thinking about reverse cowgirl with heeseung has gotta hit. swears on his life there’s no better sight than when you’re riding him like your own fucktoy. he also loves this position because it means you get to work for it whilst he gets to be lazy and enjoy the view. his head falls back and eyes rolled as your cunt squeezes around his throbbing cock every time you sink down to the hilt. he's so pussydrunk on you. your ass flushed against him as the squelch of your pussy has the tips of his ears flushed red and lips bitten raw. sounds like music to his ears. a creamy ring forms at the base of his cock and no matter how much his eyes are fluttering at the tight pleasure, heeseung still focuses on the way the fat of your ass jiggles with each bounce, groping a handful as he smacks it, making you cry out each time. he's obsessed with your fucked out state. and when you start to slow down and slump forward, heeseung doesn’t hesitate to fuck up back into your sloppy cunt, one hand now reaching for your hair to tangle in as he ruts up into you. pulling your hair back so he can groan the most nastiest filth into your ears as he kisses and bites all around your neck, a sheen of sweat covering you both as he fucks into you at a relentless pace. tells you how pretty you look, cooing at you, making fun of your breathless whines because you literally cannot breathe with the way this man is bullying your pussy thorough. vision blurring as his cock scrapes against your gummy walls so good. your moans coming out in choked sobs as his hands roam all over your tits, ass, waist, everything and anywhere he can reach. squeezing and slapping the supple skin before pinning you down seated on his thick length to cum thick white ropes deep into your cunt 𖹭
◞ in which
after you hear something you probably shouldn’t have and run off in a panic, you decide the only sane way to apologize is with cookies. that’s what a normal person would do, right? except normal doesn’t really exist around satoru anymore, and one wrong turn into his hallway is enough to make you rethink the whole plan.
◞ content + warnings
18+ only. minors do not interact. miscommunication, jealousy and insecurities, and a confession that doesn’t land right.
◞ author’s notes
hi hi, back with a new chapter! if you thought that reader couldn’t be more clumsy with her actions you will get more of that now. anyway enjoy the disaster <3
⌗ links masterlist · ao3
you lie in bed for a long time after you hang up the phone, just staring at the ceiling, replaying the whole morning over and over in your head like it’s stuck on a loop you can’t turn off.
the shower. the sound of the water. the groan of his voice echoing off the tiles. your name on his lips when he came—
you press your hands over your face again. okay. you need to stop thinking about that specific part. you need to think about something else, anything else, literally anything—
i wanted to tell you first.
nope. that’s worse. that’s so much worse.
you groan into your pillow and roll onto your side, curling up like that’ll somehow make the embarrassment smaller. because here’s the thing. here’s the actual problem. it’s not even really about the shower, or the sounds, or any of it. it’s the fact that satoru had the biggest moment of his entire life happen today, the thing he’s been working toward since before you even knew him, and his first thought was to come find you and tell you about it.
and you weren’t there.
you were halfway across campus, power walking like your life depended on it, because you’d seen something you weren’t supposed to see and panicked instead of just… waiting. like a normal person. like a good friend.
but the image keeps flashing behind your eyes no matter how hard you try to outrun it: him in the shower, water streaming down his back, one hand braced against the tile while the other worked his cock. your name on his lips and the way his head had tipped back, eyes squeezed shut. he was thinking about you. getting off to the thought of you.
that’s totally normal for friends, right? you tell yourself for the hundredth time. doesn’t mean anything. guys do that. it’s—biology or whatever.
but the heat between your legs says otherwise.
you shove that thought away. hard.
focus. the actual problem. you ran off on him after the best day of his athletic career, lied to him about why on the phone, and now you’re lying here feeling sorry for yourself when he’s the one who probably felt a little confused and hurt that you weren’t there when he came looking.
you sit up. okay. you need to fix this. you need to actually be a good friend about this instead of a walking anxiety spiral.
what do people do when they feel bad? what do normal people do?
you think about it for a second, and then it hits you. cookies. you should bake him cookies. it’s simple, it’s normal, it doesn’t require you to look him in the eye and explain why you left the athletics building at the speed of light. it’s just a nice, uncomplicated gesture. congratulations on the scouts thing, sorry i disappeared, here are some cookies, no further questions please.
it’s perfect.
you get up, pull your hair back, and head down to the shared kitchen on your floor. your roommate is at the table doing an assigment and glances up as you start pulling out flour and a bowl.
“what’s happening right now,” she asks.
“i’m baking cookies.”
“you don’t bake.”
“i’m baking today.”
she watches you for a second, taking in your slightly frazzled hair and the way you’re measuring flour like you’re terrified of getting it wrong. “who are they for.”
“nobody. just cookies.”
“uh huh.” she goes back to her assignment, clearly not buying it for a second.
you focus on the recipe, on the measuring and the mixing, because it gives your hands something to do and your brain something simple to focus onto besides showers and moans and the way his voice had sounded saying you’re my favorite cheerleader like it was nothing, like it wasn’t the kind of thing that would live in your head rent free for the rest of the week.
the cookies come out slightly uneven, a little golden at the edges, but they smell good, and that’s basically the whole point. you package a handful of them into a little container, the good one you actually own instead of borrow, and you sit there at the kitchen table staring at it for a second.
it’s not a big gesture. it’s cookies. it means congratulations, and i’m sorry, and i actually am proud of you, more than i said on the phone, and also please don’t ask me why i left the building today because i genuinely cannot explain that to you without dying on the spot.
you glance at the clock. it’s not too late to go over. you could just drop them off, say something quick, and leave—
“so are you bringing those somewhere or,” your roomates suddenly says, not looking up form her assignment.
“no.”
“no?”
“no. they’re just for me.” you pull the container a little closer to yourself, like that proves something. “i just wanted cookies. and i’ll eat them myself.”
“you never bake for yourself. you don’t even like doing dishes.”
“i’m trying new things.”
“uh huh.” she taps her pencil against her notebook. “and this sudden expansion of your hobbies happened randomly, today, right after you got back from satoru’s meet.”
“those two things are unrelated.”
“i didn’t say they were related.”
“you implied it.”
“i said one sentence.” she’s smiling now, not even trying to hide it. “you’re the one connecting the dots.”
“there are no dots. there’s no line. there is nothing here to connect.” you stand up, tucking the container against your side. “i’m going to our room.”
“with your personal cookies.”
“with my personal cookies, yes.”
“that you’re definitely not taking anywhere.”
“correct.” you’re already halfway out of the kitchen, walking a little faster than the situation calls for. “goodnight.”
“it’s four in the afternoon.”
“goodnight,” you say again, and disappear down the hallway before she can get another word in.
you get to your shared room and set the container down on your desk and just look at it for a solid minute.
okay. fine. maybe they’re not entirely for personal consumption. maybe there’s a small, very small, almost negligible chance that you’ll end up walking these across campus in the next hour. but that doesn’t mean anything. that’s just being a good friend. that’s just normal, uncomplicated, congratulations-and-also-sorry-i-ran-away cookie delivery, and there is absolutely nothing else going on underneath it.
you change your shirt twice before you leave, which you also decide means nothing.
︵︵︵ ๑ ♡ ๑ ︵︵︵
the walk to his dorm building takes about ten minutes, and you spend all ten of them going back and forth on whether this is a good idea or possibly the worst idea you’ve had all week, right up there with walking into that locker room in the first place.
by the time you reach his hallway you’ve mostly talked yourself back into it. it’s cookies. it’s a nice, normal thing that nice, normal friends do for each other. you’re not going to overthink it.
you turn the corner into his corridor and stop dead.
satoru’s door is open, and he’s leaning against the frame in a t-shirt and sweatpants, damp hair pushed back like he showered, laughing at something. there’s a girl standing in front of him, close, one hand resting lightly on his arm. she says something and he laughs harder, head tipping back a little, the easy, warm laugh you know so well, the one that used to just be yours to notice.
you don’t recognize her. pretty, obviously, because they always are. she’s got her hair pulled over one shoulder and she’s looking up at him like he’s the only person on the floor, which, to be fair, he probably is right now.
you take one step back before you’ve even decided to.
your heart does something ugly and fast in your chest, dropping somewhere lower than it should for someone who is just here to deliver cookies as a nice, normal friend. you press yourself back against the wall at the corner of the hallway, out of sight, cookie container suddenly feeling very stupid and very heavy in your hands.
okay. this is fine. this is completely fine. he can talk to whoever he wants in his own hallway. you are not owed an explanation. you are not owed anything at all, actually, because nothing has actually been said between you two that would give you any right to feel like this, this hot, sick little knot in your heart.
you, obviously, he’d said. right there in the studio, lips at your ear, voice soft in a way you’d never heard from him before.
and now there’s a girl with her hand on his arm and he’s laughing like he doesn’t have a single other thought in his head.
you tell yourself it doesn’t mean anything. people laugh with people. people stand in hallways. it is possible, extremely possible, that this girl is just someone from his floor, or his team, or literally anyone whose existence has nothing to do with you standing here overthinking an entire scenario you haven’t even seen the whole of.
you peek around the corner again.
she’s exactly the type you’d have pictured, if anyone had ever asked you to guess what satoru’s type would be, which nobody ever has, because why would they. easy. confident. the kind of girl who probably walks into a room and doesn’t spend the first four minutes searching for an exit.
you look down at yourself without meaning to, and something in you goes small and insignificant, and then you look back up at them again, watching him laugh at someone who is everything you very specifically are not.
your hands are cold around the plastic.
you look down at the cookies again, still faintly warm through the lid, and suddenly you feel so stupid for having made them at all. what were you even thinking. congratulations on your race, sorry i ran away from you in a panic, here are some cookies i baked while thinking about you the entire time, please ignore how insane that sounds.
you don’t wait around to find out if she goes into his room. you just turn and walk, fast, back the way you came, down the hallway and toward the stairwell.
you’re halfway across the ground floor lobby, blinking hard and telling yourself very firmly that you are not about to cry over cookies, when you nearly walk straight into suguru.
“whoa,” he says, catching your shoulder lightly so you don’t collide with him fully. “hey. you okay?”
“i’m fine,” you say, too fast, the way you always say it when you are extremely not fine.
he looks at you for a second, the calm kind of look he always gives people, like he’s used to being the reasonable one in every room he’s in. his eyes drop to the container in your hands. “what’s that?”
“cookies,” you say, and then, because your brain apparently has no better plan available right now, you just hold the container out to him. “for you. good work. or whatever.”
suguru blinks. “for me?”
“yeah.”
“good work on what.”
“just—” you wave a hand vaguely. “training. being a teammate. all of it. general good work.”
he takes the container slowly, like he’s not entirely sure this is real. “okay,” he says, clearly amused now. “i mean, thank you. this is very nice. very random, but nice.”
“you’re welcome.”
he glances toward the stairwell behind you, then back at you. “you sure you don’t want to bring these up to satoru instead? he’s back on his floor, i think he just finished up with—”
“no,” you say, quick enough that it comes out a little too sharp. “no, it’s fine. they’re for you. specifically you. i wasn’t going up there anyway.”
suguru raises an eyebrow slightly but doesn’t push it, which you’re grateful for, because you do not currently have the emotional bandwidth to explain any part of this to anyone, least of all satoru’s teammate who probably has a much clearer read on the whole situation than you’d like.
“cool,” he says finally, tucking the container against his side. “well. thanks. i’ll enjoy these very much on your behalf of, uh, general good work.”
“great.” you’re already stepping around him toward the door.
“hey, wait.” he shifts the container to one arm. “how’s your semester going, actually? you’re the art major, right? satoru mentioned it a while back.”
“oh. yeah. it’s—fine. busy.” you shift your weight, a little thrown by the sudden interest. “figure drawing unit right now. lots of studio hours.”
“figure drawing. that sounds like it could be interesting. or exhausting. probably both.”
“it’s a lot, yeah.”
“you’re good at it though? drawing?”
“i mean. i try to be.” you laugh a little, awkward, not sure where this is going or why he’s still standing here asking you questions instead of heading back upstairs. “why?”
“just curious.” he shrugs. “you’re always kind of around, you know? training, the meets. never really got to talk to you much. figured i should fix that.”
you blink at him.
this is—new. suguru’s never really talked to you beyond a passing hello at practice, a nod across the bleachers, the occasional five-word exchange when satoru drags you into a conversation with the team. and now he’s standing here in the lobby asking about your major and your drawing and looking at you with an expression that feels a little like interest, actual interest, the kind you don’t really know what to do with because it’s aimed at you.
you feel immediately, deeply off put by it, in a way you can’t totally explain. it’s not that suguru isn’t nice, or that there’s anything wrong with the conversation itself. it’s more that you don’t have a category for this. boys don’t really do this, not with you. you’re the one on the bleachers with a sketchbook. you’re the one people forget is there until they need someone to hold their water bottle. you are, very specifically, not the kind of girl that gets this kind of attention, and you know that about yourself the way you know your own name, so having it happen right now, out of nowhere, in a lobby, over a box of cookies meant for someone else, feels like being handed a script for a scene you’re not in.
“right,” you say, a little stiffly. “well. now you know i draw.”
“now i know you draw.” he’s smiling, and it’s a nice smile, easygoing, nothing pushy about it, which somehow makes it worse because you can’t even find a reason to be annoyed. “maybe you could show me sometime. what you’ve been working on.”
“i don’t really show people my sketchbook.”
“no?”
“no.” your eyes drift towards the door, toward the cold night air and the version of this evening where you’re already halfway home. “it’s mostly just practice stuff. not really interesting.”
“i have a hard time believing someone who bakes like this isn't good at drawing.”
“those are completely unrelated skills.”
he laughs at that, a real laugh, and you feel your face heat up a little despite yourself, which annoys you further because there is absolutely no reason for it, none, this is just a person being friendly and you are reading way too much into a five minute conversation in a dorm lobby.
“i should go,” you say, taking a step back toward the door. “it’s late. i’ve got an early class.”
“sure. yeah.” he nods, container still tucked under his arm. “thanks again for these. i mean it.”
“no problem.”
“see you around, sketchbook girl.”
you make a face at that on your way out the door, mostly to cover the fact that you don’t entirely hate it, and the early evening air hits you the second you step outside, cold enough to clear your head a little, though not quite enough to stop you thinking, the whole walk home, about how strange it is that the first boy to ever really flirt with you did it while holding cookies meant for somebody else.
︵︵︵ ๑ ♡ ๑ ︵︵︵
a few days later, you’re in your usual spot in the library, sitting at the corner table near the windows, sketchbook open next to your laptop even though you haven’t actually drawn anything in the last twenty minutes. you’ve mostly just been staring at the same paragraph of your art history reading over and over without absorbing a single word of it.
and then the chair across from you scrapes back.
you don’t even need to look up to know who it is. you know the sound of him settling into a seat by now, the specific way he drops his bag on the floor like he can’t wait to throw it somewhere.
“hey,” satoru says. “haven’t seen you in a while.”
you glance up at him, and something in your chest tightens up immediately. “yeah,” you say, a little flat. “been busy.”
“busy,” he repeats.
“yeah. you know. classes. stuff.” you look back down at your laptop, scrolling through nothing in particular. “i’m sure you’ve been busy too, though. big race. probably a lot of people wanted to celebrate with you after.”
“celebrate with me how.”
“i don’t know, satoru. girls. probably girls wanted to celebrate with you. it’s fine, though. genuinely. it’s not my business.”
“what girls.”
“i don’t know! that’s the point!” your voice comes out sharper than you mean it to, a couple heads at nearby tables turning slightly. “i don’t need the details. i don’t want to know about it. it’s fine.”
“you don’t want to know about what? there’s nothing to know—”
“okay, sure.”
“you’re being weird.”
“i’m not weird.”
“you are.” he leans forward, and now he actually looks annoyed, which somehow makes you more annoyed. “what was up with the cookies, by the way? for suguru?”
“what?”
“the cookies. suguru told me you gave him cookies.”
“suguru told you that?”
“yeah, he mentioned it, like two days ago. so what was that about?”
heat crawls up your neck, and for a second you don’t say anything at all, because now you have to decide whether to actually admit any of it, and every single option available to you sounds humiliating out loud.
“nothing,” you say. “i just felt like baking.”
“you don’t bake.”
“i bake sometimes.”
“you’ve genuinely never baked in the three years i’ve known you.”
“well, i started.”
“and the first person you gave them to was suguru? do you like him?”
“what?”
“suguru. do you like him. is that what this is.”
“it’s just cookies—”
“ma’am.” the library lady is suddenly standing at the end of your table, arms crossed, giving you both a look over her glasses that could strip paint. “this is a library.”
“sorry,” you both say at almost the same time, and she gives one more pointed look before turning and walking back toward the front desk.
silence drops between you, both of you sitting there a little red in the face, refusing to look directly at each other. you fix your eyes on your laptop. he leans back in his chair, still watching you, clearly not done with this conversation but dialing the volume down.
“by the way,” satoru says, quieter now, “suguru asked me for your number.”
“oh, really?”
“yeah. should i give it to him?”
you look at him, and for a second you almost say no, the word right there, easy, obvious. but then you think about the girl in the hallway. about how he never seems to be alone for long, how there’s always someone looking at him like they want a piece of him. something sour turns over in your gut. if he gets to have people, you can have people too. even if the thought of suguru doesn’t do anything for you at all, even if the only person you actually want texting you is sitting right across the table.
“sure,” you say. “why not.”
his eyes drop to the table for a second before coming back up to you. “okay,” he says.
he picks his bag up off the floor, slinging it over one shoulder, and stands up from the table without another word. you watch him do it, your chest going tight and the satisfaction you thought you’d feel completely absent, replaced instead with the hollow feeling of having said the exact wrong thing.
“satoru—”
“i’ll tell him,” he says, already turning away, not looking back at you. “see you around.”
and then he’s walking off between the shelves, and you’re left sitting there with your laptop and your sketchbook and the certainty that you’re a real idiot.
︵︵︵ ๑ ♡ ๑ ︵︵︵
the next drawing session is worse. you’d genuinely thought it couldn’t get worse than last week. apparently it could.
you get there earlier than you need to again, same as last time, trying to shake off some of the nerves before the session actually starts. the studio is mostly empty still, with just a few students already claiming the good easels, and you standing at yours doing absolutely nothing useful with your hands.
you haven’t seen him since the library. since sure, why not and his jaw going tight and him walking off between the shelves without looking back at you once. it’s been four days. you’d told yourself four days was plenty of time for things to go back to normal, whatever normal even means anymore, except you’d spent most of those four days checking your phone for a text that never came and feeling stupid about it every single time.
you think, suddenly and uselessly, of that joke people make about estranged parents—the phone works both ways—usually said about some resentful dad who cut off his kid and then complains nobody calls him. you’d always thought that joke was funny in an obvious way, like, yeah, obviously, pick up the phone yourself, genius. and now here you are, apparently the toxic parent in your own analogy.
this is not helpful, brain. stop that, you think.
you clip a fresh sheet to your board. you uncap a pencil you don’t need yet. you glance at the curtain at the back of the room, even though there’s nothing to see, even though he isn’t even here yet.
your classmates start filtering in around you, the same morning noise as last week, easels scraping, someone’s water bottle rolling off a table. maya sits down two spots over and gives you a knowing look that you try very hard to ignore.
you’re still staring at your blank page, holding your pencil too tightly as you run through everything you have to do in the next two hours, when your phone lights up with a text message.
hey, this is suguru. satoru gave me your number, hope that’s okay
morning btw. hope the studio thing today goes well
satoru mentioned you had another session
you stare at that for a second, saving the contact before you even think about it, typing his name in like it’s a completely normal thing to do. suguru texting you good morning is objectively a nice thing. he’s nice. genuinely, actually nice, in a way that doesn’t come with any confusing subtext attached to it.
hey! yeah that’s okay
thanks, should be fine
you stare at the screen for a second, your thumb hovering above the screen. it feels rude to leave it one-sided, especially when he’s the one who bothered to say good morning at all. so you type before you can think too hard about it.
what are you up to today?
you hit send and immediately regret it a little. why did you ask that. you don’t actually want to know what suguru’s up to today, you don’t want to know what suguru’s up to any day, there is no version of this where his schedule is information you need. but it’s out there now and there’s no unsending a question that friendly.
it’s not that you don’t like him. you do, in the uncomplicated, easy way you’d like everything to be. it’s just that being nice back feels like the only thing you know how to do when someone’s nice to you first, whether you mean anything by it or not, and apparently that reflex doesn’t care whether you actually want to keep the conversation going.
your phone lights up again almost immediately.
training this morning, then i’ve got a lecture i’m definitely going to fall asleep in.
you free after your classes today?
you stare at that for a second.
you read it again, like it’ll say something different the second time. you free after your classes today—that could mean anything, that could be a completely normal, friendly, hey-let’s-grab-coffee-as-two-people-who-know-each-other-now kind of question. except your pulse has other ideas, and you’re pretty sure normal friendly questions aren’t supposed to do that.
you’re still spiraling over how to text him back when the door at the back of the studio opens and professor lee walks in with satoru a half step behind her.
you shove your phone into your bag without answering.
you watch satoru cross the room toward the changing area, and he doesn’t even glance at you. not a nod, not the small eyebrow thing he usually does, nothing.
it shouldn’t hurt. it’s a stupid thing to hurt over, and yet it does anyway.
you should have never asked him to model in the first place. that’s the actual root of it, if you trace it all the way back—professor lee and her carrot on a stick about your portfolio, and you, too weak to say no to any of it, walking up to him after practice and saying i need you like it was nothing, like it wasn’t going to turn your comfortable friendship into whatever this is now.
the session gets underway the way it always does—gesture poses first, professor lee calling out the timing, satoru settling onto the platform looking completely unbothered by the twenty people about to stare at him for the next two hours.
you get your pencil moving on autopilot, shoulders, arms, hands, and then he shifts into the next pose and you are looking directly at his dick and your brain shorts out a little.
i cannot draw this right now, you think. you genuinely cannot. not today. not today, not with your head still this full of him. because all you can think about is how badly you want to kiss that stomach, lower, until your lips brush against the head of his cock. how badly you want to wrap your fingers around it, feel its weight and heat, lean in and lick—
you catch yourself and nearly snap your pencil in half.
jesus christ.
your face burns. you force your eyes back up to the safer territory of his chest, but it’s too late. your pulse is hammering between your legs, and the page in front of you remains embarrassingly blank where his hips should be.
get it together, you tell yourself. you have drawn this exact dick before. twice. you got an A. you are a professional. except last time you drew it there wasn’t a boy named suguru waiting on an answer in your bag, and there wasn’t a boy named satoru three feet away very pointedly looking at the window instead of at you, and you hadn’t yet had the horrifying realization that watching him ignore you for an hour felt worse than anything else that had happened to you all semester, dick included.
you look up to check the pose again. satoru’s eyes are on the middle distance. not on you. not once.
you look back down at your page.
︵︵︵ ๑ ♡ ๑ ︵︵︵
by the time professor lee calls the last pose, your drawing looks like it lost a fight. everything above his waist is fleshed out and detailed, and looks quite good. but everywhere below his waist is just panicked lines, the hips smudged and redrawn so many times the paper’s gone grey with eraser dust.
it looks stupid. like someone’s little sister tried to draw a person after being told what a person is but not shown one. you stare at it for a second and think, that professor lee is going to have questions.
you don’t have it in you to care right now.
the class packs up around you, and you take your time again, unclipping your sheet slower than you need to, watching the curtain out of the corner of your eye.
you’re going to do it. you decide this somewhere between putting your pencils away and hearing the soft sounds of him getting dressed behind the curtain. you’re going to wait for him, and you’re going to say it, plain and simple, before you can talk yourself out of it or make an even bigger mess of things.
i like you.
that’s it. that’s the whole sentence. three words, nothing complicated about it. people say this to each other all the time. normal people, every day, in cafeterias and hallways and libraries, three words and then the world just keeps going.
you can do this.
you rehearse it once in your head while you zip your bag shut. i like you. simple. you’re not going to wait for the perfect moment, because you’ve had four days of perfect moments slip through your fingers already and look where that’s gotten you.
the curtain shifts. satoru steps out, tugging his shirt down, hair ruffled from getting dressed.
you open your mouth.
“suguru text you yet?” satoru says, before a single word makes it out.
“what?”
“suguru. did he text you. he said he was gonna.”
“…yeah. he did, actually.” you blink at him, still half caught in the sentence you were about to say, trying to catch up. “why?”
“there’s that movie. the one that just came out, the space one, i think you mentioned wanting to see it a while back. i wanna go see it this weekend. figured i’d bring a girl, make it a whole thing.”
“okay,” you say slowly, still not following.
“you and suguru should come too.” he says it so lightly, so completely without weight, like he’s suggesting you all grab lunch sometime. “make it a group thing. double date, whatever. you like him, right? seems like a good excuse to hang out.”
the words press down on you all at once, until even drawing a breath feels like work, and for a second you can’t say anything at all.
i like you. that’s the sentence you had ready, three words you’d rehearsed the whole walk over here, and instead he’s standing in front of you planning a double date, pairing you off with suguru like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, like he’s doing you a favor.
“a double date,” you repeat.
“yeah. it’ll be fun.” he’s already checking his phone, thumbing through something. “you free saturday?”
you should say no. you should say actually, satoru, i need to tell you something, and finish the sentence you started, the one that’s still sitting right there behind your teeth. you should say anything other than what actually comes out of your mouth, which is:
“yeah,” you hear yourself say, small and a little stunned. “saturday works.”
“cool.” he grins, easy as anything, like he hasn’t just rearranged your entire heart in the same five seconds. “i’ll tell suguru.”
and then he’s turning toward the door, bag over one shoulder, already texting someone—suguru, probably, or the girl he’s bringing—and you’re left standing there next to your ruined drawing with the words i like you dissolving uselessly on your tongue, wondering how you managed to walk into this conversation so sure of yourself and walk out of it with a date.
with the wrong person.
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◞ author’s notes
know, i know. she said yes to the wrong thing again lmao. let her cook (pun intended). thank you for reading, comments and reblogs always appreciated, see you in the next chapter 🥰🥰
Satoru Gojo is fucking gorgeous, which is so deeply unfair that you’re still kind of processing it as he pays for your movie ticket with trembling fingers. His white hair is slightly tousled, soft against his ears, and his glasses are tilted just a bit on the bridge of his nose. He keeps pushing them up like he’s stalling, trying not to meet your eyes too long because every time he does, he gets flustered. His face goes pink and he laughs too loud. You bite your lip every time he does that.
You’re no better. Your hands are clammy inside the sleeves of your hoodie, because you thought this was going to be a safe little date. Nerdy. Harmless. You met at a fucking Doraemon expo for god’s sake, where he gave you a Doraemon-shaped candy and then looked like he wanted to die from shyness.
And now you’re sitting in a too-dark movie theatre with his knee brushing yours.
You think you’re gonna die too. Because there’s heat pooling between your legs, and you're pretty sure you’ve soaked through your panties, and this was supposed to be your first normal date. Not a panty-ruining, thigh-clenching disaster where you keep imagining his stupid hot fingers pulling your hoodie up and touching you like you're not both trembling virgins about to combust from one misplaced touch.
Satoru’s voice cracks in the dark.
“You, uh— are you okay?”
You look at him, wide-eyed. “What? Yeah. I’m fine.”
He fidgets. “You’re breathing kinda fast.”
You are. Shit.
“I’m just…” you squirm, thighs pressed tight together. “The seats are uncomfortable.”
He makes a strangled little laugh, eyes darting to the screen and then back to your mouth. You don’t know who moves first, but a second later, your hands are brushing in the popcorn bag and boom— your bodies are pressed together like magnets.
The movie is completely forgotten. You’re both leaning toward each other, breathing the same hot air, and it’s dizzying how close he is. His scent is soft and clean, like soap and sugar and some light cologne that makes your thighs ache. Your lips almost brush before he pulls back, cheeks pink.
“I-I gotta pee,” he blurts. Then winces. “Fuck. Not like— fuck, I didn’t mean it like—”
You stare at him, lips parted.
“…Me too,” you whisper. “Bathroom. I mean.”
So of course, of course, ten minutes later, you’re both in the tiny single-stall bathroom behind the snack bar, the door locked, and you’re pressed against the wall with Satoru’s hands hovering an inch from your waist like he doesn’t know if he’s allowed to touch you.
You’re panting.
So is he.
And there’s the faintest bulge pressing against his pants.
“You’re hard,” you whisper, stunned.
Satoru turns bright red. “I didn’t mean to be! I swear I wasn’t thinking anything— well I was thinking but not like— well yes like that but I didn’t expect you to—”
“I’m wet.”
That shuts him up.
He blinks. “Wha— You, wait really?”
You nod furiously. “Soaked. I thought I was dying. You’re, l-like— you’re so hot and tall and your hands are big and I thought—”
He sways toward you like he’s being pulled by gravity.
“You think I’m hot?” he breathes, shocked.
Your voice is barely a whisper. “You’re like—the hottest guy I’ve ever seen.”
“…But I’m a virgin.”
You blink. “You’re a virgin?”
He freezes. “You didn’t know?”
You shake your head. “You’re too confident. And tall. And your voice, like— you talk like you’ve seen shit.”
“I haven’t! I’ve literally never seen anything. I still sleep with a body pillow.”
“Oh my god.”
You both start laughing, but it’s too breathy, too nervous. You’re looking at his lips again.
“I thought you weren’t a virgin,” he admits, voice low now, almost in awe. “You look like— like—”
He waves helplessly at your body. “You’re so pretty. So hot. You look like you’d ruin me.”
“I’ve never even kissed anyone,” you whisper.
“Me either,” he says.
There’s a beat of silent realization.
Then— tentatively— his hands touch your waist. He’s shaking.
“Can I…”
You nod. “Yeah. Please.”
The kiss is terrible. Teeth clashing, noses bumping, your mouths slipping messily before you both pull away with startled laughter. But his face is flushed, and his eyes are glassy, and your thighs are pressed tight together because the way he’s looking at you is not innocent anymore.
“We’re so bad at this,” you whisper.
“I’m gonna die,” he mumbles, forehead pressed to yours.
“I’m so wet I think my panties are ruined,” you say, like a confession.
He groans. “That’s so hot, please don’t say things like that unless you want me to cum in my pants.”
You both snort, but neither of you moves away.
“Can I… touch you?” he whispers, barely audible.
Your eyes widen, breath catching.
“…Yes. But I don’t— I don’t really know how.”
“Me either,” he whispers. “Let’s be awkward together.”
You reach for his belt, and he lifts your hoodie just enough to see the swell of your tits in your bra. And then you both freeze, panting, staring— because holy fuck this is actually happening.
Two very horny, very confused virgins. In a bathroom. At the movies.
Grinding desperately like you’re learning each other’s bodies in braille.
His hands find your hips, pulling you closer. Your fingers tremble at his zipper. And you swear— you swear— when your pussy brushes against his bulge through your panties and tights, he nearly whimpers.
You're both gonna combust.
You’re still half-laughing, half-gasping into his neck, your panties damp and sticking to you like sin, and Satoru’s hard dick is pressed against your inner thigh through his jeans like it hurts. He keeps doing these little shaky inhales, fingers digging into your hoodie at the waist like he needs something to hold onto or he’ll float off the planet.
His glasses are fogged. His cheeks are pink. And when you drag your nose along his jaw just to feel him shiver, he makes the softest noise you’ve ever heard. A tiny, broken sigh— like the kind of sound you might make when someone pets your hair just right.
You feel like you’re on fire.
“You’re really… hard,” you whisper, a little dreamy, dragging your hand down the front of his jeans like you’re curious more than anything else. Because you are. You can feel the length of him, thick and hot under the denim, twitching at just the barest touch of your fingers. “Like… all the way.”
“I know,” he whines, quietly. “It’s been like that since the popcorn scene.”
You giggle. “We didn’t have a popcorn scene.”
“You were licking butter off your fingers.”
“…Oh. Yeah okay, fair.”
You’re still staring at the bulge in his jeans. It’s insane. It’s… kind of intimidating, honestly. But you’re so curious, and he looks like he might actually die from the idea of you wanting to see him like this.
“Can I see it?” you whisper.
His breath catches. His whole body freezes.
“You— my… dick?”
You nod shyly, face burning. “Just once. I just— I wanna know what it looks like.”
He stares at you like you’re a mythical creature. “You really want to see it?”
“…Yeah.”
His fingers are shaking as he fumbles with his zipper.
You don’t look away— not even when he shoves his boxers down and his cock bounces free, flushed and heavy and dripping. You make a noise, something halfway between shock and awe, because holy shit he’s big. Not just big— long, curved a little toward his stomach, thick enough that your mouth goes dry. The tip is glossy and wet, a pretty pink color— a clear bead clinging to the slit like he’s leaking from just grinding on you.
“Oh my god,” you whisper, stunned.
Satoru makes a noise that’s not human. “D-don’t look at it like that.”
“I can’t help it,” you breathe. “It’s pretty.”
His brain shuts down.
“Pretty?” he croaks.
You nod dumbly, staring. “It’s like… glossy. And pink. And it’s twitching.”
He groans. “Don’t say twitching—”
“But it is! It’s like it’s waving at me or something. It looks so needy.”
He grabs the wall behind your head like he might collapse.
“You’re so cute,” you whisper. “You’re really hard just from kissing me.”
“You’re soaking,” he counters, voice hoarse. “You’ve been wet for an hour.”
You whimper a little. “I didn’t even know I could get this wet.”
Satoru groans again and cups himself like it’ll stop him from cumming just from talking to you.
You reach out— slowly— and wrap your fingers around the base.
He jolts, hips stuttering forward into your hand like it’s instinct. His eyes flutter shut and his whole body shudders, like he’s never felt anything like this.
“…You’re so warm,” you whisper. “And thick.”
“I’m gonna cum,” he blurts.
You pause. “Wait, already?”
“I told you,” he gasps, pressing his face into your neck. “It’s your voice— fuck, the way you’re touching me—”
You slide your hand up and watch his cock twitch, leaking over your fingers.
He sobs a little. “Angel, please—”
That makes you freeze.
“…Angel?”
He peeks up at you, embarrassed. “It slipped out.”
You bite your lip, then smile, stroking him again. “I like it.”
“You’re so soft,” he moans. “And your hand’s so small, it doesn’t even fit—”
You squeeze a little tighter. He gasps.
“Tell me when,” you whisper, eyes wide. “I don’t wanna waste it. You’ve been hard for so long.”
“‘When’?” he pants.
“Yeah,” you say, breath catching. “I want to see what your cum looks like too.”
He shatters.
Just like that— hot, thick ropes spill out across your fingers, your hoodie, his shirt. You watch with wide, fascinated eyes as his whole body curls toward yours, hips stuttering, voice cracked and pleading into your shoulder. His cock throbs in your hand like it’s losing its mind. He sounds so helpless, so high and soft when he whimpers your name.
You stare at the mess.
“…Whoa.”
He’s panting against your cheek, totally limp. “That was so embarrassing.”
“It was awesome,” you breathe. “I made you cum.”
“I exploded in ten seconds.”
You stroke his hair. “I think you’re perfect.”
He melts a little into your chest.
“…You wanna see me next?” you whisper.
His head jerks up like a prairie dog.
Satoru’s still shaking.
You can feel it— his breath hot and unsteady on your neck, his heartbeat punching against your ribs where your bodies press together. Satoru Gojo just came all over your hand like some desperate teenager, having a wet dream, and you’re still standing in a movie theater bathroom, soaked to the skin and so turned on it’s getting hard to breathe.
His cum is sticky on your fingers. Warm, it smells faintly like salt and sugar, and he’s still leaning against you like he’s not sure how to stand on his own.
And then—
Your voice, soft and daring, nearly a whisper:
“…You wanna see me next?”
Satoru blinks. Eyes blown wide. Mouth parted, in disbelief.
“…Are you serious?”
You nod.
He looks stunned. “Like… your pussy?”
Your whole face burns.
“Y-yeah,” you stammer, suddenly nervous. “If you want. I mean— I know it’s— kind of a lot, and maybe messy, but I just… I’ve never… shown anyone." You're looking down at the floor before you finish the rest of that sentence... then your eyes are darting back up to his face, blue eyes stargazed in disbelief. “And I want you to see.”
He’s speechless, Satoru is utterly speechless.
You fidget, heart thudding, tugging your hoodie down like it can hide the way your thighs are trembling, how wet you still are under your panties.
“I just thought… since I saw yours…”
His hand flies up, quick. Cupping your face, both of you look into each other's eyes.
“I want to,” he blurts. “I want to so bad I think I’m gonna die.”
You smile, shy and giddy. “Okay. Then… can you take my panties off?”
He gasps.
Like, actually gasps. Clutches his chest. Staggers backward like you hit him with a spell.
“Say that again,” he whispers.
You reach under your hoodie, slowly rolling your leggings down to your thighs, revealing just a sliver of your pale pink cotton panties, soaked straight through. There’s a wet patch over your pussy— obvious, shiny, and dark.
“Take them off,” you whisper, voice trembling. “Please?”
He looks like he might cry.
“Oh my god,” he chokes. “You’re so wet you soaked through. That’s from me? From just— grinding on me?”
You nod, cheeks flushed. “You made me so wet I couldn’t focus on the movie.”
His hands are on your thighs now, huge and hot, trembling a little as he sinks to his knees in front of you like he’s not even aware he’s doing it. His glasses slide down his nose. He pushes them up, eyes fixed on your panties like they’re the most sacred thing he’s ever seen.
“I don’t know what I’m doing,” he whispers, “but I wanna learn so bad.”
You’re breathing so fast your legs are shaking.
His fingers slide under the sides of your panties. He hesitates.
“Ready?” he asks, voice so soft.
You nod, in eager anticipation, like when you know you're about to rip a band-aid off. But... in this case, it's your soaked sticky ruined panties.
And he pulls them down.
Slow, slow, slow
The cotton clings to your cunt, like they're almost glued to you, but he gets them off with a firmer tug.
Your cunt glosses in the light.
Dripping. Swollen. Slick as fuck and twitching under his gaze. You clench a little just from the air, the tension, the way he’s looking at you like he just saw an angel squirt holy water.
He moans. Moans.
“You’re so pretty,” he breathes. “Holy shit, you’re soaked. I didn’t know it could do that.”
You giggle nervously. “It doesn’t usually. I think it’s a you thing.”
He gulps, audibly.
His eyes don’t leave your pussy, even as he leans forward, nose almost brushing your thigh.
“Can I… touch you?”
You feel your knees threaten to buckle.
“Yes.” You say with too much enthusiasm than you meant.
His fingers twitch. “I don’t know how.”
You grab his wrist and guide it...
His middle finger barely grazes your folds and you gasp, clenching, hips jumping forward.
“Oh fuck,” he moans. “That was barely anything. You’re shaking.”
“You touched my clit,” you pant. “It’s sensitive.”
His eyes sparkle.
“Oh my god. I love that you know what it’s called.”
You’re breathless, laughing a little. “I’ve read fanfiction. Have you not?”
“I have, but in those they just say ‘your little pearl’ and shit.”
You groan. “That’s not even close.”
He’s looking again, hand hovering like he’s terrified to mess it up.
“Okay, so… this is your clit,” he murmurs, grazing it again, watching how your whole body twitches. “It’s so tiny. But you sound like I electrocuted you when I touched it.”
You whimper, cause he's teasing... He's curious as well and doesn't fucking know how much him petting your clit actually affects you.
“You like that?” he whispers, a bit entranced. Crystalline blue eyes focusing on the sticky strands of your slick connected to his fingertips as they stretch when he rubs and pulls them off your glued pussylips.
“Y-yeah.”
He touches again, a little firmer... slower, really working your clit, the soft squelches audible, he really wants to taste it, the creamy thing webbing his fingers, the thought pounding in his head.. Would you be grossed out if he just shoved his fingers in his mouth right now and got a taste of that sappy cream?
You whimper louder, snapping his attention back from his lewd thoughts.
His voice is shaking. “Can you c-cum like this? Just from me touching you?”
You nod furiously. “If you keep going, Fuck. Please keep going.”
His thumb brushes you now, a bit more confidently.
“You’re dripping,” he mumbles. “It’s getting on my wrist, angel”
Your thighs snap shut, embarrassed.
But you’re so close and he’s still rubbing in slow, shaky circles and whispering your name and watching you like he’s studying for a test he’s gonna fail with honors. Your clit feels like it’s throbbing. You can’t stop shaking. Can’t stop whining.
And then—
“Cum for me,” he whispers, awed. “Please, please pretty girl, I wanna see.”
That makes your cunt clench, his voice the thing that makes you break instantly.
You clam up around nothing, crying out as your pussy gushes over his hand, wet and twitchy, making a fucking mess on his hoodie sleeve. Your knees give out. He catches you instantly, still on his knees, arms full of shaking, panting girl.
You’re sobbing in relief, thighs sticky, pussy still fluttering, and his hands are holding you like he’s afraid you’ll vanish.
“You’re so amazing,” he breathes. “I can’t believe I made you cum.”
You whimper. “You’re so good. I didn’t think it would feel like that.”
He kisses your thigh.
Then your stomach, and makes his way up and then your lips, just to feel you.
Soft and careful, with utmost devotion and care.
And you melt against him, fucked out and flushed, pressed to his chest.
“…We should do this again,” he mumbles.
“Next time,” you pant, smiling, “I wanna see if you can make me squirt.”
He chokes, on what little air he's breathing.
But you’re still trembling.
Your panties are hanging off one ankle, his cum is drying on your sleeve, and your pussy is throbbing— still fluttering every now and then like your body can’t believe you actually came. You’re slumped against Satoru’s chest, half-limp, while he rubs soft little circles on your lower back like he’s trying to soothe an overstimulated kitten.
Time is passing and neither of you has said anything in the last full minute.
Except him whispering “holy fuck” under his breath every ten seconds like a mantra.
“I can’t believe that just happened,” he finally says, voice all hushed reverence. “You came.”
You nod, agreeing lazily. Dazed, and still reeling in the high. “Like… a lot.”
“You squirted.”
“I did not.”
“There was liquid. Splash zone level.”
You slap his chest, giggling, but your thighs twitch. You’re so sensitive you could cry, your clit aches in that perfect, pulsing way that means it wants no more and yet… you’re still soaking wet.
And you feel it. That ache deeper inside you now. Heavy and throbbing. Unused.
Unsatisfied.
You shift against him, face buried in the soft cotton of his shirt, and whisper:
“…Satoru?”
“Yeah?”
“I want you to put your fingers in me.”
You feel him freeze. Every muscle goes stiff. His hands still on your back. You feel his dick— hard again— press against your thigh like it heard you first.
“Wha— what.”
You look up at him, breath shaky. “You made me cum from the outside. But I’ve never been touched inside.”
His ears go red.
“I— I don’t wanna hurt you—”
“You won’t.” You take his wrist, place his hand gently against your mound. “I trust you.”
He swallows hard. You begin to guide his fingers between your thighs again, letting him feel how wet you still are. You gasp a little just from the contact— still sensitive, still twitchy.
His voice comes out hoarse. “You’re soaked.”
“Just go slow,” you whisper. “I wanna know what it feels like.”
He moves down again and actually takes his jacket off and spreads it over the tiles beneath you. He's kneeling like it’s instinct now, reverent and worshipful. Like he belongs on the floor for you. He kisses your inner thigh once, sweet and shaky, then stares between your legs like he’s seeing magic.
“Tell me if it’s too much,” he says.
You nod, open for him by parting your thighs, trembling ever so slightly.
His fingers sliding along your sappy folds, middle finger inching closer to your hole's opening, more slick gathers and pools as it tries to worm its way in.
You gasp at the feeling.. a bit in fear and uncertainty, but he's so gentle, holding you tighter against him.
His finger begins to push in, your tiny hole fighting him, the intrusion. It's nothing like you've ever felt.
Satoru’s breathing stops entirely.
“You’re tight,” he whispers, stunned. “You’re— fuck, you’re so warm, I can feel your pulse.”
You whimper. “Go slow. Just the tip.”
He pushes a little, and you clench involuntarily, sucking him in just a bit.
He moans. Actually moans. Like you’re the one touching him.
“Angel, you’re gripping me.”
You bury your face in your sleeve, whining. “It’s not fair. Your fingers are big.”
He curls his finger just slightly— experimenting— and your entire body jolts.
“Oh— oh fuck!” you cry out.
His eyes go wide. “Was that— was that good?”
“D-do it again,” you pant.
He does. Gentler, carefully pressing just right, and your walls flutter around him so tightly it’s like your body doesn’t know how to handle it.
“You’re so wet,” he mumbles. “You’re sucking me in.”
You grab his wrist. “Try two.”
He stares. “Are you sure?”
“Please, Satoru.”
You’re breathless, begging.
He shivers like it physically affects him.
He slides another finger in— and your pussy stretches around him, tighter than he expected. Your mouth drops open. Your thighs twitch.
“Oh my god,” you gasp.
“Fuck, you’re squeezing me— I can’t move,” he moans.
You rock your hips, helping him, whining through your teeth.
It’s deep. It’s thick. He curls again— and you sob, eyes fluttering back.
“There— oh my god there, right there—”
His fingers are hooked now, rubbing that spongey spot deep inside that makes your eyes cross. His thumb finds your clit on instinct, and suddenly you’re wailing, your whole body shaking, your pussy clenching so hard around his fingers he can barely move.
You cum again, messier and needy. Your velvet walls constricting his fingers in waves.
And he watches, awed, wrecked. His other hand supporting you as your thighs tremble uncontrollably.
He doesn’t even pull out.
He just whispers, “You’re so beautiful when you cum.”
And you start crying.
Happy tears. Dumb overwhelmed tears. Because no one’s ever touched you like this, seen you like this, loved your body with nothing but his hands and awe.
He kisses your forehead.
You sniffle. “I want you inside me someday.”
He nods. “Me too.”
“…But I might have to train for it.”
He laughs, breathless. “Me too. My heart can’t take this.”
You null away on his chest for a minute. Exhausted by everything your body's endured tonight, your panties still on the floor, his arms still secured tight around you and he press soft kisses to the top of your head.
Eventually when he slowly eases his fingers out of you, you're relaxed, no longer holding them hostage, it slides out with a flurry of slick gushing out, all what's been welling up and stuffed inside your cunt for the entire time.
He rubs it up and down your pussylips then into your clit one last time before he's bringing his fingers to his lips, and moaning as your flavour hits his tongue. Finally, getting a taste of you and he couldn't be more pleased at the tangy-sweetness of it.
Satoru licks his fingers clean, savouring it and after he's the one reaching for your panties, tugging them back up along with your leggings as he tells you softly to, "Raise your hips for me please, angel. Good girl, just like that." You do, and he secures them back in place, cunt still pulsing. Fresh slick soaking your panties again.
Satoru stands first, all long limbs and easy grace and he reaches down for you next. His hands are warm as he pulls you up from the bathroom floor. His jacket lies there still, a dark wet patch blooming where your cunt had soaked through.
Heat floods your cheeks, you're quick to mumble an apology, eyes glassy with leftover pleasure and sudden shyness.
He just chuckles softly. Bends to snatch the jacket up like it’s nothing. He balls it in one hand and tucks it under his arm.
“Shh, angel. It’s fine.”
He cups your face, thumbs brushing your flushed skin. Then he kisses you slow and deep, tasting like sin and sweetness. “One wash and it’ll be brand new. Don’t worry about it.”
He doesn’t tell you he plans to keep it exactly like this. A filthy little souvenir, from tonight.
His fingers lace with yours as he leads you out of the stall. The movie is long forgotten. He keeps you tucked close against his side the whole way through the emptying theater. The night air hits cool when you step outside.
In the car he drives with one hand on the wheel, the other resting on your thigh. Possessive and gentle.
Later that night you lie in bed, sheets tangled around your legs. Your phone glows in the dark. Heart hammering, you type the silly questions anyway.
you 🩷
so… are we...
dating?
omg omg
am i your girlfriend now?!
His reply comes instantly.
toru 🩵
i knew we were soulmates when you asked to see my dick
aaaand called it "pretty"
ilysm angel omg
You giggle into your pillow, face burning. Your chest feels too full. Tonight was crazy. Wild and messy and perfect.
But now one, no two orgasms later and Satoru Gojo is yours. Officially. The nerd from the Doraemon expo.
You fall asleep smiling stupidly into your pillow, already wondering when you’ll feel his hands on you again.
...or it was, until you accidentally flashed his friends!
pairing: teacher!Geto x gf!reader
content: MDNI, au where Geto never defected, unprotected piv sex, flashing, spitting, doggy style, obligatory reader gets stuck porn trope oneshot LMFAO, established relationships, soft dom Geto ig, he's a lil possessive, implied taking photos during sex, creampie, guys it's just filthy
prompt sixteen from @egglain dickcember !! the absolutely GORGEOUS art by @zuunary (who everyone should go follow seriously) and divider by @animatedglittergraphics-n-more !!
There wasn't much you wouldn't do for your boyfriend.
Apparently that included discarding your dignity at the door, considering the fact you were currently wearing nothing under your skirt, the cold draft creeping through the broken window of his office more unforgiving than usual considering how much of you was left bare under the short, thin fabric.
Suguru was supposed to show twenty minutes ago.
But you couldn't exactly ask him where he was considering he didn't know where you were right now. Which was sitting in his chair, riffling through all the papers and notes of his desk (most of which were silly ones you'd stuck to his lunch, ones you guessed he'd peeled off and saved somewhere he thought you wouldn't see). The long coat and scarf you'd worn over your clothes here was thrown across of the opposing armchairs, but you were starting to consider throwing it back on before you froze half to death, starting to shiver, nipples already hardening and starting to poke through the your almost see-through shirt.
He probably just was finishing picking up some paperwork from Nanami or maybe held up by one of the students with a question after training. You sighed, the drawer rattling as you shoved it closed again, turning your attention to his little collection of fancy pens tucked in a souvenir cup Gojo had gotten him a few years ago. You'd probably blame Suguru's tardiness on him if he wasn't out on a solo mission a plane ride away.
It was stupid. Or just stupider than what you were currently doing, trying to twirl one of them on the tip of your finger just to send it flying into the corner of the room, watching it hit the wall and roll behind one of the filing cabinets lined up underneath the windows.
Trying to pull your skirt down to cover more than your ass when you walked over, squatting down to squint in the shadows just to discover it had rolled all the way back behind the middle filing cabinets out of your reach. Huffing, you struggled to pull out one of heavy metal rectangles, heaving to move it backwards until you had enough space to fit behind the first one.
The floor was clean, at least.
Getting down on your hands and knees, painfully aware of how exposed you were when you had to crawl to reach it, palm outstretched and about to close around the sleek metal of the pen when the door creaked opened.
"And then, I swear it-" The all-too-familiar sound of Gojo's rambling was cut off by what sounded like Nanami clearing his throat.
You might actually ask your boyfriend's best friend to hollow purple you.
You knew you needed to move. Wiggle out and try to cover yourself up before finding a hole to curl up and die from embarrassment in since you apparently just accidently flashed two of your longtime friends and coworkers.
"Get out."
Suguru's voice wasn't a warning, but a command, low and firm as the door suddenly slammed shut, the clock of the lock clicking into place. You hadn't even begun to shuffle backwards before the filing cabinet was suddenly pressed against your hip, cold metal pinning you between it and the wall.
Stuck.
"S-Sugu, I can't move," You stammered, every breath getting caught in your throat when you tried to move, but it wouldn't budge, trying to glance back over your shoulder at your boyfriend when there was barely any room.
"Uh-huh," He wryly murmured, closer than you expected.
It struck you after another second that he was the reason you couldn't move, that he pushed it to keep you stuck like this was some cheap porno. Your mind was already trying to think of a tagline before his palm grazed against the curve of your ass, your thighs already damp from the weight of his presence, the energy rolling off him in heated waves that seemed to sink and simmer into your stomach. The realization sinking in that you really were trapped and at his mercy.
"Care to explain this?" He spoke slowly, his words deceptively soft as his fingertips skimmed down to the inside of your thighs, phantom touches sending shivers down your spine.
"Your pen fell," You muttered, weakly wigging back into his hand, not really trying to escape, but his other hand landed on your hip, pushing up your skirt the rest of the way like he hadn't been able to get a full view from the moment he stepped in.
"Uh-huh," He repeated, a slow drawl to match the creep of his finger curling down to cup your cunt.
"D-did Gojo get back early?" You shivered as he suddenly rolled your clit carefully between two sturdy fingers, tsk-ing his tongue in disapproval.
"Why? You wanted to surprise him too?" Suguru dryly mocked, collecting the slick now dripping down your thighs before his hand pulled back, waiting until you whined at the absence of his heat to bring his palm down for a smack! you hoped they didn't hear down the hall.
"Don't act like you wouldn't love cu-" You yelped when he spanked you the second time, your own taunt cut off by the sharp sting of his fingers connecting with your clit.
Before you could react, you felt something wet hit your bare skin, barely registering the fact he just spit on your cunt for lube before his fingers were messaging the sore and swollen bud again, softer this time to soothe the pain and overwrite the pleasure.
"Y-you, fuck," You muttered, biting down on your lip, lost in what you were trying to say when you heard the sound of his belt hitting the ground, the rustle of clothing before something warm was nudged at your entrance, teasingly rubbing the thick head of his cock to watch you mindlessly try to grind back against it.
"You wanna try saying that again?" He hm-ed, like he didn't just want to hear you whimper trying to catch the tip against your entrance and edge it inside.
"You're such an a-"
Suguru shoved the first inches in to shut you up, a moan they definitely heard escaping your mouth at how easily he slipped in, pushing past the first bit of resistance to start inching forward.
"I'm sorry, baby, what's that?" He murmured, his hips hitting your ass when he buried himself in to the hilt, his honeyed voice making you shiver just as much as his tip smashing against your cervix was. He held it there, only moving to angle himself deeper.
All you could do was throb, pinned between the cabinets and the wall while he filled you up, not giving you the space to think of anything but him.
"You're being mean," You desperately mewled, one of his huge hands pushing your shirt up to trace an appreciative line up your spine, refusing to pull out like it was some petty punishment.
"You want me to be nice?" He chuckled, knowing the condescension only made you squeeze around him tighter, cling to him more.
"N-no," You reluctantly admitted.
He leaned in so his chest was pressed against your back, slipping his hand around to grip your throat, lightly applying pressure before his fingers drifted up until his thumb grabbed your chin, forcing you to crane your neck to the side to look back at him over your shoulder. You expected him to kiss you.
But he clicked his tongue.
"Open up, pretty girl," He murmured, and your compliance came without thinking. When his cock was currently stuffing you so full you couldn't do anything other than obey him.
Your lips parted from their pout, the seconds stretching before he forced your chin down, opening it wider so he could spit into your mouth before guiding it shut again, his cock throbbing inside you at the bob in your throat, the sight of your automatic swallow.
"Fuck," He groaned, angling the head of it even deeper, your whine at the stretch only making the fingers on your throat, his hold on your jaw tighten, trying to keep you in place until every last fucking centimeter was inside. "Made for me, you know that?"
"Mhm," You whimpered, sucking in a gasp, your throat still somehow dry, trying to squirm away? against? him with every little movement of his hips. "J-just you."
You'd been his from the moment you met him.
He released his grip, but the fingers holding up your hips dug in, his clipped nails creating tiny divots into your skin while his other hand quickly found it's way around the front to your clit, painting practiced circles like he wanted to make you cum as fast as possible. Hurtling you closer to the edge with each swift motion, ripping out broken little gasps from your throat, shattered cries of his name when you dug your own nails into your palm and chewed on your lip trying to hold it in.
"S-Sugu, I c-can't," You whined, tears already forming in the corners of your eyes, ready to spill over at any second. "Gonna cum."
"You can," His voice was so soft, deceptively sweet. You knew him though. It was an unspoken promise you'd get what he really wanted to give you later, that this was just the warm up.
"I, fuck," You still snapped though, unable to hold the strands of your sanity together when he had the scissors, unravelling under the pressure of his fingertips and the steady slams of his cock pumping inside you, a stray tear falling as white splotches filled your vision.
Thick cum spurting inside of you, a low groan leaving his throat when his thrusts became sloppy, finishing only a few seconds after you. Waiting until the last drops fell out before stuffing it back in with his thick fingers and pausing to admire his handiwork.
But even after he finished, he didn't help you out or even clean you up.
"Suguru?" Your voice was weak, whiny, cheeks starting to flush with embarrassment at him leaving you in that position.
"Hold on a second, sweetheart," He murmured, rubbing your ass appreciatively, but he sounded well, distracted.
"Seriously, Suguru?" You repeated, nervousness creeping in.
Then you heard the soft click! and registered the faint flash of his phone behind you.
"Sorry baby, just had to remind them who you're made for too."
Warnings: p in v, unprotected sex, fingering, groping, nipple play, profanity, praise kink
─⋆♱⋆ ─── ─── ⋆♱⋆ ─── ─── ⋆♱⋆ ──
“Yeah, I play the guitar,” Jisung muttered, looking up at you as he exhaled the smoke from his nose. “What about it?”
You opened your mouth, then closed it. Honestly? You didn’t really know how to tell him that you were suddenly interested in learning how to play the guitar. Because you weren’t. You were interested in watching him play the guitar.
You shrugged. “Well, since you’re.. Experienced,” you mumbled, mentally face palming yourself. “Would you—I mean.. Would it be okay if.. If you helped me learn how to play it?”
Yeah, great response.
Jisung stared at you for a few moments, before huffing. He flicked the ash from his cigarette into the ashtray, exhaling through his nose once again. “So, let me get this right,” he began. “You want to learn how to play the guitar, because..?”
You blinked. “Well, I-” you pursed your lips, pausing. “Just.. Because.” You answered. Once again, incredible communication.
Jisung’s lips twitched just slightly. Was he enjoying seeing you struggle? He stubbed his cigarette out in the astray, before finally looking up at you fully, leaning back against his chair. “What do I get out of this?”
A blowjob. Whatever you want. Me.
You furrowed your eyebrows, leaning your weight on your hip. “I dunno. Whatever you want.” You said quietly, looking at him expectantly.
He tapped his finger on the desk beside him, sighing heavily. “What the fuck, fine.” He muttered, standing up and pushing past you, leaving you alone in his room.
“Great! I’ll.. I’ll start tomorrow!” You called out, sighing. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” You muttered to yourself.
─⋆♱⋆ ─── ─── ⋆♱⋆ ─── ─── ⋆♱⋆ ──
The next day, you tried not to let yourself think too hard about what was going to happen. He would just tutor you. Nothing to be nervous about. On the other hand, it was Jisung we were talking about. The guy stared at you like you’d kill his entire family, was sarcastic as hell and probably didn’t even like you.
After your part-time job, you entered your apartment with a sigh, closing the door softly behind you. “Jisung, I’m back!” You called out. No answer, as usual.
You navigated through your dorm, towards your room, before stopping outside Jisung’s room. “Jisung?” You called out quietly, peeking inside. He wasn’t there, probably out or still at his part-time job. Just as you were about to turn around, your back bumped against something, someone.
You turned around, meeting Jisung’s neutral gaze. “You scared me.” You muttered, placing a hand on your heart. “Should’ve knocked before looking inside.” He said, pushing past you and slamming his door shut.
After about half an hour, you knocked on his door, before entering quietly. He was sitting on his bed, cigarette between his lips as he adjusted the strings of his guitar. He glanced up at you, nodding his head. “Are you just gonna stand there?”
You blinked, shaking your head. Damn, he looked good holding the guitar. “Y-Yeah, right, uh..” you scratched your hair before moving to sit down next to him.
He handed you the guitar, waiting for you to take it. When you just stared at it, he exhaled sharply through his nose. “Come on, don’t tell me you don’t even know how to hold a guitar?” You bit your lip, shrugging.
He raised his eyebrows, clicking his tongue before taking a drag from his cigarette. He adjusted the guitar in your arms. “First of all, hold it comfortably. Don’t hunch your shoulders.” He said, his voice surprisingly calm for once.
“You have a pick?” He asked, looking at you. “A what?” You questioned, furrowing your eyebrows. “Jesus Christ, Y/N.” He muttered, rubbing his eyes. “What do you know about guitars?”
You blinked, smiling slightly. “I know they sound good. And I know that people learn how to play fast.”
“If we go at your pace, you’ll never learn how to play it. You don’t even know what a pick is.” He said.
“Uh, yeah! But I’ll learn!” You exclaimed. Jisung reached into his nightstand, pulling out a pick and handing it to you. “This is a pick. You need it to play the guitar.” He said sarcastically.
After some long, torturing minutes, you got used to holding the guitar. Jisung had unconsciously moved to sit behind you to fix your posture and hold on the guitar. He took your hand, guiding it to the strings. “Use your fingertips, not the flat part of your finger.”
You weren’t paying attention, not really. Not with his breath fanning over your neck. You were already dripping wet when you saw him smoking and holding the guitar, but now? You were wetter than a fountain.
“R-Right. Fingertips.” You mumbled to yourself. You tried to follow, but when you pressed the flat of your finger and moved the pick, it sounded terrible.
“It sounds painful.” You said, pausing.
“That’s because you’re muting half the strings.” He tsked, leaning back. “I told you to use your fingertips.” He leaned forward again, taking your hand in his and guiding it. “You’re not concentrating.”
“Trying to.” You muttered. He showed you how to use the pick properly, moving just your wrist and not your whole arm. He let his hands rest on your waist unconsciously, silently watching you.
“Like this?” You asked, turning your head to the side to look at him. He nodded, his fingers twitching against your skin. “Yeah.”
You tried to ignore it, really did. But then he let his hand slide down, his thumb caressing the waistband of your shorts. You tried to focus, clearing your throat. “S-So, do I—” you cut yourself off with a whimper when he slid his hand inside, running his middle finger over your panties. “What was that?” He asked, his lips moving against your neck as he pushed your panties to the side.
“I.. I asked if—Fuck.” You moaned as he slipped a finger inside, his thumb pressing against your clit. “Jisung-” he hummed, adding a second finger and curling them up, making your eyes roll back. “I thought you wanted to learn how to play the guitar.”
“How-How does this.. Have to do with.. Learning how to play the guitar..?” You whimpered, your head falling back against his shoulder.
“I’m showing you,” he said quietly, biting your earlobe. “You use the fingertip,” he pressed his thumb harder on your clit, making your back arch. “Slow strokes..” he continued, curling his fingers again. “Don’t move the whole arm, just the wrist.” He added, pressing his palm flat against your cunt as you rolled your hips, biting your lip hard.
“If you do it right, it makes beautiful sounds.”
You reached your peak, your orgasm making your back arch like a bow as you soaked his whole hand. He kissed your cheek, pulling his fingers out before bringing them to his mouth, licking them clean as he hummed. “Better than a fucking cigarette.” He muttered, pulling you into his lap.
You gripped his hair, pulling him down to kiss him, your tongue immediately sticking in his mouth to find his. He moaned, his hands squeezing your waist before cupping your heavy breasts in his palms. “Fuck yeah,” he panted, pulling away to take off your shirt.
You reached back, unclasping your bra and letting the straps slip down your shoulders. “Such a beautiful fucking sight,” he breathed out, practically tearing your bra off to cup your breasts again. “Always wearing oversized shirts, hiding these, huh?” He leaned down, letting his tongue drag around your nipple, before sucking it into his mouth.
You gasped, fingers lost in his hair as you gripped him tightly, pushing your chest closer. “Jisung—” you whined when he rolled the other bud between his thumb and index finger. “This is how you hold the pick.” He said, looking up at you without pulling away from your breast.
He rolled you over, sitting on his knees as he took off his shirt, your mouth drying at the sight of his tattoos. You breathed heavily, biting your lip. He noticed your gaze, smiling. “What, you have a thing for tattoos?” He asked, hands moving down to unbuckle his belt.
You nodded breathlessly, your hands playing with your breasts as you watched him undress.
“Uh-Uh.” He said, taking off his belt. He grabbed your wrists, pinning them above your head. “No touching.” He said quietly, leaning down to kiss up your body. You whimpered again, twisting your wrists. “Fuck, come on, Ji. Let me touch you, please..” you pleaded.
He pulled his shorts down, his cock standing up immediately. He gripped it in his hand, stroking it firmly a few times. Your mouth watered quickly, and you swallowed. “Jisung..” you whispered, tugging on your wrists again.
Jisung leaned down, nudging your thighs apart with his knee before settling between them. Pushing your knees up, he slid his cock between your folds teasingly before slapping it against your clit a few times.
“Just put it in! Please, Jisung!” You sobbed, tears of frustration forming in your eyes.
“You’ve got some nerve, huh?” He asked, thumbing away your tears. He relented then, finally slipping the tip inside, both of you moaning at the feeling. He paused for a few seconds, holding your knees up to your chest before thrusting all the way in.
“Fu—ck, J-Ji..” you breathed out, your eyes rolling back. He pulled back, before slamming back in, grunting as he felt your walls fluttering around him. “So good, Y/N..” he whispered, squeezing your knees as he pounded into you, his tip hitting your g-spot repeatedly. “Fucking warm and tight..”
You let out a high-pitched moan, trying to touch him again. “L-Let me touch you, please!” You screamed. He reached up with one hand, loosening the belt before pulling it off your wrists. Your hands immediately wrapped around his neck, tangling in his hair, sliding down to his chest, gripping his back, everything.
“Ji, I’m gonna—Mmm—Gonna cum..” you whined, bucking your hips up. He reached down spreading your legs wide with his hands to reach deeper until he was buried deep balls inside you, his own breathing growing ragged as he moaned against your neck. “Cum for me, yeah? Be a good girl.”
You orgasmed once more, your nails digging into the sheets. “Yes!” You screamed, burying your face in the pillow as Jisung thrusted one last time, pulling out just before cumming, his release falling on the sheets.
He collapsed beside you, letting out a low whistle as he caught his breath. He reached out to his nightstand, grabbing a cigarette and placing it between his lips, lighting it up and taking a slow drag, closing his eyes.
You ran a finger through your hair, pulling the sheets up to your chest as you glanced at him.
“What?” He asked without looking at you.
“I—You..” you trailed off. “Forget it.”
“Relax. I’m not going to ignore you.”
You pursed your lips. He glanced at you. “So,” he said, taking another drag.
“Why did you really want to learn how to play the guitar?” He asked.
You smiled, shrugging. “Just liked seeing you play.”
He snorted. “For fuck’s sake, Y/N.”
“What? You look sexy holding it. Honestly, how do you do it?”
[𝜗℘] :: a (not-so) relaxing day at the beach with dad!toji and little megumi’s shenanigans :: tags. wife!reader, fluff.
the beach is a beautiful place to rest after a tough week. toji lays on the towel beside yours, bulky arms resting behind his head as he enjoys the gentle breeze.
however, the peace is quickly disturbed when he feels a small fist claw at his mouth.
“‘gumi, don’t feed papa sand,” your muffled laughter echoes through the busy beach. you watch your husband attempt to fight off megumi’s tiny hands as they pry his lips apart.
toji grunts and moves his head multiple times, but the toddler is determined to get what he wants. “wait, brat—”
he scoffs before his hands wrap around megumi’s torso, lifting the little boy in the air as his final resort, “what’s this all ‘bout? wanna kill y’r daddy or sum?”
your son pouts and furrows his brows, “no, made papa food. burger,” he defends himself and kicks his legs while being held up at arms length.
megumi’s tiny fist full of sand manages to reach his father’s lips again, “now papa eat!”
toji lifts megumi up higher, as far away from his face as possible. he takes a second before realising that he indeed had made a request for a burger just moments ago, when his son asked him what he should make out of the sand.
toji totally forgot to play along with megumi’s pretend restaurant game, thinking the boy would halfway forget about it anyway. children’s attention spans are short after all.
seems like his kid is an exception.
“i ain’t eatin’ shit, boy,” toji grunts and turns megumi away, putting the boy back down in the sand between the two beach towels.
you’re about to reprimand your husband for his behaviour before your child interrupts.
“this not poo poo!” megumi jabs a chubby finger at his father’s chest, his voice a bit louder. he’s taken great offence to the comment about his imaginary burger, which is now just a cluster of sand particles.
toji snorts and gently flicks megumi’s hand away, “yeah, it is. bet it tastes like ‘poo poo’ too.”
“no! not poo poo!” megumi’s voice rings out before a frustrated whine leaves his lips.
his little hands land on toji’s abs, physically punishing him for saying mean things about his hard handiwork.
your husband sticks his tongue out childishly at his sulking son, “‘yes! yes ‘tis poo poo!’ keheh,” toji mocks megumi’s high voice, snorting as he laughs at his own joke.
the father-son duo bicker for a few more seconds before you sigh and speak up.
“can you two just get along for once now? we’re in public, so behave,” you scold them as their voices seemed to get louder. you then glare at your immature husband.
he can be such a man-child when it comes to arguing with his son, “and you—you’re an adult, so act like one.”
the two of them instantly shut up and their heads turn towards you, their hands that were wrestling with each other also stopping mid-air. megumi pouts and stops attacking his father with his tiny fists. the little boy knows better than not listen to his mother.
in turn, toji huffs and grumbles something under his breath before grabbing his son to make it up to him.
neither does he dare to defy his wife’s demands.
“yeah, yeah. c’mere, son,” toji responds and places the toddler on his chest, letting the kid rest against him.
megumi surprisingly doesn’t pull away and instead curls up in toji’s warm embrace. as much as the two love to (playfully) fight, they also get along extremely well.
you smile and relax back on the palms of your hands. “much better,” you hum in content.
your heart swells with affection for your two favorite people on earth. megumi is a carbon copy of his father and it’s the cutest little thing ever.
they both have that subtle pout on their lips as they accommodate to being close and cozy with each other again.
toji runs his callused fingers through megumi’s hair, sighing as he closes his eyes. he doesn’t admit it out loud, but he cares for his kid. if he had to make a choice between either saving his own life or megumi’s, toji’d draw his last breath without hesitation.
“he’s still a brat,” your husband grumbles to you, sharp eyes watching the way you coddle and coo over the toddler.
megumi’s chubby cheek is smushed against toji’s chest and it was an adorable sight. you giggle and capture it on your phone.
toji scoffs, but can’t help the grin tugging at the corner of his scarred lips. he gently rubs the child’s cheek with his knuckles before continuing, “but he’s my brat. ain’t that right, boy?”
megumi lets out a small, soft grunt at his father’s words. the kid is completely silent, content with the way things had played out. perhaps this is what he secretly searched for as well— to receive toji’s attention and a glimpse of his affection.
“aww, how cute!” your smile is beaming as you snap another picture of your family.
toji’s soft look is perfectly captured on your phone, with him gently touching megumi’s chubby cheek as the boy laid on his bare chest. pure domestic bliss.
you sigh and look away for one second to change the lockscreen on your phone. humming, you go to your settings and instantly put the picture of your husband and son as your wallpaper on nearly everything.
you tilt your head back only to find toji grinning from ear to ear now, going from gently rubbing megumi’s cheek to full out squishing them between both his hands, amused at the way the fat moves.
“kehehe, look at ‘em,” he chuckles.
the little toddler eventually gets fed up with it after squirming and grunting. megumi brings his little fist up—the same one that still had some sand stored from before—and lets the content fly all over toji’s face.
megumi giggles and scrambles off toji’s lap with a victorious grin. he points at his father who’s struggling with getting the sand off his face, the man sputtering and grumbling.
he sticks his tongue out, “tha’s papa’s burger.”
you watch as your son waddles over to you and hides into your arms, muffled laughter echoing in your ears. seems like megumi won the battle in the end; successfully holding onto the sand he was planning to feed his dad one way or another.
toji spits out a bit of sand that flew into his mouth from the kid’s surprise attack, “you little shit—”
︵ ೀ fluff. you call satoru by his last name in public and he is a bit dramatic about it
the staff meeting at jujutsu high was supposed to be the most boring hour of your week, the kind where yaga talks about statistics and everyone quietly checks how many minutes are left before they can go get lunch.
but you and satoru had gotten into a fight that morning, one of those stupid arguments that starts over something small and somehow spirals into “well maybe you just don’t think about anyone but yourself,” and neither of you had really resolved it before you both had to show up to work like functioning adults.
so when he strolled into the conference room fifteen minutes late, blindfold pushed up onto his head, grinning like the whole world owed him a good morning, you didn’t even glance up from your notebook.
“morning, morning, did everyone miss me?” he said, dropping into the seat next to yours like nothing at all had happened between the two of you a few hours earlier.
“gojo,” you said, without looking up, your voice perfectly even, like you were greeting a coworker you barely knew.
the entire room seemed to freeze for a second. not satoru. not babe, not the nickname you swore you’d never use in public but absolutely used constantly at home. just gojo, delivered with all the warmth of a weather report.
nanami’s eyebrows climbed so high they nearly disappeared into his hairline. shoko made a small choking sound and had to set her coffee cup down before she embarrassed herself further. even yaga, who had seen a thousand strange things happen in this school, paused his sentence about budget allocations to look between the two of you like he’d wandered into the middle of a drama he hadn’t signed up for.
satoru blinked, the smile faltering just slightly at the corners. “huh?”
you flipped a page in your notebook and underlined something that absolutely did not need underlining, just to have somewhere to put your hands.
“did you,” he started, sitting up straighter now, all his earlier ease draining out of him, “did you seriously just gojo me?”
“can we please get back to the agenda,” you said, addressing the room in general rather than him specifically.
nanami cleared his throat and tried to steer things back on track. “as i was saying, the eastern district has seen an uptick in curse activity over the past—”
“she gojo’d me,” satoru interrupted, loud enough that the whole table heard it, staring at you with the wounded expression of a man who had just watched his house burn down in front of him. “in front of everyone. she used my last name like i’m a substitute teacher.”
you still didn’t look at him. you clicked your pen closed, then open again, then closed, a habit you knew drove him up the wall, and said nothing at all.
“focus, gojo,” you said again, watching the way his whole soul seemed to leave his body when you said it a second time was a little more satisfying than you’d expected.
“okay. okay, everybody hold on,” satoru said, raising both hands like he was trying to talk down an actual hostage situation. “nobody move, nobody speak, something has gone horribly wrong here. she just used my government name. in public. on purpose.”
“that is your name,” nanami pointed out, deadpan, not even looking up from his own notes.
“not to her it isn’t! not in four years has she ever once called me gojo, and now suddenly, out of nowhere, in the middle of a staff meeting, she’s talking to me like i’m a stranger she met at the post office—” he turned to you again, voice climbing with real panic now. “okay, you know what, meeting’s over, everyone go home, thank you for coming, we’ll reschedule—”
“the meeting,” yaga said flatly, unimpressed, “is not over.”
“it is for me!” satoru stood so fast his chair scraped loudly against the floor, then leaned across the table toward you, blindfold slipping further down his forehead, genuine desperation creeping into his voice. “what did i do. just tell me what i did and i’ll fix it. is this about the mission partner thing? it’s the mission partner thing, isn’t it. i can undo it. i can un-fix the fixing. i can grovel right here in front of everyone if that’s what this requires—”
you finally looked up to deliver the final blow with the sweetest, most devastating calm you could manage:
“i’m not sure what you mean, gojo. we’re in the middle of a meeting.”
that was the moment the room completely lost it. shoko was laughing so hard into her coffee cup that she had to set it down entirely, wiping at her eyes. nanami pressed a hand over his face like he was praying for the strength to survive this job for one more day. even yaga, who never smiled during meetings on principle, was clearly biting back one now, badly.
“that’s it,” satoru said, dropping back into his chair. “fine. that’s fine. be like that. see if i care. i am literally the strongest sorcerer in the world and i am being disrespected in my own place of employment, in front of my own coworkers, by my own—” he lowered his voice for the last part, leaning toward you like it was a secret, “—girlfriend, who apparently doesn’t remember that we live together and that i know exactly what cereal she eats and exactly what she looks like without—”
“gojo,” nanami cut in, exhausted, “please let the meeting continue.”
“see! even he can feel that something is deeply wrong here! the temperature in this room actually dropped! shoko, did the temperature just drop or was that just me—”
you allowed yourself the smallest, most private smile, tucked safely behind the cover of your notebook, as the strongest sorcerer alive continued to unravel in real time over exactly one syllable of his own last name, in front of the entire senior staff of jujutsu high, on a random tuesday morning.
by the time you got home that evening, satoru had clearly spent the whole day rehearsing something, because the second you walked through the door he was already there, hovering, almost vibrating with nervous energy like a dog that knows it did something wrong but isn’t sure what.
“okay so,” he said, following you into the kitchen, “i’ve been thinking about this literally all day, and i want to formally apologize, on the record, for the mission partner thing, and also i want to say, for the record, that what you did today was actually kind of terrifying and i need you to never do it again.”
“do what,” you said, setting your bag down like you had no idea what he could possibly mean, even though you absolutely did.
“you know what,” he said, sliding an arm around your waist from behind before you could even take your jacket off, chin dropping onto your shoulder. “the gojo thing. please. i’m begging you. never again.”
“it’s your name,” you said, echoing nanami from earlier, and you felt him groan directly into your shoulder.
“it is not my name when you say it like that,” he mumbled. “when you say it like that it sounds like you’re breaking up with me in front of witnesses. i had to sit there for an entire meeting wondering if this was it, if this was the day my girlfriend decided she’d had enough of me and was breaking the news.”
you turned around in his arms, biting back a laugh, and he immediately seized the opportunity to rest his forehead against yours, eyes closed like he was bracing for more punishment.
“so you admit you deserved it,” you said.
“i admit nothing,” he said, “except that i am deeply, deeply sorry, and that i will never again swap your mission partner without telling you first, and that if you ever call me gojo again in public i will actually die.”
“say please.”
“please,” he said immediately, no hesitation at all, pulling you in tighter like he was worried you might change your mind and use his last name right there in the kitchen just to torture him further. “please, please, i’ll do anything, i’ll even do paperwork, just—just be normal about it. call me anything else. call me an idiot, call me insufferable, i don’t care, just not that.”
“fine,” you said, finally letting the smile show. “satoru.”
the relief on his face was almost embarrassing, the way his whole body seemed to unclench at once, like you’d just lifted some enormous curse off him.
“thank you,” he said, dramatic as ever, pressing a kiss to your forehead, then your cheek, then finally your mouth. “never again. i mean it. that was the scariest six words of my entire life and i’ve fought curses that wanted to eat my ass.”
“it was one word,” you pointed out.
“it felt like six,” he said, and pulled you into a hug so tight it nearly knocked the breath out of you, laughing into your hair, all traces of this morning’s fight forgiven, or at least thoroughly overridden by how badly he never wanted to hear his own last name from you again.
cw: dead dove do not eat. taboo themes , incest , olderbrother!jungwon , dryhumping , voyeurism , praise kink , infantilization kinda? , slight coercion , size difference , slight degradation , #justthetip except jungwon straight up lies , jungwon biggest damn perv out there , ends abruptly but ending is up to you! , NO USE OF AI.
an: hihihi thanks for all the love on my first post🥹 THIS IS SO SHORT and gross… i am finishing up the other evan fic im writing and that one is so much longer so it’s taking forever but it will be worth i swear :p
olderbrother!jungwon who quietly dragged you into the dark pantry and whispering “wanna help wonnie again, baby?” you noticed jungwon left a small crack in the door, you seeing a glimpse of your parents in the dining room. either way, you nodded. you wanted to be the best little sister for your older brother! “now… wonnie needs you to be really quiet, princess. our parents are right outside the door and if they hear you, i can get in big trouble… and we don’t want that right?” jungwon’s large hands were on your tiny hips, slowly rubbing up and down on the dips. his were lips pressed into a kiss against the back of your head as you nodded again. jungwon hummed in satisfaction. “mm, good girl. doing so well already.”
olderbrother!jungwon who’s bulge was pressed against your back as he made you lean back to touch your small tits. “oh princess… they’ve gotten much bigger since last time, yeah?” jungwon slowly kneaded your breasts while he thrusted his hips upwards onto your clothed bottom. he slid his hands back down to your hips. his grip was firm, but not too rough. “so warm for me, i bet it’s so wet and tight too. wonnie wishes he could fuck you here, but he can’t yet… too risky.” you heard the sad pout in his voice, but you can tell he didn’t falter. “you can let wonnie take your panties off today, right? please? your brother really needs this…” jungwon slid your small panties off and tossed them somewhere it didn’t matter. “remember what i wonnie said about being quiet baby. you don’t wanna get in trouble, hm? i’ll cover your mouth if i have to.”
olderbrother!jungwon who’s hand is covering your small face while he thrusts into the middle of your wet thighs. “oh that’s it baby, just like how i taught you.” your cunt is warm and slick against his bare cock— it making filthy sounds every time jungwon thrusts. you look through the small crack in the door. your parents are engaged in conversation about something you can’t even comprehend because of what you’re doing with jungwon. the thought of your parents being outside the door and can easily hear and see you making your head dizzy. jungwon notices your gaze on them. “you like knowing that they’re out there, princess? imagine if they saw me fucking into your cunt, hm? you’d like that, don’t you? i knew you would, that’s why i brought you here. my baby is so gross. little head of yours needs to be fixed”
olderbrother!jungwon who really does love his sister so much. “my beautiful girl. wonnie loves you so much, you know? cmon and let wonnie put the tip in… just a little. wonnie won’t spill inside, i promise.” jungwon aligns his tip with your small hole and pushes in slightly. your eyes roll back at the unfamiliar feeling. “that’s it, my good girl. f-fuck… thank you baby. only the tip, wonnie promises.” jungwon lies straight through his teeth and smiles to himself. “you feel just like how i imagined. shit, y-you’re milking me, sweetheart. cmon just the tip, oh fuck…” jungwon pushes in a little deeper, despite all his promises. “almost ready to take my whole cock, aren’t you? next time you’re gonna take it all. every single inch.” jungwon’s head is dizzy from the feeling of your gummy walls clenching with every thrust. he’s so close to climax— of course he doesn’t wanna hurt his girl, but he can’t help himself, and you know it too. “gonna cum, princess. wonnie’s trying not to be so rough but he—he really wants this y’know? fuck— oh fuck… wonnie might cum inside baby… wonnie’s so sorry…”
ᥬᩤ content: fluff, sweet skz, cuddling, a bit of jealousy on leeknows
! This is my opinion on straykids favorite way to cuddle their partner!
M.list
Authors note: I've had the urge to write like crazy today lol
🐺 Bangchan ⊹ ࣪
Type: Face-to-face cuddling.
Whenever Chan comes home after one of those days, the kind that leaves him frustrated with everything but cuddling you somehow makes it all melt away.
He kicks off his shoes by the front door, shrugs off his jacket, and quietly makes his way to your shared bedroom before taking a shower. As he passes the bed, he notices you fast asleep... on his side.
A small smile tugs at his lips.
Normally he'd tease you about stealing his spot, but tonight he doesn't have the energy.
After his shower, he returns with damp hair and slips into bed beside you. The mattress dips beneath his weight, stirring you from your sleep. Your eyes slowly flutter open to find Chan lying on his back with his eyes closed, exhaustion written all over his face.
Without saying a word, you reach over and rest your hand against his chest.
He lets out a quiet sigh before opening his eyes and turning onto his side to face you. You gently brush a damp strand of hair away from his forehead.
Almost instinctively, he shuffles closer until his forehead rests against yours, one arm finding its way around your waist.
He doesn't need to talk about his day.
He just wants to hold you, feel your warmth, and let the comfort of being in your arms remind him that everything will be okay.
😺 Leeknow ⊹ ࣪
Type: Arm around your shoulders.
Lee Know loves cuddling in private, but when you're out together, his favourite way of showing affection is draping an arm around your shoulders. It's subtle, comfortable, and, in his opinion, the perfect way to keep you close.
This weekend, the two of you had escaped the city for a camping trip, hoping to enjoy a couple of peaceful days surrounded by nature.
Peaceful... until your neighbouring campsite arrived.
The group consisted of three people a guy around your age and another couple who seemed perfectly happy keeping to themselves. The couple spent most of the afternoon setting up their tent together and laughing between themselves.
Their friend, however, seemed to have taken a particular interest in you.
Every now and then he'd wander over with another excuse to chat.
"Need help setting up?"
"Nice weather today, isn't it?"
"Where are you guys from?"
You answered politely every time, completely oblivious to the fact that his conversations sounded a lot more like attempts to flirt.
Unfortunately for him...
Leeknow noticed.
Each time the guy appeared, Minho's eyes would flick over from whatever he was doing. He'd quietly watch the interaction before returning to his task, though not without rolling his eyes.
By the late afternoon, you'd started to notice he seemed quieter than usual.
"Babe?" you asked, nudging his arm. "What's the matter? You've been a little off all day."
He glanced at you before offering a small smile.
"It's nothing~"
You weren't convinced.
As the sun disappeared behind the trees, the temperature began to drop, and everyone started preparing for the evening.
Minho crouched beside your campsite, carefully building a fire.
Just as the first flames caught...
"Hey!" the neighbour called, wandering over with a grin.
"My friends are still messing around with ours. Mind if we hang out here for a bit?"
Before either of you could answer, he plopped himself down on the mat opposite you. A few moments later, his two friends, the couple joined him, apologising with an awkward smile before sitting together on the other side of the fire.
The conversation started innocently enough.
You chatted about camping, favourite hiking spots, and the best places to visit outside Seoul.
Every so often, though, the neighbour would direct another question only at you.
Minho had had enough.
Without a word, he shifted closer until your shoulders brushed.
Then, as naturally as breathing, he slipped his arm around your shoulders and gently pulled you into his side.
You instinctively leaned against him.
The neighbour's eyes flickered down to Minho's arm before looking back up.
"...Oh."
A tiny, almost smug smile appeared on Minho's face.
He wasn't trying to start an argument.
He was simply making one thing very clear.
You were his.
The rest of the evening passed with you tucked comfortably against his side, his thumb absentmindedly tracing small circles over your shoulder whenever the conversation drifted away.
And judging by the way the neighbour suddenly became much more interested in talking to his own friends and left pretty soon...
The message had been received.
🐰🐷 Changbin ⊹ ࣪
Type: laying on his arm
If there's one thing Changbin takes pride in (besides you), it's the fact that his arms make the perfect pillow.
After every gym session, he'll jokingly flex and say,
"See? Told you these muscles were useful."
Whenever the two of you settle down to watch a movie or climb into bed after a long day, he already knows exactly where you're going to end up.
Curled into his side with your head resting on his arm.
At first, you used to worry about making his arm go numb.
"Binnie, aren't you uncomfortable?"
He'd look at you like you'd just asked the most ridiculous question.
"Why would I spend hours in the gym if my girl can't use my arm as a pillow?"
You couldn't help but laugh.
Somehow, no matter how long the two of you stayed like that, he never complained.
Even when his arm inevitably fell asleep.
Instead, he'd quietly shift just enough to keep you comfortable without waking you.
The TV would still be playing in the background while you drifted off, your breathing evening out against him.
Changbin would glance down with the softest smile, brushing a few strands of hair away from your face before pressing a kiss to your forehead.
"...Sleep well, baby."
His arm might be numb.
His shoulder might be aching.
But as long as you were sleeping peacefully beside him...
He wouldn't move an inch.
🥟 Hyunjin ⊹ ࣪
Type: laying into him
Hyunjin has always believed that actions speak louder than words.
He isn't the type to constantly ask for cuddles.
Instead, he'll quietly open his arms, knowing you'll naturally find your way into them.
Whether you're sitting on the couch, the floor, or at the end of the bed, he'll sit behind you and let you lean back against his chest. One arm rests securely around your waist while the other absentmindedly plays with your fingers or traces lazy circles along your arm.
Sometimes the two of you don't even talk.
You'll be reading a book while he sketches in his notebook.
Watching a movie.
Scrolling on your phones.
Or simply enjoying the quiet.
Every now and then, he'll rest his chin on
your shoulder just to steal a glance at whatever has your attention.
"You look comfortable."
"I am."
"Good."
He'll smile to himself before pressing a soft kiss against your temple.
If you start to drift off, he'll gently tighten his arms around you, making sure you're fully supported before continuing whatever he was doing.
To Hyunjin, moments like these are his favourite.
No big gestures.
No words.
Just the quiet comfort of knowing you're safe in his arms, exactly where you belong.
🐿️ Han ⊹ ࣪
Type: as close as physically possible.
If Han could somehow merge into you while cuddling...
He absolutely would.
Whether you're lying in bed, sitting on the couch, or waiting for your food at a restaurant, he's always finding a way to be touching you.
An arm around your waist.
Your legs tangled together.
His hand intertwined with yours.
It doesn't matter how—as long as he's close.
His favourite thing, though, is burying his face into you.
Your neck.
Your shoulder.
The crook of your neck.
Your chest.
He'll nuzzle into whatever part of you is closest, letting out the happiest little sigh before mumbling,
"You're comfy..."
Sometimes you'll laugh because his hair tickles your skin.
"Jisung..."
"Mhm?"
"I can't breathe."
He'll pull back for approximately two seconds.
"...Sorry."
Then, before you even realise it, he's tucked himself right back against you again.
"You literally just apologised."
"I know..."
"...I missed you."
Even if you've only been apart for an hour.
He's constantly stealing forehead kisses, wrapping both arms around you, and pulling you impossibly closer whenever he gets the chance.
He's basically your own personal weighted blanket.
Except this one occasionally starts talking, laughs at his own jokes, and refuses to let go until you promise you'll stay for "just five more minutes."
Because if Han had it his way...
Every cuddle would end with the two of you practically glued together, his face hidden against your shoulder while he quietly drifted off to sleep, completely convinced there was no better place in the world to be.
🐥 Felix ⊹ ࣪
Type: his head in your lap
Felix's favourite place in the world isn't a beach, a studio, or even his own bed.
It's your lap.
No matter where the two of you are, if you're sitting down for longer than five minutes, he'll somehow end up lying across the couch with his head resting comfortably in your lap.
It's become such a normal occurrence that you don't even question it anymore.
Watching a movie?
Felix is already making himself comfortable.
Reading a book?
His head is in your lap before you've even finished the first page.
Scrolling on your phone?
He'll quietly wander over before gently laying his head down like a cat searching for the warmest spot in the house.
Almost immediately, your fingers find their way into his hair.
He absolutely melts.
His eyes flutter shut as you scratch lightly at his scalp, twirl strands of his hair around your fingers, or gently massage behind his ears.
"...Don't stop."
"I wasn't planning to."
A sleepy smile spreads across his face.
He'll happily stay there for hours if you'll let him, occasionally looking up at you just to admire you before reaching up to intertwine your fingers with his.
"You know..." he mumbles.
"Hm?"
"I think this is my favourite place."
You smile, pretending not to know what he means.
"Your lap."
His answer is so quick it makes you laugh.
"If I could stay here forever, I would."
🐶 Seungmin ⊹ ࣪
Type: legs intertwined
Seungmin isn't overly affectionate in obvious ways.
He doesn't always need to be wrapped around you or constantly holding your hand.
But if the two of you are sitting or lying down together...
Your legs are almost guaranteed to be tangled together.
It's something that happened so naturally neither of you even remember when it started.
You'll be watching a movie, reading, or scrolling through your phones, and before you know it, his leg has found yours beneath the blanket.
Sometimes it's just your feet brushing together.
Other times, your calves are hooked together so naturally that if one of you moves, the other follows without even thinking.
"You know..." you mumble one evening, glancing down at your intertwined legs.
"Hm?"
"I don't think we've sat separately in weeks."
Seungmin looks down for a second before a small smile tugs at the corner of his lips.
"...Really?"
"You've literally got me trapped."
"I do?"
He says it so innocently that you can't help but laugh.
Instead of apologising, he simply shifts a little closer, his leg pressing more comfortably against yours.
"Better?"
"You made it worse."
"Good."
His teasing grin gives him away immediately.
It's never something he thinks about.
His body just unconsciously seeks yours.
And on the rare occasions your legs aren't touching...
He'll quietly stretch one out until they are again, almost as if he's checking you're still there.
Not because he needs reassurance.
But because being connected to you even in the smallest way makes being together feel complete.
🦊 I.N ⊹ ࣪
Type: Spooning
Spooning is Jeongin's favourite way to cuddle.
Not because it's the cutest.
Not because it's the comfiest.
But because he loves knowing you're safe in his arms.
The moment the two of you climb into bed, he'll instinctively reach for you, gently wrapping an arm around your waist before pulling you against his chest.
It doesn't matter if you're watching a movie, talking about your day, or simply getting ready to fall asleep.
If you're together...
He's spooning you.
"You comfortable?" he asks quietly, adjusting the blanket around the two of you.
"Mhm."
"Too tight?"
You shake your head, smiling to yourself.
"Perfect."
Satisfied, he presses a soft kiss to the back of your head before resting his chin lightly against your hair.
His arms never stay still for long.
Sometimes he'll absentmindedly rub slow circles over your stomach.
Other times, he'll gently trace patterns against your arm or intertwine your fingers with his.
If you're having a rough day, he'll hold you a little closer without saying much at all.
He isn't always the best at finding the right words.
But somehow, the warmth of his embrace says everything he wants to.
And on the nights when you're the one who wakes up first...
You'll often find Jeongin still holding onto you exactly the same way he did when you both fell asleep.
As if, even in his dreams, the last thing he wants to do is let you go.
fluff. part of my trueform!sukuna x his favourite chubby concubine series. more here
you’ve been scratching sukuna’s back for what felt like hours now — delicately tracing every tattoo, softly dragging your fingernails nails down his skin as he lays sprawled out across the sheets.
you’re almost certain you heard him purr at one point like a relaxed cat. this was the most docile you’d ever seen him. you almost regret suggesting this idea to him at all.
when you try to stop, or move even an inch, he grumbles lowly, using one of his hands to reach around and grab your wrist — positioning your hand back where he wants it.
"i did not tell you to stop," he says, burying his face back into the pillows below him, feeling you continue your chore ministrations.
you sigh, then smile a little, wondering when sukuna became so needy. it was endearing, in all honesty. "my hand is tired, kuna," you whine, slowing your movements.
he shifts, turning his head just enough to glare at you in offence. "continue," he demands, clearly too comfortable to care how your hand was feeling.
it wasn’t as if sukuna had a small back, either. there was a lot of ground to cover, broad and spacious, packed with muscle that flexed with every movement.
with time, you learned to alternate between hands, switching when one got tired. of course, he complained at the millisecond your hand was away from his back so you could switch over.
eventually, this became a daily thing. as you settle into bed next to him, he lays himself down on his stomach, shirtless, glaring at you expectantly. "again?…" you ask, knowing you’ll be scratching his back until he drifts off to sleep.
"scratch."
additionally, he gets more demanding with his needs every time, mumbling "lower, woman" or "harder" — humming in contentment when you oblige.
like you had a choice.
oftentimes, when you’re feeling extra sweet, you dip your head down, leaving gentle kisses down his spine — making his body twitch. "how’s that?" you whisper gently, smoothing over the spots you kiss with your fingers.
you smile as sukuna relaxed further, humming to himself, tired and satisfied enough to give you a small amount of praise, (in his own way).
"…i do not dislike it."
you softly drag your fingernails all the way from his tailbone up to his neck, threading your fingers through the soft pink hair at his nape — pulling a low groan from him.
it was intimate, sensual. you did it a few more times for…good measure.
sukuna often asks you to keep your fingernails somewhat long as he prefers the sensation, secretly asking uraume to hide any item you may use to to trim them down.
that was the extent of his obsession. just wait until he found out about massages.
Synopsis. No one else made you cúm before? No problem! Of course, he’s there to help.
Pairings. [SEPARATE] Higuruma x Reader, Gojo x Reader, Sukuna x Reader, Choso x Reader, Geto x Reader, Nanami x Reader, Toji x Reader
Content. MDNI, fem! reader, JJK men making you cúm after your ex couldn’t, PÚSSYDRÚNK MEN, matíng presses, cervíx kíssing, dúmbifícation, TALKING YOU THROUGH IT, biiig stretch, creampíes, spítting, chokíng, oraI (f), exhíbitíonism (Gojo), use of jujutsu, doctor!Higuruma, p examinations, true form Sukuna, dp, Sukuna’s second mouth, pet names, swéaring.
A/N. Happy early VaIentine’s day lovelies <33
♡ TOJI FUSHIGURO - COCK(Y)
“M’almost insulted, doll.” Toji’s letting his muscular back slouch heftily against the padded pillow, pinkish tongue poking out to drag a slow lick across his scar at the way you straddled him. “Let your dear Toji here take gooood care of this pretty pussy now.”
“B-but Toji–” Your hands ghost down his tensing abs, rock-hard and so sculptured underneath your sensory tips that you can’t help but ogle. Whispering, “None of my exes have ever made me c-”
“So what, girl?”
He’s latching a strong hand onto the side of your waist, letting your eager hips slip n’ slide all down that girthy length of his. Scorching hot, lathering your entrance in a slobbering layer of pre at just the thought of being inside you.
A puffy vein catches on your sappy entrance and you find yourself letting off a moan, spine arching into his bulging pecs. And all you can hear are his rasping chuckles, something dangerous. “Ya seriously think Toji Fushiguro wouldn’t be able to make ya cum?”
And it was a rhetorical question - something to make your bottom lip wobble oh-so-cutely just the way he liked.
But when you’re steeling your hazy gaze on him and shaking your head? Oh, if Toji was any lesser man then he might’ve just cum right then and there.
Aching shaft throbbing out a rapid little ba-dump–! right around your gummy ring of muscle. Stretching you out agape, Toji’s of such staggering size that he has to splay out his feet flat on the springy mattress - rutting up in sloppy strikes to your mushy walls just to fit inside.
He takes a fat few fingers to pry open your leaky maw, thumbing apart your kiss-bitten lips until your tongue lolls out automatically for him to spit-
“See that?” Toji thumbs away the see-through splatter sprayed at the edges of your cockdrunken grin, murmuring. “Show me- show me.”
“Ngh- s-so dirty, Toji.” You whine, jittery body wracking with shivers after every inch he slipped inside of you. After every moment spent basking in his heady gaze, willowy eyes narrowing down when you dart out your tongue to put that webbed mass of saliva all on display.
“H-heh, yeahhhh, atta girl. Mine inside n’ out now.” Your eyes slide allll the way to the back of your weary lids when he splats your tastebuds with- not one, but two more weighty wads of spittle. Closing your slackened jaw shut with one hand, the other finds itself cushioned underneath his sweat-dampened locks. Biceps flexing sexily, your stomach tightens in need. “Ride yerself stupid on me now, why don’t ya- Make that pussy cum.”
He’s pounding up into you like he hated you - like he hated those stupid memories of faking your orgasms in the years before. Wanted to prove himself with every syrupy peck at goopy pussy.
Breaths spilling out in clouded puffs, your nose crinkles at the way that you’re stumbling to take such copious inches of him. Every bounce swabbing Toji’s rounded mushroom tip at the deepest sponges of your cervix, “Shit- shit, s-so big–”
“Yeah? Big, huh? Just big?”
Babbling away, “Really, really big.”
And that only made him harder - bulging out your tautly stretched walls until you were wrapped around him like a clingy second skin. Until you were molding to every bit of his circumference and bumpy veins. Meeting your pap! pap! papping! cadence with mean bucks of his own, Toji wastes no time rolling the plump hill of his thumb across your clit. “See her? That cute, needy clit? Ever had her played with?”
“O-only on my own.” You’re sinking your teeth into your quivering lower lip to stop the overspilling squeals - but it doesn’t work. Not when every lil’ calloused heart being drawn on your bundled nub makes you see stars, “Feels so good Toji—”
“What’d I tell ya, silly girl?” Oh, he’s so smug. Stray hand grazing down your spine in a little massage that makes your hips stutter down even harder. Faster. With a quirked brow, Toji feels himself grin at the wet little slurps slurring from between your bloated lips. Your other ones. “Damn, real hngh- chatty she is- hold on, you’re gonna loooove this, doll.”
Your head bobbles stupidly, mewling. “Love wh-wha- oh.”
In the split-second it takes the honeyed syllables to fall from your mouth - Toji’s fucking them out just as fast. With a jagged, drilling thud! of his fattened cockhead against your g-spot.
For the first time ever.
“Tha’s your g-spot.” Rovering up the globed pad of his index all up your tummy, you flinch when he presses hard down where his length was striking the very bottom of your pussy. “My favorite.”
“H-hit it again-”
“Tch, greedy.”
Your throat is rendered so very parched with every soppy French kiss he planting on your magical spots. Once. Twice. Thrice. You were addicted. So many times that you can’t help but lose count and drool- “Fuuuuck. Oh my god, th-there. There- I’m so close.”
“Shush, girl.” A bulky hand plasters over your noisy mouth, seeping Toji’s steaming hot skin with glossy lathers of your spilling saliva. He nods downwards, where you were screaming out squelches. “Give ‘er some respect, she’s bein’ fucked properly for the fist time n’ wants to speak.”
You were being fucked properly for the fist time.
And it seemed like Toji had no thoughts of stopping - no thoughts of even slowing down from the way he was spearheading every tender orifice homed inside of you. Making you dizzier and dizzier and dizzier with each passing second-
“Toj- mmpf- Toji-” you’re sobbing, like a little mantra. Like the only thing in your mind right now - and he knew it, smugly.
Pulling the curved edges of his fingers away with a slick few strings of juices connecting them, it’s the last thing you register before the solid spank. “Cum.”
You were so pretty when you hit your high. He thinks he might be in….love.
All throaty moans of Tooooji, and your lashes glazing with thick layers upon layers of tears. Hitting headfirst into the hardest orgasm you’ve ever had, it’s all you can do to throw your head back and clench around Toji’s thick, throbbing length tightly.
Dirtily. Until he was hissing and fighting to drag you n’ your gripping cunt with one big, beefy arm to fuck you through your high.
“Tha’s why you couldn’t ngh- c-cum, doll.” He spits into your open mouth, letting you claw and bite and ruin the steamy plane of his sweat-simmered flesh. “Wasn’t fucked properly- wasn’t- s’alright. Toji’s here, Toji’s makin’ you cum. Gonna take gooood f-fucking ah- care of you.”
And your vision tinges with black, treacly slit grinding back against the delicious curve of his plumpened balls. Head static, entire body still wracking with shivers when you feel it-
He’s teasing an innocent kiss near the curled corner of your mouth. Feverish. “Now…have ya ever heard of squirting, doll?”
♡ NANAMI KENTO - Ladies first.
“Never?”
“Never.”
Fuck- a gorgeous girl like you and none of those boys have ever even made your pretty pussy cum?
Your coworker finds himself gulping, thickened digits trekking up to his yellow tie and loosening. He feels so…feverish at the thought.
Thank god it was just the two of you working overtime tonight.
And even clearing his throat doesn’t make that ragged edge of his words bate, doesn’t make him sound any less feral. Eyes molten and hot on yours, you catch the way the tips of Nanami’s ears scorch bright red. “I-if you would like, darling…I could show you how a real man fucks.”
That’s how you found yourself like this - pinned face-down on your corporate cubicle desk, maw leaking saturated waves of drool onto documents you were sure were important. Struggling to squirm against the shackles of his tie with every pressurized pound-
Ptwah! A messy wad of something slick and slippery strikes your overstuffed pussy, spittle smeared across your bulging folds with a sultry swipe of Nanami’s fat thumb.
“Kento–”
“Almost hah- almost there, my love.” He’s gruffing out in a roughly condensed pant from behind you, hot breath hitting the back of your neck and making your skin simmer with goosebumps. The doughy curve of his length twitches, “Just a little longer.”
“L-longer?” You’re babbling away stupidly through flooding strings of saliva, head able to lift only a few centimeters off of the cool plane of your office desk. “Are you gonna c-cum too, Kento?”
“Ladies first.”
And, shit- Nanami Kento might be known around the office as the perfect gentleman - but when he fucked, he fucked you so filthy. Like no one else ever had before.
You swear you could feel your goopy walls contracting and molding to every hot, weighty square inch of him.
Curling a few dexterous fingers underneath where your wrists were pinned haplessly behind your back, all it takes is the tiniest of jerks for Nanami to lift you cleanly off the desk. With one hand, weightless.
Pressing a sweet, sweet kiss against your sweaty temple, he was hunched over you so close now with the changed angle. And you could count every flex of Nanami’s thick thighs pushing you from behind, every scratch of his tawny happy trail against the jiggling curve of your ass.
Humming, “Mhm— this cute cunt’s tellin’ me that she’s gonna cum right about…” One soft peck at the corner of your mouth, and then another one from his globular tip against your g-spot. Hard. “-now.”
And when has Nanami ever been wrong?
It takes one- two thuds! of his bulky tip crashing into your most tender spots before your vision closes and you see black. Jaw dropping open to gape n’ close soundlessly, brows furrowing at the heat in your tummy because shit, it feels so good.
Your melty walls clinging onto his shaft so cozily- “Fuck, s’f-fucking tight. Can barely even fuck you through your cute high. How are ya even ngh- taking this big fucking cock, darling?”
“Wait-” you’re trilling away like his favorite song. Every dab of his weepy orifice into your cunt making you sob, “Oh my god- feels so- so good. So fuck! D-does it always feel like this, Ken–?”
“Awww, poor girl missin’ out.” Nanami’s glissading pecs stick to your back like a cushion, rumbling. Hips hitting yours with a thwack! thwack! thwack! that leaves you craving carnally for more. “Gotta teach her proper- teach- teach her properly.”
Before you can even ask what he means - before you can even register Nanami’s moans - he’s latching on a few fingertips onto your plump clit. Rolling over and over in lazy circles-
“Cute lil’ clit- poor thing’s never been given ngh- loving before.” Oh, he’s been holding this back - heart racing at the way you’d cum all over his cock and nothing but his cock. And Nanami sounds desperate now. “Clench ‘round me, my love- clench. Please.”
Heedlessly, you’re listening to his exact words before you even register them.
Dewy walls squeezing around Nanami’s girthy length, massaging every lightning bolt of his veins. His slit. Everything. And he’s losing his fucking mind-
“Ohhh—” Planting kiss after kiss on your neck, he tugs you with that lecherous tie wrapped around your wrists until you were just plastered all across Nanami’s Herculean front. “Good, huh? Good? Can you say biiig stretch?”
“B-big-”
“Mhm?”
“Biiig s-stretch-” God, he was fucking you until you felt shy.
“Atta girl.”
“Feels so w-weird, Ken–” You’re yelping, pearly gumdrop of tears welling up behind your lids at the way you feel so raw. Your sensitive walls pried apart with Nanami’s flaming red tip, probing inside until it felt like he was jackhammering your very lungs. “M’all- ngh- extra s-sensitive and- ah!”
And you don’t know what you expected Nanami to do - you don’t know how you expected him to react. But it certainly wasn’t for him to snicker.
Octaves higher, reverent.
“Awww, my overstimulated girl.” Murked clouds hit your prespired neck, and it’s as if his strokes get impossibly deeper. Faster. Sloppier. So, so messy on your clit that your syrupy ribbons of slick puddle on the ground with a spattering splat! “Don’t worry, m’g-gonna make it allll better- ya here? Gonna make you feel so good.”
You can’t even think at this point. “Good?”
“Mhm–” Within only a few blinks, a tannish veiny forearm takes up your blurry vision. Nudging your slobbering lips, “Now bite.”
Your teeth sink into his muscled mounds of flesh before you can stop yourself - and Nanami’s letting his head fall before he can. A grated f-fuck! escaping him once he graces your snug pussy with a thrust so harsh that it leaves your legs dangling in midair.
You think you’re cumming again for the second time - you think you’re blanking out. But the only thing you can feel right now is the scorching hot dripping of Nanami’s warm cum seeping into each nook n’ cranny inside you.
Overspilling from your puffy lips. Sloshing around with every drilling stab-
“Now that’s called a c-creampie, darlin’.” He’s groaning out - and you know what it is. You can feel it swashing down in buttery rivulets from the insides of your thighs, sticking to your warm innards like a sloppy second skin. And he’s still pounding you utterly stupid- “Say ngh- ‘creampie’ f’me?”
You’re whimpering, wrung so tautly that it felt like you were about to snap. “C-creampie.”
“Good…good girl.” Nanami’s purring, sneaking in a thumb to pattern little drawings all over the ivory splatters of cum topping your clit. Plugging those very same fingers into your mouth- “Now can you ngh- say ‘Ken, please b-breed me’, my love?”
♡ GETO SUGURU - Never enough?!
“S-Suguru, I’m gonna-”
“Damn right.” He’s spitting glinting speckles of spit past your slackened lips, narrowed eyes boring down at you deeply through an inky curtain of bangs. The look in them is animalistic. “Again- cum f’me again. Cum goddammit-”
With your head striking the ends of the puffy pillow with a thud! you swear your entire body shivers as if shocked by a thousand volts of electricity. Crashing headfirst into so many white-hot peaks of bliss that it makes your head spin.
Over and over.
And it’s just about all you can manage to force your boneless limbs right now to throw your hands around Geto’s sweat-glistened back and claw your way back to sanity. “M’cumming m’cumming m’cumming.”
“Fuck!” He hisses at the agonizing sting that only makes Geto’s puffy cockhead twitch ‘round your gooey insides. Tight. “Got ya fucking addicted now, huh? Needy lil’ slut.”
It could’ve been your fifth orgasm of the night - hell, it could’ve been the five-hundredth and you wouldn’t have known at this point.
Because Geto Suguru wasn’t just making up for a single round of missed orgasms - he was well and fully intent on making up for all of them.
And you’ve barely stolen back heady clouds of your breath, barely even blinked the woozy vision back into your eyes before Geto gives your fluttering cunt a sharp spank. Snickering mercilessly at the way you’re flinching your spine into a deep curvature.
Cute.
Padded kneecaps smearing your helpless thighs ever-wider in a mating press so filthy it couldn’t even be called one right now. You can only watch as Geto’s toned hips slow down until he was barely even grinding. Lazy, sensual drags of his swollen shaft up n’ down your tender walls.
He smears the doughy fringes of his fingertips all over where you were simply bulging to desperately accommodate his size, “Not gonna s-say ‘thank you’ for your fifth orgasm, gorgeous?”
“Wh-wha- thank- ngh!” Your veins boil with embarrassment at how you can only gurgle and gasp right about now, a thick stream of drool flooding from the edges of your mouth. “Sugu—”
“Oh?” Before you know it, there’s a searing grasp on your scalp - Geto. His perfectly manicured fingers clawing onto the sweat-dampened crown of your head and dragging you mercilessly off of the drenched mattress. All the way until your tears cooled with his murked puffs, “What was that?”
Teeth drawn, canines glinting. He was snarling.
You’re squirming impatiently, jostling his split-ended tip in wet swivels around your greedy cunt. Still throbbing. Still unmoving. “Said- ngh-”
Bent alllll the way back - he’s angling his ears to face your fucked-out face with a grin, tightening that shackle-like hold on you until you were keening. Enjoying this way too much. “What? What was that? How bad do you hah- want it because m’not moving an inch.”
You didn’t even know if you could cum at this point - whether you could physically even handle it. Stringing endless beads of tears from your eyes, skin breaking out with heaps upon heaps of shivers.
Sensitive.
“Can’t- can’t even-” And the only time you’re seeing his rude façade splinter is once your trembly fingers trek upwards to clasp around Geto’s own slender throat. Tight. His breath hitches, bumpy Adam’s apple bobbing underneath your touch-
Fuck.
Fuck.
And he can’t fucking stop himself from giving in to slash your slick-buttered cervix with a sudden thrust. Arching off of the soaked-through bed with a slightly singing creak! the clammy skin of Geto’s pelvis sticks to your own like glue. Smearing and oh-so-sloppy.
All that it takes for the words to be fucked out of you cockdrunkenly, still twitching with the remnants of your previous orgasm. “Th-thank- Thank you, Suguru–”
Oh, what a sight it was.
With Geto’s eyes glazed over, long Stygian lashes flickering like they were about to screw shut. High cheekbones radiating off scorching waves of his bright blush, and- and he was drooling.
A thin, silvery line of saliva that spattered from the edges of his oh-so-feral snarl. “Y-yeah?” Oh, his pretty baritone cracks many multiple octaves higher. “Now you can sh-show some fucking ngh- appreciation, can’t you?”
“Sugu-”
“Shut up.” One push. Two. Three. Until it felt like the scratch of Geto’s drenched black happy trail against your pelvis was going to brand permanently on your skin, scratching something deep and primal seated inside of you. He darts out his candied pink tongue, “Suck on m’tongue.”
And when you do it’s like your favorite bubblegum candy, he tasted so sweet - and he was fucking you the exact opposite. Quick, rugged thrusts that rendered you speechless-
“S-stupid girl- isn’t that right gorgeous?” Muffled and mean. It takes you a few tizzy seconds to realize that Geto wasn’t even talking to you at this point - clouded amethyst eyes locked on your saturated pussy. The way she was swallowing his reddened length endlessly, “Doesn’t even know what she m-missed out on ngh-”
Each pressurized force of his pounds left your heart racing, swabbing to leave geysers of pre in softened spots that you didn’t even realize you had - hell, you might just be falling in love.
Fingers dipping away from the prespired column of his flushed neck, just a mere slippery inch before you’re startled by his parched voice. Shaky. Begging. “No- nooo you d-don’t-” Geto’s clasp on your wrist is bruising - permanent. Wrapping your fingers back where they were beginning to form red banded marks ‘round his throat. Tightly. “Ch-choke me- choke me while I make you cum a sixth time, gorgeous.”
♡ CHOSO KAMO - Sweet Expresso
“Oh, baby…” Choso’s drawing out in a sweet, simpering sigh - entire mouth just watering at the sloppy bucketloads of slick pouring from between your sappy folds. It was like he had his favorite meal all laid out in front of him. “Baby baby baby—”
Your legs splayed apart on the soft mattress, twitching ever-so-slightly with every hot cloud of breath that your awestruck best friend was panting out.
In love with you. In love with your drooling cunt.
Back arching off of the sticky sheets, you’re lifting your hand to run over Choso’s long mahogany locks. Lower lip jutting out in a way that makes him almost whine-
“T-told you, Cho- no ex of mine has ever made me cum before by eating me out- ah!”
And Choso Kamo wasn’t one to interrupt his lovely lady. He wasn’t one to cut off the pretty noises you were making before they’d finished ringing in his ears - but now?
Oh, now he’s promptly bludgeoning his clammy head between your heated thighs. Stealing a hypnotized little kiss right on the edge of your puffy clit. Again. And again. And again and again and-
“F-fuck.” He’s gurgling in a hoarse little tone all the way from the back of his throat, a thin line of drool spraying from the upturned corners of Choso’s plump lips because he just couldn’t stop smiling. “I’m gonna m-make you cum, baby- me.”
You’re almost breathless at the way he sounded so desperate that it was pained; dark chestnut brows scrunching together as if in prayer. “R-really?”
It didn’t matter to him what your tch- exes have failed to do before, he neve thought they were good enough for you anyway.
Choso saw a pretty pussy he wanted to kiss over n’ over again and he couldn’t stop.
Pointed peak of his button nose pressing right into the perk of your clit, the scratchy pads of his tastebuds everywhere. Every vibration of Choso’s tremoring your snug outer ring, whimpering. “Yeah. Yeah, want you to cum- need- need you to cum.”
“Seems like you want me to cum more than ngh- I do, Cho–” You’re giggling out, eyes hazy with the curling swashes of his mouth pressing repeated French kisses on your puffed-up pussylips.
“Ngh-” God, he sounded so pretty - whining the very moment you comb your trembly digits through Choso’s velvety strands. Cheeks painted red with a delicate blush, his breath hitches just darting his eyes up to meet your own. Fully heart-eyed. “I do. Need to show m-my best friend what she’s been missing, baby.”
Thumbing apart the gluey fringes of your folds with a squelched pap! You’re feeling his plump tongue swirl out saturated hearts right on the sultry target of your clit - and he’s never looked more like he’s in heaven.
“Gonna f-fuck her now, m’kay–?” Just the thought of filling your snugly winking cunt up with his tongue is enough to have Choso’s hips rutting down on the mattress mindlessly. Groaning.
Needy.
He wanted you so badly - he’s been wanting you so badly for years and years and years - that you’ve barely even started your lazy nodding before he snarls back his teeth to swipe swiftly into your leaky hole. Ragged texture of his tongue swiveling into every ridge and crevice-
“S-so warm–” you hiccup, fingers tangling into Choso’s perspiration-matted hair because he was moving ravenously. Animalistically. Your oh-so-gentle best friend- you couldn’t even control him at this point.
And he couldn’t control himself.
Pinning you down with his powerful upper body, the curve of his sculpted deltoids dig into your rutting mounds of flesh once Choso grinds his chin underneath your treacly slit and roughly shoves your thighs apart. Further n’ further until it burned.
Groaning into the weepy mound of your cunt, his tongue slashes in an urgent in and out that makes your hips jerk- shit, you can’t help but think mindlessly that you wanted this…forever.
“H-hold on–” Choso darts out one hand to guide both of your own - allll the way until you’re steering the soft spheroids of his dishevelled spacebuns. Tightly. “Hold on t’me, baby. Use me- use me.”
He wanted you to use his hair to guide him. Faster.
And doing it so fervently. Folding to your every want and whim when you’re angling your hips into a tempo just the way you like it - Choso’s chin clacking into the base of your pussy, his nose rovering all over your sensitive clit. With squelch after squelch, you swear you feel him stall over that fleshy nub to take a loooong sniff of your cunt-
“Shiiiit- d-didn’t know you were s-so good-” You’re practically shrilling out, ogling the bob of his Adam’s apple after every gulp of your sweet, sweet sap. Your slick overfloods his mouth and puddles right up to his cheekbones. “Where did you even learn this?”
And for perhaps the first time ever in his life, your best friend doesn’t answer you immediately.
He doesn’t do anything but let the bed sing out splintering creaks! when he increases the speed of his motions - until you’re rendered spellbound.
You’re tugging more forcefully on one of his knotted spacebuns and he gives you the sweetest full-bodied whine.
“I i-imagined it.” Comes the shy answer, and a long few inches of two of Choso’s ringed fingers pumping your goopy cavern doubly full. He makes your tummy lurch just by gliding over your pretty g-spot, whispering. “With…you. With you all the time.”
And you don’t know whether it’s that little confession, you don’t know whether it’s the sudden press off of his doughy fingerpads into the sweltering hot bullseye of your g-spot - but something about it makes you cum.
All of a sudden.
“Choso-” Your breath hitches, pushing him ever-deeper between your legs. Spine electrifying with something white-hot, seeing fucking stars. He was right - you were missing out. “Choso.”
And if you were surprised, then Choso was enchanted.
Hips coming down hard to hump against the puffy sheets on the bed - feral. Through the crack in your woozy eyes, you sneak glimpses at the way his dark eyes twinkle, tips of his ears blazing red.
So pretty. The sight was enough to make your hips twitch with more and more sparks of euphoria - yeah, you were really missing out before this.
Long tongue slithering out to gyrate over and over fucking you through your high, your skin beads with blissed-out sweat with every peak he’s trawling out. Brows furrowed, Choso just couldn’t decide between licking his lips for the voluminous ounces of slick clinging onto his skin or fucking his wet muscle back into your wet mess again and again and-
“Fuh-fuck—” You’re hearing from above you, still so numb from your orgasm that it takes you a long few seconds to even realize that Choso had pulled away from his favorite spot making out with your pussy. And was now hovering over you with his red, furious cock clasped in one fist-
Your mouth lacquers with a fresh wave of greedy spit, dryly. “Cho?”
“Fuck fuck fuck m’sorry m’cumming–” He’s spitting hotly, fingers flying furious down the tender edges of his girth. Hunching over until his washboard abs were rippling almost painfully, every inch of skin burned an aroused red. “I can’t stop- I can’t stop, baby—!”
“Give it t’me.” You’re managing out, giggling at the strained whine it makes Choso spill out into the air. “Give it all to me, baby.”
His hulking body jolts like he’s been shocked with a million bolts of lightning at the mere sound of your voice. Gasping, “Don’t- don’t call me that or m’gonna-”
But it’s too late.
He’s not even given the mercy of finishing his sentence before Choso’s frosting your open entrance with such thick globs of cum. Ribbon after ribbon that sprays over your drooling slit in such a viciously syrupy sheen.
“Look- look what you’ve done.” He babbles away, slurring over the very curve of his mushroomed tip down your pussy - and it makes such a mess that Choso just can’t help but imagine how much messier it would be if he plugged you full of his seed from your deepest innards. Coral pink mouth slacking into an oh! at the puddles oozing below you. “Fuck- cumming jus’ from eatin’ ya out- ngh- o-only you, my baby.”
Sloppy.
But what was even sloppier was the way that it takes only two seconds for Choso to sift down till he was back lips-to-lips with your ballooned pussymound. Smiling. Giggling to himself.
You can only watch in awe when he takes a looong lick up your overstimulated slit, purposefully showing off the creamy layers upon layers all over his tongue. So much of it that you can barely see any usual bubblegum pink-
“C-can we kiss, baby–?”
♡ RYOMEN SUKUNA - Big, big O
“Hm? Have I got ya babbling like a cockdrunk lil’ slut already or what, ma?” Sukuna’s entrapping your cheeks between two fat fingers in an embarrassing little pout. The curled edges of his nails poking your heated skin, and he looks into your heart-eyes deeply. “Because I swear I heard ya say no one else has ever made ya cum.”
“I-it’s true–” you’re stuttering out, barely louder than the sappy squelches ringing from below. Your hips were rutting almost mindlessly into his and he found that so cute.
Well, if he wasn’t fucking irritated right now, that is.
Not at you - no, never at you even though he’ll never ever admit that. More so at those pesky lil’ losers before him that didn’t know how to work your pretty pussy properly.
So instead the king of curses slouches back on his decadent throne room, and if someone was to walk into his court - let them.
He’s leaving a stinging little swat! right at where your pussylips were spewing out the most ribbons of sloppy slick. Tugging your plump folds apart to give a thorough few slides of his dually aching cocks, “Stupid girl. I’ll be fucking damned if I never make my human cum.”
“Wh-wha-” Your eyes are snapping open with a gasp, immediately darting down to where Sukuna’s lengths stood hot and throbbing. He was certainly staggeringly bigger than anyone else you’ve had before…both of him.
“Nuh uh- are you second-guessing your king, girl-” Pointed, you’re rewarded with numerous spanks upon spanks that leave your perked clit stinging. His globular tip cleaning off the geysers of slick leaking out of you, “Now spread those legs n’ take it.”
Hands clawing precariously onto the mountain of his broad shoulders when Sukuna’s meaty thighs start bouncing to inch you down-
Fuck, you can’t help but lean all back and- god, it felt like you were being split apart. Two plummy crownheads mazing past your snug entrance, Sukuna was bullying up into every single sensitive orifice inside you without even trying.
“Gonna do more than make you c-cum, brat- just you fuckin’ wait. ” He’s spitting out into your drunkenly open maw, face twisted into a feral growl. “Just watch, ohhh just you watch.”
So hot inside of you, every wiry string of precum leftover in your gummy walls after each papping ride was scorching - and the only thing hotter was that fat, glutinous brush of something wet. Squelching.
Sukuna’s cushy pecs rumble instantaneously with a thunderous groan, “Mmm tastes as sweet as sh-she looks.”
“Wh-what is–” And you don’t know where to look - Sukuna’s handsome face, where he looked so very fucked, or down where his second monstrous mouth was making out with your overstuffed pussy.
He’s inching back even further on his throne to let the large glistening tongue - almost the size of your face - loll out. Drawing deft little circles on your teary slit, honing down right on the button of your clit. Tasting you. Savoring you. “Oh.”
“Oh? Oh?” Rolling his crimson eyes, “That all you can say? Maybe I really have fucked ya stupid.”
“N-no, I–” But you were - ah, you were.
All it takes is for Sukuna to lurch off of the sticky cushion of the throne with a creaking schwaf! Sultry hipbones smacking into the backs of your thighs, up n’ down. He’s hitting the very back of your dewy cervix with a resounding thud! drawing long, long lines with the sprinkling ends of his cocks.
God- pounding into places you never even knew existed before. Rubbing his puffed-up veins against the grazing area of your tender g-spot. Sukuna was having the time of his life making you break-
“H-heh, yeah right— S’that why you’re all drooling f’me, ma?” A plump palm comes down on your spit-flooded mouth to lather itself in a filthy glaze of saliva, all trickling n’ spilling down the sides of Sukuna’s wrist. “As if the king wouldn’t be able to make this pretty pussy cum- a-as if m’like those useless bastards.”
Speaking more to himself than you at this point. He’s muttering underneath his breath, light coral bows pinching together and concentrating.
Concentrating on striking your bulging magical spots with each second of his ruthless staccato - he wasn’t letting up just because it was your first time about to orgasm from someone else. He wasn’t going to go easy on you- no, you only find yourself growing ever-spellbound with each slip n’ slide of his matchingly rock-hard shafts.
Plap! The curved edge of his tongue swirls around your clit, and you all but sob. “F-faster, Kuna—”
Kuna, huh? He’s finding his brows quirking up - and if there was a faint pinkish blush breezing across his cheeks, well, then he was just glad the increasing pace of his hips is enough to drive you crazy ‘nough not to notice. Growling, “Greedy greedy.”
With two hands latched onto your hips, and another on the crown of your head to push you rudely into each one of his incoming thrusts, you’re being fucked like he had a point to prove.
“H-harder—” Your arms wrap in a wobbly semi-circle looped around his thick neck - and if there was anything that could get you even wetter right now, then it was a firsthand eyeful of your size difference.
“As you wish, ma’am–” Gazing down at his slobbery second tongue below, “Jus’ that way- make her scream.”
Scream you did.
Because Sukuna was monstrous, in both size and the rugged circular brandings he was leaving on your cervix. And the drag of his scratchy tastebuds down your pulsing clit- Oh, you could feel your thighs starting to shake already.
“S’gonna be a big one–” He’s tittering from above, something dangerous glinting in both sets of his cursed eyes. Peering in even closer - until you could count each heady pant of his - something catches Sukuna’s eyes and his breath hitches. “Oho? A reeeeal big one.”
And when he meant big - he meant big.
Because in only a few merciless hits, you’re not just cumming - you’re squirting. In thick, generous heavals of sloshing slick that drip down the sides of his sculptured front. It glazes all the way down to puddle at his throne, it makes such a slobbering mess that you can’t rip your ogling eyes away from it.
Gasping for air, head lolling from side to side at the sheer intensity. The buzzing electricity that sprints down your spine goes on for ages.
“What’d I tell ya? Love when you’re filthy, ma.” Sukuna gives your quivering cunt another spank of good job with the flattened base of his velveteen tongue.
Shit, how his second mouth was enjoying every peak of your orgasm.
Lapping out graciously to catch every fountaining squirt, the entirety of his pinkish muscle coats with a lather of pure gloss. He was drinking you in like he was addicted.
He is.
And you thought that might be it, you didn’t think with all your cottony mind that he would continue edging his tongue to slip right past your mushy hole. Smearing your entrance widely agape until your vision was flashing blissful white, “Do that f’me on my hah- tongue again, ma, n’ I’ll breed ya until you can’t remember your name.”
♡ GOJO SATORU - “She jus’ came.”
And that’s what makes you finally pry your gluey eyelids apart, batting tearily up at the filthy, filthy image of Gojo still plastered to your phone.
Pert, bubblegum tongue peeking out when he plugs his puffy pink head between your bawling folds and lets out a drawling sigh— “Fuck- y-you get me so hard, sweetheart.”
It’s almost as if he’s forgotten the yelling from your ex on the other end of the phone already. Forgotten everything but how warm n’ soft you were - you always did have that effect on him.
And it’s with leisurely, drunken motions that the strongest takes a looong few seconds to swab the doughy edges of his pale thumb over your slit. Up n’ down. Making you throb in a rapid ba-dump–! as soon as he smears the scorching hot ounces of sappy slick escaping from you.
Before darting them into his parched mouth with an exaggerated slurp!
There’s another tinny crackle from the call that makes Gojo’s pretty features twist in dark delight-
“T-Toru…” You’re squirming your hips impatiently, giving his pre-glossed, oozing tip treacly peck after peck. You might’ve just cum, but with Gojo your body always wanted more. “‘Nough teasing.”
“Ohhh? What’s that? This c-cute cunt wants me that bad, huh?” He’s snickering out into the speaker, a cute lil’ dimple embedding itself onto the edge of his smirk. “Bet you never had her begging for you like that, huh? Not when you’ve never even made her cum.”
Shit, as if to prove his point, he’s leaving a few generous heaps of sappy precum on your bloated folds.
Streaming out layer after layer that makes Gojo slide in even deeper. That makes him swipe down a few fingers across where you were most puckered and forcing out a saturated squelch. “Heh, that’s the sound of ‘er agreeing with me.”
Gasping, you’re swatting at the bulging curve of Gojo’s bicep - something that only makes his mushroomed tip even more achingly hard.
“Ah ah- hold on, buddy.” Before you know it, you’re feeling the sultry pap! pap! pap! of Gojo’s rounded thumb circling your overwhelmed clit. Sensitive. Buzzing with a few stray dredges of cursed energy, “M’about to do something your loser ass had never even hah- heard of.”
You were so pretty like this - his gorgeous girl. And you only ever deserved the best. So what if he made a show for that bastard ex of yours that just wouldn’t stop blasting your phone with calls?
He was going to make you his star.
“Prettyyyy fuckin’ pussy.” Gojo’s whispering - low, hoarse. Almost to himself when he slips apart your adhesive-like lips to steal a solid eyeful of your perked hood. “You’re missing out real bad, y’know?”
He really, really can’t help the few vibrating sparks bleeding through his thickened digits. Pressing down hard on that buttony tip of your clit, twisting n’ turning in all the right lazy circles, over and over. Just a single ounce of Gojo’s touch is enough to make your tummy lurch heedlessly, to make your thighs shake when he rovers ravenously to your nub-
And pinches.
“Sh-shit.” You’re gurgling out, head bent stupidly backwards into the velvety pillowcase. Hands clawing red all over the supple mountains of his deltoids. And you swear you can count each and every flex- “Toru- Toru, I’m–”
You don’t even get to finish your sentence before Gojo’s narrating it all.
Cerulean eyes glazed over with something…feral, coral pink lips loosening into a stark oh! Ones that Gojo himself has to lick over before he can even begin to rasp, “O-oh? Look at thaaat-”
Your maw slackens with free rivers of saliva that Gojo leans in and licks clean off. Giggling - giggling - once your gooey walls clench around the rock-hard crown of his cock, snug with that fat circumference. “Made her c-cum with jus’ my ngh- tip in her. She had to ngh- fake that all the time with you, didn’t she?”
He was in awe.
You wonder whether he’s even breathing at this point. Thinking.
But it was like Gojo had lost all control of his body - moving yards and yards in front of his melty mind. Because as soon as you can manage to jerk your head off of the perspiration-drenched pillow, he’s moving. Washboard abs tensing deliciously. Rutting.
All hot, plump inches of Gojo’s shaft rub your every tender orifice through and through. He’s pushing and pushing past your weepy pussylips like he never ever wanted to stop. Couldn’t stop.
“Fuck yeah–” You’re startling at the sudden syllables wrenching out of Gojo’s bobbing Adam’s apple, a slow line of sweat starting to trickle down his throat. But he simply flashes you one more sleazy grin, and two more pinches. “Show me wh-where I am, sweetheart- can you do that for Toru?”
“Y-yeah.” You’re whining, and somewhere in the distance sounds a gasp. The unsteady ends of your fingers curve all the way to about halfway up your tummy, pressuring a nudge at the cylindrical globe of Gojo’s crownhead mazing through you. Only halfway still. “Here, all the way u-up in my ngh- womb.
“Good girl–” He’s holding your mushy folds tighter together in a squeeze, so that his veiny cock was smearing even cozier - even louder. Squelch after squelch. Voice hardening, “Hear that? Fuck- fucking lucky you didn’t video call.” Slurring with every rugged thrust, it’s so hot inside you that he feels like he’s melting. Head lolling ever-so-slightly, “M’about to hit her cute g-spot now, but you wouldn’t know h-heh anything about that, right?”
If there was a response then you didn’t hear it. You can’t, because your ears are popping the very next second. Blurry vision tinging with black no matter how much you fluttered your heavy lids-
You think you’re cumming again. Once more. Twice more - so many years and years of missed orgasms crashing into you all at once until all you can do is latch onto Gojo’s muscled back and whine.
And he loved every second. Meaty thighs massaging against yours, your boyfriend pounds you through every peak. Harshly.
Tears bursting from the edges of your hazy eyes, head oh-so-cottony with the sheer burning stretch - it takes you a few seconds to realize.
To realize that he’d finally, finally bottomed out with a stinging plap! of skin-on-skin, brushing a fat glide down that magical spot. And Gojo finds himself shivering, he finds himself hunching over.
SLAM!
Your veins boil greedily at the way you get even wetter once he reaches up to strikes a powerful hand down on his mahogany headboard and splits it in half. Easily. Tensing abs rubbing down your front, “That sound? The s-sound of me about to make her my wife n’ fuck her full of my ngh- kids, asshat.”
Then suddenly your ears resound with that familiar ending tone. And it was just you two.
Eyes darting syrupily upwards, “G-glad he’s never going to c-”
Oh.
You were fucked.
Because Gojo’s eyes were blown wide - crazed. Smiling, and you think he’s never looked more like he was about to rack up a kill list higher than could be counted.
Stray bolts of lightning curl at the ends of his snowy lashes, flickering when Gojo leans down to give the tummy bulge he was fucking into you a slow kiss.
Lips grazing over his outlined puff, your heated skin gets hit with the splat! of something…wet. And it’s only then that you realize that you just made Gojo Satoru so pussydrunken that he was drooling.
“Jus’ you n’ me now, girl.” His chuckles make your most sensitive spots vibrate, and Gojo bucks into you mindlessly. Half-way through, like he couldn’t even bear the thought of pulling out. Could never. “Jus’ say the word n’ you can use the hah- s-strongest like a fuh-fucktoy.”
♡ HIGURUMA HIROMI - EMERGENCY, DR.~
“Hm, labia majora and minora are supple and soft.”
“Dr. Higu-” You barely even have the time to catch your breath before you can catch the tail end of your sentence. Voice breaking off into a lecherous whimper the moment the stern man hovering above you swipes a thick thumb over your throbbing clit.
Humming at the glossy rivulet of slick that seeps from between your puffed-up lips, it slathers a thick coating down his digits. “Good lubrication, clitoris is reactive, too. Spread yourself nice and open f’me?”
Before you even have the time to blink, Higuruma’s leaning back mere inches to take a looong, solid look at your splayed-out legs. You’re arching off of the cool examination table like such a slut-
“And above all–” He’s drawling away, and you swear you catch his lips quirk up into a sultry smirk. Dark brows arching, his strawberry pink tongue nips out at the heavenly sight of you. “-she’s pretty.”
This inspection was both such torture and heaven for you.
You’re whining, fists balling up mindlessly in his cottony medical coat - you can’t think. You can’t even say anything other than a few clouded pants of, “I- I need it- I just want to cum, but no one else has ever…”
“Ohhh, s’that so, sugar?” Your bottom lip wobbles like heedless jelly as soon as he caresses the side of your cheek. So close now that your tits heave against his rock-hard pecs, he’s boring into your yes so deeply. Pretty. “Then let Dr. Hiromi here help you.”
It took only mere minutes for Higuruma to have your face bullied down into the chilling plane of the table, a puddle of drool already ever-growing when he swabs his tip sensually down your slit.
“Easy there, easy there- spread your legs f’me.” Just about all you can do to listen to listen to his every word, your capped knees smear until Higuruma was getting a sinful eyeful of your glistening cunt. Already aching and so, so wet. “Atta girl- so needy…so, so needy.”
You’re flinching - full-bodied and gasping - the second he strikes your slick-flooding entrance with three exact wads of messy spit. Rolling the wadded mess over your bloated clit, “Pubovaginalis is tight- reeeeal tight, heh. Wonder if I’d even fit, angel–?”
Veering your head back to catch sight of his painfully hard cock, your eyes travel down his veiny length - the way it seems never-endless. Massive.
And suddenly you can’t help but let your mouth water at the way you want him inside you oh-so-badly.
“Oh?” Higuruma’s deep bass sends shivers running down your spine, and you can’t believe how you’re so positively soaked and he hasn’t even put it in yet. “Lubrication increased significantly- s’this turn you on, sugar?”
“Yes- yes.” You can’t even lie- fuck, you can’t even stop yourself from pushing your hips back in repeated ruts that graze Higuruma’s slender, expert fingers against where your core was the hottest.
Needy.
Cooing down at you, “Awww, s’alright—” The very sounds sends your heart racing, and your thighs shivering once he measures out a looong few inches from the very base of your treacly entrance to about halfway down your tummy. “S’gonna fit- m’gonna make it.”
Your jaw loosens as if you were stunned, “W-were you measuring out just how deep you’d be inside me- ”
“Of course, angel.” Dark tone much too smooth for the way that Higuruma was swashing aside his formal white coat to make room. “The muscularis will feel better ah- raw…” You needed him. To barely crown your drooling hole with the very rotund fringe of his fat tip, pushing. “Count now. Count every inch m’inside you.”
And a sudden dab into a bundle of nerves in your weepy orifice told you that he was serious. “C’mon- with me now. Oooone–‘
Your voice shaking as you whimper, “O-one…two.”
“Good girl.” Comes the response, and of course Higuruma was a good doctor. Of course he was rewarding you with a pinch to the hood of your nub, “Keep counting. Three–”
Drawing little patterns of his name right where you were most sensitive, he was poking his swollen veins saccharinely into every nook and cranny inside of you. Scouring.
It just makes you melt.
“Four- six?” The disbelief just kept piling on, and with a low moan into the hard surface of the table you’re bucking. Eager to find out for yourself just how many inches he was hiding away, grinding the plump of your clit over into his palm - all slathered in an oozing layer of slick now. “Sev- eight…eight!”
You swear you hear Higuruma snickering, “Close, but…” Right before he sucks in a sharply condensed breath and ruts- “-it’s nine.”
Bottoming out - finally. Until your spongy cervix recoils back with the sticky French snog of his readily puckered head, until your clit stings with the impact of his buxom balls thwacking!
And when Higuruma strikes, he hits. Dead-on into the bulging target of your g-spot, he’s laying on long n’ girthy inches that take up every square centimeter of space inside your snug pussy. Stretching out your glutinous walls to his exact shape until you almost feel like sobbing- “Hiromi–”
“Rhythmic muscularis contraction, body heart, heart rate increase- There we go, thereeee we f-fuckin’ go-”
Did you just make Higuruma Hiromi stutter? You don’t know what you’re reeling from more - that, or the fact that you didn’t know who was cumming first. You feel him shiver above you, “You’re cumming, angel– congratulations.”
Were you? Fuck- you were, riding your hips back into his swollen inches to drag out the burning stars bursting behind your heavy lids.
And Higuruma was just collapsing right down with you, his muscular body pinning you helplessly. Washboards abs practically melding into you and making your orgasm only increase with intensity.
Your mouth wrenches open with breathless whimpers upon whimpers and drivel, ones that Higuruma plugs up easily with just a few fingers over your maw. Tutting, “Hydration is important, sugar- though, you’re already like fuckin’ waterpark d-down hah- there.”
Not just with your own sugary juices - but Higuruma had cum, too.
Sloshing around a warm river of cum that knocks on your womb, it was so thick frosting your hole and way down into your thighs below. Streaming out until you felt like you were bawling from below, feeling the weight of his seed stick to your walls all filthily.
But Higuruma doesn’t mind the mess - he fucking loves it. Loves how it paints glistening rings on his bulky base, loves the way your cunt twitches once he scoops the escaping ribbons back in with two fingers. “Now for a full body check-up, sugar.”
Gojo Satoru didn’t believe in just one round during your birthday, no, he was a firm believer of making you have orgasms all day, sometimes not in the most appropriate places.
The day starts with his head in between your thighs, morning sun filtering through the curtains and casting a yellow glow over your boyfriend’s white hair. His long, slender fingers grip the skin of your thighs roughly as he dives into your sweet pussy, head rolling back as you moan and whimper above him.
The second time, it’s in the backseat of his car. You want to visit a garden centre on your birthday? Sure, as long as he can bounce you on his cock in a quiet area of the car park afterwards. You’re far too cock drunk to notice or even care if the car is rocking violently each time he slams you down onto his deliciously thick length.
The third time, two of his fingers are splitting you open in your friend’s bathroom. You should’ve known that Gojo would try this when you said your friends had invited you round for the afternoon with an open invitation for your boyfriend too.
“Satoru,” you begin breathlessly, legs involuntarily spreading wider. “Someone could hear.”
He presses open mouthed kisses along your neck, nipping at your skin playfully. “Then let them. Let them see how well you’re being treated on your special day.”
You can’t contain your moan as his fingers plunge deeper, reaching that sweet spot that made your legs shake. “You’ve already-mm-treated me twice.”
“Not enough for me, baby. I won’t let you sleep until I’ve given you at least six orgasms today.”
You barely register his words as your eyes roll back, familiar feeling building in your lower stomach as you thrust helplessly against his palm.
The fourth time happens on the couch, right after getting home and unable to even get a word out before Gojo is pushing you down, fingers already straying to your underwear. Somehow, you end up face down ass up, drooling over one of your favourite cushions as Satoru pounds into you again and again, causing the nastiest of moans to spill from your mouth.
The fifth and sixth orgasm happens during the same event, in a fancy restaurant. Apparently, Gojo had no awareness of his surroundings even in one of the most prestigious places possible. He apparently also thinks it’s funny to rub the sole of his shoe over your clothed pussy during dinner until you finish, hands gripping your cutlery in a desperate attempt to look composed. And then to top it all off, he fucks you again in his car, the passenger seat now, one hand firmly wrapped around your neck so you don’t accidentally turn your head and notice how everyone can see the two of you this time.
CHOSO KAMO ⸝⸝ 7.3k ⸝⸝ summary: when his regular gym closes down, choso is forced to use the crowded university facility—a frustrating change of routine that vanishes the moment he lays eyes on you. for a month, he plays the part of the quiet, deeply respectful art student who spots you during late-night workouts, quietly hiding a consuming infatuation behind his oversized hoodies.
contents: heavy smut (18+ mdni) - fem!reader - college au - art major!choso and reader - choso is one year ahead - kinda slow burn - silent pining - absolute perv cho - gentle giant - soft dom - size difference - cho has tattoos and piercing - scent kink/fixation - solo play - shower sex - cho is a messy eater - body worship and praise - multiple orgasms - overstimulation - sweet aftercare (lmk if i missed any!)
a/n: i've had this idea for a long timeeee, after so many weeks it's finally done hehe (and goodness it took 99% of my brainpower). choso + dualities make me absolutely FERAL—my head got so dizzy after writing this piece i need to take a step back and calm myself down
choso hated the university gym with a passion that bordered on holy. if he wanted to be perceived by thirty different guys named brad whose entire personalities revolved around creatine, shattered glass pre-workout, and casual misogyny, he would have joined a fraternity.
instead, he willingly paid forty dollars a month out of his miserable student earnings just to lift in a damp, dimly lit basement three miles off campus. there, nobody looked at him, nobody spoke to him, and nobody cared that his black nail polish was chipped or that his hair was tied back into two messy, ridiculous space buns.
it was his sanctuary. it kept the anxious, hyper-fixated noise in his brain at a manageable volume.
but on a miserable tuesday afternoon, the universe decided to test him. a laminated sign taped to the front door of his beloved off-campus haven delivered the devastating blow: closed for the next seven days for emergency plumbing maintenance and floor remodeling.
choso had stood in the rain, staring at the paper, feeling a slow, icy panic creep up his spine. a whole week without lifting? absolutely not. his mind would eat itself alive. desperate times called for desperate, humiliating measures. he was going to have to use his student id card and step foot into the university's recreation center.
he didn't just walk in blindly, though. choso treated the dilemma like a tactical covert operation. he spent the next few days calculating the exact peak hours of the campus social scene, charting the behavior of the obnoxious herds he so desperately wished to avoid.
friday night, he realized. 11:30 pm.
by that hour on a friday, the entire campus greek life was guaranteed to be blacked out at off-campus house parties, suffocating in a haze of cheap beer, or lining up outside bars downtown. the gym closed at 1:00 am. it was a golden, ninety-minute window of safety.
when friday night finally rolled around, the campus was damp and quiet. choso walked toward the massive, glowing glass building of the university gym, his heart beating a little too fast against his ribs. he felt exposed, even wrapped in his usual armor—a thick, completely shapeless black oversized hoodie with the strings pulled tight, and a baggy cargo sweatpants that dragged slightly against the pavement.
he approached the front desk, his jaw set, and swiped his student id at the turnstile. he braced himself for the worst, fully expecting the smell of axe body spray and the echoing shouts of gym bros to hit him the moment he rounded the corner.
instead, when he stepped onto the main gym floor, he was met with a ghost town.
the harsh fluorescent lights hummed quietly in the silence. the long rows of treadmills sat dark and stationary. the heavy iron weights were all neatly stacked in their racks, undisturbed. aside from a lone student employee half-asleep behind the towel counter on the far side of the building, choso was entirely alone.
a wave of pure, intoxicating relief washed over him. he had been right. the frat guys were gone, busy poisoning their livers elsewhere.
allowing his shoulders to finally drop, choso walked over to a secluded corner in the free-weight section, far away from the main mirrors. he pulled his heavy, noise-canceling headphones over his ears, drowning out the ambient hum of the facility with the familiar, aggressive comfort of his favorite post-hardcore playlist. he yanked his hoodie hood up over his hair, completely shutting out the rest of the world.
for the first time all week, choso relaxed. he grabbed a set of dumbbells to start his warm-up—completely, blissfully unaware that this was the very last night his gym sessions would ever be peaceful.
by midnight, choso was completely in his element. the heavy, screaming vocals blasting through his headphones blocked out everything else, creating a private wall of sound that matched the slow, deliberate burn in his muscles. he had moved over to the flat bench, adjusting his posture and gripping a pair of heavy dumbbells. his gaze was locked entirely on the speckled rubber flooring between his shoes, his mind blank, focused only on the rhythm of his breathing.
he leaned back, kicking the weights up to his chest, and began his set. one, two, three. he was halfway through his fifth repetition when a sudden, unexpected shadow fell over him. choso barely had time to process the shift in lighting before a light, tentative touch tapped him right on the shoulder.
the physical contact startled him so badly that his core completely unlocked. his grip faltered, his left wrist buckling inward as the heavy iron dumbbell threatened to slip from his hand. a sharp spike of adrenaline shot through his veins, and he practically fumbled the weights, dropping them onto the floor with a loud, echoing thud that rattled through the empty room.
"oh my god, i'm so sorry! are you okay?"
choso scrambled into a sitting position, his heart hammering violently against his ribs. his pale face flushed with an instant, burning embarrassment as he hastily yanked his headphones down around his neck—the muffled, angry music now tiny and weak in the open air. he wiped a hand across his forehead, preparing his best, most intimidating scowl to ward off whoever had just ruined his peace.
but the words died in his throat the moment he looked up. standing right in front of him was you.
you were holding a small gym towel, your skin lightly flushed and glowing with a thin sheen of sweat from your own workout. you looked genuinely worried, your eyes wide as you looked at him, adjusting the strap of your tank top.
"i really didn't mean to scare you," you said, your voice soft and breathless, a contrast to the aggressive screaming that had just been filling his ears. "i just wanted to ask if you were using the forty-pound weights next to your bench?"
choso stared at you, his throat suddenly feeling as dry as sandpaper. his dark eyes took in the messy way your hair was tied up, the slight rise and fall of your chest, and the polite, apologetic curve of your lips. his brain, usually so loud and overanalytical, completely went blank. he forgot how to speak, he forgot how to breathe.
"n-no," he stammered out, his voice a low, raspy gravel that he quickly tried to clear. he cleared his throat, pulling his hood down a fraction lower to hide the flush creeping up his neck. "i'm not using them. all yours."
you offered him a small, relieved smile that made his chest feel dangerously tight. "awesome, thank you so much. sorry again for the jump scare."
you leaned down, effortlessly grabbing the weights, and walked back over to an adjustable bench just a few yards away. choso sat frozen on his bench, watching your back as you walked away. his heart was still racing, but it wasn't from the adrenaline anymore.
he pulled his headphones back over his ears, but he didn't restart his music. instead, he just sat there in the silence of his own head, his eyes locked onto the floor as a single, terrifying thought bloomed in his mind: he was never going back to his old gym.
choso was a creature of habit, but habits could be easily rewritten when the incentive was high enough.
the following tuesday, his off-campus sanctuary sent out another automated email announcing that the renovations were finished ahead of schedule and the doors were officially reopened. choso didn't even look twice at the notification. he deleted it, swiped his screen shut, and stared at his ceiling, counting down the agonizing number of hours left until friday night.
he was completely, utterly gone for you.
during the week, choso reverted to his normal ghost-like state on campus. he moved through the fine arts building like a shadow, buried in the depths of his oversized, frayed black hoodie and wide-leg cargos, his fingers permanently stained with charcoal and oil paint. his long bangs fell into his eyes, a perfect shield from the rest of the student body. he didn't want to be seen by anyone.
except you.
when friday finally arrived, choso was a ball of nervous, vibrating energy. by 11:30 pm, he was swiping his student id at the turnstile, his heart doing a ridiculous, heavy flip the moment he stepped into the free-weight section.
and thank god, there you were.
for the next three weeks, this became your unspoken, late-night ritual. the gym was always a dead silent ghost town, save for the rhythmic hum of the ventilation and the occasional clink of iron. you had your routine on your side of the floor, and choso had his on his side. you would exchange a small, polite nod of acknowledgement whenever he walked in—a tiny gesture that secretly made choso's entire week—but otherwise, you left each other alone.
at least, physically.
internally, choso's mind was a dangerous, hyper-fixated place.
he pretended to be entirely absorbed in his own workouts. he would sit on the bench with his headphones on, staring blankly ahead like a stoic, brooding statue. but behind the dark fringe of his hair, his eyes were locked onto you.
as an art student, choso was trained to study form, anatomy, and lighting—but with you, it felt like an agonizing form of torture. he analyzed the way your muscles shifted and flexed under your skin when you lifted, the tight strain of your thighs and glutes when you did squats, and the delicate, sharp line of your collarbones. his brain automatically translated the view into a series of raw, unedited figure drawings, tracking the trail of sweat as it rolled down the side of your neck, soaking into the collar of your sports bra.
a heavy, dark ache would pull tight in his lower stomach every single time you let out a low, breathy pant after a heavy set. his body tried to betray him, threatening to grow hard right there on the gym floor.
but choso forced it down.
every time his thoughts started to cross the line into something genuinely filthy, he would fiercely bite the inside of his cheek until he tasted copper, forcing his gaze back down to the rubber flooring. he felt an intense, protective wave of guilt whenever his mind wandered too far. don't do that, he would tell himself, his chest tight. she's just trying to work out. don't be disgusting. don't disrespect her.
when he returned to his dark dorm room at 1:00 am, throbbing and completely overwhelmed by the scent of your perfume and sweat that seemed to linger in his nose, he didn't touch himself. he would lock the bathroom door, strip out of his clothes, and force himself into a freezing cold shower. he would lean his forehead against the damp tiles, his fists clenched as the ice-cold water sprayed over his burning skin, ruthlessly killing the desperate ache between his thighs that threatened to drive him mad.
he told himself he could control it. he told himself he could keep you on a pedestal, purely as a beautiful, distant muse.
he had no idea that his fragile self-control was about to completely shatter.
by week four, choso's luck finally pushed him over the edge.
it was a quarter past midnight. choso was finishing up a set of lat pulldowns, his hood down for once because the gym felt unusually warm. he was breathing a bit heavily, wiping his neck with a towel, when he felt that familiar, intoxicating shift in the air.
a shadow fell over him, followed by a light tap on his shoulder
choso turned around, his chest fluttering immediately. "hey," he said, his voice dropping into that low, quiet rumble he only used when speaking to you.
"hey," you smiled, looking a little out of breath yourself. you bit your lip slightly, pointing a thumb over your shoulder toward the bench press station. "sorry to bother you, but i'm trying to hit a new personal record on my final set, and i really don't want to crush my windpipe. do you mind giving me a quick spot?"
choso's brain stuttered. a spot. after three weeks of forcing himself to stay away, to keep his hands to himself, you were asking him to stand directly over you.
"yeah—yeah, of course," he managed to say, standing up quickly before his brain could talk him out of it.
he followed you over to the bench. you lay down, settling your shoulders against the black leather, while choso stepped up to the head of the bench, planting his feet firmly apart on either side of the metal frame. from this angle, looking down, his view of you was devastating. your chest was rising and falling, your eyes locked up at him, trusting him completely.
"just help me lift it off the rack on three, okay?" you murmured, reaching up to grip the barbell.
together, you guided the heavy bar off the pegs. you took the weight, pausing for a second before lowering it slowly to your chest. choso hovered his hands right beneath the bar, his fingers curled, completely focused.
but as you pushed the weight back up, your muscles straining—a low, guttural groan escaped your throat.
the sound hit choso like a physical blow, fracturing the wall of restraint he had spent three weeks building. combined with the view of your arched back, the flush of your skin, and your absolute vulnerability beneath him, his body bypassed his brain entirely. all that suppressed, backed-up desire rushed straight to his crotch in a hot, violent wave.
within seconds, choso developed a massive, raging boner that pushed hard against the fabric of his baggy grey sweatpants.
oh, fuck, choso panicked internally, his eyes widening—because he was standing right above your face. the prominent, thick ridge in his pants was dangerously close to your line of sight. three weeks of cold showers vanished in an instant. he immediately hitched his hips backward, awkwardly arching his spine away from the bench to create distance, his heart hammering against his ribs in sheer terror that you would see how pathetic he was for you.
you pushed through the final rep with a sharp exhale, and choso quickly gripped the bar, helping you slam it safely back onto the rack.
"oh my god, thank you," you panted, sitting up immediately and rubbing your arms. you laughed a little, looking up at him with a bright, grateful smile. "i definitely would have died on that last one without you."
choso kept his hands casually draped over his crotch area, shuffling half a step back into the shadows, his entire body trembling from the effort of holding his composure. "you did fine. great form."
you didn't stand up right away. instead, you tilted your head, studying his face. "you know… i've been meaning to ask. you look really familiar. do you have classes in the fine arts building? on the studio floor?"
choso's heart did a violent stutter. "uh, yeah—i do, i'm a printmaking and painting major."
"i knew it!" you said, your eyes lighting up. "i'm a year below you in the sculpture program, but i see you in the halls all the time. you're always tucked away in the back corner of the studios, wearing those huge hoodies with the strings pulled tight. it's funny seeing you here without charcoal all over your face."
choso felt a burning blush crawl up his cheeks, all the way to the tips of his ears. you noticed him. you knew who he was outside of this empty gym. you shared the same late-night, messy, creative world.
"yeah," he mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck, his knuckles still strategically shielding his front. "i, uh… i like it quiet. both in the studio and here."
you smiled, stepping just a fraction closer as you casually offered your name, introducing yourself properly for the first time since you'd started sharing the floor. choso's entire body went completely rigid at the sound of it. your name felt heavy in the air between you—a beautiful, sharp reality replacing the nameless fantasy he'd been harboring for weeks. "choso," he managed to choke out in return, his voice thick as he gave you his own name. "nice to meet you."
"nice to meet you too, choso." you murmured, your voice dropping into something a little softer, a little more intimate as you looked up at him through your lashes. you took a slow step backwards, your eyes lingering on him for one final, devastating second before you turned to gather your things. "you know, i usually hate late-night workouts… but knowing you're always there? that's why fridays are my favorite."
choso felt the air leave his lungs. he couldn't tell if he was genuinely imagining things now—if his own pathetic, desperate fantasies were finally bleeding into reality and making him hear things that weren't there. but the soft, knowing look in your eyes felt entirely too real.
choso barely remembered how he walked back to his side of the gym after that. his self-control wasn't just broken; it was completely demolished, his mind spinning in a chaotic loop over your parting words. had you meant it? or was he finally losing his fucking mind?
the moment he stepped inside his dark room, there was no cold shower. he didn't even make it past the entryway. choso slammed the door shut, locked it with a frantic click, and shoved his grey sweatpants and boxers down to his knees right there against the wood.
his cock snapped free, completely upright, throbbing violently and weeping thick, heavy drops of pre-cum from the sheer agony of the twenty-minute walk back. he let out a low, ragged sob into the empty room, his hand wrapping around his length in a brutal, iron-tight grip. he squeezed hard, a sharp whine tearing from his throat as his hips jerked forward, instantly smearing his own slick up and down his shaft.
he closed his eyes, and the darkness behind his eyelids immediately filled with you.
because he was an artist, his memory was devastatingly vivid. he didn't just fantasize; he reconstructed you. he pictured the exact way your lower lip looked trapped between your teeth when you were straining under the barbell. he pictured the heavy, glistening sheen of sweat coating the delicate dip of your collarbones, the way your sports bra squeezed your chest, and the tight, mouth-watering curve of your thighs arched on that leather bench.
but what truly made his blood boil, what made his thick cock throb with a vicious, demanding ache against his palm, was the sudden intoxicating realization of your size difference. standing right over your face on that bench, he had felt so devastatingly big.
his artist's eye automatically compared the two of you—his broad, heavy-boned frame, his wide shoulders, and his massive, blunt hands against the softer, giving curves of your body. he imagined how effortlessly he could engulf you. he pictured your body pinned completely beneath his dense, imposing weight, swallowed whole by his shadow. the sheer contrast of it—how he could completely overwhelmed you with his height and mass, forcing you to look up at him while he held you down—made a low, feral sound rip from the back of his throat.
"fuck," he whined, his pace turning fast and punishing. his knuckles, still stained with a faint trace of charcoal from his afternoon studio class, rubbed friction against his burning skin.
he squeezed his eyes shut tighter, desperately chasing the auditory memory of your workout. he wanted your sounds. he was completely, helplessly addicted to them. that low, guttural, breathy groan you had let out right beneath him—he replayed it over and over in his head, matching the rhythm of his fist to the memory of your breath. he imagined what it would feel like to force those exact noises out of you himself. he wanted to push himself so deep inside you that you'd make those heavy, strained sounds against his ear, over and over until you were entirely spent.
his mind took a darker, filthier turn as the friction started to blur his thoughts. he looked down at his own hand, but in the fever-dream of his arousal, he imagined it was your hand. he imagined you gripping him, your small, soft palm slick with his pre-cum, looking up at him from the floor with those wide, trusting eyes while you made him stroke himself.
and then, the smell hit him.
the faint, intoxicating ghost of your scent had transferred onto his hands when he adjusted the barbell, or maybe when your shoulders had lightly brushed. it was a heady mix of clean vanilla perfume and raw, warm skin-musk. choso's breath hitched. completely unhinged, he brought his free hand up to his face, pressing his knuckles hard against his mouth and nose. he took a deep, shuddering inhale, practically drinking the scent off his skin.
god, he was an absolute freak. a disgusting pathetic pervert. if he could have stolen your damp, sweat-soaked gym clothes right out of your locker just to bury his face in them and inhale you until he suffocated, he would have done it in a heartbeat. he wanted to track the scent of your sweat with his tongue, licking it off the curve of your neck, tasting how salty and warm you were.
but more than anything, his mind was utterly enslaved to the memory of your introduction. having your actual name in his possession was a dangerous, lethal upgrade to his madness. it wasn't just a fantasy anymore; you had a name. and it tasted like absolute sin on his tongue.
he started chanting it into the quiet darkness of his room. he whispered your name against his trembling knuckles, his voice a low, ruined prayer that matched the frantic, bruising rhythm of his hand. every time your name left his lips, a fresh surge of hot pre-cum leaked from his tip, his body physically reacting to mere syllables of your identity as if you were casting a spell over him. he repeated it over and over, faster and louder, turning your name into a dirty, desperate plea.
"ah—shit… please…"
the vocalization of your name snapped the last thread of his sanity. choso's movements became completely frantic, his hips slamming blindly against the door as he stroked himself with an unforgiving, desperate speed. his toes curled into the carpet, his entire body trembling as the pressure behind his hips reached a breaking point.
he imagined you standing right there in the dark, your hands guiding his hips, whispering that fridays were your favorite, too.
with a choked, breathless gasp, choso's knees completely buckled. he threw his head back against the door with a dull thud as his body spasmed, blowing a thick, hot, messy white flood all over his charcoal-stained fingers and the floor. he whimpered, his chest heaving violently in the quiet room, his leaking cock still twitching weakly in his hand as the heavy waves of pleasure wrecked him.
he slid down until his thighs hit the floor, completely covered in his own mess, very aware that he was entirely, hopelessly enslaved to you.
the next two weeks were a slow, agonizing descent into madness for choso.
ever since the night he had broken his restraint in his dorm, his mind was entirely corrupted. his sketchbooks were no longer filled with abstract layouts or still-lifes; instead, the pages were cluttered with charcoal studies of the human form—the curve of a waist, the flex of a thigh, the precise angle of a neck arched back in a phantom groan. he was losing his grip, completely consumed by the ghost of your vanilla scent and the memory of your voice.
he still played the part of the quiet, stoic classmate during your friday sessions, but the air between you had shifted. it was thicker now. every time your eyes met across the empty gym floor, choso's stomach would coil with a dark, expectant heat.
which brought him to this particular friday.
choso had run out of clean laundry—or perhaps, deep down in the desperate, pathetic corners of his soul, he was simply tired of hiding behind his armor. he dug through the very bottom of his dresser drawer and pulled out a pair of light grey sweatpants and a tight, black, long-sleeved compression shirt.
when he walked into the university gym at 11:30 pm, he didn't have his oversized hoodie to protect him. he was completely bare.
you were already there, finishing up a warm-up stretch near the free weights, when the turnstile clicked. you turned your head casually to nod hello, but the moment your eyes landed on him, you froze completely.
without the baggy fabric of his hoodies, choso's true physical form was devastating. his shoulders were incredibly broad, tapering down into a surprisingly narrow waist, and the thin, elastic material of the black compression shirt clung to the heavy, carved planes of his chest like a second skin. the fabric stretched tight over his thick biceps and long arms, mapping out every cord of muscle.
and those grey sweatpants were doing him absolutely no favors. the soft, light cotton left nothing to the imagination, casting a prominent, heavy shadow right down the front of his thighs that made it very obvious how much weight he carried between them.
choso felt your gaze like a physical brand on his skin. he watched your eyes dilate, your jaw going slightly slack as you traced his silhouette before quickly looking down at the floor, your cheeks flushing a violent, sudden pink. the shy, swallowed-up emo boy you thought you knew was actually fucking jacked.
for the first time, choso felt a sudden, dark thrill pierce through his veins. you weren't just casually looking anymore. you were staring. you were flustered. the power dynamic had just completely shattered.
"hey," you said as he walked over, your voice sounding a little tighter, a little more breathless than usual.
"hey," he mumbled, adjusting his grip on a set of heavy dumbbells.
for the next forty minutes, the gym was a total disaster zone for your focus. you kept fumbling your sets, your eyes helplessly glued to the way his broad back flexed under that black fabric. choso noticed every single glance, his heart hammering against his ribs, his body humming with a dangerous, quiet confidence he didn't know he possessed.
finally, as the clock crept toward 12:45 am, choso moved over to the deadlift platform to finish his workout. he was loading heavy iron plates onto the barbell, his chest heaving slightly, when you slowly walked over. your gym towel was clutched tightly in your hands, your knuckles white.
"um, choso?" you murmured, looking up at him through your lashes.
he paused, wiping a bead of sweat from his temple, his dark eyes locked onto yours. "yeah?"
"i… i was thinking," you began, your eyes momentarily darting down to his chest before snapping back to his face. "you've been helping me out for weeks. you always spot me, and you're always so nice about it… i kind of feel bad that it's only been you helping me. do you… do you need a spot on these? or do you want me to help you stretch out afterward? you look really tense."
choso's breath hitched, the heavy weight in his sweatpants twitching violently at the offer. help him stretch. the mental image of your hands pressing against his thick thighs, guiding his legs, or leaning over his back made his head spin. he looked down at you, acutely aware of how his looming height entirely shadowed you under the gym lights.
he looked around the gym. it was empty. the digital clock was ticking down to closing time, and the air between you was practically vibrating with unsaid desires.
"yeah," choso whispered, his voice dropping into that low, gravelly register that made your core throb. he leaned down slightly, his dark eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made it feel like he was branding you right then and there. "i'm almost done. i could use your help."
your chest heaved as you nodded, unable to find your voice under the heavy weight of his gaze. you turned together, falling into step right beside his massive frame. the transition from the open weight floor to the stretching mats in the far corner felt like stepping directly into an active furnace.
you had laid out a heavy foam mat in the dim, amber shadow of the room, offering to guide choso through a cool-down stretch since his shoulders looked so tightly coiled. but the moment you stepped close, the physical reality of his frame hit you like a wall of heat. when you pressed your palms against the dense, burning expanse of his back, your breath caught. under the smooth, slick fabric of his black compression shirt, his muscles felt like carved, unyielding stone. he shattered your rhythm the second your skin met his, letting out a low, ragged exhale as his broad chest heaved under your hands.
when you stepped around to his front to help guide an overhead arm stretch, your bodies brushed. the sheer, towering height of his looming frame completely eclipsed you under the dim emergency lights. you looked up, your pupils wide and completely dilated, only to find choso staring down at you. his dark eyes were pitch-black, his irises swallowed up by a gaze so raw, intense, and heavily possessive that it made your core violently throb with a sudden, weeping ache.
he didn't wait for a verbal answer. his large hand slid down to wrap firmly around your wrist, guiding you away from the clanking iron of the lifting racks.
the restraint he had spent a month building was officially gone.
with a single, unyielding tug, choso hoisted you up and herded you backward through the heavy, double doors of the communal locker room. the thick door clicked shut behind you with a definitive, echoing thud, sealing the two of you into absolute isolation. the air inside was already thick and humid, heavy with the rising, damp steam from the automatic ventilation hooked to the shower stalls in the back.
he didn't waste a single second. choso pressed his massive body forward, driving you back into the narrow aisle until your spine met the cold, hard metal of the lockers. before you could even utter a word, his restraint completely snapped.
choso buried his face directly into the crook of your neck, letting out a deep, shuddering, almost violent inhale. his nose dragged roughly against your hot skin as he practically drank your scent in, entirely feral for it. his mind flashed back to the quiet agony of his lonely dorm room, to the pathetic weeks he had spent sticky and shaking in his sheets, imagining this exact smell. but this was real. he sniffed you deeply, trailing his nose up the sensitive line of your throat, completely intoxicating himself with the heady, sweet mix of your vanilla perfume and the raw, warm musk of your workout sweat.
"god, you smell so good," he groaned against your skin, his voice breaking with a desperate, ragged edge.
his large hands came up to frame your face, his calloused palms tilting your head back as he slammed his mouth down onto yours. it was a messy, ravenous, completely drunk make-out. choso was entirely intoxicated by your lips, his tongue sliding deep into your mouth, tasting you with a desperate hunger that made your knees go weak. he kissed you over and over, his lips bruising yours, sucking on your lower lip until you were both gasping for air, the wet, sloppy sounds of his mouth completely filling the quiet locker room.
he dropped heavily to his knees on the tiled floor, his hands instantly reaching up to grab the hem of his black compression shirt. with one swift, fluid motion, he pulled the tight fabric over his head and discarded it carelessly.
your breath left you entirely, your eyes widening in absolute awe. without the shirt, choso was a towering, breathtaking canvas of raw, imposing anatomy. his smooth skin was covered in dark, heavy ink—intricate, black surrealist tattoos wrapped completely around the thick meat of his forearms, climbing up his bulging biceps, and tracing the hard, carved cuts of his chest and obliques. he was built like a god, a terrifyingly large giant, yet as he looked up at you, his eyes were wide and full of a shaking, reverent vulnerability.
with steady, trembling fingers, he hooked his thumbs into the waistband of your gym shorts and undergarments, stripping them down to your sneakers. his brain completely shut off the moment your naked body was exposed to him. he stared, his jaw slack, his chest heaving as his eyes mapped out every single inch of you.
"you're… you're really here," he rasped, a look of pure, euphoric disbelief washing over his features. "i'm not dreaming. you're actually letting me touch you."
he effortlessly parted your thighs, his large hands gripping the back of your knees to pull your legs up, pinning them wide over his broad, tatted shoulders. choso didn't care about being neat; he was hungry and completely desperate.
before even touching his tongue to your center, he buried his face in the soft meat of your inner thighs, trailing heavy, wet, open-mouthed kisses along your skin. he dragged his nose roughly against your folds, inhaling deeply with a sharp, ragged gasp that shook his entire frame, completely unhinged by your scent and warmth.
when he finally slid his tongue straight up your soaked folds, the heavy, silver barbell piercing split right through the middle of his tongue hit you completely unaware. you’d been so entirely consumed by the bruising, desperate heat of his mouth against yours earlier—so utterly drowned in the taste of him and the dizzying rush of his hands on your skin—that you hadn't even registered the faint, metallic slide of it against your own tongue.
you hadn't expected it at all—the sudden, piercing contrast of that cold, hard metal bar sliding right over your swollen, sensitive clit sent a violent, shattering jolt of electricity straight down your spine. your back arched completely off the lockers, a loud, broken gasp tearing from your throat.
it was a lethal sensory overload. choso drank in your reaction, using the metal to rub and vibrate against you in wild, heavy strokes that smeared your wetness all over his chin and lips. your hands flew blindly to his head, your fingers tangling desperately into the messy, damp strands of his hair to pull him even closer, pinning his face against your cunt.
you were already so worked up from a month of tension that it didn't take long at all; under the ruthless, heavy friction of his pierced tongue, your body tightened instantly. a devastating, screaming orgasm crashed over you within seconds, your thighs trembling violently against his neck. choso groaned into your pussy, sucking you softly through your release and swallowing every single drop of you, completely euphoric that his darkest, loneliest fantasies were finally coming true.
he slowly stood up, panting heavily, his chin glistening with your slick. without a word, he stripped out of his grey sweatpants. when his length snapped free, your breath gasped out. he was terrifyingly huge—thick, heavy, and weeping dark drops of pre-cum. your eyes widened, a sudden spike of nerves hitting your chest at the sheer structural size difference.
sensing your fear, choso's expression softened instantly. he lifted you effortlessly, your legs automatically wrapping around his waist as he herded your trembling body into the communal shower stalls. he snapped the metal handle, and a steady stream of warm water beat down on his tatted back.
choso braced your back gently against the wet tiles, lifting one of your legs and pinning it securely against the thick meat of his hip to open you up completely. before pushing in, he paused, his breath hitching as he dragged the head of his cock directly over your weeping entrance. he rolled his hips in a slow, agonizing circle, running his slick tip up and down the length of your soaking center, teasing the sensitive skin until your hips automatically buckled against him, begging for the friction.
"i'll be gentle, promise," he murmured softly against your lips, his voice a soothing, quiet contrast to his heavy size. "just tell me if it's too much—i've thought about this every night... i don't want to hurt you."
he pushed forward slowly, an inch at a time, and the tight, agonizingly perfect stretch made you sob out loud, your forehead burying into his neck. he was too big, filling you so deeply that it felt like he was bottoming out against your very soul. you could feel every ridge of him stretching your walls to their absolute limit. choso let out a low, gravelly groan, his entire body shaking as he stopped, completely motionless, letting you adjust.
"you're okay," he whispered softly into your ear, his large hands coming down to heavily grope and worship your body. he squeezed your hips, his tatted fingers digging into your skin, before sliding up to cup your breasts, his thumbs rubbing your nipples through the running water. "shit, look at you... you're taking me so well. so perfect for me."
he began to pull back, almost all the way out, before plunging back in with a slow, devastatingly heavy weight. he hammered into you with a desperate but careful pace, his hips pressing firmly against yours. he didn't just push; he worshipped you with every stroke, tracing his lips along your jawline, biting softly at the pulse point on your neck whenever a particularly deep plunge made you cry out his name.
"fuuuckk, that's it," he murmured, his voice cracking with pure emotion as your walls clamped desperately around his length. "say my name again, baby—let me hear you."
"mnghh—choso... choso," you sobbed, completely unraveled by the rhythm, awestruck by how someone so massive could hold you with such tender, protective care.
"i've got you," he whispered, his large hands lifting you slightly higher to change the angle, sinking even deeper into your softness.
with the new angle, choso plunged all the way in, the massive, thick head of his cock bottoming out completely and hitting directly against your cervix. the sudden, deep ache was a lethal spark; the friction inside you shifted instantly, and a wave of pure, unadulterated pleasure began building up with terrifying speed. you could feel every single thick ridge of him stretching you open, driving you completely over the edge. your mind fractured as you came undone for the second time, your vision blurring as a loud, echoing cry tore from your throat.
the devastating orgasm caused your walls to spasm and clamp down ruthlessly around his dick, tightening around it like a vice. the intense, crushing suction completely shattered choso's control. he threw his head back, his tatted shoulders bunching tightly as a deep, guttural groan tore from his chest. his hips slammed forward one last time, pinning you flush against the wet tiles as he came violently inside you, pulsing thick and hot, filling you to the absolute brim with his release.
he didn't pull out. even as the water washed over his inked skin, his length stayed thick, hard, and demanding inside you, his cock still twitching and pulsing deeply against your raw, swollen walls. you could feel every single throb of his aftermath inside you, making you let out a weak whine as you buried your face into the hot crook of his neck. he pressed his forehead against yours, both of you panting heavily, the steam rising around your bodies.
"don't move," he breathed softly, his lips brushing yours. "don't move yet. i want to stay inside you."
choso shifted his weight, gathering your trembling body entirely into his arms and pulling you up off the tile wall. he guided your other leg around his waist, holding you completely flush against his massive, wet chest, trapping you entirely in his shadow. since you had already come twice, your entire body was completely spent, and a jolt of pure shock ran through you when choso’s hips gave a sudden, slow, experimental roll.
"hmph—choso, wait..." you gasped, looking up at him with wide, glassy eyes.
he looked down at you, his dark eyes heavy-lidded and completely glazed over with a dark, terrifyingly needy lust. he looked so soft, yet so entirely unhinged by the taste of you. "one more... just one more, please, sweetheart?" he begged, his voice a gravelly, trembling whisper against your lips. "you're so tight—i can't get out."
you were already so incredibly overstimulated that you couldn't even form words, able to make only broken, needy little sounds against his chest. your fingers curled blindly into the damp skin of his shoulders, your nails scratching desperately down the dark ink of his back—but the stinging friction only made him growl, his grip tightening ruthlessly around your ass as your resistance turned him on even more.
with your bodies pinned chest-to-chest, he dragged his tatted hands through your wet hair, tilting your head forward to bring your mouth to his for another deep, heavy, sloppy kiss. your tongues tangled, the hard metal of his piercing sliding heavily against yours, making you taste the intoxicating mix of your own sweat and release on his lips.
he didn't rush. choso backed up just enough to prop one of his heavy feet on the shower bench, tilting his hips back. his gaze dropped down, his pitch-black eyes tracking lower to look directly at the point of connection between your bodies. you watched through blurred vision as he stared, completely fascinated, watching his massive, dark shaft plunge all the way into your dripping cunt, churning up the filthy, frothy ring of your combined releases and his own thick cum. the wet, sloshing sounds of him fucking you were amplified by the echoing shower stall, white cream bubbling out and smearing over his tatted thighs with every agonizingly deep stroke.
"fuck, look at you," he whispered between heavy, wet kisses, his voice thick with a profound, quiet awe as his eyes stayed glued to the messy, ruined sight of your pussy. "look how much of me you're holding. all ruined for me—can't look away from you."
"nghh—choso, you're... you're still so big," you gasped out as he began to roll his hips again. the second expansion felt even deeper, more thorough than the first, the thick head of his cock ruthlessly punishing your cervix over and over.
"'m sorry," he murmured softly, though his actions contradicted his apology as he sank all the way in, bottoming out completely and burying his balls flush against your wetness. "you just feel too good—i can't help it. let me love you like this, just a little longer."
he rolled his hips forward again and again, sinking into you with an agonizingly slow, deep rhythm that made your vision blur. every push was accompanied by a soft, reverent kiss—on your eyelids, your cheeks, your mouth, and the sensitive skin under your ear. he turned your entire body into a canvas, worshipping you with a gentle but unyielding stamina, his heart completely overflowing with the euphoric reality that you were finally, beautifully his.
the automatic shower ventilation hummed a low, droning bassline as the steam slowly began to clear from the room, the heavy mist settling into a damp, quiet warmth.
choso stood mid-dressed in the narrow space between the shower stalls and the benches. he had managed to pull his grey sweatpants back on, the thick waistband sitting low on his hips, but his massive upper body was still completely bare. his smooth skin was flushed dark pink, the heavy black tattoos on his chest and arms glistening under the dull overhead facility lights.
you sat on the wooden bench right in front of him, a large, fluffy white towel draped loosely over your head to catch the dampness of your hair. your body was still completely spent, your inner thighs aching with a heavy, lingering numbness.
despite the water being off, choso hadn't moved away. he stepped in close between your knees, leaning down so his massive frame completely shadowed you. his hands came up to gently frame the sides of your face through the fabric of the towel, and he leaned in, resting his forehead against yours. both of you just breathed together for a moment, the quiet, synchronized sound of your exhales filling the empty locker room.
choso slowly opened his eyes, looking at you from beneath his messy, damp bangs. the terrifying, pitch-black intensity from the showers had completely faded, replaced by that familiar, quiet softness that usually hid behind his oversized hoodies. his cheeks pulled a sudden, dark pink flush—not from the heat of the room, but from a sudden wave of sheer, boyish bashfulness.
he cleared his throat, the sound low and gravelly in the empty space. carefully, almost timidly, he reached into your gym bag and pulled out a fresh, dry set of clothes you had brought along.
"here," he murmured, his voice dropping into that quiet, hesitant register.
he didn't just hand them to you. instead, his massive, heavily inked hands gathered the soft fabric of your clean t-shirt. his touch was incredibly gentle, a stark contrast to how ruthlessly he had been holding you against the tiles just minutes ago. he carefully guided the shirt over your head, his blunt fingers catching on the collar to make sure it didn't snag on your damp skin, before pulling your arms through the sleeves with a quiet, domestic focus that made your heart melt.
he paused, his eyes darting down to the floor, then back up to your face through the towel still framing your head. he rubbed the back of his neck with his tatted forearm, looking suddenly, hilariously out of his depth now that the primal fog had cleared.
"um," choso began, his voice cracking slightly. he shifted his weight from one foot to the other, the heavy, dominant monster from the shower stall completely transforming back into the shy art student who didn't know what to do with his hands. "i know... i know the timing is really bad. and it’s probably not very gentleman-like of me to ask this... especially right after we just—after what we just did."
he took a deep breath, his dark eyes looking down at you with a completely endearing vulnerability.
"but there’s a 24-hour diner and cafe just two blocks from campus. they have really good iced coffee, and... and sweet pastries. i was wondering if... if you wanted to go grab something to drink with me? like... a date. a real one."
you stared up at him from beneath the towel, your heart swelling so violently it cut off your breath. hearing this massive, fully tattooed, pierced giant softly ask you out on a proper, polite date while his bare chest was still flushed from your touch was the most charming thing you had ever experienced.
"i would love to, choso," you whispered.
a small, breathtakingly genuine smile broke across choso's face, lighting up his features. "okay," he rumbled softly, bending down to press one final, sweet, lingering kiss to your lips before reaching for his own hoodie. "let's finish up. i'll buy you whatever you want."
SYNOPSIS !! choso is initially a little irritated when his customers start dropping like flies. come to find out, they have only moved on to a different dealer, you! he did not expect to gain a crush on the girl who packs pre-rolls with hellokitty stickers.
> plug!choso x plug!reader
> fic + smau combo! mainly leaning towards smau thooo
AUTHOR'S NOTE !! WOOP WOOP poll isn't even finished yet but i was so bored guys... pt2 will honestly (maybe) come out tmr bc i have more ss but tumblr wouldn't let me add it on my phone ( ,,⩌'︿'⩌ꐦ,,)
credits!! pics from pinterest, choso art from thatsallitchief (I THINK), divider from pixopix
when choso's orders started declining, the last thing he expected was because someone else poached his regulars from him. and even more so, he never would have expected that the latest campus plug was a girl that used pink paper for rolling and put 'thank you' notes with her orders. it was sukuna that showed him what your packages looked like.
choso doesn't really know why he asked for your number. just like how he didn't know why sukuna was buying from someone else when sukuna usually bought from him. he decides to texts you on a whim.
choso buys a couple pre-rolls from you and asks to meet. from simply texting you, choso decides that you are a little too chipper to be a plug. but he supposes he wasn't one to judge.
he meets you at some random lot and his first thought is that you look exactly how you text. even from where you stood in the distance, you wave and give him a grin so wide choso is sure your cheeks hurt.
you meet midway and you greet him happily, "hiya! you're choso, right?"
he nods, "you're honestly exactly what i was expecting."
you tilt your head to the side in confusion, "what's that supposed to mean?"
"nothing bad, sweetheart, i promise," choso chuckles, pulling out his wallet and taking out the cash. "you just look like the kind of girl that sells pink pre-rolls and adds stickers as freebies."
you jokingly snatch the cash from his grasp. "and what's wrong with that, hm?"
"not a damn thing," choso tells you with a smirk.
later when choso heads back to his place and lights up the pre-roll he bought from you, he finds himself chuckling as he takes a puff from the pink joint. suddenly, he can't blame his regulars from buying from you. your shit was pretty damn good for the price and who wouldn't want to meet up with a cute girl to buy weed?
for the next few weeks, choso finds himself texting you pretty often. he doesn't know why yet but he's become infatuated with you. can you blame him?
choso lets out a sigh as he swipes out of your contact to message gojo.
(true form!sukuna x chubby!reader) | fluff/ crack / suggestive
you were convinced sukuna was somehow made for cuddling.
four large arms wrapped around you, holding you close — broad chest pressed against your back, large body radiating constant heat.
you had your head resting on his bicep, the size of it basically acting as a slightly smaller, more comfortable version of a pillow. sukuna had another arm draped around your waist, hand splayed across your soft tummy, the other two arms in similar positions. he was practically squeezing you in his sleep.
when you stir during the night, he tightens his hold, securing you against him further so you can’t leave. not even for a second.
you were both warm and drunk with sleep, the soft morning sun beginning to beam through the windows.
you stir first.
a lazy sigh, a soft shift of your hips, body dying to stretch its muscles. you peek behind you, catching sight of sukuna’s sleeping form, four eyes glued shut — pink hair messy in the best way.
you wriggle a little, cautious you don’t wake the grumpy cute beast behind you. the moment you move more than an inch, one of sukuna’s eyes snap open, watching you try to slide out from beneath his arms.
"no." he doesn’t say much — he doesn’t need to. sukuna could keep you curled up next to him for eternity if he wanted. you were helpless against him, especially when he was needy like this.
he tightens his arms further, pulling you back against his chest with a lazy grumble. your soft curves only made sukuna want to keep you in bed with him longer — your body was so supple, so cozy.
"kuna, i need to use the bathr-"
"quiet."
you sigh quietly, desperate to stretch your legs and empty your bladder, or even just have a second to breathe without being crushed by the grumpy oversized cat behind you.
"i can’t hold it much longer-" you warn, squirming sukuna’s hold again, pinching his arm in protest. he doesn’t move, not even a millimetre, your protests falling on deaf ears. "kunaaaa!" you whine.
"i do not care, woman. disturb my slumber again and i will eat you," he mumbles, throwing empty threats around like he actually means them. he lets out a sound that could only be described as half whine, half growl, setting back in.
you giggle lightheartedly, wiggling your ass against him in a playful manner. you may have to resort to other techniques to get the man to release you from his iron grip. "…oh yeah?"
sukuna cracks an eye open again, one hand finding your hip, halting your movements. "you have woken me up. do not wake them also," he rasps, trying to ignore the two growing bulges under the sheets.
"let me use the bathroom and i’ll say good morning to you properly," you grin, grinding your full ass against his crotch. he hums lowly, clearly satisfied with this idea, yet slightly irritated he’d have to spend a few minutes without you curled up against him.
slowly, he relaxes his grip, letting you slither away towards the bathroom. "be quick, woman."
he already missed you.
a/n; i wrote this after a few cocktails so… here’s this i guess… sorry it’s so short ugh (also this isn’t part of chubby concubine series i hope i made that clear idk LOL)
