⡴ gojo cannot undo your bras for the life of him ⡴ suggestive/a little bit of boobs and grinding
every single time you’re sitting infront of him, lips interlocked, moaning into his mouth … he just can’t seem to unhook your bra himself.
this time, he’s laid out on your mattress while you straddle his hips. he’s dressed in just his underwear that cling to his pale thighs while you sit atop of him and panties and, his worst nightmare … a matching hook-closed bra.
“fuck.” he grumbles breathlessly into your mouth, not even meaning for it to slip out, just an uncontrollable reaction to crossing paths with his mortal enemy. you pull back slightly, still close enough your breath lingers on him.
“what?” you ask, brows furrowing together while his slender fingers tap at the lacy fabric. you squint down at him while his gleaming eyes vacantly look at you. “satoru? you okay?”
he nods quickly while your words snap him out of his thoughts. mostly just ‘fuck’ repeated and ‘why can’t i just blast this stupid thing off?’ you lean down to kiss at his soft lips again, thinking it’s just one of his weird space outs that happen every so often.
he kisses back, leans to his side and tries to distract you with his tongue in your mouth—or atleast buy him some time to figure this the hell out. he can’t believe he figured rct out at 17, yet at 28 he’s still clueless when it comes to something that should be simple.
his fingertips build up the courage to trace over the hooks while your arms scrunch at his stark white hair. your hips grind down onto his heavy bulge like you’re trying to fuck him through the layers of fabric separating him.
he tries to give himself a peptalk while you’re attacking at his lips, that it’s not that difficult and if he gets this over with he can just fuck you already.
his thumb clasps onto one side of the backing, trying to pull it away carelessly from the other end. no dice. he tries to thread the hooks off one by one with a a single finger at once. you start to foster a confused look on your face as you pull back for air. he finally tries to bring the sides together before yanking them apart… he gets the hooks tangled in the lace some-fucking-how.
you yank back from his mouth, spit still trailing between your faces between the string eventually breaks.
“are you, like, not in the mood?” you ask, utterly confused. you’re actually worried at this point that he just doesn’t wanna fuck you from how much he’s hesitating—couldn’t be farther from the truth may he add—even despite the pulsing boner sitting against you, and his eyes open wide at your words.
he immediately shakes his head fervently to signify NO. “no, no, no! i just…” he hesitates, embarrassed before the words can even fall out of his mouth. “…need help getting your bra off.”
“really.” you deadpan, staring down at him with your eyes squinted and eyebrows pulled up against your forehead. he flushes against your gaze. he’s about to plead out a sorry for ruining everything before you giggle.
you slink your arms behind your back and undo the clasps along the band.
he thinks he cums a little in his pants when you yank your bra off your head and toss it across your room, revealing your breasts to him right infront of his face. he might even have drool pooling at his lips.
“you really never learned how to take off a bra?”
“can we just forget about this and let me fuck you?”
