4gojo
greed ft gojo @cupidstrace
geto drabble by @trvamatized
end of our world ft gojo by @kingkaisen
these lonely and greedy demands ft knight!nanami by @yearner-kento
*please heed to creator’s warnings/rules!*
the candles dim, the worship ends, but the devotion stays. let these stories linger like prayer.
i’m lucky enough to have a little corner here, so i wanted to start something new — a small weekly tradition where i spotlight a few of my favorite fics from the week. i can’t read everything (as much as i try), so feel free to tag me or even drop links to fics in my ask box. i want to keep discovering more stories, more writers. thank you, and please support your writers ♡
warnings - Toji plays LADS and falls for you pulling for Sylus cards on twitch hehe,explicit sex, p in v sex, masturbation, cumshots, creampies, filming it, mating press, oral (m and f receiving) obsessed Toji - 3k wc
pornstar! toji who is of course known as 'daddy' by the porn industry, the girls all line up to fuck him, especially once they see just what his mouth can do. Toji was nothing if not competitive, so he makes sure when he's sharing a costar to lick her a little longer, to fuck her a little harder, shove his cock so deep there's no 'acting for the cameras' no, they're creaming, squirting or dripping for him on and off set.
pornstar! toji loves easy money, why wouldn't he? What's easier than making girls cum, he's always been good at it, there's no question about that. The industry welcomed him and his chiseled body and thick, veiny cock with open arms, just as all the women welcomed him with spread thighs, mouths open, tongues out. He loved to finish right on a pretty star's face, spurts of hot liquid just pulsing from his reddened tip, smirking just a bit in the cameras as it catches the 'money shot'.
pornstar! toji doesn't really watch porn, as he's always around it, and it's not actually his thing. Many would be surprised to know Toji would take a good audio JOI over visual, or sometimes he just enjoys to read some filthy smut - not that he ever lets people know that of course, he has a bit of a reputation to uphold! Another secret he can't let be known is his fascination with an otome game purely due to the story line at first, and then the pretty live streamer.
pornstar! toji was mortified at first, how can he romance 'men' when he loves pussy? Well the battle tactics were so good, he couldn't stop himself from getting into it a bit, and the story lines were good okay!? He gets shit on from Gojo, Geto and Sukuna when he plays on set, and they hear the telltale music, but really they can fuck off, considering he can outlast all of them despite being older. Yet, it's not just the game that's got him obsessed... it's you.
pornstar! toji found your livestream because he just sure wasn't spending that much money on a card, and you were getting donations the entire stream, giggling as you drew the cards, smile making him ache. That's when he starts typing, and you react in the stream, reading his name that he's too old to change - so it literally says 'pornstar toji'. You giggle and love his chats, soon he's donating to you, excessively, a hundred here, three hundred here, and ends up hanging out in your chats, in your discords, you start looking forward to him too.
pornstar! toji almost died when you say his name the first time, 'Toji! Ah, you're here, I'm excited!' you have these cute little pink cat earphones on, leaned back in your bright pink gamer chair, you're just fucking adorable, and he can't help but start to picture how good it would feel to fucking ruin you. But can he, ruin a sweet streamer, even as she's sipping on her little drink, lips wrapping that straw and making him ache? He starts to touch himself just watching you light up and get your memories, lose your battles so bad you just go on auto, he can't help but leak milky pre when you giggle and say his name again and again.
pornstar! toji thinks of you, the pretty LADS streamer even when he's got a girl bent over, his hands wrapping around her as he pounds his cock, turning her face to him and then faltering right on set. Somehow he imagined you, your pretty face, your sweet little gasps as his cock pounds you, he shuts his eyes for a moment and then leans back, grabbing her hips, cock moving in and out of her underneath that latex. He's never off his game, never a day in his life, but for some reason he's just a little thrown off, he can't cum or make that money shot.
pornstar! toji is frustratedly jerking one of his huge hands up and down his cock, trying to get close after having excused himself, but he can't even get close until he pulls up the stream from last night, and hears your voice - 'oh, Toji you're so sweet, you didn't have to superchat that much!' - and that's what gets Toji close, when you're freaking out over a Sylus card you got and gasping out and his mossy green eyes flutter shut he can just picture it, being inside you, stretching your pretty cunt out, filling you up, ruining you for anyone ever. The thoughts are too much, overtaking his every day ones, even making fucking breakfast he can't stop picturing your thighs spread wide on his marble counter.
pornstar! toji starts to become more obsessed, in fact you're all he can think about, he cancels his next set because you're doing a live stream and he can't miss it, losing out on money and spending it on you, what the fuck is going on? Yet Toji is the first one, and you're all alone, when you lean forward a bit, and you sit the mic firmly against your head, smiling at the camera. 'Did some research,' Toji flushes a bit at that, the way you look at him through the screen as he holds the phone in his hand almost delicately, lovingly having you in his palm. 'You're famous, and I was so clueless, that's so cool.' He chuckles a bit and types out - 'gotta keep a low profile, doll' - to you, making you heat up at the memories of what you watched a bit of last night.
pornstar! toji doesn't realize you'd touched yourself to him, you thought at first you'd just be curious, but how could you not be soaking wet watching him put a costar in a full Nelson and fuck her senseless? You didn't even think that was a real position, suddenly you felt so nervous and intimate talking to him, maybe you loved it already when he said your outfits were cute, maybe you already enjoyed him so much, giddy every time he threw in a quiet comment, but you truly thought he was kidding with the name, even now you're so sure that it can't be actually him. 'Your secret is safe with me,' you murmur softly, going to the stream and trying not to bite that lip to death with how needy you feel, imagining him picking you up and just fucking throwing you around like he does.
pornstar! toji was worried you'd not like him if he told you, it's nonsense as you're a streamer and he's a pornstar, it's not like you're dating, but also what a dream if you ever would want to. Toji's not like this, not at all actually, he's not a romantic or someone filled with nonsense, yet every day he thinks of you more and more. There's no event for a week so he doesn't see you, and he hesitates before privately writing you, sure you're going to think he's a weirdo, he is almost forty and a seasoned star after all, and he's sure you get hit on alot, but he just... wants to know you're good, and perhaps that scares him more. But you respond, with a fucking selfie, as if to just torture him.
pornstar! toji cancels his next set to talk to you via discord all day, him the top star with a book and list of exclusive shows, but how can he do that when he's grinning like a high school Toji in puppy love!? When he sends a pic back and it's fuzzy and out of focus, you can't help but giggle yourself, cancelling all your plans too, because you can't help but be enamored. When you call him, though? Toji panics, staring at it like it's an accident, palm sweaty - him, who has no problem being in a gang bang vid, who jerks it on livestream to thousands, he's shy to speak to you. At the last moment, his thumb hovers, and you say a shy little 'hey' which is enough to just destroy him completely.
pornstar! toji murmurs back a 'hey doll,' and you recognize the voice from the videos, a blushing mess now as you nibble on your thumb. 'Toji, you're... really great at it, at um... your career?' he chuckles then, leaned back and shutting his eyes, picturing you in his mind. 'Yeah, ya enjoy my work, huh? You seem so sweet and... innocent, a good girl, but you're not are you?' that's when it gets quiet, and you let out a little whimper. Toji pauses, narrowing his eyes, staring into the phone like he misheard, but then you do it again. 'You're touching yourself to m'voice, huh doll? you're that slutty?' No one has ever talked to you like that, the gruff voice degrading you fucks you up, he hits daddy issues you didn't even know you had and you can't help what comes tumbling out of your mouth. 'come visit me.'
pornstar! toji is on a plane that fucking night, you're a few hours worth of a flight away, and it's well worth it when he rides in the back of the car to your place, and you nervously open the door. Seeing you in person for the first time, you thought it would be awkward, thought you'd be nervous, opening it wide and inviting him inside, but it's anything but that. Toji steps in like he owns the place, towering six foot plus over everything, broad shoulders nearly taking over your little door way. You inhale his musky scent as he walks in, shutting that door behind you, leaning low. 'Why don't you be a good girl, and get on your knees f'me?'
pornstar! toji pulls his leaky cock out as you do just that, sinking to your knees, your cute little top and white pleated skirt slipping up the plush of your thighs, obediently listening as he tilts your chin up. 'What if I'm... not as good as...' he pauses you then, thumb pressing between your lips, shaking his head. 'Doll, just open that pretty mouth, huh?' you obey, earning another good girl, there you go that makes you tremble, wondering how insane you are for this, but when you taste his salty precum on your tongue, swirling it around the ridge of his tip, earning his moan? You're past thinking, especially when his head rests on the door, and his huge hands hold your face in place. 'Gonna make sure your throat knows my shape'
pornstar! toji fucks into your throat, feeling you gag and choke, tears leaking from your eyes as his pre drips down your tight little throat, you're rocking back and forth against his leg, soaking him and making him throb. 'suckin' me so well too,' your throat is tightening around him in response to his husky praise, he groans now, so sensitive like he's never been. Toji can go forever, but just looking down at your pretty eyes glittering with a sheen of tears and feeling you gulping him is enough to make him bust, he has to try to hold back, brushing your hair almost tenderly. 'that's it, doll, you're perfect f'me, aren't you?' You're trembling, overwhelmed, but you don't stop, your hands gripping his thighs for balance, your nails digging into his thighs over his jeans, and that's when he pulls out, letting you gasp for air, spit and tears smeared across your face.
pornstar! toji whispers then - 'God doll, look at ya, doing such a good job' his praise makes you tremble, as he drags a thumb over your swollen lips, ones he hasn't kissed yet that are smeared with his precum and your drool. He helps you up then, turning you and kneeling, slipping your panties down your thighs, smirking as he sees them. 'Ya got Sylus on your panties?' you giggle, coughing just a bit and looking down, nodding. 'You're devoted, huh?' he slips them down to your ankle, right over a pretty pink little Mary Jane, groaning at how fucking cute you are. 'You look this cute all for me?' you bite down on your lip, hands entangling in his hair when he spins you back around, kissing hungrily up your thigh. 'I love when you tell me my outfit is cute,' you admit, so adorable and blushing, he kisses up your thighs, teeth sinking into the plush of one, moaning then. 'All of you is perfect, f-fuck look at this cunt, drippin' and I haven't even touched it? Slutty little pussy.'
pornstar! toji soon devours that pretty cunt in his face with filthy flicks of a long tongue, his sounds are lewd as he worships you on his knees, huge hands grabbing your hips and lifting you up, until you're just off the floor, thighs on other side of his head. You gasp out - 'T-toji! You can't...' he just grins against your cunt, your hands entangling in those inky locks. 'Oh you're so cute, doll, I'm gonna have so much fun ruining you,' he sucks your twitchy little clit in his hot, filthy mouth, humming on it. 'Toji!' you're screaming out as his chin drips from your soppy little hole spasming, his mouth vibrating better than any toy you've ever had, and you just let go, letting him hold you like you're nothing, shaking and arching your back, eyes rolling back in your skull.
pornstar! toji can't get enough of you, your sweet cunt just pouring, fuck he's never tasted anything better, and he's damn sure his career is ruined once he's sipping you up, his life is over on his knees, worshipping your cunt like he's praying at a fucking altar, relishing in every flick and hum until you shatter. And fuck you're beautiful when you do, going so slack he has to completely hold you up, pressing messy kisses on your clit while holding your plump lips apart, groaning against you. Toji stands right with you, throwing you around like you are a doll, about to let you know that you're a career ender, when you murmur - 'what about doing a vid with me on cam' all fucked out and dizzy.
pornstar! toji smirks now, cupping your face, kissing you with your juices as your legs wrap his hips. 'Ya wanna be a star, huh doll? well I can, but you'll only be my star, can you be that f'me?' you nod eagerly, lost in him before you've even had his cock and soon Toji is helping you set it up, being careful to block out your face just in case you change your mind, you realize how sweet he is even as he's folding you in half in a mating press, running the drooling tip of his cock between your soppy folds. 'I'm gonna fill you up so full, till you're drippin' me out on stream'
pornstar! toji makes good on that promise, he doesn’t tease your pretty little cunt long, just enough to study your pretty face, thumb brushing over your cheek reverently. He doesn't say it yet - but he's down fucking bad, in love with you, the moment his cock enters your tight little cunt. He gives you just an inch until you cry out 'more!' and then Toji gives you just that, slamming into you with one brutal thrust, filling you completely. The stretch burns, and you cry out at first, he lets you adjust for just a moment before lifting you up higher, knees damn near against the mattress, bottoming out with his tip against your cervix, you whine out weakly and your eyes lock for just a moment. 'Am I gonna be your only star?' you ask softly, he groans then, kissing you and pulling back to smile, that little scar on his lip stretching, still glossy from your cunt. 'You already are.'
pornstar! toji makes sure to get your best angles, you've been thinking of doing videos with your fan base growing, but never did you truly think of it until Toji Fushiguro. He pumps you so full of his thick, veiny cock, as the little ring light stand with your camera captures every thrust, but it doesn't capture how he cups your face, how he murmurs your name softly. It doesn't get to see how your fingers entwine at that angle, no it gets his heavy balls smacking your ass while arousal all creamy just gushes down it in pulses, but it doesn't see your little giggle or his big grin. When he asks if he can cum inside you beg for it, so eager it sends him, filling you and groaning so loud no one's ever heard him make noise like that, easing out and eyeing it then the mess you've made.
pornstar! toji uses his tip to gather that milky cum, pushing it back into you again, but he cuts the cameras soon, kissing you and making you writhe underneath him, kissing across your pretty breasts, lost in you. The next morning you wake up littered in marks from his hungry mouth, with him snoring next to you in your bed. You're nervous, but he wakes up with a smile, murmuring - 'ain't the Raf event today? Lemme stream with you.'
pornstar! toji and you are a match made in heaven, as you're pulling for cards thanks to the insane money you all made last night, and Toji's down there between your thighs where the stream can't be, lapping up your pretty, abused hole. 'R-raf come home for me,' you murmur out on the stream, while Toji grins up between your thighs, thumb running circles on your clit. 'He's my main,' Toji murmurs softly, and you can't help but cut off stream for a little 'break' and kiss your new pornstar boyfriend.
this was based on baby you're a star toji!! hehe this was so funnn and went too long for but I hope ya'll enjoyeddd - he may need his own damn oneshot AT LEAST!!!
cw: explicit sexual content, public ass-slapping, spanking, biting, grabbing, inappropriate touching, risk of being caught, dubiously appropriate timing, Nanami can’t keep his hands to himself. Bend that ass over, bitch! m.list
Nanami really, truly loved your ass.
Too much. He loved grabbing it, smacking it, coming on it. He loved watching it jiggle when you bent over, loved sinking his teeth into it just to leave marks he’d admire later.
And it became a habit.
A bad one.
Because Kento Nanami had no damn self-control when it came to you.
So here are the top ten worst-timed moments he’s slapped your ass:
10. The first time it even happened—by accident, really—was in the office when you brought him lunch. Problem was, Gojo was leaning against his desk, running his mouth as usual. Nanami’s hand landed on your ass with a sharp smack before his brain caught up, and Gojo’s jaw dropped. “NANAMIN’S A PERVERT! I KNEW IT!”
It took a full hour to calm him down, and he still brings it up at every opportunity.
9. In the classroom. He’d been lecturing when you walked in to deliver files. You bent slightly to hand him the folder and his hand came down on your ass before he could stop it. The students went dead silent before snickering erupted. You barely kept a straight face. Nanami? He just cleared his throat and continued the lesson like nothing happened, though the tips of his ears were bright red.
8. During training, in front of Principal Yaga. You were standing beside Nanami, clipboard in hand, when he smacked your ass hard enough that Yaga’s eyebrows nearly flew off his face. You wanted the ground to swallow you whole. “You two done?” Yaga asked dryly. Nanami didn’t blink. “Apologies. Muscle memory.”
7. At a Jujutsu Tech faculty dinner. Gojo, Utahime, Shoko, everyone there. Nanami had his hand on the small of your back, gentlemanly—until it dropped lower and gave a firm squeeze-slap hybrid. The sound of Shoko choking on her sake is burned into your brain. Gojo pointed a chopstick at you both, grinning. “Was that an ass grab or a slap? Or both?” Nanami’s glare shut him up, but not before Utahime muttered,“Unbelievable horny fucks.”
6. While you were on the phone with your mother. She was rambling about family drama, and you were trying to keep your voice steady while Nanami smacked your ass every time you said “mhmm.” You nearly choked when he pressed you against the counter and squeezed hard, mouthing, say goodbye faster. Your poor mother had no idea why you hung up so quickly.
5. Outside a mission briefing, with half the higher-ups lingering in the hall. You were in heels, files pressed to your chest, trying to look professional. Then came the sharp smack that made the folders slip right out of your arms. Everyone turned. Nanami just stooped to help pick them up, expression unreadable, before murmuring, “Control yourself.”
4. Grocery store. You bent down to grab something from the bottom shelf, and his palm cracked down on your ass so hard the woman next to you in the aisle cast you a jealous look. Nanami didn’t even look guilty—he just muttered, “That skirt’s too short,” and dropped the soy sauce in the cart.
3. In a meeting with higher-ups. You thought you’d be safe in such a stiff, professional setting—Nanami sitting with his tie perfectly straight, his posture rigid, the picture of composure. Until you leaned over to refill his tea, and he smacked your ass under the table. The sound wasn’t loud, but your sharp gasp was, and every head turned toward you. Nanami didn’t flinch. “Hot water,” he explained coolly. “Too close to her hand.” You wanted to strangle him.
2. Mid-mission, during a stealth recon in an abandoned warehouse. You were crouched behind a crate, trying to stay quiet, when Nanami’s hand landed on your ass so hard you yelped. You froze, heart pounding, while Megumi, Nobara, Yuuji, and Gojo all turned in unison, eyes widening. “Nanami!” you hissed, face burning as you tried to retaliate, swiping your hand at Nanami’s ass as he stepped past you, but your aim was off—Yuuji, eyes wide, practically shouted, “Hit him again! Hit him harder!” You froze, cheeks flaming, glancing at Nanami. Nobara rolled her eyes and muttered, “Pervert,” as you leaned closer to Nanami, whispering, “I’ll get you back later.”
1. Worst—or best—moment? After sex, when Gojo barged into his apartment unexpectedly. You were still bent over, dripping cum, thighs, Nanami slowly pulling out of you. His hand came down on your ass—smack!—just as Gojo’s voice rang out, “OH MY GOD, NANAMIN!”
You squealed, scrambling for Nanami’s discarded shirt. Gojo had the nerve to cover his eyes with one hand and grin through the other. Nanami, utterly unfazed, just tucked himself back into his slacks and said, “Get out.” Gojo laughed, wiggling his eyebrows. “Next time invite me.” You’ve never seen Nanami look closer to murdering him.
a/n: I need my Nanamin
Andromeda (Andi) @saccharine-nectarine - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
