[tonycries]

It's Raining Men

Synopsis. Every specimen: the hot nerd that tutors you, his punk best friend, the pink-haired frat president, the sensible history professor, the emo boy with 11 inches, the buff campus security! They have only one thing in common—bréeding you.

Pairing. Gojo Satoru x Reader, Geto Suguru x Reader, Ryomen Sukuna x Reader, Nanami Kento x Reader, Choso Kamo x Reader, Toji Fushiguro x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem!reader, college AU, nerd!Gojo, punk!Geto, frat boy!Sukuna, professor!Nanami, emo boy!Choso, security guard!Toji, ALL of the JJK men (at once), f/m/m/m/m/m/m, ovuIation, BRÉEDING, mentions of having kids, oraI (fem +  maIe rec.) handj’s, fíngering, manhandIing, HEADLOCKS, biiig stretches, spítting, chokíng, p talking, rough s, restraints, they’re FÉRAL, Geto with piercings, Choso with piercings, making Gojo whímper, first times (Gojo), everyone penetrates at some point, D descriptions, big D’s. dírty taIk, voyéurism, running from it, bickering during it, EiffeI tower, DP, DÚMBlFICATlON, MAJOR overstím, anaI pIay, matíng presses, fuIl neIsons, cervíx kíssing, lessons, waIked in on, SLOPPY s, slight exhíbitíonism, creampíes (like a lot), cúmpIay, cúmfIation, pet names, swéaring.

Word count. 20.4k

A/N. Happy new year!!

“—thus, during this stage of ovulation it is natural to experience a surge in the luteinizing hormone (LH), which heightens the desire to…” Gojo trails off.

You’re looking up from your notes, just in time to catch him pushing his glasses up his ruddied face. Hands shaking. Breaths heavy. You tilt your head in confusion, “Which heightens the desire to what, Satoru?”

“You know…”

You’re shaking your head with a laugh, “Isn’t that why I begged you to become my tutor?”

“It increases the desire for ah…an interplay of intimacy from which…blossoms the natural by-product of a…um—” His voice cracks. And seeing your look of concern, Gojo lets out a stabilizing breath and tries again, “The…the birds and the bees?” 

“Ah!” Stifling a giggle, “You mean it heightens the desire to get pregnant.” 

And you take your sweet, sweet time jotting it down in your notes - long enough that Gojo Satoru hopefully calms down-

“…Do you feel it?”

“What?”

“Do you feel the desire to get pregnant?”

The pen clatters out of your hand.

“W-wait, I’ll get it!” Gojo stammers out, disappearing beneath the long library table before you can say anything. His head of angelic white hair contrasts against the sleek mahogany, so at odds with the devilish question that’d just left his mouth - so perhaps it was only so fitting that when Gojo sunk in to get your pen…you could feel his soft hair graaaaaze against your thigh-

You shiver- sweeping a look around at the bored university students to make sure that nobody saw. Or overheard. 

And in the next second, he’s coming back up.

“I believe this is yours.” Gojo’s lips tremble in shyness, flushed as if you’d just thrown him into a furnace. He holds the pen out gingerly towards you, which you take - along with a moment to inspect him. Admire him, more like.

Gojo Satoru.

Human Calculator.

A++ being the lowest grade he’d ever gotten.

Pigs would fly before he didn’t take the #1 spot on the Dean’s List.

It didn’t need to be said that Gojo Satoru was one of the sharpest minds on campus - yes, perhaps even amongst the professors. For you’d seen Yaga hold him back after class on more than one occasion to become marvelled by his physics thesis. 

But that wasn’t where the problem lay.

The problem lay in the fact that not only was Gojo one of the smartest men you’ve ever met - but he was one of the cutest, too. That snow-white hair and ice-blue eyes made it impossible not to spot him amongst a crowd - always a few heads taller than everyone else, always crushing some textbook to his chest.

Thick glasses. Fast steps.

He nervously avoided eye contact in the hallways, and it’d taken you multiple tries to successfully tap at his shoulder and get his attention. Earlier in the semester, you’d pleaded your case to Gojo about how you’d been getting absolutely abysmal grades in Yaga’s class lately. After that it’d only taken you a little poking and prodding (‘do it for the love of science!’) to successfully convince the nerdy boy to tutor you once a week. 

Though he was blushing and fidgeting throughout the entire interaction…

The tutoring became a routine. The routine became a rhythm. The rhythm became a relationship that you’d honestly consider to be good friends.

Through these sessions you discovered that Gojo became rather talkative when he wanted to be, rather sweet, rather funny. And you weren’t blind to his good looks either, of course…In less than a semester’s time, you reached one of the top five spots in Yaga’s class. Despite that, the two of you continued your little tutoring sessions in your back corner of the library every week like normal.

Well, normal except for right now-

“Thank you.” You’re belatedly saying, gesturing at the pen.

To which Gojo scratches behind his neck sheepishly, “It’s no problem, of course!” He flushes even deeper the moment you turn your eyes towards him, looking as though he wished to sink into the light blue ocean of his sweater. “And about what I said earlier-” His pale brows scrunch together in a way that made him look adorably pleading. “-forget about it. Forget I ever asked something so-”

“I do.”

He snaps his azure eyes towards you at your interruption, twinkling behind his glasses. “P-pardon?”

“What you asked me.” You’re leaning over the table, the neckline of your shirt dipping juuust a tad—and you watch as Gojo gulps when his eyes flicker down. Unable to help himself. “I do feel the desire to get fucked pregnant sometimes.”

Gojo flinches at the way you’d worded it, prominent Adam’s apple bobbing. “Sometimes?” 

“Sometimes when I ovulate. Sometimes just in general on those late nights, I guess.” Your eyes hone in on the squirming man, “Though that depends on who I’m thinking of at the time.”

“Thinking of who’d be the-”

“The father, yes.”

Pushing his glasses up with jittery hands. “And have you ever thought of…” His question trails off, voice sounding as parched as if he’d just run several marathons in the scorching heat. And he was burning up just as much.

You cock your head to the side, “You?” He jolts at the mere word.

Only nodding.

“Would you be upset if I said yes?”

Only shaking his head.

And then Gojo mutters something underneath this breath that you don’t quite pick up on.

“What was that, Satoru?”

When Gojo looks at you once more, you notice that his eyes are blown wide. Dazed. Daydreaming. Beads of perspiration form on his upper lip as he stutters, voice oddly high. “I said- you’re set to ovulate in about t-two to three days from now.” Your mouth drops a little—didn’t that lil’ app on your phone say the same thing just yesterday? How did he know? Under the table, Gojo’s knuckles were pure white and gripping his knees. “I ah- one time you were late to a session because of your cramps. And ever since then I always sort of…kept track, you see.”

Your eyes widen- so that was how Gojo always somehow knew to sneak your favorite sugary treats into the library on the days of your period. You did begin to wonder…

“I…I see.”

“You see.”

You cock your head at him, “And do men feel the same desire?”

He whispers, “Depending on the person…”

“Do you?”

“Yes.” Like the most sinful confession.

Without a word you’re reaching out and tugging his notebook towards you. His breath hitches as he watches you flip between pages of neat handwriting - lessons curated just for you - before pausing at the very end of it.

You’re biting back a smile at the way he’d scribbled your name over and over on the last page, hearts doodled around each one. You write—-The pregnancy list.

1. Gojo Satoru.

“Wh-what are you doing?”

“Every good experiment has an apparatus list.” You’re looking up at Gojo with a sly smile, “You taught me that.”

Certainly not like this. “I did, but-” He looks around as though someone in the library would walk by and see what you’re writing.

“And every good experiment has material considerations, too, right?”

“W-well, yes, but…”

You continue to write.

1. Gojo Satoru.

Super cute

Probably a big D

Secret freak (tracked ovulation!??)

However has no experience (not quite a con?) and no place to fuck in (single bed + has a roommate, Geto)

“Hmm, how do you feel about being the independent variable?” You tap your pen on your chin.

Gojo whips his confused blue eyes towards you, a tiny furrow between his white brows. “What do you…”

“The independent variable.” Just in time, you’re looking up to catch the sight of a certain black-haired man entering the library. And you know who it is instantly - there was no man quite as pretty as him on campus. Handsome, sure. But this pretty? It was your best friend, someone you’d met in your first year and knew even before you knew Gojo. “Just like you’re tutoring me now, Satoru, haven’t you ever thought of someone-” His silver piercings glinting in the daylight. His stylishly tattered Sex Pistols t-shirt showing off toned skin. His lips stretching into a feline grin as he spots the two of you. “-tutoring you?”

Something electric runs down Gojo’s body, and he’s just about to turn and look behind when-

Geto Suguru throws an arm over his best friend’s shoulders and tackles him into a headlock, winking at you. “Hard at work, gorgeous?”

You nod, because the one thing about lists was that when you started one—you just wanted to keep on adding to it.

2. Geto Suguru.

Fucking PRETTY

Rings 

In a band

Already super close friends. Two in one go??

.

.

.

SUGONDEEZNUTS created a groupchat.

SUGONDEEZNUTS added Gojo Satoru.

SUGONDEEZNUTS added you.

SUGONDEEZNUTS named the groupchat ‘Juno, y’know?’

SUGONDEEZNUTS: Yo, sorted a place big enough for us~

SUGONDEEZNUTS: 8PM.

SUGONDEEZNUTS added RyomenTheK!ng.

.

.

.

“C-could you keep your panties on, sweetheart?” Gojo blushes as he stutters out the words. He’s looking down between your legs and slidin’ a thumb between your pussylips, collecting the slick syrup gathered on top of your light blue underwear. 

You raise a brow, “I didn’t think you’d be the type to have a panty fetish, Satoru.” Maybe you were right about him secretly being a freak…

“It’s just- they’re the same color as my eyes.” Those very same blue irises peak out at you above the rim of his glasses, partially fogged with condensation. “M-makes me think that we’re having…a boy in nine months or something like that. Maybe twins. A boy and a girl?”

Your jaw drops, “Oh-”

And it’s the only noise you’re managing to get out before Gojo slots his pretty pink cockhead between your legs. Just letting the thick curvature of it press aside your pussy’s folds before he’s rutting—like an animal. 

Gojo was just painfully hard already, swollen with need, bursting out in bouts of precum that left your thighs all wet. He was just so excited—he’d damn near cried once he managed to get you sprawled out on a bed that wasn’t yours. One of his doughy pink thumbs swipin’ your underwear to the side and getting a goooood long look at that pussy of yours-

“N-ngh—” His eyes fall shut, entire body shuddering at the sensation of your pussy throb-throb-throbbing away beneath him. Erection sliding down your front. Sandwiched by your cunt. Gojo Satoru - always so eloquent, always so intelligent with his words - can only heave his body forward and whimper- “S-scientifically, the presence of your panties won’t be a haaah- limitation in me breeding your pussy, right?”

“What are you even asking…”  You’re blinking up at him, “Satoru, you’re not seriously that pussydrunk, are y-”

“Oh look…” Gojo’s eyes widen as he watches a webbed line of his own precum slide down your slit, and that only leaves his sharp mind racing. “Scientifically, can your pussy talk, sweetheart? Because your unica mucosa vaginae is sounding like she wants me already.”

And then follows the utterly sloppiest squelch as Gojo pushes his thickened tip at your sensitive hole and starts to puuuush—

Your cute tutor had been the first one to take off his boxers - and it really was true what they say about nerdy boys being…bigger.

He was about nine entire inches, and the most adorable rosy pink at his tip - one that matched the blush on his face. Only growing more and more, thicker and thicker, every time he was swipin’ his velvety shaft between your folds and trying to fit inside.

Pushing and pushing.

Stretching out your quivering orifice.

Gojo was just so sensitive—you’d asked him earlier whether this was his first time, and the nerdy boy had only blushed and mumbled something incoherent. Though his cap of precum that just kept on pouring out told you everything you needed to know - even now he was squeezing just the barest inch of his tip into your hole and groaning. Twitching. 

“O-oh—” His pre-glossed tip slips out of your hole and slides-slides down the middle of your pussylips, “Fuck- I need at least the urethral meatus inside to successfully breed you, sweetheart. N-need to be inside your pussy…”

“You really wanna knock me up, huh?” You’re whining out.

“So badly.” Almost shyly. Gojo can only let a dopey smile stretch across his lips at the notion, sounding out-of-breath already. He’s keeping his thumb hooked on your panties, urging his hips closer with the most sinful sounds. “S-soooo fucking badly.”

Just draaaaawling out his agonizing groan as he shovels his thickened shaft between your pussylips. Without warning, he’s then pressing both hands upon either side of your legs, pushing them even wider open. 

You yelp, “Satoru-”

And then with you pinned down to the mattress, Gojo reels his slender hips back to thrust and thrust his raging hot cock into your pussy. “Gonna fuck you now…” The globular red edge of his shaft kisses your entrance and starts stretching the first resistance of your hole. Starts bending his curvaceous inches inside you. “Gonna fill the introitus- fill her up with my cock.” Starts making your walls immediately clench at the sudden intrusion. 

His jaw falls slightly apart at the feeling of being sucked inside by you, your slick orifice plugged up with his length. “Gonna fill her up with my kid—” Just letting his furious cock get one taste. 

One of his inches pushed inside your cunt. 

Just one.

Before Gojo’s throwing his head back with a cracked wh-whimper.

Before his entire body shudders.

Before his entire cock seems to zap with a carnal electricity.

And you’re feeling the hot sensation of something slatherin’ at your pussylips, raising onto your elbows to look between your legs. And the sight you’re seeing- fuck, it’s a pure white mess at your core and puddling onto the expensive silk sheets below.

He was cumming.

Just from that.

Your eyes widen, “Satoru, you’re already-”

“Fuck.” Gojo breathes out, head now pushing into the crook of your neck. Something warm and wet falls on top of your skin- and only then do you realize that Gojo Satoru was sobbing at the mere feeling of your pussy surrounding his cock. “F-fuck, I can’t believe…”

His creamy cum was spilling out in surges, drawing vertical lines between the crevice of your pussy in some lecherous pattern. Incessantly. Hotly. He’s webbing up your puffy folds and thumpin’ his rotund tip between your cunt to smear them. Lines upon lines. Layers upon layers. 

Like he couldn’t stop himself no matter how urgently he’s reaching a hand up to squeeze at his thickened base. “Sh-shit, s’not stopping.” The nerdy man babbles away, white-knuckling at his swollen cock in order to try and plug himself up - but it doesn’t work. He’s even pulling back a bit to move his thumb on top of his leaky divot. And he’s still not stopping. “Shit, I can’t control myself. Your tunica mucosa- your pussy just feels too good.”

“You’re s-still cumming…” You whine.

“Too good.”

He’s just dribbling out hot cum, creating an ivory gloss over your folds that drips around your thighs.

Gojo feels the wetness of it seep into his abs and pulls away from your neck, looking up at you with his teary gaze. He snaps his eyes down to the white sap that smears out of you and moans. Voice cracking at the back of his throat any time he’s shoving his honed hips between yours. “C-can I go again to your womb this time, my girl?”

You’re just about to open your mouth to answer when-

“Now now, Satoru…”

“Yer fucked if you think you’re getting her all night.” A familiar, gruff tone spits. “Especially after that embarrassment of a performance.”

You’re turning your head to the side of the bed - to the two men that watched from chairs facing the bed.

Geto Suguru.

Ryomen Sukuna.

3. Ryomen Sukuna.

Frat boy™ (leader of Curses Epsilon)

Probably REALLY good in bed

On his way to become a pro wrestler (headlocks omg??)

Might be rough…

Ryomen Sukuna had just gotten off from practice when Geto had called him.

And he can’t lie - he hadn’t exactly felt like answering the phone then. The two weren’t exactly what you’d consider friends, but neither were they not friends. Sukuna kept his circle close, you see—only his brother, his nephew.

Though recently there had been the development of a certain little someone. Sukuna had noticed you at one of his wrestling matches by chance, and ever since then it seems that he couldn’t stop noticing you. At his parties. At their fundraisers. At lecture halls that Sukuna purposefully took the long route to pass by - just to get a glimpse of you.

And he’d been considering asking you to be Curses Epsilon’s sweetheart, but that was neither here nor there!

Geto Suguru wasn’t someone that Sukuna would dub himself acquainted with to even that extent. His rock band sometimes performed at the infamous parties Sukuna threw, and it wasn’t really usual for him to call Sukuna outside of this.

But fuck was he glad he’d picked up the phone that day.

Because that was what got him here with you.

Snuck into his frat house. Laid out on his king-sized bed. 

Your eyes locked with his—

Sukuna’s cock throbs between his legs at the ruined expression on your face, and he’s immediately feeling a rush of jealousy at the white-haired man. Snapping his narrowed gaze to the other, “Such a pretty gal begging for you ta breed her and you embarrass yerself like this?”

“Sh-she just feels too good.” Gojo lovingly gazes at your overspilling cunt. Before looking at the frat president again, “You wouldn’t understand.”

Sukuna hates this man even more.

“O—okay, how about we don’t look like we’re gonna beat each other up, hm?” Geto’s silky tone breaks through the saturated air, and you’re squirming at the way his rings glint in the dim lighting.

He’s noticing the slight movement instantly, gaze flicking between you and his fingers. Realization splashes across his face, and the next time he speaks it’s with his voice dipped just a bit. “Oh, you’re a naughty girl, aren’t you? But you want that pussy to be treated like a princess?”

Gojo gapes as you nod, “M-maybe…”

“No need to be shy, gorgeous.” Geto hums, drawing even closer to you. “We’re all friends here.”

The mattress dips just a little bit as he sits down on the edge of the bed, his ringed fingers reaching out and dragging across the sheen of white covering your calves by now.

Geto lets the slick coating form on his fingers, smearing it on the tips of his digits. “Mmm, what a waste. Don’t you know that a princess is supposed to orgasm before she’s pumped full of cum, Satoru?” Tutting.

Somehow, you always did think that your closest friend would be the type to drag sex out for hours. To drive you numb with pleasure, to be so sweet—at least, his words were.

And even Gojo seemed to be quietening down his grumbling to listen, the only other sounds in the air being the plapping! of him still trying to rover his blushin’ cocktip even deeper. “W-well…”

“And don’t you know that a princess is supposed to be teased before she’s fucked?” His amethyst eyes seem to glow with amusement, and something else. Something…darker. “You’ve gotta make her cry first.”

Oh.

A primal shudder rips right through you.

Not sweet. Definitely not sweet.

You’re whining after his elongated syllables, “Please-” Tears spurting up to your eyes when Geto forcefully grabs ahold of Gojo’s slender hips and bodily pulls him backwards. Both hands positioned on the other man’s hips, keeping his throbbing cock warming inside your walls for a few seconds before puuuuuushing inside you again. He manages to fill you up in a way like you’ve never been before, his smooth shaft filling your every orifice. “P-please, Satoru-”

“Like that.” Geto hums, “Hard. Long.”

And Gojo gapes at the way you seem absolutely ruined beneath him, “I didn’t even realize…” 

“Mhmm, at this rate we’re never getting her pregnant.” Geto rolls his murky eyes, nails digging into Gojo’s hips once more. “Now more.”

“What?”

“Move.”

Your lashes flutter open at the way the long-haired man commands the other.

Geto’s tone was just so steely, and all it takes is a single word to make Gojo Satoru pull out of you. His long cock bobbing between his meaty thighs, tuggin’ out with the most lecherous squelch!

A wadded up web of cum follows him as he does so, connecting his irritated tip to your cunt still. Just red-hot and drippin’ with your slick syrup. At the sight of it, Gojo looks as if he already regrets his decision - but moves over to let Geto take his place anyway.

And both roughened hands - much, much rougher than Gojo’s, with so many years of training those fingers in his punk-rock band - press-press-preeeeeess your jittery thighs open. Firm. Unyielding, even as you whine at the stretch. Geto’s throwing his silky hair over his shoulder, sinking onto the carpeted floor at the foot of the bed. 

His knees hit it with two loud thuds!

“And what’d you think you’re doing up there, hm?” In an almost bored tone, Geto raises a brow at his best friend seated still on the bed. In a split-second, he’s grabbing onto the back of Gojo’s flushed neck and dragging him down onto the floor as well.

Side by side.

Gojo yelps as he’s brought ever-closer to your open legs. “What do you think you’re-”

“Teaching you how to eat a pussy properly, duh.” As if it should be obvious, Geto rolls his eyes. “This pretty princess deserves better than your sloppy self.”

With your elbows resting on the springy mattress, you peer over at the two men who nudged their faces closer to your drippin’ wet pussy. Both their eyes gleaming in excitement the nearer they were- it’s almost as if they were fighting for purchase between there.

Each one lightly shoving the other-

“Spit on her pussy, Satoru.” Geto’s sing-song voice was dark.

Gojo’s eyes widen, “Wh-what do you-”

“Spit. On. Her. Pussy.” Geto throws his long locks over his shoulder and smiles, “Right into her pretty hole- but if you make a mess that’s even better.”

“Why would I wanna make a mess?” Gojo huffs, nose crinkling cutely. 

“Virgin.” Geto titters.

The blue-eyed man looks up to meet your eyes- and flushes. Puckering his lips up nervously, they tremble just a little as he somehow drips out a line of slick on top of your cunt.

And Geto only looks down to appraise the mess he’s made, his chunkily ringed fingers swirlin’ the glaze with the front of his thumb. “Mm, I could’ve done better.”

They were both so fucking hard.

Geto turns back to you now, eagerly waiting. “See this tongue, gorgeous?” Unhinging his jaw, he lets his loooong and lavish tastebuds stick out for you to see. Slicked with watery saliva. Studded with a silver tongue piercing in the middle of it. “See it? S’what I’m gonna ruin you with- watch and learn, Satoru. Watch and learn…”

And you’re hearing it before you’re feeling it. Seeing it. 

The slurp of Geto’s slick tongue shoving between your sultry folds - just lengthy lines licked back and forth on your slit. He doesn’t speed up. He doesn’t act ravenous. Lingering his orbed piercing against every spot he can reach inside of you- no matter how much you’re restlessly squirming above him, he doesn’t go harder. Just light and fleeting.

Rubbing his ridged tastebuds against every orifice, sucking up Gojo’s ivory sap, letting his tongue juuuuust fill up your tight hole before fishing out- 

Making the other man balk, “H-hey!” His best friend was just making a mess of you, with his tongue lappin’ over the coats of cum that he’d poured out on your cunt. “That’s not fair- the seminal fluid is supposed to go inside the vaginal canal in order for internal fertilization to-”

Geto lazily cracks open an eye at him.

Before grabbing Gojo by the back of his throat and shoving him nose-deep into your cunt as well.

“Then do something about it.” He smiles.

Both of them had their greedy mouths open against your pussy.

Tongues flopping out and thrashin’ maddeningly against your cunt - Gojo’s a little longer than Geto’s, but Geto’s with his frigid piercing in the middle that scraped into your every orifice. It’s as if you were suddenly surrounded by the ridged texture of their tastebuds, until you couldn’t tell which one was which. Every sweet spot. Every fold. Dual tips aching to claim every inch of you. 

And while Geto slipped against your clit, Gojo was just craving to stuff his tongue inside your hole-

“Ngh—” His nose crinkles cutely a little as he whimpers, “D-don’t take up too much space now, Suguru.”

“You’re in my space, Satoru.” As if to prove his point, he presses the cold knob of his piercing right against your clit. “Don’t forget who knew her first. Now stop moving those lips and focus on- hers.” 

Gojo glares but doesn’t say anything more, only nudging the other man by his shoulder for more space. There’s a slight battle in the space between your legs- only drawing both men closer n’ closer to your cunt.

Gojo had his mouth plastered to your sopping cunt, lavishly licking into every orifice. And Geto- oh, Geto was doing the exact opposite.

Because while the nerdy boy was giving you everything that you wanted, Geto was pinching meanly at your clit and draaaaagging your cute nub until you felt like crying. Neglecting your clit when it felt like you were enjoying it too much. 

They were sliding over each other and making out messily with your pussy—and each other. 

“Tch- gay as hell.” Sukuna’s grumbling tone echoes, closer than you remember it. The sudden volume of it makes you look up with a jolt- only to realize that he was looming at the head of the bed. Looming right where you were.

Gojo spits out into your pussy, “Erm- bi, actually.”

“Does it look like I give a fuck?” 

Ryomen Sukuna has had enough.

He takes in the way that Geto and Gojo were shoved between your legs rabidly. Barely even paying attention to him. Barely even breathing- and he admits his mouth waters just a little imagining just how sweet your cunt tasted…

But he’s instead focusing his attention on another pair of lips.

“I didn’t come here ta get fuckin’ cucked.” Sukuna rumbles, his meaty thighs resting on the space of mattress beside your head. The sole reason that Geto and Gojo had chosen Sukuna’s room in the first place was because of his king-sized bed. And you were damn lucky that it could fit all four of you. “So…”

You flinch. 

“No need to be scared, mama, s’just me.” He’s patting his overlarge palm on top of your head, smoothing down your sweaty scalp. “And my ah- ‘friends’ here told me that a pretty gal like you wanted to be bred, hm? S’that true?”

You’re nodding through your tears, body twitching any time Gojo’s tongue curved just right. “Mhm- yes, fuck yes.”

“Bred by me you mean.” Gojo sputters out, drunken eyes turning up at Sukuna.

“Fuckin’ loser.” Sukuna sniffs, his prominent nose crinkling in distaste at the white-haired man. 

But he’s setting his crimson sights back on you, smirk only seeming to grow at the awe on your face - ogling just how large the other man was. He was on a scholarship for wrestling, or so you’d heard…“So s’true, huh? Ya came here to be bred? What a filthy fuckin’ giiiiirl—”

Squirming restlessly, Geto was now starting to circle the nub of your clit with his ringed fingers and it was leaving your body in a tizzy. Every wadded ounce of cum that Geto was licking out of you, Gojo was shoving back in with his flexible tip. Refusing to let any of his seed go to waste- they were just so sloppy. Kissin’ you open-mouthed. Again and again. Both nose tips bustling against your puffy clit, their tongues slickly sliding against each other and shoving in alternating paces. Gojo’s hard and fast. Geto’s agonizingly thorough. 

You whine, “Was just- hck! needy-”

“Oh I know all about how needy you are, woman.” Sukuna’s hands drop to the drawstrings of his sweatpants. “But do you even know my name?”

“Of course I do.” Your brows furrow, “You’re Ryomen Sukun—mmpf.”

Before Sukuna’s tugging down on the cottony hem of his pants and letting his raging erection smack! against his firm abs. Thick length. Drivelling tip. If you thought that Gojo was big, then Sukuna was just as big if not bigger…

An even more sultry number of veins that were overtaking the sides of his shaft - and now your mouth. He fits inside. He was so fucking hard that you could count each ravenous ba-dump! of his pulsations, shovelling and shoveling away-

“M-mmmpf—” You’re letting out muffled moans at the rough use of your mouth. Sukuna’s length seemed like it was never-ending. The tannish crown of his shaft finds the cute orifice of your mouth and opens away at your lips, wider and wider with every inch. Hips moving in solid, mean thrusts-

He snickers,“No, my name is Ryomen Sukuna. You don’t even know that, mama?”

“Mmm—” Letting out sinful noises at the feeling of his fat ball sack smacking against the side of your face with each of his movements, just so full with need for you. “Please-” You sob out - the only thing you can seem to sob out. “P-please-”

“Nuh uh, not that either.” He was having way too much fun with this. Plunging his thickened erection out and using the length to spank each side of your face. “Try again.”

“Ryo- oh.” But just as you’re trying to speak, Sukuna’s flooding your hot cavern with his salty tip once more. Almost as if he was chasing the vibrations of your voice, almost as if he was waiting for you to speak just so he can watch your pretty sentences break on his cock. 

He grins from above, head cocking to the side to take in the lovely sight. “Tryyyy again—”

“Ryo- mmpf.” You’re gulping down his swollen inches - fuck, Sukuna was even thicker than he looked. Somehow filling up every orifice inside your mouth, it felt as if he was reaching for the dangly lil’ thing in the back of your throat and then even further. 

Just slurp after slurp of his vicious hips movin’ back and forth.

He’s tightening his grip on the back of your head and humming. “Breathe with your nose, mama. Breathe with your nose.” The audacity to even act like he cares when he swabs the very back of your neck aggressively, “Relax that pretty throat f’me. Heh.” Just waiting until your airway was fully free, just waiting until you’d somewhat calmed down- before he’s arching his hips and slamming his puckered red tip inside. “Now that your voicebox knows me- try to say my name? Do you know my name?”

“R-Ryooo—” You’re gurgling through your spit and tears, “Ryo- ngh- men. Sukuna.”

“Atta girl.”

“Sukuna?” Gojo flinches as if he’d just been struck by lightning. 

“Hm?” Geto peeks his eyes open as well, only to find that the pink-haired man had very much made himself at home pumpin’ away into your mouth. His velvety length stuffing your small cavern open. “It seems, Satoru, that we have some competition.”

Gojo growls, nipping at your folds meanly in his possessiveness. “Oi…who the fuck do you think you are blocking her cute air tract with your nasty fucking-”

But Geto only smiles with your slick glistening on his lips, “May the best man get to breed her cunt first.”

And you’re confused for only a split-second before there’s a sudden spike of pressure - from both ends.

From Gojo and Geto who were thrusting their tongues inside your cunt, from Sukuna who was never one to back down from a challenge. And he’s looking over at the two men who were bickering but suddenly united, and plastering both paws on top of your scalp to thrust inwards.

Letting his slick, drivellin’ tip hit the roof of your mouth and make you moan—

“Suguru-” Gojo hisses.

But Geto was already on it- Geto was already fiddling with his chunky metal rings to transfer them all onto his right hand. “Mmm, don’t you worry now, Satoru. I’ll teach you.” With his goal finally accomplished, he’s hooking his fingers against your folds and pryin’ them apart. “First, you’ve gotta tease the princess.”

He’s spitting inside your hole and thrusting his middle finger inwards.

Swirlin’ around your velvety channel for a few seconds before pulling back out when you start clenching- “S-Suguru…” Your voice echoes from above, and both men look towards you with primal eyes. 

Geto cocks his head at Gojo, “See?”

“I-I see.” The other man looks as if he was on the verge of writing this all down.

“Then you’ve gotta- hah, take your time. Like this.”

“Like—oh.” You’re cut off by him sticking his finger back in. Letting his wet muscle expand and circle around your walls, his rings pokin’ away, a few times before edging back out.

“See?” Geto rasps, one of his thumbs pushin’ aside your folds to show your entrance off to the other man. “Look how she’s- hah, clenching like she wants to suck me back. You’ve gotta make her want it badly- s’fun to tease a pussy.”

Gojo nods eagerly.

“And for my last trick-” Oh, by the way he says it you already know that it doesn’t bode well for your sanity. The thickness of two fingers were now stretching your hole out wiiiiidely before running back out, thrusting in and out. In and out. In and out.

Probin’ with his silver rings near sweet spots that you didn’t even realize you had before.

At the same time, Geto runs his straight nose bridge down the line of your slit and ends up pressing on your clit. Just not enough pressure to satiate you, just enough pressure to make you sob out—“Fuck, stop teasing, Suguru.”

“And that’s how you treat a princess.”

Meanly.

“Let me.” Gojo gulps. His mouth waters at the milky display of your slick and his cum around Geto’s mouth, he shoves Geto aside with a muscular shoulder. “Let me.”

And it’s the last thing you’re seeing - that look of utter greed on Gojo’s face - before the white-haired man leans himself in reaaaaal close to your pussy. He’s nudging his straight nose bridge between your plump folds and ending up pressing down on your clit, letting his watery tastebuds swing out and-

And then Gojo Satoru was eating you out like a madman.

Geto had scooped out the wads of his best friend’s cum, and Gojo’s moaning at the mess that gushes around his mouth and onto his pinkish tastebuds. Blue irises sprinting to the back of his skull, raw lips falling agape. Geto’s breath hitches as he notices the change immediately- “Wait, Satoru, you’re going to-”

“M’going to breed her again.” Gojo spits out, “S’gonna be me not him-”

He was going to say that Gojo was going to forget how to breathe if he went on like this - but he gets the feeling that his best friend doesn’t even want to breathe right now…

Doesn’t want to do anything but grab onto either side of your thighs and shove himself even deeper. His fat tongue slipping out and smacking! against your pussy, his tastebuds searching any and every corner for a taste of you, his pussy-muddled brain not even knowing what he’s doing as he’s thrusting and thrusting.

Face pushing until the rim of his glasses pressed up against your pussy and he didn’t even see to realize—

“O-oh, fuck.” You’re gurgling out in a shrill tone, and Geto looks on at your pretty expressions in interest. “S’going in so deep. Satoru, you’re just so needy-”

Sukuna raises a brow, “Heeeeh?”

“Yeah, so fuckin’ needy, Satoru.” Geto repeats in his smoky tone, eyeing both of your feverish motions with interest. Gojo was face-down in your pussy and lapping at your cunt with a primal wildness, pinning down your squirming hips. Any time that your restless body tries to move away, he’s draaaagging you down to drag across his pretty face, he sticks his tongue so rapidly in and out of you that his tongue is nothing but a pinkish blur.

Completely the opposite of Geto’s mean, torturous methods. 

And, well, he can’t fall behind now, can he?

Without warning, the dark-haired man reaches his hand to shove not one- not two- but three of his ringed fingers down your tight channel.

Gojo startles at the intrusion and moves-

“Ah ah.” Geto murmurs, grabbing him by the back of the neck and shoving him into your wet cunt once more. “Stay.”

His nose glidin’ down your slit, furiously rubbing and rubbing his textured tastebuds against it until you’re opening up more for Geto. Inside it. Anywhere and everywhere. 

Geto was absolutely pummelling your cunt with his fingers now, while Gojo moved onto sucking your clit as if it was his favorite candy. “Mmm—-Sug…Satoru.” Moans meshing into one, as if you didn’t even know what to utter. “It feels so- oh.”

“So what?” Sukuna scoffs, reaching down to smack your right tit. “Don’t test me now, mama. Don’t make me- hngh, shut you up proper with my cock.” 

He’s grabbing one of your hardened nipples and pinching at the peak in a way that makes you whine- “Kuna- Kuna- Kuna-”

“Yeahhh, that’s more like it. Keep saying my name- until you memorize it. Until you memorize my fuckin’ cock.”

“Suguru, do something.” Poor, inexperienced Gojo can merely watch as his pretty girl’s taken over by the pink-haired man once more. He’s flicking furiously at your bundle of nerves- and yet you couldn’t do anything but out muffled whimpers with Sukuna’s hot cock shoved into your mouth. “My girl’s been- ngh, won over-”

“Your girl?” Geto raises one brow, but looks up at you anyways.

Fuck, this angle between your legs was just perfect - he could see the way that your throat expanded and outlined the sheer thickness of Sukuna’s girth. Just so massive that every thrust had his cylindrical intrusion bulging against your neck. Again and again.

And he can’t help but catch Sukuna’s red eyes, cocking his head over. He gestures—straddle her.

A signal that the other men understands instantly.

A sinful smile spreads across Sukuna’s lips, “I like the way you think, punk-rock.”

And Gojo can only watch, slack-jawed, as the wrestler pulls his fat cock out of your mouth and tap-tap-taps the tip on your tongue a few times. Letting your pretty lips water just a bit - just enough to wet your tastebuds enough - before he’s moving over your head in one fluid motion until. Before he’s behind your head completely.

Before his rude hips plummet his inches between your lips.

You’re moaning so loud-

The vibrations zipping up from his honed cockhead and up his spine. “Fuck- didn’t know such a sweet mouth could even make a sound like that.” Sukuna’s grumbling underneath his breath, fucking gnawing down on his bottom lip to keep from making too many noises himself. “Now I get why those two bastards are obsessed with you, ma.”

Thrusting away wildly, Gojo pulls away with a gasp. “Suguru, you traitor-”

“Easy there, easy there.” The other man breezes, giggling at the cutesy way your body lurches back and forth with Sukuna’s jackhammers.

You flinch as you feel something metallic and cold plunge into your deepest, deepest depths—hitting almost near your g-spot. Geto hums, “And that goes for you, too, gorgeous.” He gives you a vulgar few strokes of his fingertips, reaching for your sweet spot every time. And yet- still not reaching it, he was teasing you until you wanted to sob. “Did you know that I play bass?”

“I did know- I do.” You cry out.

“Then, you probably know…” A final thrust - all the way from the curvaceous edge of his middle, his index, his ring finger and doooown to each ringed base - that sets your teeth on edge. “-that I’m real good with the g-spot. Whoops, I mean-”

Somehow between Sukuna’s vicious thrusts you manage out, “S-Suguru—” Because just then, he’s shoving your velvety walls apart to push against your softest spot in an instant.

“-yeah no. I meant g-spot.”

“Heeeeeh…” Sukuna whistles, “You’re good.” Watching as the dark-haired man then utterly ruins you with a mere few movements of his fingers, they’re finding each tender spot inside you perfectly. Rings being used to mark exactly where and when Geto was thrusting away - but no matter what, he always ended with his frigid rings pushed against your g-spot. Purposefully glidin’ those geometrical edges of his rings against your sensitive nerves- “But I’m better.”

“Kuna, oh my god—” You babble out as he uses both hands to grab onto your tits now, his long fingers pinching your nipples and rolling them between each padded digit.

It was just insanity.

Geto with his globular fingertips finding your g-spot again and again, Sukuna with his hot cock filling you up again and again- and Gojo. Oh…Gojo was just gluing his pouty lips against your entrance.

Geto’s tongue meeting his in an open-mouthed kiss, the white-haired man pulls away- only to latch onto that pretty perky clit above your hole. “S-say my name, too, sweetheart.” You can just barely hear Gojo’s plead over the cacophony of other sultry noises filling up the room, “Say my name-”

You can just barely feel the sharp spark of pleasure coming from Gojo finding your clit and sucking. Like his life depended on it. “Say my name while you cum.” His pale brows furrow, and every luxurious lick at your cunt was all that he ever needed in life, all that made him glide his glasses down your front pussy. All that it took to make you mooooan straight into Sukuna’s cock. “Say m-my name while you cum, please?” At least he had manners still.

Before your entire body erupts in a high so sudden and strong that you don’t even realize it’s taken over until after Gojo himself comments on it- “She’s cumming.” He breathes out, almost in disbelief. Gojo feels his cock twitch at the way you’re cumming on his tongue- and reaches his free hand down to fist it angrily. “She’s cumming she’s—mmpf.”

“If she’s cumming then fuck her through her orgasm instead of running yer big mouth.” Geto grabs the back of his best friend’s neck and shoves him in again - which Gojo was glad to indulge in. Glad to gnaw on the knob of your little clit, until his lips felt so raw that they might as well fall off. 

And while Gojo made out with your pussy, Geto was fingering you crazily. His honed fingertips plucked at your bliss, hitting your g-spot precisely at every peak. Again and again.

“L-like this, Suguru?” Gojo gurgles out.

“Mhm, faster.”

They’re speeding up- Gojo letting go of his cock just to delve in even deeper, and Geto has to be the one to pump his best friend’s length.

You sob, “Satoru—mmmpf.”

“Shit, maybe you two bastards aren’t half-bad.” Sukuna muses, a pinkish brow raising at just how much you moaned and thrashed underneath the two men. His hips only grew faster.

All three men were absolutely ravishing you through your high, those little sparks of pleasure going up from your pummeled cunt to your pummeled throat. “Mmm—” Just about the only thing that you’re ever going to be able to get out at this rate, “Feels- good- ngh- good-”

“Yeah, but which one’s yer favorite, mama?” Sukuna spits. Nestling his heavy balls against your face while he shoves his cockhead lung-deep-

“At least let her finish her orgasm first.” Gojo seethes, his glasses completely fogged by now.

“Yer too fucking nice.” Sukuna bites back, “She likes being all roughed up, doesn’t she?”

“No, she likes indulgent-”

And they’re both speeding up their ministrations, Gojo going craaaaazy with the heart patterns he was drawing on your clit while Sukuna twisted his fingers even harder over your nipples. You’re practically held hostage by the pleasure.

And the only thing you can do is ride out wave after wave of your bliss, still being absolutely demolished from all angles by the three men when it’s finally starting to peter out.

You twitch, “S-Suguru—”

Because you knew that the pierced man would be the only one much too happy to stop you from getting what you need - but you’re surprised to find…that Geto merely shrugs you off with a grin. The one overstimulating you with his fingers until you’re crying-

“Keh…” Sukuna eyes the sobs you’re heaving out, though he doesn’t stop himself. He’s pumping out a few wads of creamy white, before pressing a thumb on top of his shaft to stop himself from releasing too much before he actually got to breed you. “Don’t make her tap out just yet.”

“Suguru…”

But he doesn’t stop.

He doesn’t even slow down until you’re being probed by his sultry fingertips all the way until a second orgasm. It flashes through you like a sudden fever, your entire body breaking out in a cold sweat.

Jaw dropping.

Back arching off of the mattress. 

You’re so sensitive by this point that even the lightest graze of Gojo’s canines against your clit makes you whimper n’ whine. Great heaving tears making their way down your cheeks, you’re nothing against the three sets of strong arms that hold you down so they could properly eloooongate your zapping pleasure.

And Geto Suguru doesn’t stop until he’s well and thoroughly fucked you through each mountain of your electrified high, and perhaps even all the way into a third-

“Aaaaand that’s enough outta you.”

“Yeah-” Gojo huffs, his pout pretty on his lips. “-you don’t get to hog her orgasms all for yourself, Suguru.”

Geto gives a final long liiiiiick with his pierced tongue.

Your brain is all muddled and stupid by the time that Geto with his love for overstimulating you is pulled off. You’re pushed further up the sweat-dampened mattress, sandwiched between Gojo and Sukuna from either side.

“So…” Sukuna asks, “Who won?”

“Me- she moaned my name-” Gojo grumbles up at the man. You whine at the way both their toned cores surround you, it’s as if you were a ragdoll they wanted to play around with. 

“Yeah right, you had first dibs.” Sukuna scowls, eyes narrowing into slits. “And ya ruined it. Now I get to fuck her pretty pussy-”

“How about me, gorgeous?” Geto wasn’t waiting around to argue with his friends - he was cupping your dazed face and asking you directly. But you were so damn far gone that you couldn’t even begin to formulate a coherent response before-

“No, Suguru.”

“Fuck no.”

.

.

.

You were right about Ryomen Sukuna being rough.

Because he was fucking you rough. And hard. And fast.

And ruthless.

It seems that the winner of last round’s ‘challenge’ had been none other than Gojo Satoru - based on the fact that his name had been the first one you’d moaned during your first orgasm. Perhaps his accolades as president of the debate club wasn’t just in name…

They’d unanimously decided that Geto Suguru, the traitor, wasn’t deserving of fucking you after that little stunt he’d pulled earlier. Overstimulating you until tears—how could he! Without both of them, of course…

And so Gojo had left you in your stupidly fucked state.

Merely hovering over you- the tips of his ears red, the head of his cock dripping wet already. He’d pressed just about half of his swollen shaft between your pussylips before - expectedly - cumming again in less than two strokes.

He just couldn’t handle the feeling of your hot cunt. Just the sensation of you throbbin’ away around him like that was too much for the bespectacled nerd to handle, his entire body shaking as he spurted his white seed all over your pussylips. Hot and syrupy, it dripped all over you and down onto the sheets below. Pink lips jutted out when he felt himself reach his high again, “I…I did it again, sweetheart.” He’d told you, shamefully.

And you’d barely gotten two comforting words out- “It’s alright, Toru—”

Before Sukuna had shoved him over.

“My fuckin’ turn.”

And now you were laid out against Sukuna’s chiselled back, feeling each ripped muscle move n’ flex against your own. Vicious. Vulgar. He was heaving after each thrust, he was hitting the very spongy end of your cervix, he was bending your back against his front—a hand scouring down your front to feel his cylindrical length impale you-

A full fucking nelson.

By none other than the wrestling star himself.

“A star player—fuck.” Sukuna’s raspy voice whispers into your ear, hooking his pointed chin at your shoulder and preventing you from moving a single inch away from him. Thud-thud-thud, his rotund tip could be felt all the way against your scratchy throat. And you swear you could taste the salty flavor of his gooey liquids. “M’gonna fuck a s-star athlete into you, woman- the best junior wrestling champion this world has ever seen.”

Gojo surges up from his chair in the corner - the one Geto and Sukuna had been sitting in earlier in the night. “She hasn’t even taken yet-”

“Ah ah- what’s that?” Sukuna interrupts between thrust after thrust. He looks around as if he’d just heard an indistinguishable noise from somewhere in the room, “What- oh.”

And you’re watching speechlessly when Sukuna’s honed fingertips slither down your front to squeeze your clit. 

“It’s this pussy begging me to get her pregnant-” His pinkish brow raises, “Oh- the best Olympic wrestler this world has ever seen? How ambitious, mama.”

Gojo spits, “Fucker-”

“You hear something?” And Sukuna was taunting him - Sukuna was playing right in Gojo’s face. His big beefy arms looping underneath your thighs and giving them a forceful tug- he’s spreading your limbs out as far as they’d go.

Making your soppin’ wet pussylips smeaaaar wide open and making the other two men throw envious looks your way. “Sounds like a little bitc-”

“Oh, please—” You’re bucking through your sobs. A particularly aggressive stroke has you damn near jumping out of his arms- but Sukuna’s only tightening his grip and bringing you riiiight back down to feel his cock. 

You weren’t escaping any time soon.

“C’mere, woman.” His tone was almost a warning, speaking down to you as if you were dumbified on his cock already—and you were close. Oh, were you close. The wrestler’s cock was just so thiiiick that his veins massage your tiniest orifices without even trying. Long glides. Hard throbs. “How m’I going to- heh, fuck you pregnant if you keep trying to run?”

“Well…”

He continues, “In the first place, you don’t think you can run from a wrestler, can you?”

Blinking your wide teary eyes up at him, “I can’t…?”

And it was almost too cute how stupid you were on his pistoning hips already, mouth splashing out saliva every time he was hittin’ a gooood spot inside you. Sukuna chuckles, “No, you can’t.” As if to prove his point, he holds you down to his glissading abs and swabs your wettened cervix. “But ya sure can fuckin’ try- ya won’t make two steps before I have you on my cock again.”

“Well that’s just n-not fair—” You’re trilling out at the way he bends you just a liiiiittle further against him. Both hands gripped primally onto your hips and not letting you get too far.

Not letting you get far at all, actually. You can barely even breathe without Sukuna bouncing your body right back and knockin’ the wind out of your lungs with his puckered tip. “Ya can’t handle it if I bend you a little like thiiiiiis—”

“F-fuck!” Sobbing at the way he further spreads your legs, bringing them up until the caps of your knees were striking your tits.

“And then just a little like thiiiiiis—” Sukuna arches his hips lightly off the dampened sheets to rover his cocktip inside. Arching you against him.

Ryomen Sukuna loved manhandling you.

“Oh my g-god-” It’s just about the only thing you can blubber out, your sentences hitching in your throat. “Shit, I didn’t even know I could bend like this…”

“Why’re you crying, mama?” Sukuna coos, though there was something decidedly dangerous in his tone. Almost as if in alarm, your pussy starts throbbing harder and he snickers as he feels it- one of his roughened thumbs come to wipe away at your tears.

“It’s j-just-”

“It’s j-j-just the entire future of wrestling that depends on this pussy right here.” He’s mocking you. He’s teasing you. Not in the same way that Geto would - Sukuna had you immobile and was bullying you with both his mouth and his rugged, roverin’ tip. 

His plump cockhead gapes out your cute hole, ending up in your deepest depths. He manages to leave you jolting after the pressure of each one. And after that bulbous intrusion then his inches just seem to go on and on and on—“S’a biiiig deal, mama. So you understand why I hafta fuck you a little ngh- rough, riiiight? So you understand why I hafta wrestle you a little, riiiight?”

Until you can feel Sukuna bash away even at your throat-

So hard that your eardrums almost pop- “It just feels so-”

Only to get overshadowed by the slurping squelches of your own cunt. Which only makes the pink-haired man grin, “There. It’s been decided then.”

“What are you…” Your dazed eyes widen, looking up into his rouge ones for an answer.

But the only answer he’s listening to? The background music of your pussy. 

Sukuna’s nodding in agreement with the slick wet sounds that escape you, even more of it increasing in volume once he lets his precum fill you up to the very brim. Dripping past your pussylips, “Now now-” For only a few split-seconds before one set of Sukuna’s rugged fingertips swipe the syrup back in. “-none of that. That’s at least a couple million yen you’re losing there, girl. If m’fuckin’ it inside ya then keep it inside ya.”

You quiver, zaps of electricity floating through you when he reaches down and pinches your throbbing clit. “And i-if I can’t…?”

“As my son’s manager, I can’t have that.”

He was picking and choosing management opportunities already?!

You see, the King of the Ring was hellbent on fucking you right - on getting his seed to be the one that took inside your sopping wet walls.

He was fucking you like he meant it - he was going to complete that mission one way or the other. He was drilling into you with a primal cadence, bulbous tip press-press-pressing inside to swab away at your every single orifice—

You’re jerking on top of him at the pleasure, and Sukuna’s immediately putting you in a headlock.

Gojo surges up to his feet in outrage.

But the fraternity president wasn’t paying the other men a single ounce of attention- merely tightening his bulging biceps around your neck. Leaving you nothing but a limp ragdoll for him to pump his inches into, thick and hot at the thought of impregnating you. “And as his father-” Sukuna shoots you a cocky smirk that the other two can see, “-m’not letting you walk out of this bedroom without carrying my child.”

He throbs inside you and you whimper.

“Suguru, I can’t stand this-” Gojo’s taking a step closer, chair damn near clattering to the ground.

He was donning his boxers for now, though his best friend was naked and proudly pumping his cock at the sight of Sukuna fucking you like a crazed man. Hard and fast. Hard and fast.

Soft pants leave the bassist’s mouth, throwing his head back with a grown as he watches Sukuna reach down and pinch your clit. He’s peeking ahead at the sight with a partially-cracked lid, “Satoru, give me my phone.”

Gojo’s brows raise, “What?”

“Give me my phone.”

It’s in quick, jerky movements that the white-haired man does. He tries not to stare too long at the moving couple in the bed but…fuck, he, too, was so damn hard at this point that he was dripping precum through his boxers.

Gojo practically shoves the phone into Geto’s arms.

He unlocks it with a chuckle and heads straight to the-

“You’re recording-”

“Shhhh…” Geto chortles, raising his camera up. “We’ve talked about it before, she’s said it’s alright. Now shut up, it’s getting to the best part.”

It really was. The video captures the scene perfectly: you’re still being manhandled in this full nelson. Draaaagged back and forth every time that Sukuna’s cock glides inside you, hitting a spot particularly delicate. 

He was just so muscular, with his cock plumpened up so much that Gojo almost wondered how you were taking all of him. Your cervix must be completely bruised by him now, and the camera manages to record how the skin ‘round his pelvis was burning red. 

Again and again and again.

The two of them were practically hypnotized by the rough way you were being fucked. Pounded, more like. The musician zooms in on the vision of your puckered lips, swollen with prolonged contact with Sukuna’s massive balls. Gooey puddles of Gojo’s cum from earlier dripping all around them. Smack-smack-smack!

It takes just a few more of those and a final pinch on your clit to make you shatter- your orgasm taking over you like a tidal wave.

White flashing behind your eyelids.

Spine arching into the perfect curvature on top of him.

Sukuna’s muscular front provides the best cushy surface for you to get lost in your high, one that leaves you limp and boneless on top of him. “P-please, Kuna…” Geto damn hopes that the audio managed to pick up your ravaged whines. “Cumming—”

“You don’t think that I don’t know that?” He hums, and you notice that his voice sounds so much more ragged than before. “Yer feeling like fuckin’ waterpark down there, woman.”

“O-oh…” Your maw drops, as if you just now realize how wet with arousal you were. Leaking all over his scruffy pink happy trail-

“Orgasm left you stupid already, huh?”

You can only mindlessly nod. 

All three men find their achin’ erections throbbing - the pink-haired man most of all with his swirlin’ tip tortured by the clenches of your orgasm. It almost pained him to pull out, even if it was to savagely thrust back in again.

And again. And again and again and again-

Geto whistles as the last few seconds of the recording capture the way that a sudden ring of white froths at your entrance. Sukuna pumping in his cum with a drawn-out groan—

The sharp tone of the video ending echoes out in the bedroom. Though you certainly couldn’t hear with the way your eardrums were popped with the pressure of his thrusts.

And Geto? Geto worked silently, as Gojo gawked behind him.

“S-send me that recording…” 

“Mhm.”

SUGONDEEZNUTS sent an attachment to ‘Juno, y’know?’

SUGONDEEZNUTS added Prof. Nanami Kento.

He clicks off the phone and enjoys the show.

“A star wrestler-” Sukuna’s spitting between his gritted canines, the edges of his lips squirking up into a vicious grin. He flattens one of his hands down on top of your core - right above where his thickened tip was plummeting into your womb.

Pushing down and you could already feel the glutinous layers of his cum start to slide around you, sploshin’ out of your hole.  It leaks out of you and he wonders just how much that much was able to fit inside because fuck—he’s cumming more than he ever has in his entire life. “Look at thaaaaat- we’re gonna have a star wrestler, mama. Better get ready, girlie, because m’gonna fuck an entire team of Olympians into you.”

“Please-” You yelp as his headlock on you tightens.

Flexing his incredible muscles against your neck, “And are you gonna run away?” It blocks every ounce of air from escaping.

“N-no…”

“Are you gonna tap out?”

“No-”

“Mmm—then how about we start thinking of the baby names-”

“Let’s not get too ahead of ourselves, shall we?” Geto’s breezy voice soothes out into the saturated air. It’s not too long before you’re hearing footsteps headed to where you lay utterly muddled. “After all, there’s more of us waiting.”

You shiver.

.

.

.

Nanami Kento wasn’t having a particularly good day, no.

For starters, he’d just been informed by one of his freshman students that half the campus thought he was in his thirties already—he was a damn TA in the first place! He wasn’t even an official professor (though he did plan to be one, so perhaps they were right on that note…)

And then his morning class slept through a particularly riveting presentation on the Kamakura period, then his (totally not favorite…alright perhaps favorite) student didn’t show up for your allotted office time with him, and now he was stuck grading papers of students who couldn’t care less about shogunate lifestyles.

Or at least he was.

He was grading papers of students who couldn’t care less about shogunate lifestyles.

That’s until he got the text.

With none other than said favorite student, you, featured front and center in its contents.

Now he was walking as fast as his long legs could take him to the most infamous fraternity house on all of campus: Curses Epsilon. 

And let it be known that Professor Nanami Kento has never clocked out of the history department earlier in his entire life-

“Oh, fuh-fuck—” You’re blabbering out stupidly, tears cascading your eyes at incredible volumes. The three men inside this room just had you ruined on their cocks - Gojo hadn’t been given a chance again after his last two mishaps, Sukuna had just finished rubbin’ your pussy walls raw, and now it was Geto’s chance. Finally.

You were on all fours - bawling face pushed into Sukuna’s pillows, your ass raised high in the air. 

The bassist had his index and middle fingers pulled into two honed tips, pressin’ away at your g-spot like it was a treasure trove he was uncovering. Push-push-pushing, Geto managed to force your tired body into one more orgasm, two more orgasms, three more org-

And that was when Professor Nanami Kento had arrived.

First, he’d knocked. Sharp and sensible - the frat house door had been unlocked, you see.

And it’d been none other than Geto himself who pulled his fingers cleanly out of your cunt and walked to the door. Slurping away at the treacly mess you’d left on his fingers- “You’re late, Kento.”

With a gasp, you’re pulling the sheets up to your chest- but Gojo had stopped you in your tracks—“But I wanna stare at your pretty cunt while she leaks, sweetheart…”

“Fuckin’ needy.” Geto had thrown his silky locks over his shoulder, rolling his eyes at his best friend’s antics. Then he turns back to the blond man who was trying hard not to stare at you on the bed—but he couldn’t help the way his eyes roamed. Fuck, he was only a man after all. “You know we almost thought you weren’t coming.”

Nanami gulps at the way Geto very obviously suckles the candied glaze of your juices from his fingers. One by one. 

You whimper at the display.

“Clearly.” Nanami’s eyes then shift slowly from the man before him to you on the bed, your eyes dazed with your high, your legs clenched together. But not even that can stop the constant overflow of creamy white leaking from between them. Overspilling. “Is that why none of you have fucked her properly yet?”

Geto’s dark brows raise in amusement, “Excuse me?”

“If you’re going to get her pregnant, then do it properly.”

Everyone’s jaws drop a little at the statement the professor is giving, and Nanami only soundlessly steps inside. Letting the door close behind him.

He has only one target and one target only - you. 

The blond-haired man steps towards you with purpose, starting to shrug off that formal jacket that fit him so well—

“Hello, my darling.” Nanami sighs, “On your back now.”

4. Nanami Kento.

The HOTTEST prof/ TA this campus has ever seen

Such a gentleman (opens doors, eye contact even when wearing skimpy tops, reads feminist books omg)

Mature 

Some think he’d be dry in bed tho…

Nanami Kento was not dry in bed. Nanami Kento was not dry in bed.

Oh, how many times have you dreamed of this day? Wearing your shortest skirts to Professor Nanami’s lectures, daydreaming away just how it might feel to have him bend you over his sleek mahogany desk.

Though in no time what he was bending were really your legs. 

Right over his broad shoulders, they were folding just so pliably—he’s patting upon each side of your wobbly limbs with a hum. “Not too hard for you now, is it, my love?” You’re shaking your head, growing wetter at the nickname- and Gojo groans as he watches you. 

Nanami smiles, “Mmmm, good.” Then he’s reaching an arm out towards the headboard and grabbing one of Sukuna’s pillows.

“Wha’s that for, Nanami?” You’re blurting out stupidly.

“This?” He’s cooing down at you in a soft tone, one that’s so sweet that it makes your entire body heat up. Especially your cunt. Deciding that it would be much easier for your muddled mind to be shown instead- Nanami slides the puffy pillow underneath your hips to raise them a little. “This is for helpin’ that cute cunt of yours actually keep all the cum she’s been given. Does that make sense?”

You nod. He was just so gentle-

“You’re going to address me as ‘sir’, alright?” Fuck—you were mistaken. How did you not notice the steely look in Nanami’s eyes? How did you forget that he was known not only as the most handsome professor on campus - but also the most strict. “Now, does that make sense?”

Just barely managing to breathe, “Y-yes, sir.”

“Good girl.”

Shit, it makes your orifice geyser out in more impossible wads of slick. And your back’s arching instantly the moment he tugs down his pants, and you feel Nanami’s large reddish tip enter between your legs. “Fuck, that feels so good, Ken—sir.”

“Good girl- good girl.” He’s hushing out your tiny cries, placing a soothing hand on top of your sweaty scalp. Which you thought was nice, which you thought was sweet- but you’re realizing that that gesture was actually to push down on your body and keep you from jerking away every time he was lightly plunging his cock in. Nanami presses down on your head, “We have a lot to learn now, don’t we?”

“Y-yess—oh.” Your voice cracks embarrassingly at the thick shaft that Nanami was sinking in.

You didn’t get quite as good of a look at him, but you could tell that his entire length was just a little bigger than Geto’s. Not quite as long as Gojo, but with even more veins and the prettiest tuft of golden hair on his base.

Somehow, what was special about Nanami was just how perfectly he was curved.

Just a few sultry degrees to the side. He’s managing to drag-drag-draaaaag the puckered end of his cock down your walls. Pinkish and puckered, kissin’ all at the ridges down your sides- headed straaaaaight towards your sweet spots as if he already knew where they were. “Have you done your homework, my darling?”

“H-homework?” You cry out.

“Mhm—” Nanami was easing inside your pussy with languid thrusts - and though he seemed to calm and collected on the surface, you could spot the furrow between his brows. The line of perspiration that ran down his forehead. The way his heavy balls seemed to tighten the more he slipped inside- “Have you researched the conditions best for- hah, pregnancy?”

“I…well…” You’re shyly looking away - you admit that you had done some, you hadn’t gone into this entire thing unaware. But having your history professor look at you like this just left you speechless, as though he was looking straight through you.

He’s smiling down fondly at you, “If only you spent a little longer studying instead of- mmm—” Pounding out a particularly hard thrust that leaves you seeing stars, “-instead of daydreaming about fucking me, hm?”

You gasp, “How did you-”

“Why, you’ve been dressing like a slut in my class for the entire semester, my love- how could I not know?”

And the only thing you can do is moan out like the slut he believes you were - your legs spread high on his shoulders, your pussy letting out the most filthy slurps and squelches as he’s easing inside.

Hard and thorough, Nanami’s fucking himself inside you in slashes- just grazing his honed tip against your sweetest spots. Before pulling away when you start to twitch for more, more more—

“So close-” You blubber out, “S-so close, Nana-”

“Excuse me?”

“Sir.” Correcting yourself in a single second.

It’s then that Nanami’s leaning in reeeeal close, and you’re looking up at the handsome man through your lashes. “Good girl.” What you’re presented with is a splat! of his saliva being spat down, Nanami holding open your jaw to let it slide all the way towards the back of your throat. “Now that’s to fix that dirty mouth of yours- better not make that mistake again, alright?”

Nodding, “Y-yes sir…”

“Good. Now let’s see if you did your research- let’s see if you can answer my questions, and we’ll see if you deserve to have a baby fucked into you, alright?”

“Yes, s—oh.” You’re barely even given the time to compute his sentence before your sinful examination starts. And Nanami folds you deeper in on yourself, easily rubbin’ his scorching hot tip against the very back of your cervix-

You start to shake at the feeling of his primal stretch and whine—“Now now, quiet during an examination. Or are you fucked too stupid to not even remember that, hm?” It just made you so dizzy how Nanami Kento was so stoic, sensible, sweet - and yet he had these moments where something predatory slipped beneath the cracks and left you speechless. “First question, who was it that fucked you first?”

Your head slips to the side of your pillow, locking eyes with a certain white-haired man that’d slipped his hand beneath his boxers. Lightly pumping- almost reluctantly but he just couldn’t help himself. “Satoru…”

“Hm…” Nanami inclines his head at the man, blond locks plastering on his head. “And who was it that fucked you the hardest?”

“Sukuna—” Teary eyes blinking at the fraternity president, the way his crimson eyes narrowed at the sight. “K-Kuna did.”

“And I assume that Geto Suguru was the one who was the fuckin’ filthiest?” As the other man speaks, Geto’s giggle echoes out over the question. “True or false?”

“T-True—” 

“Three correct in a row, that’s a hatrick.” His rugged thumb reaches down and glides between your pussylips, collecting the dewdrops of syrup drivelling out of you. “Well done- you deserve a little- hah, reward for that, don’t you agree?” The professor doesn’t even wait for your response before that very same digit of his presses down on your clit like a button. “Does that feel good, my love?”

And you’re so sensitive by the constant sultry assaults on your cunt, “Y-yes, so good—”

Only for Nanami’s tantalizing rolls over your clit to turn into a pinch—

“Wrong answer, darling.”

You scream out at the maddening answer, “Wh-what do you-” Head snapping up in surprise, before it’s suddenly falling back into the pillows at the surge of pleasure. You saw the look in his eyes. “I mean sir—yes, sir.”

“I fear your time is up, my love.”

“What- oh.”

And it’s the last thing you’re able to get out before- 

Before Nanami shoves both your thighs up until they’re ruthlessly hitting your tits. Before Nanami’s bending you into such a pliable shape beneath him. Before Nanami plummets straight to the deepest end of your channel to strike your cervix.

Fucking you firm. Hard. He’s mapped out every inch of you with only a few animalistic swabs, “Three out of four, that’s 75%—you did better than I could’ve hah-hoped, darling.” Blond brows raising, “Though you did make a careless mistake-”

“I’m sorry—” You’re botching out through the husky cries in your throat, “I’m sorry, sir-”

“So your final grade should come down to…” The professor trails off, his vulgar strokes thumpin’ away at your womb. Nanami shows no mercy for the bruises of his circumference he’s sure to be forming there, Nanami shows no signs of stopping- “-a fail.”

Your eyes snap wide open—“N-no please, isn’t there something else I can do to make up for it-” Fluttering your lashes in just the way you knew he liked - the same one you used all those times when you stayed behind his classes for something stupid. “-sir?”

Nanami’s biting down on his stern lower lip with a shiver, “You’re lucky you’re my favorite.”

And then with no trouble, he’s placing a direct thump to the sweetest spot on the side of your channel that makes you scream. Just the sweetest speck that he’s pushing in on.

Once. Twice. Thrice.

The blond-haired man leans down till the strands of his slicked hair tickle your forehead, panting into your open mouth. “Then how about another assignment, hm? Extra credit?”

You nod fervently, sure that some rational part of you knew that this won’t actually affect your semester’s grades. And yet there was some other part of you that just wanted to please him, to jerk your hips up into his with the cutest whimpers. “Please- please, I’d be so grateful, sir.”

“I need you…” You’re awaiting the rest of his sentence eagerly—but Nanami Kento takes his looooong lecherous time pumping his cock into you in the meantime. Push after push. Breath after breath against the shell of your ear, “-to get pregnant by me.”

That was your assignment?

That was your assignment?

It sends your mind into a tizzy, and you’re just about opening your mouth to answer-

When the bed dips beside you.

You’re looking up into the murky peripherals of Geto Suguru, his smile almost feline on his beautiful face. He looks between your shocked expression and Nanami’s furrowed brows, throwing his locks over his shoulder. “What? I thought class was in session?”

Nanami grumbles, “Don’t push it…”

“You don’t expect more than one student at a time?” He’s humming, milky thighs now splayed out on the mattress. You’re gulping as you watch him cup his thickened base with one hand, giving his red-hot length a few pumps. “It’s alright, I’ll just sit alllll the way at the very back-”

And you gasp at the feeling of him pressing his veiny shaft into your open palm. Curling his ringed fingers around your smaller ones to give his erection a drag—

“-you won’t even- hck! know m’here.”

“Tch-” Nanami clicks his tongue, channeling the tension at having the other man use your pretty self- into none other than your cunt. Into none other than thwacking! his heavy shaft deeper, harder, into you.

You’re starting to get pushed up to the headboard, doing your very best to keep a constant rhythm on Geto’s handjob. “Please- ngh, please m’not gonna last long-” 

“I can’t bear it either.” Gojo’s shaky tone rings out. 

He’s taking just one step before Nanami sternly barks- “Another step and I bribe all your professors into failing you this semester.”

The blue-eyed man slouches in and grumbles.

All as the other two ruin you-

“Then here’s a mini-quiz for you, gorgeous.” Geto hums, and Nanami glares at the other man. He continues as if he doesn’t see, “Who’s going to cum first- A). You…” And it sure was heading in that direction, if the way that Nanami was hitting your g-spot dead-on was anything to go by - you didn’t even know how he managed to spot it so precisely. The ratios of it being molded into your very cunt by his cock- “B). Professor Nanami Kento, here.”

His ruby tip twitches deep against the gummy depths of your walls, spurting out a wad of promising white pre.

“Or C). Me.”

And despite being you who was asked the question, it’s Nanami who’s speaking up. “I don’t care what it is.” He runs a free hand down the front of your stomach, “As long as my daughter’s healthy.”

When he’d first walked through those fraternity doors, you’d expected Nanami to have been the restrained one. Perhaps the one that was more put-together than the other, perhaps the one that wouldn’t have been as affected by the little ongoing challenge to get you pregnant.

And yet, you’re realizing that perhaps your professor was a family man after all.

In no time he’s dragging his cock out with a groan, letting the golden curls down his front scrape your skin carnally. Before with a final thrust- you’re cumming. Again.

“Shit-” Head growing airy at the feeling of him bruisin’ your bundle of nerves again and again and again. “How are you s-so good at hitting- that- spot-”

“Fuck, look at the way she’s dripping.” Gojo’s awed tone breaks across your synchronized moans. 

At the same time, both men on top of you were burstin’ out into their own white-hot high. And from the edge of the room, the other two could see the coating of pure white around Nanami’s lengthy cock as he fucks his miry ribbons inside.

Spraying your insides like a flood. Hot and wet.

It’s a constant wave of creamy white overtaking the spots inside your walls, thoroughly glazing you from the inside. Gluing your thighs together. Feeling the salty aftertaste at your throat. “Sh-shit, oh my god.” And not a single drop was wasted because of the pillow he’d smartly kept underneath you- “I feel so full, sir.”

“Sir? How kinky.” Geto’s panting out, thighs falling open. It only takes you a few slippery pumps to realize that he was pourin’ out his orgasm as well. Down your wrist. Splattering onto your face.

Gliding uuuuup and down, uuuuup and down in an unsteady rhythm- shit, he has to admit that even those little jerks you give when Nanami smacks his hips onto yours felt good. Geto starts rutting up into you, his fuzzy black happy trail scratching your skin. 

Soaking with his cum.

Nanami’s nose crinkles when Geto dips a hand down to swipe at his treacly syrup and smear it all over your lips. “You, Suguru…” As if to say that your lips belonged to him, as if daring the other man to kiss you this way.

“What about me?”

“If you thought that would stop me…”

Your professor’s placing his lips onto yours instantly, murmuring-

“How could I not kiss the future mother of my kids? Congratulations on completing my assignment, darling.” He reaches a hand down to thumb inside your hole, just a few slick remnants that he had to take care of. “And congratulations on my daughter-”

“Th-thank you, sir.” 

You could barely even breathe- just so much of Nanami’s and the others’ stuffing you from the inside. 

“It seems the answer was D)...” Geto rasps out, voice unsteady with the waves of bliss he was still riding out on your pretty palm. “All of the above.”

“That’s it- get off, my turn.” Gojo’s familiar tone bites out from nearby - though you were much too exhausted by this point to actually turn your head and look.

Sukuna hums too, “I’ve never been more excited to do an assignment in my- heh, entire fuckin’ life.”

Nanami sighs, as if the other men were wearing on him already. He doesn’t look at them as he sticks his hand out, “My tie.”

They pause, for just a little- before Gojo’s the one to actually spot the professor’s usual tie. Handing it to him with a confused look…a confused look that slowly melts into sensual agony once the blond-haired man ties the slip of fabric around your wrists.

Tight.

Restraining you to him—he’s using his makeshift handcuffs to draaaag you to him like a ragdoll. “Now, you better behave while we breed you, my love.”

“Yes, sir.”

.

.

.

It’s one more round with Nanami and a sloppy makeout with Geto later that you find yourself being pummeled by Sukuna…and Gojo?

They’d shifted you to lay on top of the wrestler’s toned body, your maw droolin’ a wet sheen down his prominent pecs. He provided the perfect cushioning for you while drilling into you like a madman—again and again reclaiming the depths of your cunt as his.

While Gojo was pistoning his cock hurriedly into you from behind.

Of course, he’d reached his high with a groan the moment he’d slid his furious cockhead into your second entrance. Furiously pushin’ his sappy wads inside- 

“Sh-shit…” The nerdy man shivers as he feels you clench your velvety insides, glasses slippin’ down his nosebridge. He could feel the outline of Sukuna’s thick cock sliiiiiiding against his- and he has to bite back a shudder at the fact. “Your dick’s so small, it’s depressing to feel it through my girl’s pretty anorectal junction-”

“You think I like feeling yours, two-pump chump?” Sukuna bites back. “M’trying to breed my woman here, how am I supposed to that when-”

“Wait wait wait- your woman?”

“Your girl?”

“Can you guys just sh-shut up and—fuck me—?” You’re trilling out stupidly, having had enough of the two men bickering above you. 

They more they argued, the harder they were fucking your two holes - each vein, ridge, and dimple plastering against your walls. It was just an incredible sensation, mind growing blanker by the thrust. By the ruuuuuub of their matching paces furiously filling in, splurging out pre, smearin’ the slick mess. Not a single spot was left unturned as you were being stretched out on both ends, having both cylindrical intrusions claim you-

“As you wish, sweetheart.”

“You said it, mama.”

Neither of them would admit that having the other felt good for them, too…

It’s then that there’s—no, there’s no knock on the door.

Because you have to understand that most fraternity brothers have seen all there is to see, which meant that basic manners were rather…forgotten whenever they were inside the house. Not that it ever revealed anything jaw-dropping during times like this, and most would just assume that a brother would lock the door if they’re ever having…time to themselves.

And you also have to understand that Ryomen Sukuna hated locking the door.

So it opens just a crack with a foreboding creeeeeeak—! and in walks the emo sex dream on campus.

5. Choso Kamo.

In Geto’s band.

Wears eyeliner on a daily basis.

Always quiet and walking around campus with nothing but his headphones and sketchbook (artsy ooo~)

Wanna make him whimper!!

The very same man who, last semester, had shyly asked to draw you for his art exhibition - and ended up creating the most beautiful portrait humanly possible. It was one you couldn’t believe was of a person of this realm, let alone you. And when you’d told half-joking told Choso that, he’d replied—

“But of course it’s of someone from this realm.” His sweet doey eyes had scrunched in a way that was so genuinely confused, “It’s of you. Do you not see yourself like I see you?”

You had to admit that you’d carried a little hallway crush on him since then.

And there he was—not a step made inside Sukuna’s room before you’d dragged him to the bed yourself.

In almost no time, you’d made Choso sit in the middle of the dampened bed- your legs somehow straddling his waist, your back arching, your moans filtering into the sticky air as you rode his cock with such hunger.

“I-I just came to deliver Sukuna his baggie-” 

Sukuna grunts, “Oh yeah, thanks.”

“-and y-you’re saying that—ngh.” You never imagined that Choso Kamo would be the type that couldn’t control his mewls, but right now every time your walls squeezed him just a tad too tight he was makin’ the cutest noises. “You’re saying that the goal is to- hck! g-get you pregnant, baby?”

“Yes, so good, Cho.” You’re blabbering out, your eyes practically turned into hearts.

Somehow…Choso was the largest size of them all- perhaps not the thickest, but his length was just increeeeeedible. Long and lucious, with the prettiest blushing tip. He was long enough that he was bashin’ at your gooey cervix without even being all the way inside, he was long enough that he pumped all the way deeply against your womb and you got the distinct feeling that he’d go even deeper if he could-

“Eleven inches.” Gojo’s awestruck whisper breaks through your frenzied mind, “I swear that guy’s eleven inches-”

And the worst (or perhaps best) part was the silver Prince Albert’s piercing that he proudly donned on his mushroomy tip. Cold metal contrasting with the feverish heat of his cock—making your irises swirl in the white of your eyes.

Geto whistles, “See the amount of cum pourin’ out of her? He might as well have undid all our hard work-”

“Why that emo little-”

“That only means we get to go again.” Sukuna hums with a smirk. Not waiting for the others’ reactions before he’s siddling up behind you, kissing aaaaaall the way down the line of your spine before reachin’ a hand between your legs.

And you jolt as you feel the sudden spikes of pleasure taking over your cunt, Sukuna’s thick fingertips pryin’ aside your pussylips to latch onto your clit. He’s toyin’ with your clit while you ride Choso, “F—fuck, keep going like that, it feels too good-”

“And so you mean to say- we can g-get you pregnant…?” Though Choso’s mind remained fixated on only one thing, and his voice quivered in disbelief. “We can really get you pregnant? Really, really get you preg-”

“For fucks’ sake-”

“You can, baby.” You’re cutting off Sukuna’s rumble- making the other man huff and continue to roll his thumb against your knobbly clit. His erection rutting into you ravenously from behind, “You can cum inside me-”

Choso’s beautiful brown eyes widen, “Cum inside-” He bucks at just the words leaving your mouth.

“And fuck it inside all you want.” You don’t think you’ve felt this much power since you made Gojo cum just with a single touch of your pussy. And Choso was easily the same type to get utterly pussydrunk after only a few glides of his veiny cock. 

Just babbling and babbling away with the clenches of your cunt whenever you felt his pierced tip. He’s striking his painfully hard tip on top of your g-spot and letting the tears flow until you wondered who was feeling the sensation-

“Are you alright, baby?” You’re pushing back his sweaty bangs, staring into those eyes of his that were smudged with eyeliner.

Sukuna leans over, “Yer never that nice to me, woman-”

“Shush before I ban you from the bed.” You huff.

“My own bed?”

But the King of the Ring quietens down anyways, watching down as the man being ridden manages to string together a few coherent words - he couldn’t blame his frat brother. After all, he’d already felt the filthy heaven that was your pussy, and it almost made him lose his mind as well…And by now Choso was far beyond ruined—“So let me get this…get this straight-”

“Go on, baby.” You’re noticing that the man below you was so shattered that his mere body was jolting at the mention of anything to do with a baby. 

Even that cutesy nickname for him made him spurt out in a steam of miry pre, clinging onto your insides. He gasps, “You’re saying that you want to- to have…my baby?”

Gojo pipes up from somewhere across the edge of the room, “And mine!”

“Mine first~” Geto follows.

A heated huff behind you. “Heh, good fuckin’ luck because it’s gonna be mine.” 

“That is unless it’s not mine.” Nanami pushes up his glasses, “Which will be impossible.”

Choso’s growing more and more dazed the more and more they speak—or perhaps he was just reacting to the speeding up of your hips. The way you’re leaning in so close with a sultry smile and saying, “It can be yours, too, Cho—”

And that’s all that it takes to make the poor man cum.

He didn’t expect it- he didn’t even think that it was on its way judging by the sudden jolt that wracks through him. Choso throws his head into the crook of your shoulder, jaw dropping open with little sobs as he furiously fucks himself through his high.

Again and again.

Wave after wave.

You think that Sukuna’s ministrations might have you hitting one of yours, as well - but by now, you were far too gone to actually feel anything but tender zaps of pleasure.

Too caught up in the way that the brown-haired man was poooouring out as many droplets of cum as his balls could hold. Every single one. “You’re saying- you’re saying that m’gonna be the one to breed you—?” He’s rasping out against the side of your neck, and Sukuna claims your other side with a possessive growl. “You’re saying that I’m gonna fuck you all f-full and glowing?”

Arching into the two toned men that sandwiched your, “Yes, please-”

“I’m gonna feed this cunt with all the- ngh, cum she wants.” All the wants and more—it was drippin’ out of you, a milky sheen that coats all three sets of your thighs, Choso’s own, and Sukuna’s. “And then she’s gonna turn it into a baby that’s mine?”

Gojo scoffs, “Erm, actually-”

“And she’s gonna be as beautiful as you-” Choso doesn’t even seem to notice the interruption, doesn’t even seem to notice that he wasn’t breathing. Wasn’t doing anything but moving his plump tip inside of you and bashing every orifice with his puckered, pierced tip- “And she’s gonna have your smile, my eyes, your laugh, my hair—fuck, she’s gonna be just as beautiful as you.”

It seems that he’s tapered out the miry white cum that’d been seeping into you, and the man finds himself reclining back on Sukuna’s bed.

Holding onto either side of your hips now, you’re shocked at the sudden claim that overcomes him once Choso bucks his hips of the bedsprings and starts rutting inside you- “Gonna be so fucking beautiful- gonna be so fucking mine.” Tip bulging. Piercing slick.

“P-pleeeease, Cho—” Your head throws back, body starting to lean against Sukuna’s for support.

When the other man swats away Sukuna’s hand with no fear and starts toyin’ hearts on top of your clit himself. The chipped black of his nail polish marking out exactly where his fingers were moving in a frenzy.

The wrestler raises a brow, “Oi…”

But Choso’s paying no heed, “Gonna fuck- fuck my baby into ya, baby.” His dark lashes quiver with tears, just so big and pretty and sensitive. “Gonna have everyone look at you and see what I did-” Gojo gets up with a growl, and Choso only spreads apart your pussylips with his fingers so that he can see better. The way you were dripping in his cum. 

“Gonna have everyone see you walking down the street and know that I got you pregnant.” It was just so surprising the sheer intensity he was fucking you with—you’re crash-landing into yet another high of the night. And the emo boy was fucking you perfectly through it, letting his bulbous piercing scraaape your dewy insides. “Gonna have everyone see you buying baby clothes and let them know that’s for my baby.” Balls tightening, “Gonna have these fuckers see her in nine months and see me, me, me—”

Choso’s fucked himself into oblivion against your cunt, inside your sopping wet walls - until he’s pushing into his second high of the night.

And the more he’s pushing those clingy white wads inside, the more pussydrunk he seems to be getting. “Gonna—-pregnant.” Only broken fragments of his thoughts and words echoing out, Choso was rubbin’ his reddened tip raw on your pussy. “Get you—ngh, mine—baby…”

Again and again, he was emptying his aching balls inside of you. Twitching after each white-hot pour of his syrup that left you flooded.

And it’s only after he’s done with his wave of euphoria that your jaw drops at his state. Utterly ruined.

“Are you o-okay, Cho?” Genuinely asking.

But the pierced man only looks up at you with tears in his eyes, “Baby, am- am I pregnant?”

Your jaw drops—fuck. Fuck, he was that pussydrunk.

But Sukuna only cackles from behind you, “The fuck did you ask?” He looks over his shoulder at the three other men who were just hypnotized by the sight, “Oi! D’you fuckers hear that?”

“It’s certainly an interesting idea.” Geto hums, drawing nearer.

“And yet, mostly implausible.” Nanami replies.

“If there’s anyone here that she’s going to get pregnant first- then it’s going to be me.” Gojo stabs a thumb at himself, and you all turn to look at him. Slightly abashed at the sudden attention, he pushes his glasses up his nose with a blush. “B-but of course, I know that’s impossible with the considerations of a lack of seminiferous tubules and even if there was a vans deferens the considerations of a male womb…” Trailing off.

You’re so fucked that you almost don’t realize that all five men were on the bed in mere moments.

Surrounding you.

Gojo and Nanami’s cocks being guided to your sweaty hands, they themselves starting to move your palms down their needy lengths. Choso perking his hips up still as if unstoppable, as if it doesn’t even matter how sensitive he was if he could just fill you up once more—

“H-hold on-” You’re gasping down at the brown-haired man, “Hold on, Cho, are you sure you can-”

“Hold on?” Choso chokes out, “Hold on.”

Before tunneling straight into your womb with no apology-

“M’trying to f-fuck you till you’re pregnant and dripping with my seed and you want me to hold on- never say that again, baby.” He leans in closer and whispers, “Never.”

Before your mouth’s plugged up with Sukuna’s cock.

.

.

.

Where the others were possessive, Geto was just downright filthy.

You hadn’t even allowed your brain to register the feeling of Choso’s plummy, split-ended tip pulling out of you with a plop! Just the sheer length of it singed into your walls- “Sh-shit.” You’re shivering sensitively, “What now—oh.”

And you don’t have to ask before you’re feeling it again.

Him.

Geto Suguru with his muscular front against your back, taking Sukuna’s position behind you on the mattress. “A full nelson, huh, Ryomen?” His breathy voice echoes out behind you. “You know, that might just work- c’mere, Satoru.”

Gojo perks up where he’d been sulking in his chair, “Me?”

“You.” All laid behind Geto now, you were just so far gone that you barely even feel it once he spreads apart your jittery legs. With a single swipe of his ringed fingers, he’s baring your cream-covered cunt for everyone to see. All gooey and wet with the wads of cum trickling out of you. “C’mere and eat her out while I fuck her.”

“I thought you were going to let me fuck her- out of the kindness of your heart.” Gojo huffs, but gets down before you two anyways.

“What heart?”

And it’s the last thing you’re hearing before Geto’s incredibly hardcockhead is mazing between your walls. He’d waited all this time since the beginning of the night, through the new additions to the bedroom, and now was his time. Now he was not waiting a single second for you to get used to his primal size. Not waiting a single second even feeling apologetic- 

“S’because I have no heart that m’reaching for hers~”

Gojo might have been the longer out of the two, but Geto was most certainly the thickest. An incredible girth that might just be one of the thickest you’ve encountered this entire night, his entire tannish tip covered in a few squiggly veins that perfectly outlined your cunt.

And the thing was—

Geto lived up to be just as good as his mouth was - he lived up to all the talk. He was leaving you stupid with only a few swabs of his puckered red tip, dribblin’ out gooey pre ‘round your entrance and then pushing then pushing each ounce iiiiiiinwards.

Again and again.

2. Geto Suguru.

Fucking PRETTY

Rings 

In a band

Already super close friends. Two in one go??

You met him at one of his gigs on campus, and you admit you’d been struck by the music- but also the singer himself. Rather accosting him after the show, it was a fast track to becoming friends.

And Geto Suguru was…Geto Suguru.

Anyone else might have gone a little slower in the beginning, anyone else might have let you at least get used to his incredible length before utterly ruining you - but Geto Suguru had your pussylips split upon his cock and was reaching in ravenously. Hard. Quick strikes. Not waiting a single second before plapping! at the very back of your spongy cervix and glidin’ back down, not waiting a single second after he’s making everyone’s cum pour out of you-

And Geto doesn’t even speak to you from behind until he’s sure he’s made your pretty pussy surge into your orgasm at least twice like his.

Carefully movin’ about the rude red tip of his shaft, he spanks a bruise onto your g-spot a few times and watches as you shatter as if made of porcelain-

“So how about it, gorgeous?” Geto’s gasping voice from behind you, the curtain of his long inky hair tickling your sensitive skin. He had you pinned against his back with a single pale arm, “Decided on which one of us you want to make your- hngh, baby daddy yet?”

“F-fuck, I’m not quite…” Your sentence trails off with pleasure.

“Yeah? Not quite yet?” He continues from behind you, acting for all the world as if he wasn’t just singlehandedly ruining you on his velvety shaft. And you could practically hear the pout in his purring voice, “Well, you’re going to have to- mmm, decide soon if you really wanna baby, y’know?”

Back arching, “Yes—yes-”

“Oh, who am I kidding?” And the waves of your bliss were roaring in your ears, leaving your friend’s sing-song voice sound as if almost from a distance. 

He doesn’t say anything before reaching his roughened-up hands down between your tits, sloooowly - almost as if he was attempting not to scare off his prey. “There’s someone- heh, better I can ask about that…”

“What are you…” You’re choking on so many of your whines as he reaches down and presses the slender tips of his fingers on top of your stomach, slightly bloated with sopping cum. And it just makes you guuuuush- “Shit shit sh-shit, Suguru, what are you—oh.”

“Whoops, was that me?” Geto’s purring out from behind you, ignoring the protests that erupt from every corner of the room. “Silly me~ I didn’t realize she was leaking this fucking much- we might just hafta fuck her like this all over again boys.”

“I mean, I would gladly.” Sukuna rumbles.

“Shit, same.” The white-haired man gulps from below, it was here that he could get the perfect vision of the ivory sap flowing out of you. Hotly melting between your pussylips and reachin’ the curled tip of his tongue, “Shit, what are you even doing to her, Suguru-”

“Hmmmm—?” Because none of them had ever fucked you like this.

While the other men had their goals of breeding you until you were all roooound and glowing, Geto had a slightly altered goal of doing that in the way that would most leave your pussy crying. Leave you crying.

They could see it right now, the way that the bassist would speed his slender hips until they were almost nothing but a blur between your legs. Roughly mazin’ the crown edge of his shaft until it felt like you were twitching from pleasure- until it felt like you were just a liiiiittle too close to reaching your high. And the only thing that Geto Suguru could do then is slow down.

Achingly so, until you’re left sobbing for more—

“Too fucking filthy.” Sukuna’s whistling, bulging biceps crossed. He cocks his head at the nerdy man, “So are ya gonna eat her out or just stare- because I could do a right job of it-”

“Shut up.”

And Gojo Satoru was never one to not catch up.

He lets his slick tongue flop out, gulping at the ivory sap flowing out of you. It’s like a hot melt between your swollen pussylips- “Mmm—” So fucking filthy. Too fucking filthy. And yet, he didn’t know if he was the filthier one for then reaching out and letting his tongue across your folds, dipping just a little lower…“Mmmpf- Suguru, did she say which one of us she wanted as the- hngh, baby’s father yet?” 

“Tha’s exactly what I’m asking her, Satoru.” Geto responds.

And in no time you’re feeling his fingertips push down on your womb once again, making it hard for you not to shatter into yet another one of your highs - but you were so overstimulated by this point that even that felt like a mere few tingles. “Let’s seeeee—” His breathy tone was in your ear, lookin’ down at the other man between your legs. “I think m’hearing ‘Suguru’, gorgeous…”

“Where the fuck are you-” Gojo himself is interrupted by a particularly loud splosh of sap trickling out from between your pussylips. And he can’t lie, he’s listening to the noise himself as if it was human words. “She did not fucking say that, don’t put words in my girl’s mouth- pussy.”

Geto arches a brow, “Then what did she say?”

“She said ‘Satoru’.” Stubbornly replying from below.

Geto’s snapping his hips up viciously at the feeling of his best friend’s tongue licking at your hole, parts of his textured tongue gliding down his own shaft. “Mmm, you fucking wish- just listen to her.” Making the echoing slurps grow louder and louder.

“Nuh-uh, fucking listen to this-” With the other man’s tongue slippin’ between your folds and dragging out just as many noises.

“Heh, yeah right—”

You didn’t even know which one of them was being louder at this point, because whenever you thought that it might be Geto then Gojo was tuggin’ on your clit with his teeth and making you moan- and whenever you thought that it might be Gojo then Geto was planting his hand down on your tummy and making you leak out. Making you formulate a puddle of slick that both men were just addicted to—

“P-please…” As if this was nothing but your little mantra, and it kept echoing out of you like a broken record player. You didn’t know what exactly you were begging for - for more, for mercy, for your life-

“I know.” Geto hisses from behind you, his sharp canines starting to dig into the side of your neck. “How about we ask her, Satoru?”

Gojo’s eyes snap above his foggy glasses, “Good idea- sweetheart, isn’t it me that your womb’s begging for?”

“Isn’t it me you’ve been dreaming of getting pregnant by?” Geto speaks out as well.

And you’re following the two men like a tennis match, with your stupidly dazed eyes bouncing between the rude pumps that Geto was placing on your cunt, the way that Gojo’s tongue somehow forked into all the right places.

Driving you wild.

“I-is it me, sweetheart-”

“It’s me, isn’t it, gorgeous-”

And when it seemed as though you were far too stupid on their movements to answer, Geto was reaching his hand down and pinching your clit—the very same that Gojo was surging up to and suckling. Both of them are fighting for purchase on you. Both of them ending up only making your pleasure ebb even deeper- and your nth high of the night crashing through your body.

“B-both—!” You’re calling out, getting the lewd attention of everyone watching. You buck and thrash on top of him, “Want both, Suguru- Satoru- fuck, I want both of you-”

“Then it’s settled.”

The bulbous end of his cock pulses away inside you, dragging back and forth along your walls in a way that was frenzied. He smears aside your legs even further and furrows his brows, “Then it’s settled-” Geto’s pants making the skin on the side of your neck perspire, his slender hips arching up into you in a way that you weren’t even sure was possible. Just the best angles hittin’ each throbbing spot inside you until you gasp, ”-that our baby’s gonna have two daddies, huh?”

And it’s almost as if that was enough to make Geto Suguru crash into his own high, like he couldn’t control himself at the image - he couldn’t stop himself at the thought of you being fucked by him and his best friend. In no time, his high was shooting straight through him and ending up smeared against the wetness of your cervix.

Right at the very back, it’s splattering out in a distinct warmth that you note. He doesn’t move a single inch as he pumps you through the shivers of his high. Pump after pump. Push after push that leaves you primally speechless. “Oh my god—” Your mouth waters as you’re filled up with wad after wad of gooey white-

“Suguru’s just fine, gorgeous.” He hums from beneath you, thrusts loooooong and thorough pushing in every single ribbony white excess. “Or maybe even- the future father of your kids.”

“I-I’d like that…” Twitching through the way he was fucking you like an animal. And just below, Gojo was much the same- just lickin’ and lickin’ away between your legs while Geto fucked you stupid. You’re filled up to the brim, until it was almost too much to keep inside—

And Gojo thinks he might just cream himself just from the very vision- “Don’t tell me you’re gonna cum already, Satoru?” 

“Fuck off, Suguru.”

.

.

Toji Fushiguro doesn’t get fucking paid enough.

Being the security guard on a college campus isn’t exactly the most lucrative job in the first place, but it was made worse by the fact that he had to deal with that—college kids. Toji himself was about ten years past his own college day, though that was not to say that his experience as a security guard didn’t hone him to handle all clientele. He could handle awkward high schoolers. He didn’t care about screaming middle schoolers. 

Hell- even the pre-schoolers seemed to have just a bit more sense than some twenty-somethings with too much alcohol and too little self-preservation on their hands.

Which is why he was answering a call at 3AM.

Perfect, those never bode well.

The complaint had come from the resident of some nearby dorm who’d happened to pass by the Curses Epsilon frat house (god, Toji fucking hated frats) and heard some…strange noises. It was far too loud and far too many voices for them to discern, apparently. And though they’d rung the bell, it seems that no one had been home.

Except for the strange noises, that is!

Looking up at the sprawling mansion from here, Toji could see just one light in the entire building turned on. It seems there was someone home - though likely only the resident of this particular room. 

And Toji didn’t need to be a rocket scientist to figure out that this was likely some frat dudebro (god, Toji fucking hated dudebros) who had a bad trip or far too much to drink. This fraternity in particular was always infamous for their ragers, ones that Toji himself has had to shut down many times. 

So he’s announcing his presence before trying the door hand and—ah, and it opens. Just as he expected (god, did he say he fucking hated frats?)

Entering through the dimly-lit living space, the noises only got louder the closer he got to a certain resident’s room.

The closer he got to—

“What the-” Toji’s flinging open the door to Ryomen Sukuna’s room, breath catching at the sight (cock twitching). “-fuck.”

You.

You, you, you, you.

Toji Fushiguro has wanted to fuck you since the moment he saw you.

Ever since last semester when you’d bribed him - oh, the sweet audacity - into letting you and your friends throw a party by bringing him a bottle of fine whiskey. He’d laughed in your face, of course, before ultimately taking the spoils and grumbling that you could (‘but only until 1AM’ he’d said).

That night he sipped on his whiskey, wondering if the pretty pussy underneath that thin skirt of yours was just as sweet. Just as addictive. 

And here you were now—laid across Ryomen Sukuna’s bed and being filled by five men in all of your holes.

And, well, did Toji mention that he didn’t get paid enough?

6. Toji Fushiguro.

That HOT campus security omg (someone should put his face on the campus magazine and the applications would fill in)

BUFFFFFFFFFFFFF X5

Gruff but lowkey has a soft spot

Rumor says he’s a DILF (hmmm?)

He’s starting to tug off his uniform immediately, “Don’tcha worry, doll-” Toji snickers at the shocked look on your face, looming closer to you. To where you were sprawled on the bed and getting pinned by one set of Sukuna’s hands. “-I don’t snitch.”

And the long-haired one in a band - Geto, he believes his name was - grins. “Welcome to the club.”

The rickety bedsprings creak as he joins you all on the bed. “This bed’s gonna fuckin’ break.” Sukuna rolls his eyes.

“Shut up, brat.” And only the older man was the only one here who would possibly talk to Ryomen Sukuna that way. Toji shoos away the other men to meet you in the middle of his dampened sheets, brows raising at the sheer amount of white sap pourin’ out of you. He’d overheard some of the things that’d been said before he came but…fuck. “Damn, they really did a number on you, hm?”

You can only nod, “Mhm—”

“And you don’t regret a single thing.”

“W-well…” You look away, unsure what to say.

“No no, s’good.” Toji coos—almost. His tone was far too mean for that, “A girl like you should enjoy yourself during your college years.”

You’re jolting at the inkling of something dangerous in his tone- as do some of the others. But you don’t get to think too long about it before Toji has one roughened hand flipping you over. The other shoving your head down into the pillows- “But let me show you how a real man breeds ya now.”

You can only nod.

He tugs down - merely tugs down - his pants until the thick reddened tip of his cock hits your pussylips. Smearin’ down the crevice of your cunt, watching as you drivel a wet glaze down Toji’s length—he wastes no fucking time before edging his hips upwards and shoving—“Y’know, I’ve always wondered whether these college boys were fuckin’ you right.”

“N-ngh, fuck—” Your eyes roll to the back of your skull. Toji was just so thick - thicker than anyone here, with more veins than your feverish mind could even count by now.

“Yeah? I’ve always wondered whether they could- ngh, satiate this pretty pussy like she deserves-” Toji snickers, watching as you shake beneath him. “-the way I could do it.”

“H-hey! I think we did a good job-” Toji sends Gojo one look his way and he shuts up.

The older man glides his calloused fingertips down your spine, drawing sensual hearts that make you shiver. “Because unlike these damn college boys, y’know it takes a reeeeal hard earner ta know the feeling of wantin’ to provide.” He’s gruffing out, hips hitting yours in half-ruts. “A real family man.”

“Oh fuck off, old man.” Sukuna rolls his eyes, “You’re looking at the future of wrestling right here-”

“And a future Nobel Prize winner!” Gojo pipes up, but hides behind the pink-haired man anyway.

Nanami chimes in as well, “I fear I simply do not see the point you are trying to make, Mr. Fushiguro.”

They were in an uproar. 

But to everyone’s surprise…Toji Fushiguro isn’t getting angry. Toji Fushiguro is smiling- “Hehhhh, fear you don’t see the point m’trying to make, huh? Let’s just put it this way then…” Almost muttering to himself, before he’s grabbing onto either side of your waist and funneling your womb with all his girthy seven inches. “-we’re about to make my son a big brother tonight.”

Their jaws drop.

Oh.

Oh.

They were well-aware that the security guard was single, all by his lonesome, according to gossiping admirers who had the courage to ask - but no one could have ever guessed that the man had a son.

And right now he was fucking you like he wanted to make a second- 

“I’ve always wanted to show her- fuck, to show this pussy that even older men can fuck you gooooood, honey.” Just as he promises, he’s reaching for your g-spot faster than anyone else before him. Harder. Scourin’ your honeyed walls and making sure that Toji’s cock was thoroughly etched against your pussy, “So how about it? Got a thing for DILFs?”

“Yes—” Your velvety walls are squeezing his length and Toji holds onto you so tight that his nail marks take home on your skin. “Yes fuck, how did you know-”

“Because everyone’s gotta thing for DILFs.” He’s snickering from above you, abs glissading faster down your back. Your mouth drops ajar at the way that Toji reaches down and squeezes your clit with no hesitation. “But whaddaya feel about becoming a MILF?”

“Sh-she was mine first.” Gojo growls out from your side, holding onto your arm as if to tug you away.

But Toji only glances over like he just realized the other man was there, lazily looking him up and down. “Natural selection, kid. I’m gonna be the one to make her a momma.”

“That’s bullshit.” 

“Keeeep talking.”

Toji Fushiguro’s fucking you like an animal - short, rapid bucks and ruts of his hips just to fit inside. Just to manage to stretch out your walls to his girth, and then draaaaag all the way back out again to repeat. “Heh, s’a big stretch- I know.” Almost as if he was out of control. And with his meanness, he didn’t mind being so sloppy with it that after a few thrusts his cockhead would slip out of your hole. Ending up slidin’ between your lips and grazing his flared slit along your most sensitive spots. Toji holds onto the base of his cock and shovels in even more ruthlessly than before.

Just to make you whine a bit more—

“Handle it.” He gruffs out from behind you, shaggy black bangs tickling the back of your neck. And Toji’s pistoning into you at a pace that leaves you dizzy, “I said fucking- hah, handle it. Yer gonna have an even bigger of a stretch down there in nine months- heh.”

“You’re just so mean.” You huff.

“Me?” Toji coos in amusement, “Aw, doll, you haven’t seen mean yet.” 

You’re holding onto his pale pillows for dear life as he fills you up once more, “Ohhh, feels so good, Toji-” Again. And again.

“Oh yeah? Oh yeah?” And he sounds fucking ecstatic at the fact. He grips onto the back of your throat with one hand, “You see- when ya get to my age you just don’t have time for the- hah, nonsense.” Fucking you hard and fast. 

And purposeful.

It felt like Toji’s rounded tip was hitting every spot he wanted it to, and even the slightest rub of his zig-zagging veins left you speechless. You weren’t even sure whether you were shaking because of the sheer stimulation or because he was just that good- “Just needa find a niiiice girl ta settle down with.” His rumbling tone continues, “Treat her all nice, get her everything she wants- heh, then pump her full with a kid or two—get all of them everything they want.”

“Shit-” You gasp out, trying to buck against the creaky mattress. “Fuck, m’just so sensitive-”

“And what is it that you want, momma?”

The only thing that you can cry out now, “T-to cum—”

His fingers twist on your clit even harder, “Anything for the mother of my kid.” He speeds up, heavy balls hitting you in light spanks. “Anything-” He snarls, your cunt was just dangerously fluttering around him. “Goooood, right? Goooood?”

“Good-” You hiccup- “So good-”

“Nuh uh, doll- s’it so goooood?” 

Toji might have been teasing you, but you still manage to find yourself repeating. “S-so gooooood-”

“Soooo good?”

Completely dumbified by now that you weren’t even sure what you were saying, the tell-tale twitches at the base of your stomach tells you that you’re close. “So, sooooo good.”

“Heh, how cute. So dumb on my cock.” He hums, “And can ya say Mrs. Toji Fushiguro?”

“Mrs. Toji—oh.”

And the next thing you’re actually seeing with your own two eyes…the bulging erection of Gojo Satoru. His pale thighs spread wide open in front of you, his puckered red tip being tapped on your lips. He wasn’t going to let you finish that particular sentence any time soon - or ever, really. “Open wide f’me, sweetheart? Let me see that cavum oris…”

“S-Satoru—” You whine, letting your jaw unfasten for him.

And it’s as if the moment they’re seeing their inexperienced friend take initiative, the rest of them were just rushing at you. Because Gojo’s slickly smooth tip thrusts between your lips- and then you have Geto and Sukuna’s hands dragging both of yours to their cocks.

Nanami’s even snaking his hands underneath to massage your sore tits.

Toji’s hands the only thing keeping your body held up- “Fuckin’ animals.” He’s hissing between gritted teeth, nose crinkling in a look of primal need. “Go easy on ‘er- she’s the momma of my future kid.”

“No, mine.” Nanami’s the first to speak.

“Mine.”

“Mine~”

Choso blinks, “M-mine?”

“N-no, mmm—” Gojo’s head falls back at the slide of your textured tongue underneath the line of his mushroom tip, “-mine.”

And when Toji finally cums it’s with all five other men still with their hands on you. 

Pumping his seed in primal, rapid half-thrusts in and out.

Massaging your elastic hole. Caressing your deepest insides with all his puffy veins.

Your face is being pushed up against Gojo’s toned v-line and there’s nothing you can do about it, your nose scratching on his sultry ivory hairs. Toji’s length just felt so perfect - you could feel the curve of his cockhead piston gluey webs against your very throat with how hard he was pumping himself into you. 

In and out, in and out, in and out until he could feel that sweet, sweet resistance of your hole and he’s forced to ease back out. He was reluctant to pull out even when he could feel the recoil of your cervix begging him to move- to fuck his ivory syrup deep inside. 

So much of it—

All of it mixing into one making you feel so full-

“Ay ay- stop fucking into her mouth so hard, how m’I supposed to breed her like this?” Toji tuts at Gojo.

“Can you blame me?” He, too, was milking his length on your heavenly body. Overflowing with a line of cum that streams out from his pretty strawberry divot and down to your throat- Gojo watches it all disappear between your lips and shivers.

Until Toji roughens out an incredibly hard jackhammer that has you spilling a few strings out of your mouth. “Heh, whoops-”

“Fuck you-”

“Fuck you-”

“I thought we were fucking her.” Geto’s humming through the argument, tilting his head down at you. “How about me next, gorgeous?” And you wished you had the rationality at this point to let him know that you were just barely getting through your nth high of the night-

Waves of tender bliss flowing through you.

You think you might pass out.

“Don’t you fucking dare.” Gojo hisses, and you’re just letting of Toji’s cock with a pop! and a few more sultry sounds of cum gushing out of you. Before he’s crushing you to his front, staring them all down. “It’s my turn again.”

“You fuckin’ wish-”

“Satoru-”

“How crude-”

“Well…”

“She’s mine.”

1. Gojo Satoru.

Super cute

Probably a big D

Secret freak (tracked ovulation!??)

However has no experience (not quite a con?) and no place to fuck in (single bed + has a roommate, Geto)

2. Geto Suguru.

Fucking PRETTY

Rings 

In a band

Already super close friends. Two in one go??

3. Ryomen Sukuna.

Frat boy™ (leader of Curses Epsilon)

Probably REALLY good in bed

On his way to become a pro wrestler (headlocks omg??)

Might be rough…

4. Nanami Kento.

The HOTTEST prof/ TA this campus has ever seen

Such a gentleman (opens doors, eye contact even when wearing skimpy tops, reads feminist books omg)

Mature 

Some think he’d be dry in bed tho…

5. Choso Kamo.

In Geto’s band.

Wears eyeliner on a daily basis.

Always quiet and walking around campus with nothing but his headphones and sketchbook (artsy ooo~)

Wanna make him whimper!!

6. Toji Fushiguro.

That HOT campus security omg (someone should put his face on the campus magazine and the applications would fill in)

BUFFFFFFFFFFFFF X5

Gruff but lowkey has a soft spot

Rumor says he’s a DILF (hmmm?)

“Seems we have quite the conundrum on our hands.” Geto’s the one to hum above the squabbling, and as he turns to you, so does everyone else - all six of them. 

Looking at you.

“So?” Gojo urges. “Which one of us will it be?”

A/N. The way I didn’t even KNOW how to tag this after I was done erm-

Plagiarism not authorized.

[spideyyeet]

➷ Unspoken Conditions ── ♪♪ ✦ ♪♪

[ SERIES SYNOPSIS ] — it was obvious when this started, it was simply a mutual understanding between two horny college students — with very high libidos, and didn’t want any random stds — that this was purely a sexual relationship only. and yet, both of you are unintentionally toeing the line between that and something else. [ frat!kuna fwb series ]

[ TAGS ] — MDNI. 18+ nsfw. contains explicit sexual themes and content. piv. angst. friends with benefits. toxic frat culture. hazing. fraternity/sororities. hurt/comfort. hurt/no comfort. SLOW BURN. fluff. spit. ráw. rough. heavy spanking. degradation. dacryphilia. slight exhibitionisim. pda. soft sukuna. choso + yuuji r his younger brothers. every position. heavy creampies. violence. depression/anxiety. anger issues. squirting. cockwarming. alcohol. family death. family trauma. reader slightly oc. sukuna is a football (soccer) player too. HAPPY ENDING. tags will be updated as series continues.

✮ ch 1 || how it all started ✮ ch 2 || miss me already?

✮ ch 3 || call me ✮ ch 4 || two worlds

✮ ch 5 || conditions ✮ ch 6 || cracks

✮ ch 7 || summer break ✮ ch 8 || tbd

✮ ch 9 || tbd ✮ ch 10 || tbd

✮ ch 11 || tbd ✮ ch 12 || tbd

✮ pt 1 — sukuna is starting to toe the line

✮ pt 2 — you’re desperate to prove this is just sex

✮ pt 3 — cockwarming him for the first time

✮ pt 4 — sukuna’s brothers visit unexpectedly

✮ pt 5 — pregnancy scare with sukuna

✮ pt 6 — sukuna has a stash of naked polaroids of you

✮ pt 7 — halloween special: scare actor!sukuna

✮ pt 8 — sukuna’s noticeable bulge at the gym

✮ pt 9 — high stakes no nut november edition

✮ pt 10 — holiday special: grinch!kuna naughty or nice

✮ pt 11 — sukuna leaves his door open when you’re over

✮ pt 12 — sukuna realizes you’re ovulating. skinny dipping

✮ pt 13 — tbd

✮ visuals ✮ ig ✮ bts lore ✮ playlist ♪ ✮ tiktok tag ✮

✮ pinterest board ✮ ask tag ✮ main masterlist ✮ ao3 ✮

[ INFO ] : the chapters are the actual series. it begins mid-spring semester JUNIOR year. the parts exist in the same story, but as stand alone canon oneshots and will not be mentioned in the chapters (like filler eps). they take place between sept-nov fall semester of their SENIOR year [parts and chps can be read separately]

THERE IS NO SERIES TAGLIST ✦ age should be visible on your blog tho (art: @/xhealer_ tt, dividers: @/lariesographic)

all rights reserved to ©spideyyeet

[tonycries]

No Mercy

Synopsis. Hot nerds.

Pairings. [SEPARATE] Higuruma x Reader, Gojo x Reader, Ino x Reader, Sukuna x Reader, Choso x Reader, Geto x Reader, Nanami x Reader, Toji x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem!reader, nerd!JJK men, college AU, pIot, TA!Nanami, Iessons, slight exhíbitionísm, chokíng, spítting, running from it, scientific Ianguage, manhandIing, matíng presses, rough s, first times (theirs), academic rivaI!Geto, Peter Parker!Ino, REACTIONS, p talking, p sIapping, JACOB’S LÁDDER PlERCING, góoner!Gojo, surprise in Choso’s, needy JJK men, glasses, DÚMBlFICATlON, overstím, sIight bréeding, creampíes, cúmpIay, slight cúmfIation, Iaw professor!Higuruma, getting together, someone save Yaga, pet names, swéaring.

A/N. YOU SHOULD’VE BEEN MERCYYYYYY-

♡ TOJI FUSHIGURO - Better man.

“—and not only did he cheat on me-” You’re whispering to the black-haired man, glare flashing behind his rectangular glasses. Fixated on none other than the faux-blond on the dance floor. “-but he has the audacity to go around telling everyone that I’m the reason we broke up.”

He snorts unkindly- though not directed at you.

Crossing his arms, broad chest straining against the flannel. “The box-dye has clearly seeped into his cerebral cortex- perhaps even the P-FIT Network.”

You’re nodding in agreement - it wasn’t quite in your plans to unload all your relationship drama to the nearest hot stranger at the party tonight. But you’d seen Toji around—who hasn’t? He was the brightest and best in the Veterinary Science department. Always on top of class, always the example your professor used, always with his head ducked into his textbooks.

Though now he held his head high. Pushing his glasses up, “Statistically and personally- I’d be much better for you than him.”

Oh.

You’re jerking your head up to meet his eyes, clearing not expecting of the man you knew not to be a social butterfly. And he’s looking away from you just as quickly—“I-I mean-” There was the socially awkward mess you’d forcefully introduced yourself to tonight. “Forget I said anything- there must have been a miscalculation on my part, I didn’t…”

Though you can’t help but notice that Toji’s ears were…bright red. Redder than even his flannel jacket. 

Oh. 

You knew he wasn’t the type to flirt around.

You knew he wasn’t the type to even get approached- though not for a lack of anything, Toji Fushiguro was hot. To say the least.

Shaggy black bangs that covered part of his glasses. Large hands made to carry numerous books (and perhaps something else…should you let your mind wander).

He towered above most of the campus, with shoulders for daaaaays—no matter how much he hunched them, Toji couldn’t hide just how sculpted they were. And not to mention, the way his biceps would flex any time he raised his hand to answer a question (which was…for every question) made it such a treat to sit behind him during Professor Yaga’s lectures. Beauty and brains?

Somehow, it seems that half the campus had decided that that was a deadly combination, and they could only admire from so close before they suffered from heart palpitations. And the other half had decided that perhaps such a combination really was fatal- and were much too intimidated to try and talk to the man.

And so he waded through the throngs of people, unknowing or perhaps uncaring of their silent admiration. 

Not that his quietly intense demeanor gave off many welcoming vibes, either way.

Toji Fushiguro had one love, and one love only: his books.

Ultimately, it meant that the three seats upon the left and right of Toji were consistently empty for whichever class he sat in.

And you felt for him - you really did. So you tried to sit next to him in whichever classes you shared, though you were yet to have the man make any attempts at friendship. 

And neither had you.

So you’d been content.

Until tonight, that is.

When you’re finding yourself dragging this tall, buff nerd into the frathouse bathroom - it was your luck that there wasn’t a line. Because you don’t think either one of you could wait. Pushing him inside-

Right before the door slams shut and you’re finding the roles fucking reversed.

And you’re finding yourself manhandled in the direction of the sink - front shoved against the porcelain surface, Toji’s weight pinning you down from behind. Panting. Ravenous. He steadies himself with a hand on your hips. 

His other hand reaching in front of you and stuffin’ into your panties. His raging erection pressing against your ass cheeks.

Toji’s calloused finger swipe up your glossy slit and he moans- “A-are you this fuckin’ wet for me—?” Voice breathy as though he couldn’t believe it himself.

And you can only nod. “Who else would it be for, Toji?”

“Well…” He doesn’t answer - he can’t. Because at that very moment, Toji Fushiguro is given the privilege to feel just how sinfully your cunt can clench ‘round his thick fingertips—and his brain goes into overdrive wondering just how cutely you’d squeeze his aching cock.

Before long, he’s hooking a hand underneath your left knee and guiding it up onto the sink. Letting you perch there- “Now—easy f’me, girl.” Toji’s rasps ruffle the sequins on your dress- one that you’re finding hitched up from your lower half. In fact—he’s baring you all the way until your panties. Moving them aside with a finger just the barest inch-

Enough for the bespectacled man to catch side of your glistening wet pussy and groan-

“Neither of us are making it out of this alive.”

And it doesn’t take long before you’re feeling Toji’s long, luuuscious shaft start to sandwich between your pussylips. Honed tip. Bawling divot. They were just so puckered and sensitive- even the barest lines of his veins leaving you gasping. “Fuck-”

“Easy there-” That familiar tone of his echoes, sounding even more out-of-breath inside this bathroom. Toji hooks his chin into the crook of your neck, “Easy—” His swollen, reddened tip starts circling your entrance- and your head spins at how he probes into you. “Easy there- now- breathe-”

“What do you…oh, fuck.” Mewls shattering in your throat- you feel the sheer streeeeetch of Toji’s incredible length.

Just so thick. Just so heated.

You knew that it was always the quiet ones…but fuck.

It felt as though he was melting your walls around him - feeling every throb he was letting out at the top of your head. Your teeth were on edge, and your body was torn between wanting to take him even deeper and bouncing away into safety. For your mere sanity—could he even fit?

“O-of course, I can.” Toji’s guttural answer comes - and it’s only then that you’re truly realizing that you’d said that out loud. Fuck- had you been so dumbified by his mere size? That you were now babbling away as Toji sunk inside—

And he’s ruthless in his swipes- hard, technical. “It’s gonna fit.” It felt as though Toji Fushiguro had already studied every single inch of you, and he was now hurtlin’ away his rock-hard tip straight into where you needed him the most. “It will fit.”

He sounded so sure of himself - as easy as passing every finals exam with flying colors.

Toji pushes his glasses up his nosebridge and angles his cock even more viciously. He rubs that bawling divot of his against the roof of your cunt- messing around some of those tender sweet spots that you’d always kept hidden. And then glide-glide-gliiiiding down to purposefully massaging every nook n’ cranny of your walls against those prominent veins of his-

“Fuck—” In absolutely no time- he’s managed to locate your pulsing g-spot. As though drawn in by a magnet, Toji’s then following the shivers of your body to target that exact spot. Ramming and ramming his heavy cockhead between your pussylips. “H-how are you even-”

“Hmmm?” Nearly purring, Toji grazes his cheek down the column of your throat. “Speak up, doll.”

“How-”

“Actually…” You could hear the smile in his tone. “-raise your hand to speak.”

You gape. And that rebellious streak within you makes you open your mouth with a protest- but soon enough Toji’s darting his tip away from your g-spot to start thumpin’ at your cervix.

Lengthy glides that end up swabbing your sweetest spots, before thrashing straight to your womb.

It was as if he was teaching you exactly what you’d be missing if it weren’t for him and fuck- if that wasn’t a compelling argument…

Belatedly, you raise your hand. “How are you even this good, Toji?”

And that makes him raise a dark brow- “This good?” He asks - mostly to himself - and the utter botched breath in his tone makes shivers sprint down your spine. Toji watches his plump tip disappear in and out of your cunt a few times- before suddenly he’s letting out a startled laugh. “This good?”

Before you can do anything about it, Toji lifts his hand off of your waist and ends up smushing your cheeks together. There was nothing gentle about it - Toji was mean. Toji was trying to leave marks.

So that everyone who sees the two of you walk out of the bathroom together can look at your pretty face and know that that was him. That pretty set of lips- both ones.

He’s holding your face up to the sink mirror, his eyes meeting yours through the reflective surface. You’re realizing with a jolt that Toji’s eyes were the most intense shade of emerald green - and they were currently narrowing down at you—“Who’s fucking you right now, girl?”

“Wh-what?” You’re managing to sputter out.

His grip slightly tightens- and his cock starts hitting you twofold. “See it?” Those handsome features of his are just irresistible, making it so difficult for you to tear your eyes away from him. “Feel it?” And his other hand loosens from your clit to glide down your tummy - where you felt utterly bloated with all his bulging, massive inches. Throbbing. “Feel it?”

And you can only nod and nod-

“Who’s fucking you right now, girl?”

“Y-you—”

And in that very moment, his fat cock bottoms out with a lecherous slurp!

“That’s what I thought.” Toji sounds so content with himself- slightly slurring at the ends of his sentence. “And what’s my name?”

“Toji-” You’re gasping out. Your cries were echoing so loud inside the bathroom that you’re sure some of the bystanders outside were hearing - but you didn’t care. Not when Toji was reeling his sloppy hips back and stutterin’ a few direct hits to your bruised g-spot—“Toji Fushiguro—!”

“And who said a nerd can’t fuck?”

He snickers to himself.

Right before he’s starting to fuck into you like a damn animal- spotting every ounce of space inside you with his dribbling pre. The length of his cock was nearly a blur between your legs, and Toji was just drunk on the thought of having you. 

On the thought of wanting to have you for so long now-

“I studied, y’know?” Toji whispers against the shell of your ear, words clammy. “I studied every inch of the human anatomy-” He presses a kiss—then a bite. “I studied eeeeevery nook and cranny-” Swirlin’ his rude cockhead around just in time, “Every nerve in the clitorourethrovaginal complex and every crevice-”

“F-fuuuuck-”

“Every statistic for the Gräfenberg spot, and every spot where it couldn’t be-” He pinches your clit. He’s thrashin’ his hips against yours so hard that it sends your heels flying off of the cool tile. “Every stretch of your rugae and every little clench-”

As if on cue, you’re clenching around him. Embracing him with your puckered pussylips until Toji himself sees white- “Toji, it feels so-”

“Good.” He’s furiously pushing his glasses up, not daring to miss a single second or squeeze of your cunt. “Because I know this pussy in and out—” The nerdy man lands a few more sloppy strokes, and he has to bite down on his lower lip to hold back a whimper. Locking eyes with you through the mirror- “And who’s fucking you?”

“You, Toji—” Your eyes scrunch shut as you’re crashing into a sudden high- taking your entire body by surprise. Those white-hot bolts of pleasure start up where he was plunging into you, before building up through the rest of your body.

Your toes curl. You’re seeing white.

So strong that it leaves you nearly numb.

Nearly stupid- unable to do anything but grip onto the sink and bounce your hips back down. Right as Toji was fucking you through peak after peak- “Toji—fuck, Toji-”

And your ears are still ringing by the time the bathroom door clicks open.

Too late, you’re sloppily swivelling around to face the faux-blond man standing at the doorway. Not that you had anything against people that dyed their hair - but you did have something against Naoya Zenin.

Your jaw drops, “You-”

His furious eyes dart between you and Toji. “You two-”

“Take a hike, fucker.” Toji’s gruff tone echoes from behind, and you’re noticing that he doesn’t slow down for a single second as he talks to Naoya. In fact, the bespectacled man plants a sudden spank on the side of your ass and speeds up—“You’ll see enough of her soon at family functions- as my girlfriend, of course.”

Fuming, Naoya doesn’t speak a word before the door slams shut.

And it takes the tremble inside the bathroom for you to speak- “Wait…family functions? Do you know him or something?”

And Toji looks at you squarely. “We’re related.”

Oh.

“And don’t think that I was b-bluffing about the girlfriend part.”

Oh.

He stutters at that?

.

.

.

After a considerable few years of teaching, Masamichi Yaga has learned not to be surprised. 

It was inevitable, of course—the same old campus, the same old syllables, the same old faces that inevitably get replaced by those rather similar. All bored and slightly hungover.

Though that’s not to say that Yaga doesn’t love teaching or his students - in fact, he can empathize with those that aren’t exactly the keenest on learning Veterinary Science at 8AM. He empathizes - really - and he does his best to keep the process as pain-free as possible until they’ve earned their credits for the semester. 

And then again, that’s also not to say that there aren’t a few students who always…stand out. Not in terms of looks or aesthetic, but rather in the work they do.

In the questions they answer- and the questions they ask.

In the hours they put in.

In the textbooks they keep as close as their hearts.

And who better to illustrate this point than Toji Fushiguro? Though it was such a shame that he wasn’t the social types - these stand-out students often didn’t tend to be - in fact, there was only ever one student that dared sit next to him—ah! There you were.

Yaga admits he takes no small pleasure in watching this small interaction everyday.

Namely how Toji would duck his head and pretend he didn’t see you- except…except today, Toji wasn’t ducking his head at all. Not at all.

Instead, the black-haired man looks straight at you and whispers something in your ear.

Something that…that - judging by the gaping expression on your face, and the smug one on his - was a sentence not meant for Yaga’s ears. Something dirty.

And oh goodness…

He doesn’t know what happened since last class, but if he has to watch the two of you flirt everyday from hereon after then…

He might just have to request a course change.

♡ NANAMI KENTO - Lesson #1

“So like—” It doesn’t surprise Nanami Kento - TA to Professor Yaga’s History class, the star student in the entire department, the man infamous for having even his dorm walls covered in academic accolades and awards - when you lean over his desk.

Palms planted almost on his side. The neckline of your loose satin blouse dipping.

Dipping.

Enough to give him a gooood look at what was underneath- he catches just the slightest glimpse of baby pink before he has enough sense to look away. Lingerie? You’d worn fucking lingerie to come get tutored by him?

But alright—say that was understandable. Say that Nanami has enough experience as a TA by now to know that certain students might attempt to gain favors through…non-academic means. 

Perhaps one could chalk that up to human sensibilities (or lack thereof) - Nanami Kento was never that type of man. In fact, most of the department would harp on ballads about what a romantic the blond-haired TA is- much to his obliviousness.

However, what actually stuns him is the way you’re tucking a finger into your blouse’s neckline- and how you have the audacity to actually tug down on it.

You’re humming, “What do I have to do to get an A in this class?”

Nanami balks. Mouth opening and closing soundlessly.

He knows your type- more accurately, he knows you. He knows you’re the type of student surrounded by others, always invited to the most exclusive parties, always with a phone blowing up, always at the center of attention—always in his line of sight. Though that’s because he knows you’re not above cheating to pass this class…of course. That’s the only reason.

Short skirt. Seemingly getting shorter everyday- sat front and center whenever he assisted with class.

Legs slightly ajar.

It made him lose track of his thoughts whenever he happened to glance your way. Happened to. 

To Nanami Kento, history is what he lives and breathes- but to you, he knows it’s nothing but a credit you need to get your degree. And though he wouldn’t necessarily fault anyone for that, he can’t deny that it’d sent a thrill up his spine once you’d cornered him yesterday asking for tutoring.

He’d said yes faster than he would’ve liked.

And thus, here he was.

Nanami Kento tries to keep his composure by reminding himself of your absolutely abysmal naming of Japanese shoguns from the 14th century, but just when he thinks he’s getting a grip on himself—

He darts a look down your blouse and his voice cracks.

You smile as though you’ve got him already - you’ve seen the way he looks at you during lectures.

“I-I think that would be highly inappropriate-” Pushing his gold-rimmed glasses up frantically.

To which you’re only leaning closer- “Oh? What would be inappropriate? I was asking about what extra assignments I could take to make up for my last test score…” 

You cock your head in the picture of perfect innocence.

But he knows your games- he fucking knows it. And almost as much as his ears were burning, his cock does the same between his legs, too. “Perhaps re-taking that test- and the last five.” Nanami grits out. “And perhaps a long reading list—”

“You say that as if you’re disappointed.” Smiling - a snare.

“You say that as if you didn’t plan to re-take any tests at all.” Nanami counters. Somehow, his perfectly slicked-back hair was mussed up - he doesn’t know how, but he always did seem to lose his cool when it came to you. Every part of him.

“What can I say?” You’re shrugging, “I love a hot fuckin’ nerd.”

Nanami gulps. Tightening his tie- before he thinks better of it and all but rips it off of his neck.

Perfectly pressed pants. Perfectly buttoned-up shirt. Sleeves sometimes pushed up to his elbows. Golden cufflinks. Tie. 

Everyone who has seen Nanami Kento striding about campus, has commented on his formal clothes in one way or the other - but mostly about how there was not a single crease in them, not even at the end of the day. And it really was true. You’re feeling them pressed up against your front right now—

With Nanami taking only a few split-seconds to tug you from the other side of the table - easily, as you were all but on top of it by now. He’s grabbing ahold of your wrist and easily manhandling you to his side.

Splaying you back out on the table. Back against the cool surface.

His muscular core weighing you down- and fuck, your mouth waters as you feel all the chiselled abs he was hiding away beneath his button-ups.

The calm, collected nerd had somehow snapped-

Nanami’s intense brown eyes peek up at you as he nears- and you can only nod.

It’s the only confirmation you need before that infamously handsome tie of his ends up ‘round your wrists—tied together. You’re delighting at just how rough he was being with you thereafter- flipping up your slutty skirt, barely pushing aside your panties.

Nanami’s all the way through taking out his heated, ravaging cock - so thick - and tappin’ his blushin’ red tip between your pussylips—before he takes a look at your heaving just and gapes.

“Oh.”

And before you know it, your blouse is being ripped straight down- buttons flying to the floor.

“Sh-shit-” You’re gasping at the shockwave of cool air that greets you. Your body arches up into his touch as Nanami leans down and draaaags his face across your tits, lapping his tongue all over the swell of your breasts and smelling you. So sweet. “Shit- just fuck me already, Kento-”

And the first thing you’re registering is the sound—thwack!

Before you’re registering the actual understanding that Nanami Gentleman Kento had just rovered his right hand down and spanked your puckered pussylips.

Hard. 

You’re so sensitive that the action sends you seeing stars, and you buck up into his touch-

Thwack!

“The first lesson we’re going to learn tonight-” He twiddles his thumb between your folds, smearin’ them open and taking a nice look at your cute hole. Wet. No matter how much self control the man might have, he can’t stop himself from leaning down and spitting—

A gentle wad of spit that falls vertically between your legs.

The TA hums at the splatter, running his thumb purposefully down your clit. “-patience.”

You begin to whine. “Now that’s just unfair-”

Thwack!

He looks up at you with heavy, half-lidded eyes. “What was that, darling?”

“N-nothing…” You’re forced to admit. And it takes every shred of willpower in you to stop from humping up into his touch so needily—and Nanami doesn’t utter a word as you take control over yourself. He merely leans back and enjoys the show.

Let you be the one to dictate how far he teaches tonight. He’s a patient man.

“Good.” Nanami announces once you’re finally stock-still, having contained your desperation. It was cute how you think you could mask those tiny squirms of your hips, but he lets it go as your first lesson…“Second lesson-”

You’re shivering at the thought.

And he spits between your pussylips once more.

“If you aren’t wet enough to fucking drench me- then I fear you won’t get me, my love.”

“P-please—” And you really were wet enough to drench him- you’re perking your hips up slightly so that he can see. Leaving a sheen of gleaming sap down the front of Nanami’s crotch, “I am I am-”

“Then…” His lips quirk up meanly. He’s sandwiching his ruddied cockhead between your pussylips and fucking- just between your pussylips. “Show your working.”

Show your working?

Show your working?!

It seems you have no choice but to spreeeead apart your legs even further- letting your gooey cunt gush out a few sploshes of slick. Nanami cocks his head down and takes you in, “Hm…good, good.”

And you’ve never felt more shy in your life. “A-and the third lesson, Kento?”

He fits his pointed cockhead between your ready folds.

“Good girls take it all.” 

Did that mean—

Soon enough, you’re throwing your head back- voicebox shattering with a spiel of moans. Mewls. Whines. Any and every noise that possibly couldn’t describe the sheer raw sensation of Nanami’s hot, giiiirthy cock entering your cunt.

He was stretching you out so wide.

Wider than you ever thought possible.

He’s placing a hand down on your front and press-press-preeeeessing down on your stomach as his cock sinks in- fat cockhead opening up your channel. Fucking you like an utter madman. It didn’t matter how composed his reputation stated him to be- because right now Nanami had his blond bangs falling across his forehead, his jaw clenched at the sensations, and his glasses nearly slipping off his face as he tuuuugs you down his cock.

His reddened divot weeping into even the tiniest of nooks and crannies inside you, his cock so large that it could almost be felt from the outside—

“Feel me right in there?” Nanami’s deep baritone echoes out into the room, echoing against all four corners. Five thick fingers of his splay out across your core- “Right there-”

You shiver as he locates the exact spot where he was easing in - another few inches pushed inside. His swollen tip was swirling about your insides and push-push-puuuushing inside, past those restraints and that tight muscle of your hole. “Yes.”

“Feel me openin’ that pussy of yours up?” He grumbles out in a gravelly tone. And it makes the hair on your body stand at attention to realize that this was him speaking like this. This was him pushing his glasses further up his perspired nose, this was him pounding his heated cock into you in short, jerky thrusts. “Feel me teaching her the shape of my hah- cock? Feel me teaching her to take me—”

“Y-yes—” To be quite honest, it felt as though you could feel him in your very throat. “But are you really…”

“Hm?”

And you’re trailing off simply because you’re so awestruck - Nanami’s cock was looooong and bloated. Decorated in a few veins down his sides—they were red and irritated. Thick. Throbbing so much that you swear you could count them from where you were spread apart on his table-

His cock is enough to render you so honest. “Are you sure it even can fit in?” 

And that makes Nanami pause.

“Can it fit?” He breathes out - his voice taking on an airy tone that you’ve never heard before. It’s startling enough to make you look right into his eyes, and the inkling of something…dark in them is enough for you to jolt. “Can it fit?” 

And before you can repeat - before you can even ask him what’s wrong…Nanami reaches up to grab the tied restraints around your wrists.

And don’t mistake him- he isn’t about to set you free.

He’s using that tie as leverage to haul your body down—“You’re asking if it can fit?” Your blond-haired TA grunts out hoarsely, breaths coming out ragged. He hisses when you clench your sopping wet walls around him- “Good girls take it all.”

“Y-yes, fuck-”

“And you’re my good girl, right?” Staring passionately into your eyes whilst he hits every hidden spot inside you in long, lecherous strikes.

His sheer expression - the way you had the Nanami Kento - so ruffled is so compelling that you can’t help but nod your head. “Of course.” And your legs are tightening evermore against his toned waist, interrupted only by Nanami himself.

He uses one hand to throw both of your legs over his shoulders- one each. And before you know it, the big, buff nerd is bending down to fold you in half.

His fat cock reaching the end of your pussy.

“Fourth lesson-” And you’re barely even hearing it above the constant thrashes and thuds at your cervix, the stars you’re seeing. “-repeat all those back to me…”

And just then, the round edge of his tip was grazing right across your g-spot.

“-or you don’t get to cum.”

.

.

.

“How odd…” Professor Yaga’s bushy brows furrow above his shades - it might not be quite professional for a professor to wear such a thing to campus, but to be fair, students showed up in their pajamas half the time. Besides, they helped mask his expressions rather well.

Like right now.

Though Nanami Kento - his ever-loyal TA - could sense that what was upon Professor Yaga’s face was nothing but pure, unabashed surprise. He says your name—“I don’t remember her getting A++’s a single time this semester- and now you’re telling me it’s all that she’s been getting?” The professor squints at his screen, in the middle of doing his customary check-ins before a lecture.

Nanami coughs, “I-I’ve been tutoring her lately…”

Professor Yaga looks to Nanami in surprise - he knew that his blond-haired student would much rather hug a porcupine than a person. Let alone spend his precious hours tutoring one. “Is…is that so?”

Nanami nods silently.

The older man clears his throat - if there was anyone capable enough to bring your History grades up to such an extent, then it could only be Nanami Kento. At this rate, you might be giving his star student a run for his money- “And how has that been?”

“Well it’s been quite- ah, illuminating, sir.”

Professor Yaga raises a brow in question- but before he can ask anything further—the students start trickling in.

Class has started.

To everyone including Professor Yaga, Nanami Kento- and you. 

Winking blatantly at his TA as you waltz up to your chair, skirt shorter than ever, hips swaying…

The professor just barely manages to catch the way Nanami’s eyes…follow you.

And it dawns upon him.

The slight wobble in your saunter.

The strange bruises peeking out above Nanami’s collar.

The traitorous blush upon his face.

Professor Yaga has never searched up course change forms faster.

♡ GETO SUGURU - “Shut up.”

“Make me.”

And that…is precisely what makes you pause.

It’s what makes you s-sputter. It’s what makes you shoot a glare at perhaps the most infuriating man you’ve ever had the misfortune of meeting- and that’s saying a lot. 

Though, he always did manage to surprise you—ever since Professor Yaga’s Philosophy Class 101, you’d been haunted by the thorn that was Geto Suguru.

You recall that first meeting like it was yesterday.

The nervous shuffling of seats. Professor Yaga was notorious for hand-picking only the best of the best for his classes, and you remember the glee that’d shot up your spine at the email of confirmation. You’d been picked. Similarly, adrenaline wafted off the other students in waves around you, burning its sour aftertaste into the atmosphere. Though at that moment, nothing had been sweeter.

Especially once the professor had finally - finally - asked a broad question about the theory of knowledge—

And your hand had shot up.

Right along with the boy’s beside you.

Long black hair. Longer limbs.

Draped across the chair so carelessly, his grey turtleneck hugged him in a way that made your eyes dart away.

Gold-rimmed glasses.

He had the most feline smirk across his face as his eyes met yours- smug. He raised his hand higher. 

And from that day onwards, you knew that Geto Suguru was your sworn enemy.

Rival, more like.

Throughout the semester, you’d answer one of Professor Yaga’s questions, and Geto would be sure to disagree. You’d top the grades in class, and Geto would break your streak on the next one. You’d try not to bash his head in, and Geto would only urge you to more.

He infuriated you. If not by whatever sharp quip comes to his tongue - seemingly always in competition with yours - then by whatever sly wink or smirk he’d throw your way. He was shameless. 

And you were sure Professor Yaga wasn’t paid enough for this.

So being paired together for the biggest project of the semester certainly hadn’t been on your radar. No matter how much predictivism you’d been taught.

And it was by sheer miracle that you two hadn’t strangled each other already-

“M-make you?” You ask. Geto adjusts his glasses and leans back in his chair, arms crossing.

“Make me.” He repeats, and you’re sure by now that you weren’t mishearing things. “You’ve spent this whole semester running that mouth- I’m starting to wonder whether that’s all it does.”

The slight arch of his brow makes you bristle. “You fucker-”

“No need to lower yourself to insults, gorgeous, I’m just stating the facts. Diogenes always did seek an honest man.” He hums, all faux innocence. “Philosophy isn’t just about theorizing, it’s about application. Besides…” Geto shrugs those broad shoulders of his, snug in yet another too-expensive turtleneck. Cashmere, you bet. He looks straight at you as he speaks—“-there’s nothing little about me, either.”

And then you pause.

And then you’re standing in the middle of Geto Suguru’s bedroom- because of course the bastard had suggested his dorm room for your project meeting.

“Prove it then.”

His pink lips part. “What?”

“Prove it.” You repeat. “Philosophy isn’t just about theorizing, it’s about application.”

“Maybe I will. Socrates said to be is to do.”

“Maybe you should.”

“Maybe I—” And of course, you have to be the one to make the first move. You have to be the one to drag Geto Suguru in by his stupid turtleneck, pressing your lips to his. Stupidly sweet.

He’s lapping at you like a man in the depths of hunger, licking his tongue between your gloss-covered lips and moaning- “Fuck.” He rasps out through honed canines. “Fuck.” Dragging himself off of the floor where your poster boards were spread out-

“Sit.” And without a single warning, you’re pressing the heel of your foot between Geto’s meaty thighs. You’re locating where his rock-hard cock is and puuuuuush-

“N-ngh…” He shivers. He blushes at the broken noise that escapes him. “Tha’s all you got?”

You raise a brow and crush his thickening length harder. 

Geto bucks- but he pulls himself together. “Still all you got?”

And so you’re narrowing your eyes n’ grabbing onto him- tearing through Geto Suguru’s stupid, pretentious layers like you’ve always wanted to.

Tugging off his neat pants. Pulling on his tight Aristotle-patterned boxers.

Spitting straight between his lips once he opens his mouth-

And Geto’s bulbous red tip twitches at the sensation of your wet dollop of saliva. He nods with a blush as you’re lowering your naked cunt down on him—“Yes.” Breathing out. Feeling a little dizzy at the sudden warmth of your swollen pussylips, swallowing him up- “Yes- fuuuuck-”

Before he knows it, your hand is around him. “Shut up.” 

“Fuck, that’s makin’ me even harder-” As if to prove his point, his flared tip throbs inside of you.

“I said shut up.” Those pretty fingers of yours claim his pale neck- digging the curves of your nails into his skin. It makes him gulp. “If someone walks in or if the dorm RA catches us, then my reputation will be affected-”

“You mean my reputation- fuh-fuck.” He can barely even get the sentence out before you’re tightening your grip. Perkin’ your pretty hips up juuuust a little before gulping down his thick length.

Inch after inch.

Fat and pulsing inside of you with need.

He was so veiny that each tiny slip n’ slide caressed Geto’s prominent veins against your sweet insides. And he’s throwing his head back at the sensation as though he’s seeing the pearly gates themselves.

Letting out such a guttural groan- “Oh fuck.” Choked-up at the back of his throat. Those milky thighs of his shake as he reaches them upwards to chase your wettened cunt, bashin’ in the roundness of his cockhead. “Oh fuck, fuck, fuuuck-”

“What was that about running one’s mouth?” You scoff. “Seems like you’re all talk- what? Can’t even handle a little pussy?”

“Maybe I just can’t handle your pussy.” He bites back. With yet another soft sound leaving him once your fingers dig against his throat.

“I doubt you’ve ever seen a real pussy in your life.” And when he opens his mouth, you’re quick to interrupt. “Don’t lie.”

Geto’s mouth shuts again. Having you be so stern with him like this…fuck. It makes some strangely carnal part of himself that he didn’t even know he had awakened- and the black-haired man merely ruts up into you a few times. A line of drool dragging down the side of his lips the more n’ more he’s feeling your soft clenches. Just one hard cleeeench.

He was gone for.

His cadence grows stuttered. His glasses slip down his face. And he finally nods in admittance—a virgin. And, listen, you didn’t have anything against virgins- but the fact that he could talk so big and yet get driven so wild by a mere drag of your sloppy walls down his cock- and still not admit to it?

“Pathetic.”

The dribblin’ and irritated crown of his shaft grows even bigger inside of you. Geto’s head plummets forwards, and he’s whispering something inaudible.

“What was that?” You raise a brow- an expression that he raises his eyes to meet and jolts. As if electrocuted. 

“I-I said I didn’t hear you.” He counters. Bucking into you like an animal. “Pythagoras said-”

And you don’t hesitate to emphasize every single syllable. “Pa-the-tic.” 

“What was that?” 

“I said you’re path—oh.”

Rutting into you even harder—fuck. It didn’t even matter that his massive, inexperienced cock wasn’t fitting all the way- because Geto was digging his rounded crown around your most delicate insides.

He somehow locates your g-spot in a few swipes, brows furrowed as though he’d memorized this particular spot through years of reading (he has, all for this very moment…) 

Such a delicious curve that you feel in your very throat, tastebuds sizzlin’ with a lacquer of saliva the moment his cockhead strikes your sweet spot. Your favorite. And more than your low profanities, the way you’re tilting your head down and glaring at him makes Geto Suguru splosh out in more lewd slick. “Watch it, Suguru.”

“Mmm—” He shivers. Hands coming up ‘round your back and tugging you further against his toned front- you never realized that the nerd you sat next to was so ripped. “S-say that again.”

And you swear now you’re beginning to grow a little concerned- he surely couldn’t be that pussydrunk, could he? “I said watch it-”

“No-” Geto cuts you off. “In that tone.”

That tone? And it dawns upon you slow and sensual—like the toyin’ rubs that he was granting on your g-spot now. Though you were the one most in control, letting his swollen cock stir up your insides at a thorough pace - now all the way from the tufts of black at his base to his puckered, drooling tip. “Suguru…” And your hand locks around his neck even tighter- and just as you’d suspected, he’s drenchin’ out even more syrupy sap that leaks out of your hole. Gets fucked back in. “You fucking like being degraded, don’t you?”

A blush rises to his face. His glare targets you even through his foggy glasses, “Th-that’s prepost-”

“You like me yelling at you.” And this time, it’s not a question. You already know—and you’re grinding your hips down onto his toned v-line at a frenzied pace, wrenching those words away from his husky throat before they can even formulate. “You like me calling you pathetic.” This time reaching up and tugging on a stray lock of his hair- “You like me fucking you like a little bitch.”

And his rude, reddened cock - ever the culprit - fills out your insides so much it’s as if you were fit to burst. He empties out his wadded webs inside you- 

“Isn’t that true?” You coo down at him. Poor Geto Suguru, spit-glossed lips and quivering at the feeling of your pussy- “You’ve always wanted to be fucked by me like this, huh?”

And he nods.

He fucking nods.

Eyes glazed. Brows furrowed.

Hips shivering every time they rammed into yours.

And that’s right before one of his tremblin’ hands reaches up to grab your own dominant set - lifting them off of his sweaty scalp. For a second there, you think that perhaps Geto is particularly cagey over his pretty hair- but then he’s opening up your palm and smacking the side of his even prettier face with your hand.

Not hard enough to harm. Not soft enough to not leave a print of your digits across his blushing cheeks.

You’re surging up with questions when-

“Ahhh…” He exhales, eyes fluttering shut at the sting. Once Geto opens them again, you’re noticing that they look clearer than ever now. “That’s better.” He pushes up his drifted glasses.

Rapidly and ravenously, he’s back in control with his sloppy cadence. Globular edge of his cockhead swervin’ apart your folds to tickle your g-spot—then reaching all the way towards the back of your womb-

Again and again.

“D-don’t think m’never gonna catch up, gorgeous.” Geto gnaws down on his lower lip as if to hold back a moan. “I’ve been wanting to fuck you since the start of semester- you didn’t think m’just gonna let you win, huh? Plato said that the first and greatest victory is to conquer yourself.”

“Don’t act like you weren’t just—oh.” You’re out of breath from his sheer thrashes, the ridges of his veins massaging spots you didn’t even know you had. “-weren’t just putty in my hands.”

“Ah- and about hands…” Like he’d just remembered- like he’d been so gone on the feeling of your sopping wet walls that he didn’t even realize what had just transpired, Geto shoots a look down at your hand. Still in his grip. Still prickling with the slap from earlier.

He bites his lip and blushes.

“Slap me again.”

You fucking knew it.

.

.

.

The next time you’re attending Professor Yaga’s class, you have a lot of explaining to do - first of all about why you’d sent him an urgent email in the middle of the night, requesting an extension for the project.

And second of all, why you and Geto Suguru walked into the next class holding hands.

“So that’s what happened.” He doesn’t even need to hear your excuses to know. From here he can already see the bite marks on your neck, the limp in your walk, the way that Geto looked much too happy with himself.

The older man pushes up his shades and sighs-

“Professor-”

“I really don’t get paid enough for this.”

♡ CHOSO KAMO - XXXreads.

“I r-really can’t thank you enough for helping me.” Choso’s sweet, sweet voice flutters out at you—almost inaudible past the mountain of books in his hands. They were as tall as him when set down on the floor, and being held up they nearly grazed the arch of the doorway. “Really. I didn’t know how many trips I’d have to take otherwise.”

You giggle, “Don’t worry about it, Choso.”

“No but- really.” And somehow - perhaps through years of practice, perhaps because of those muscles you always suspected he hid underneath soft fluffy sweaters - Choso’s letting go of his towering pile to push his glasses up. “N-no one really offered…no one talks to me anyways but-” 

He looks at you in slight panic, as though fearful he’s scared you off.

“But really, thank you.”

And you feel your heart clench for the poor boy—it was true, after all. No one in class ever quite spoke to the nerdy Choso Kamo, always with his face close against the pages, always with his hand raised in the air.

He lived more in the world of books than he did with people.

Which was no surprise- not when the people in most of your lectures weren’t exactly the nicest. Despite it being university, it seems people still did pick on him for being a little…bookish. Tittering to themselves as he passed. Throwing scrunched up paper balls at his head. Speaking to him just for the laughs.

And that’s where you came in- there was absolutely nothing wrong with being bookish, or studious, or smart.

In fact, out of everyone in Professor Yaga’s English Lit lectures, you think that Choso was the best one there. The most…handsome, too. But that was neither here nor there!

And so you did your best to divert their attention, to prevent your classmates from taking out their slouched midterm grades and bad hangovers on the nerdy boy. Which included spotting his form (or at least the little you could make out of him) in the corridor, struggling to balance countless books, and stopping to help him.

And you’re nodding at the librarian as you enter- slipping in Choso’s multiple borrowed books through the book drop slot. Soon enough, you’re finding yourself free of all the weight of his books and Choso—holding onto merely one.

“What’s that one, Choso?” You ask in curiosity. 

His voice cracks. Holding the book against his chest, Choso’s handsome face tints red as he looks at you. “Th-this one? Nothing-”

And as you attempt to take a peek at it, he swerves away slightly. Hm… 

Pushing his glasses up his clammy face, “N-nothing at all. This is just one that I have to…to return personally.”

“Personally?” You squint. “Like put on the shelf yourself? I’ve never heard of that.”

“Yes—” With a final squeak, he’s darting into the depths of the library as though his feet were on fire. As though, perhaps, you yourself were fire - and he hunches away from you slightly when you’re following him. 

All the way past the science section.

“A-and thank you so much for your help- again. I wouldn’t want to bother you any longer.” He pants.

All the way past the literary fiction section.

“Really- I wouldn’t want to bother you. I promise you can leave.”

All the way into a darkened corner of the library that you don’t think you’ve ever been in before- where the tables were sparse and the students were even more sparse. In fact, there wasn’t a single soul in sight there.

“Please.”

And Choso ducks into a barren corner of an aisle.

One that you look up at—

And right there on the shelf marker atop the shelf. Right there in laminated plastic. Right there in printed script that could not be erased.

Erotica.

He’d borrowed an erotica book.

And judging by Choso’s familiarity with the section, this wasn’t the first time. Nor would it be the last.

In just a few seconds- you’re walking up to him. And knowing that he was cornered, Choso Kamo can do nothing but bow his head in shame when you reach out for the book—something by some author named Tony with a glitzy, glossy x-rated cover. You’re glancing at the brief summary on the back. 

You catch a few key words.

Nerd.

Bullied.

Class. 

The hot girl who’s the only one to treat him with kindess—and the one to take his virginity. 

.

.

.

“Fuck.” And Choso Kamo’s tone comes out hurried- it comes out harrowed. It comes out hushed—nothing but a low, trembling tone against the shell of your ears. It shakes, just like the rest of his half-naked body as he tucks his fat tip between your pussylips.

Pants pulled down just enough to free his raging erection. 

His plump, reddish crown swipes down your crevice and straight inside your hole. Jerking his hips sloppily back and forth a few times-

“Fuck fuck fuck fuck—” Choso’s voice cracks in your eardrums, entire body feverish as he glues himself to your behind. Your front against the ridged bookshelf, his toned body against yours. 

“Shhhhh, baby.”

He nods, “Shhhh.”

The towering man fucks you like an utter animal- hips pinned to yours and making the wooden furniture underneath creak. It’s as if he doesn’t even realize his own strength, his own girth - how could he? When he hasn’t had the experience to before…

And just the act of putting it in is enough to leave Choso a stuttering, strangled mess. A single tear tracks down his cheek, “Fuh-fuck, it feels even b-better than in the books, baby-”

“Thought about me a lot while reading, hm?” Turning your face around- you meet his flushed one with a grin.

“Well…”

You clench and his breath hitches- “Did you touch yourself to those thinking about me?”

It’s a tone that’s making him shiver - the tips of Choso’s ears burn bright red, and his lips wobble cutely. He nods—he fucking nods away drunkenly before he’s registering it. The look of glee on your face is enough to make the nerdy man choke. “D-don’t tease me, baby.” He quietly whispers out, hand dragging down the side of your upright body. He’s managing to slip his slender fingertips between your legs n’ massage those treacly pussylips of yours—just like his books had taught him. “Though you- I mean- the character in the books did, too.”

“Oh?” One of your brows raises interest. “And what else did this character do, baby?”

Choso whines, his flushed cockhead emptying out the most adorable lines of slick into your deepest depths. He pulls out a little just to watch those ribbons of sap cling onto your cunt- “F-fuck back into me…”

“Hm?”

“The character- I mean.” He gasps out. And a line of sweat glides down the side of his temple as he starts ruttin’ into you even harder, the round edge of his cock opening up spots you didn’t even know you had—Choso was fucking massive. “Would fuck back into me- the nerd.”

And so you’re gripping onto the firm wooden planks of the book shelf, using it as leverage to raise your hips. Up and down. Up and down. “Shit—” Your walls glide down his swollen cock, the patterns of his veins just so prominent. “And what else, baby?”

He’s whimpering at the sound of that pretty pet name on your tongue- so much so that Choso leans over to suck on your tongue. “And then- and then-”

“This is how you kiss, Cho…” You angle your head to kiss him back - so sloppy. Who’d have thought that the lovely, quiet nerd in your lectures was just so…

“And then she’d start t-to clench.” He admits, oglin’ down with big brown eyes at the glistening circle of your cunt. “I don’t really know what that means, baby, or what you have to do to cl—fuck.”

And you’re hearing the exact moment it hits him- the exact moment that the cute hug of your walls leaves him a broken man. Choso shudders upwards as though he’s just been jolted by electricity, and he probes his red, round tip against your spongy cervix- bottoming-out. Barely even starting to pull away from your sultry womb as he fucks inwards.

Held hostage by your cunt—he pants. He shakes. “And then-” Spittle dribbling down the sides of his lips, they twitch with delight. “Just like that—j-just like that…harder.”

And so you do. Fluttering your lashes, “Like this?”

“Harder.”

“Like this-”

“Hard-” Cutting his own words off, the nerdy man reaches his quiverin’ fingers from your slit—and before you know it, he’s pinching your puffy pussylips together. Tight. Ruthless. Making you see stars behind your shuttered lids at the sheer pressure- “Like this. And then in the end she’d beg-”

“Beg for what, Cho?” You ask.

“She’d beg…” The raw draaaags of his flared mushroom tip leave your knees weak. And Choso has to keep a hand constantly looped around your right thigh to keep you from collapsing. Perking your ass up against his ramming v-line, he utters—“You’d beg for my cum…”

Your mouth drops into a pretty circle. “Oh.”

And almost instantly, he seems to regret the filthy words spewing out of his mouth. “B-but that’s just a fantasy and-”

“Well…” This time, you’re the one interrupting him. And it’s done so with the realization that- hey, he was fucking you raw anyways. “Why don’t you go ahead then?”

And he doesn’t even need to hear that entire sentence- he doesn’t even need to hear the middle of it. He merely slaps a hand on top of your gaped maw - effectively shutting you up in such a mean way - and rams his slam-reddened hips against yours. Choso all but fucking collapses his muscular body against your back as he scours his tip into your deepest spot.

The circumference of his girth ending off at your womb.

Before you’re feeling the slow, sensual trickle of his cum filling you up from the inside. It starts off with a few shy dribbles- before soon, the bespectacled man has to gnaw his canines down on your neck to stop himself from making too much noise.

Chasing your hips as you don’t know whether to fuck back or lean against the library- shoving and smearin’ his leaky tip into every orifice. Every nook. Every cranny.

Your eyes roll to the back of your head at the feeling of his slick glaaaaaazing you from the inside, frothing out near your entrance. “Sh-shit there’s so much, Cho.” You murmur out. “You’ve never cum inside anything but your fist, huh? Shit- been savin’ this all up, hm?”

Biting back a groan as your words make his seed shoot just a few more spurts—“Yes.” To your absolute surprise. “Been saving it up for you, baby.”

And a shiver runs down your spine.

Both at Choso’s words-

And at the sudden knocking upon one of the bookshelves- almost as though someone was making their entrance known upon a front door.

Both of you whip your heads up in a panic - with Choso still not moving away from your cunt. All honeyed and driiiipping with his ivory sap. 

And the sight before you two makes the nerdy man wrap his arms around you possessively.

Because standing there—tall, tattooed, dark hair that reached his shoulders. A bright blue jersey with the infamous emblem of Delta Jujutsu Pi - it was none other than Chisato Kamo. 

His twin brother.

A man that shared the same face as the one fucking you, but just about none of his interests.

Well, none of his interests other than you that is…and perhaps that’s why in a few minutes the older brother of the two is being pushed aside so that Chisato can ram his rugged, red tip into you rudely. Scoffing at the way your pussy quivered and clenched around him—

“Cheh…shut up, girlie.” He plasters a palm over your mouth, just as Choso had done so earlier. “Honestly, are ya even my brother? Look at her poor hole- she isn’t fucked even half as good as she should’ve been-”

Choso pipes up from where he’d been banished away from your pussy. “If you just gave me her again-”

“To cum in two pumps again?”

“She said I could- she’s mine.”

“She’s mine.”

.

.

.

“I’m not even going to ask.” Professor Yaga rubs at his throbbing temples—it wasn’t anything out of the ordinary to see his star student, Choso Kamo, walk into the lecture hall with his head bowed low. Unspeaking even with him.

It wasn’t even anything out of the ordinary to see you clinging onto aforementioned Choso Kamo, talking his ear off about your day. And Choso would let you.

What was absolutely astounding was the way in which the aforementioned Choso Kamo’s younger brother - Chisato Kamo, member of Delta Jujutsu Pi, attended more ragers than study sessions, never attended this English Literature class a day in his entire life - was following behind…

Sauntering in as if he owned the place.

He throws an arm around you- and Choso immediately jerks up to smack it off of you.

He sees the two brothers glare at one another.

And Yaga decides that he definitely wasn’t paid enough to intervene with that…

He sighs and starts off attendance, and for the first time has the privilege of hearing. “Mister Chisato Kamo?”

“Here.”

♡ RYOMEN SUKUNA - 2-IN-1

“Isn’t she just…”

“Out of your league?”

“-gorgeous.”

Uraume can’t help but roll their eyes- well, mentally. They knew that their (unfortunate) best friend’s (unfortunate) resolve wasn’t nearly as strong to withstand such a thing, and so they have to settle for letting out a long sigh.

Bringing that red Solo cup to their lips, they hum. “Then why don’t you go there and talk to her-”

“Talk to her- ya must be fuckin’ joking.” Sukuna scoffs, staring down at his white-haired friend. Uraume had been attached to his side ever since their freshmen year rush for Jujutsu Delta Pi, and they’ve seen him through thick and thin. Through his wrestling lows and his professional contract. Through his best moments and…whatever this was.

His embarrassingly big crush on you. Ever since he’d seen you at one of his wrestling games, cheering him on- Uraume has heard far too much about you from him ever since.

He sighs at the sight of you dancing in the middle of the dance floor.

Before narrowing his eyes down at Uraume’s cup. “Seriously…has your fruity lil’ punch - and I know you don’t drink anything hard - been spiked with something? Talk to her- cheh, just imagine-”

“Ryomen Sukuna.” Cut off by the stern, supremely exhausted voice of his best friend. “If you don’t ask her to dance right now—” The smaller person looks up from their far shorter height, dead-set into Sukuna’s crimson eyes. “-then I’m telling the entire party about what a nerd you are.” A pause. “And showing them your Grimmjow figurine collection.”

“On it-”

And it was a dance- just a dance, right?

It’s not like Sukuna was going to ask you to marry him or- or to come up to his (geeky) bedroom or anything. It’s not like one dance would have him embarrassing himself. It’s not like one dance would have you finding out his true identity as a…nerd.

Right?

He was a Health Science major, for crying out loud!

Uraume drinks a shot of straight vodka.

.

.

.

“Fuck, I need ya.” Sukuna breathes out against your throat—one hand tilting your neck to the side for more access, the other gripped onto your hips. He kisses you maddeningly. 

Blindly, the two of you had made your way through the throng of meshed, musical madness and climbed those fraternity stairs up to Sukuna’s bedroom. Where he had your back pressed against- his mouth attacking you wildly—he groans. Licking a stripe up your sweet skin, “I need ya so badly—”

“All talk.” You tut. And before he can stop you - before his rational mind can get the better of him - you let your hand slip to the door handle.

Flinging it open and letting the two of you stumble inside. Door slamming shut.

You’re making it all the way to splay out on Sukuna’s massive king-sized bed before you turn on the lights and-

“Woah.” And your jaw drops at the vision before you. Surrounding you. Someplace you’d never thought to be…Ryomen Sukuna’s bedroom- anime posters, figurines, books upon books upon books, academic trophies as well as wrestling ones. 

And he panics- “This is-”

“You’re a-”

“A little fuckin’-”

“Nerd.”

“Nerdy.”

The both of you pause—before the clear urgency and embarrassment on Ryomen Sukuna’s face makes you smile. He looks away with a huff-

“Do you have glasses?”

Reluctantly - still staring off intensely into a poster of Ouran High School Host Club - he nods.

“Can you wear them while you fuck me?”

He looks back down with heated eyes.

And so he does.

Sukuna keeps his thin-rimmed, tortoiseshell glasses on as he tears through your glittery dress. Sukuna keeps his glasses on as he tugs down his ripped jeans n’ swipes his thickened tip between your pussylips. Sukuna keeps his glasses on still as he fucks you in long, sloooooppy strokes through and through your multiple orgasms.

Once just from fingerin’ over your clit - with his fraternity ring still on. Once more just from eating you out. Two more times just from fucking deeeeep into the sponged softness of your cervix- feeling him fill you out like never before was maddening.

Just about tunneling you through your fifth- meanwhile he hasn’t even cum for the first time yet.

He leans his sweaty head down in a mating press - close enough that the thundering slams of his hips send little flecks of slick flying up to his glasses. Roverin’ reddened cockhead plunging between your pussylips and hitting dead-set on the back of your cunt—splattering both your slick and his own upwards.

Coating the frame and all the way down to the lens, Sukuna snickers as he fucks you even harder—“Better know that yer gonna pay for dirtying these glasses-” He pants between clenched canines. “Yer not getting off that easy, girlie.”

“A-and it’s my fault?” You’re squealing out in indignation. “I’m not the one that—fuck.”

“Fuck?” Sukuna hums. Expression turning into one of mocking thoughtfulness, “Why, yes, according to my calculations I am fucking you.” With that said, he’s dragging his veined cock all over your walls and pulling out—just to tap the swollen curve of his cockhead on top of your cut. Splashin’ away your slick, “Quite the astute observation, brat.”

Gurgling out between the force of his thrusts, “Th-thank you?”

“I was talking to this pussy.”

Your maw drops at his sheer audacity. “Y-you’re not even that kind of nerd-”

He cocks his head, soft pink curls following him. “And what fuckin’ kind of nerd am I, hm?”

“You’re not even the…” In punishment, his length drills into you even harder - as if he was trying to pound those insolent words back into your throat. Making you feel the lump of his girth there where your voicebox crackled- “-the scientific kind.”

Sukuna shoots a glance at the numerous academic accolades atop his shelves. “Right…”

“Because if you were then you’d have found my g-spot already!”

Right now you were blundering out whatever it was that you could say- which wasn’t much at all. Sukuna’s ravenous cock had left your mind nothing but mush, pounding and pounding and it felt as though your cunt was molded to his exact shade and size by now—making you arch up into him. He glides a hand underneath your spine to help you.

It was true, however.

Ryomen Sukuna had made you reach your sultry orgasm five times without even caressing your g-spot. And you weren’t sure whether it was inexperience, or ignorance, or whether he just didn’t care for it but-

But he lets out a deep, dark burst of laughter at your sentence.

The last thing he does before reelin’ his thickened cock back and hitting your womb in a hard slam- “Not the scientific kind?” Sukuna’s repeating to himself, through a slight chuckle. And there was something ragged in his tone that made you shiver—“Not the scientific kind?”

And if his first repetition sounded as though he was in disbelief, that last one sounded as though his brain just refused to fucking register this shit - couldn’t possibly. It’s almost enough to make you take back your statement, but thank goodness that you don’t.

Because within the next split-seconds, Sukuna has his middle finger pushing up his glasses- his eyes locking down above your front. His gaze then calculates the distance between where your swollen pussylips were gobbling him up, and where he could feel his rounded tip scrape your spongy depths. Your womb.

It takes him only mere moments- “The Gräfenberg spot is said to be on the anterior wall…” Accordingly, he stirs his erection deep inside of you. “About 1-3 inches deep as per average statistics…”

And you’re suddenly feeling his bawling divot trace that exact distance down your walls. Up and down. Up and dooooown—“Sh-shit, Kuna-”

“Directly behind the pubic bone- the inferior pubic ramus could…”

“Shit, Kuna- almost-”

“Considered part of the clitorourethrovaginal complex so-” And before you know it, his finger swipes down your pretty clit. Your body trembles, expectedly, and Sukuna’s bespectacled eyes follow that shiver riiiight up your cunt.

“P-please-” You cry out.

And he’s cracking a small snicker. “Tell me if the trials are successful, my lil’ lab helper.”

“Trials?” Climbing up onto your elbows in confusion—what trials? And you’re regretting the action almost as soon as it happens, because just then Sukuna lurches his hips back n’ gives a thorough smooch near your g-spot. 

Near it.

“Trial one…” That little lilt in his pitch lets you know that he’s waiting for your answer.

“F-failed.” Blubbering.

He pushes his glasses upwards and tries again- harder this time. “Trial two-”

“Failed-”

Even harder. 

Mercilessly bashing in the top of your cervix, so smooth and slick you were - he’s sure his rude tip has formed a bruise there. Round and ravenous. 

“And trial number…” Sukuna trails off. Dragging his swollen cock back aaaaaall the way until his tip was just chastely pecking your pussylips, and you could feel every single throb - and then dooooown until those scuffs of pink scrape your pussy. A carnal itch. “-three?”

“F—fuck.” You can’t answer.

Because with that final thrust, Sukuna’s swipin’ down your g-spot perfectly. Making you go numb with the pleasure of him poking that tight orifice- right before you’re bursting into your nth high of the night.

Stars behind your lids. Toes curling until it hurts.

You can’t stop your hips from thrashing upon the squeaky mattress—and Sukuna can’t stop from shovelling his throbbing inches just a little deeper. He grips onto your hips from one side. He locates the exact spot that made you shatter, and digs his rotund tip into even even further - not pulling away even if you were sobbing at the sheer overstimulation.

Just slow, staccato-ed pushes inside.

It made a small primitive part of Sukuna break to pull away- he just wanted to keep on kissin’ your cervix. And he grunts at the back of his throat, the nerd’s own high washing over him in waves.

Silky droplets of cum that end up pouring deeeeep into the back of your pussy—it’s such a goopy mess there. Splashin’ around every time that Sukuna fucked his hips inside, collecting where he kept on pressing at a constant pace - like a button - on your g-spot.

Being fucked through peak after peak.

Thrust after thrust that aaaaaall end up targeting your g-spot. He was proving to you that he knew where it was, that he was that type of scientific nerd. 

And the corners of his lips twitch in delight, “I take that as a success?” Though he wasn’t asking you - not at all - he leans his head down to peer at your pussy. Lens coating in spraying droplets of sap, “Why thank you for the help, my best assistant.”

“Y-you’re so…” Your legs tremble weakly.

And Sukuna pushes those tortoiseshell glasses up his nosebridge- you’re noticing just now that they have small horns in the corners. How fitting. 

He didn’t even bother wiping away the thick layers of your slick. Stuck onto him like a medal - the best, the shiniest out of all those upon the shelves.

“Now, have you ever heard about the A-spot?”

.

.

.

“Mister Ryomen Sukuna.” The man’s stern voice calls out - it was 8AM but Professor Yaga could make a sloth jump onto a racetrack with his tone. Not that it does that much to the star of the wrestling team, the notorious pink-haired member of Delta Jitsu Pi, and Yaga’s very own star student of Health Science.

Sukuna merely looks at him boredly. Lounging an arm around the back of your seat- right beside him.

Honestly, if it wasn’t for the fact that he was (secretly) topping all the exams, then Yaga wouldn’t even put up with all this.

“Please pay attention to the lecture.” Professor Yaga straightens out his papers, “If you have any personal conversation to be had, then please take it out of my classroom.”

“Aye aye, teach.” Sukuna sleazes out a grin. “I was just helping my girl here with the lesson, y’know.”

A chuckle spreads throughout class, little did they know that they were laughing at the smartest student between all of them - perhaps even between the whole year. 

“Then I suppose you don’t mind giving the entire class a briefing-” The professor starts boredly, before he catches the smug look on Sukuna’s face- and Yaga has to look behind himself. The PowerPoint slide he didn’t realize he was on—fuck, it makes him swear internally.

Erogenous zones: The Gräfenberg spot.

“I would be more than happy to give the class a briefing, teach.”

♡ INO TAKUMA - Got webs?

With great power came great…responsibility. Sure. 

That was what Tony had briefed Ino Takuma on—meeting the Avengers and getting to speak with Iron Woman? Absolutely awesome. Meeting the Avengers and saving the world? No biggie. Fighting crime and putting his life on the line everyday? Pssssht-

Getting fucked by you?

Shit, he was about to cream his pants.

Ino Takuma was fucking terrified.

Not because of you, of course, because you were just as beautiful as all his dreams and even more so—but rather he was caught up in the fact that this…well, wasn’t a dream. Exactly that.

It’d all come not too long after he’d confessed to you that he was Spider-Man. Taking you on a romantic dinner at some fancy restaurant he’d had to beg his uncle to make a reservation for, followed by a moonlit walk downtown- and a little breaking into campus to watch the stars from the rooftop. It was perfect.

And the way you’d taken him being Spider-Man? Perfect. 

You were so sweet and loving- punching him in the shoulder (deserved) before taking him into your arms (Ino doesn’t know if he’d ever be deserving of being in the arms of an angel…but…he sure wasn’t complaining).

And afterwards, he’d taken you into his arms and used his webs to swing you all the way back to his apartment. It really was perfect.

And now he can’t lie, he’d taken you back to his apartment - landing neatly on his lil’ balcony ledge - without any ulterior motives. He promises! Ino Takuma is as pure as snow!

Ignore the fact that snow contains atmospheric pollutants and vehicle emissions…but other than that he swears he’s pure! He’d merely wanted to show you his vast Lego collection, perhaps his camera and all those pictures he’d taken recently (maybe not the ones he’d taken of you from afar, however…), and a few more of his nerdy Spider-Man gadgets!

So he swears that the little peck he’d placed upon you was innocent. And when that peck turned into something more…he swears that was innocent, too.

And when that turned into sprawling him out on his chemistry bedsheets, straddling his erect cock n’ sliding your soft pussy down it—fuck, he doesn’t know what’s innocent or not. Right now your friendly neighborhood Spider-Man was trying not to pass out.

Pretty brown eyes scrunching closed at the cleeeench of your soft, sensual pussy- you were so sweet around him that it felt as if you were about to melt. Velvety and slippery. 

The winding zig-zags of his veins rubbin’ against your sides.

You’re letting off a sudden squelch! as you swallow up yet another inch of him - and Ino has to bite down on his lips to keep himself from whimpering. Fucking whimpering—“E-easy there, sweetness.” He’s grabbing onto either side of your waist, with the brilliant idea to control those sloppy bounces of yours- but instead he’s ending up merely…holding onto you for dear life. 

His limbs were weak n’ boneless.

His body was putty in your hands.

He was arching his hips ooooooff of the rickety single-bed- and he doesn’t have to even think before doing it. Body moving on pure instinct. Bulging tip yearning to hit your cervix—“Keep going like this n’ m’gonna cum already…”

“Awww, you poor boy.” You’re tittering- and shit, he knows it might be a little lecherously amusing to you. But does it really warrant enough for you to lean over and push his thick-framed glasses up his nosebridge? He swears he sees heaven itself. “Spider-Man can fight crime- but can’t handle a pussy?”

“I can’t handle your pussy.” Ino bites back, a blush upon his cheeks. “N-not that I ever have before…”

“Then maybe I should be deemed the strongest in the neighborhood, huh?” You hum.

“Y-you wish…” He’s bucking up into you at a frenzied pace- not even full thrusts. Mere, milking half-thrusts that have his precum pouring out in bucketloads—his balls were so heavy that they almost hurt.

“Oh yeah?” And you could feel the twitchin’ of his scouring tip with each one of your sentences - your syllables. Ino was growing only harder and harder at your egging on- “You’re stronger than me, baby?”

He stammers, “W-well…”

“Think you can take me down like you take down all those bad guys, baby?” Cooing- and that tone. Fuck, that tone…it left his flared, reddened tip scraping your insides at an even faster pace. “Think Spider-Man’s gonna win again?”

Ino shivers as you lean down to press your naked chest against his toned one, “Yes…I can—” And then you’re gripping at once of his biceps for balance, “I can-”

All for you to press a pretty peck on the side of his face- and then drag your tongue across where the attractive man was tearing up at the mere feeling of your pussy. So soft and hot. Sucking him up until he was seeing stars- “Then prove it, Taku—”

And it all happens in a split-second.

You don’t even realize it.

One second, you’re staring down at your boyfriend - with his chestnut hair splayed out upon the pillow like a halo, with a faint blush breezing across every inch of him (yes, every inch), with his entire body shaking n’ shivering underneath you. He seemed just so delicate.

Gone on your pussy.

Except…except for that little fire in his eyes that clued you in on something dark.

And the next second- you’re the one staring up at the ceiling. And right into Ino Takuma’s glazed, glittering peripherals. 

He was stimulated on your pussy until tears.

There was something stoic in him, however, as he reaches his right hand up somewhere above you. And you hear it before you see it- the splat! of something wet and clingy sticking onto your wrists. They’re both pushed against the headboard by the sheer force of…whatever that was.

And only when you go to pull away do you realize—oh fuck.

You were stuck.

You’re jerking your head up to glimpse at the pattern of white webs that restrain either hand against the sides of your headboard. Trapped.

And you’re peering up at Ino with a sheepish smile- “Baby?”

He pushes up his thick glasses, “Don’t ‘baby’ me—” And his ruddied tip finds its way between your pussylips in a split-second, jerkin’ in and out at a dizzying rate. Until his furious length was nearly nothing but a blur between your legs. “You wanted this- fuck, you’re gonna get it.”

“Yes-” You’re being manhandled back and forth- unable to do anything. Unable to even hold onto Ino’s locks of sweaty hair for balance, “Yes, yes, yes—please.”

“And you’re gonna fucking- hah, take as much as you’re given.” Ino emphasizes his point by slowing down, giving you loooong and luxurious licks of his puckered crown. “Only as much as you’re given- any complaint for more n’ I’m webbing that pretty mouth up, sweetness.”

“Oh, anything for you.” Fluttering your lashes up at him. It was just so cute how that made Ino immediately break out into a smile, “But what if I want you to cum inside m-”

“God- fuck.” And his wrist twitches as though he’s just about to make good on his promise. “Don’t even fucking…”

That aching cock of his just can’t stop pumping in and out, in and out, in and ouuuuuut.

And before he even knows it, he’s plunging straight into his high- deep and hot inside of you. “Thermodynamics—” And you’re almost sure you didn’t hear him right - spit-slicked lips repeating away as he pumped his hot wads into you - “Polarization functions.” His sweat-matted head dips into the crook of your neck, and he’s pinpointing each single orifice inside you with a dollop of his seed. “Orbitals- fuck, I love orbitals.”

Pouring and pouring out so much of his voluminous cum that it practically overflows.

“W-wait, why are you reciting formulae now, Taku?” You’re breathing out with the last inkling of your rationality, “You’ve already cum-”

“To stop me from losing my fucking mind, pretty.”

And he sounded damn serious.

Damn ruined.

Eyes wide. Voice pitched.

There’s nothing more for him to do but ruggedly hit his cock into every one of your delicate spots now- feeling those tender bundles of nerves with his tip. He slide-slide-sliiiiides down those particular areas—fucking and fucking and fucking you until you’re bursting into your wave of bliss.

“And don’t think we’re done yet, sweetness- maybe next we could get some use out of my camera…”

You’re not making it out of this alive.

Because it turns out that not only does Ino gain superpowers as Spider-Man, but he’s also earning extra…stamina. And he lasts until dawn breaks, he lasts until his fucking bed breaks- you have to tap out before you think he might just break you, too.

Wobbling your way downstairs- you can only clamor onto the walls and furniture for help. “I’m banning you from sex for a month-”

“A month?” Ino gasps, “I only just had my first time-”

“Two months.”

“Sweetness, just let me help you walk-”

You grumble, “Forever.”

And as Ino howls about how utterly unfair it was- and how you had actually been the one to start him up on his superpowers—you’re stumbling across…a figure in the kitchen. Hunched over the island. Coffee in hand.

It’s just then that you remember that Ino Takuma didn’t live alone- no. He lived with his uncle who was supposed to be away on a professor’s retreat tonight.

But it seems…

“Taku-” You elbow your ranting boyfriend, who still hadn’t looked up from his hands. He continues. “Taku-”

“I can handle a villain, but I can’t handle a damn se-”

“Taku.”

It’s only then that Ino looks up from his tear-stained (honestly, he’s so dramatic for the hell of it) palms and sees his uncle. Masamichi Yaga looked as though he was about to burst a blood vessel.

Honestly, in all the semesters that you’ve seen the deadpan professor- you don’t think you remember a time when he didn’t look as though his students were bringing him to the precipice of an aneurysm. 

“H-hello, sir.” You’re the first one to speak, after far too long a silence from your boyfriend - guess Spider-Man has two weaknesses, huh? Yaga nods graciously at you in response, before fixating his eyes on his nephew once more.

“Uncle Yaga—” Ino jolts with yet another elbow at his side. “I didn’t know you were coming today.”

Yaga’s ‘World’s #1 Uncle’ cup chips in his hand.

♡ GOJO SATORU - Goonology.

“—and in this one he’s Frankenstein with a huuuuuge dick- heh.” Gojo titters as he pushes his glasses up, having slid down his face in excitement. He gestures to another file on-screen, “And in this one, they’re clan leaders that have to fuck for an heir. And in this one, he’s a rose toy that turns into a real man and she reeeeally likes that. And in this one, it’s an omegaverse- do you know what an omegaverse is? So basically it’s like those alpha wolf memes but with-”

“Uh-huh.” Nodding absent-mindedly - honestly, you’ve been doing it for so long by this point that it’s likely become a permanent fixture of your demeanour.

Perhaps you’ll go nodding away for the rest of your life.

Perhaps you’ll only nod when you think of Gojo Satoru, and the absolutely massive (concerning) hentai collection he was showing you. Files upon files all meticulously organized and named, with a spreadsheet to follow rating them on the basis of goon-ability.

You’re not sure how you got here, to be honest.

You’d become friends with the nerdy boy at the start of Professor Yaga’s physics course, assuming him to be one of your fellow intellectuals. And what you’d found out was that…Gojo Satoru is an intellectual (there was no denying that, he was the brightest amongst the department with a suspected job offer from JAXA straight out of university—even Yaga himself couldn’t deny it no matter how much the white-haired boy got on his nerves), but that he was also the ultimate…gooner.

The realization didn’t come instantly, of course.

It’d started off with long study nights and mornings spent early in the library, poring over thick physics books with Gojo. Then that acquaintanceship had turned into a friendship. Which resulted in nights dragging Gojo to bars and parties, and helping the nerdy boy cut loose.

And then an even deeper friendship—

After which a few too many Jägerbombs (one, actually, he was a lightweight) ended up with Gojo confessing to you that he was a virgin. You’d guessed as much, to be quite honest.

But then he’d confessed to you that he’d never even had his first kiss before- hell, he’d never even held hands with an in-real-life woman before. And it’s that last comment that got you—what the hell did he mean by an ‘in-real-life’ woman? 

And Gojo Satoru had been more than happy to confess to you that although he might’ve never had contact with a woman in real life - you yourself were a miracle, and the first friend he’d had in…forever - he’d gotten into far too many bases in his virtual world. 

His video games. His manga. His body pillows. His hentai.

Anything and everything that had your jaw dropped in this cozy bar the two of you were at. Eventually, you’d both ended up getting kicked out once Gojo had (far too loudly) talked to you about his collection of personalized ahegao hoodies. And ‘would you like any recs?’

What the fuck…?

You’d gone home to sleep it off that night- but you couldn’t help yourself. Call it morbid curiosity, call it some part of you being a masochist—but you just had to call Gojo up the next day and tell him-

Yes, I would like some…recs. To know what he was into, if anything.

Totally nothing to do with the fact that you were maybe-kinda-sorta nursing a massive crush on the pretty, perfect (other than…perhaps this) white-haired nerd. His blue eyes. His shyness. Those dimples at the edge of his smile. Oh…and perhaps you had to know whether he was actually crazy or not, alright?!

And thus, here you were.

Doing your very best to ignore the body pillow that was splayed out upon his bed, with an original character of his own that looked suspiciously like…

“Me?” You’re blurting out without meaning to.

And Gojo glances over at you in response- fixing those cutely thick glasses of his. “Yes?”

“Why do they all…” Come to think of it…you’re taking a closer look at his glaring computer screen. And the expression of glee upon Gojo’s face at your sudden interest quickly morphs into one of absolute horror at the analytical look in your eyes.

He darts forward to cover his screen. “Wait-”

“They all look like me.” Snatching the computer mouse from his hand, you’re scrolling through the numerous MP4 files. Rows upon rows. Thumbnail upon thumbnail. Each one gave you a brief flash of an animated woman that looked like you, coupled up and being absolutely pummeled by a man with…blue eyes. Rows upon rows. “Satoru…”

And you’re looking at him in silence. He’s silent back.

“Do you like-”

“Yes.” Adrenaline runs through your body. 

And now he looked a bit more like the shy, bookish man that he usually was. Fiddling with the hem of his Digimon t-shirt, that aroused blush upon his face getting replaced by something a bit more innocent.

And by looking at his slender, pretty hands- you’re accidentally sneaking a look at the bulge in his pants. “And do you…” At his questioning gaze, you gesture at his crotch.

“Y-yes.” He admits.

Your eyes widen, “Even—” Looking at the body pillow on the bed.

He huffs and tugs down the hemline of his t-shirt to cover his erection. “Yes.”

And as the silence grows longer, Gojo fidgets more upon his squeaky chair. Restless. Ravenous but…he couldn’t quite browse through his collection with you in here, could he?

Before finally you say-

“And what about the real one?”

.

.

.

“Oh fuck—ngh~” Gojo’s gaze was wide and dilated- the blackness of his pupils almost entirely engulfing his irises. There was a slight glowing glaze on top of his eyes, as though he was drunk - and the way he’s babblin’ away certainly didn’t help his case. “Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck—”

The very crown of his tip was tremblin’ nearly as much as his tone was- and the nerdy man pushes his hips up into yours like an animal.

Claiming the tiniest of orifices inside you as though he’s running out of time.

Splashing around his glittery white cum- because of course he’d ended up cumming just as soon as he’d put it in. 

Stirring around his thiiiick cock until a ring of white forms at your entrance. “Oh fuck, it fuh-feels—” Cute pink lips tremoring. He’s fluttering those long lashes up at you, from where you were straddling his cushioned chair. “It feels so- ngh- much better than it looked in the hentai, sweetheart.”

“Oh yeah?” You titter to yourself. And it’s an action that makes the nerdy man pout, “That good?”

“Yes—” Gojo’s mouth drops, as though he genuinely couldn’t believe that you were asking him this - as though he genuinely couldn’t believe that such a question like this existed. And with his back arching off of the chair slightly, he ruts up into you- again and again. With no rhythm nor rhyme other than the urge to absolutely pound-pound-pound his hot, needy cock into your perfect pussy. “Yes- why the fuck wouldn’t it feel good? Do you know how fucking good you feel?”

And then you clench and it’s enough to send him throwing his back through tears-

“It should be fucking illegal for your pussy to feel this good.”

He sounded dead-serious - and you almost found it cute just how pussydrunk Gojo had gotten after only a few vicious strokes. “I dunno…you had ah- omegaverse and all in your hentai, Toru.”

“My hentai had omegaverse, but I have you…” He’s blubbering out. And it would’ve been the most romantic things he’s said…perhaps, had it not been for what he says next. “And y-you even feel better than my PocketPussy3000…”

Arching one of your brows, “I don’t think I want to know what that is—oh, fuck.”

He gives a sudden swipe, dragging that metallic sensation across every one of your hidden sweet spots.

Oh, how could you have forgotten to mention?

Gojo Satoru - nerd galore, the most inexperienced man you’ve ever met - has a fucking Jacob’s Ladder piercing. A line of ruthless metal barbells that pierced his lengthy shaft, that stuck out lewdly - creating a texture that made your eyes absolutely roooooll to the back of your skull.

Their delicate orbs were rubbin’ coldly against your walls, were molding his interesting shape against your channel. And you find yourself speeding up your bounces just to feel his sensual piercings. 

Just to feel the rub-a-dub of them pushing apart your snug cunt- clinging onto any tiny crevice.

Gojo’s giving an inexperienced slam against the back of your womb and you cry out—“Shit, how can it feel so good-” Holding onto his broad shoulders to keep yourself from falling off of his lap, “You’re really a virgin, aren’t you?”

He pushes his glasses up smugly. “That, I am.” Feeling more confident now, he’s grabbing onto either side of your hips- if this was one of his hentai, then he’d probably use his alpha powers to induce you into heat. Then probably pound you with his cum until you’re bloated…that last one, he could still do. He gives you a few rough thrusts, “And because I’ve got the power of gooning and hentai on my side-”

“Okay, I wouldn’t go that far-”

“Why not?” There was that smug bastard you knew and loved in class- so sure he was right. Gojo cocks his head defiantly to the side, sure he had you wrapped around his finger. Cock, more like.

But just then you’re clenchin’ your fluttering cunt around his cock—making the overconfident nerd stutter, making him blush, making him jerk his hips up into yours and splat! out another wad of cum. Adding onto the puddled mess upon your cervix, slick and heavy with syrup. “What was that, Toru?”

You’re keeping him absolutely hostage.

And it felt so good for you, too, with the nooks and ridges of his Jacob’s Ladder driving you absolutely wiiiiiild. Especially the orbs at the end of his barbells that slipped easily into your walls.

Again.

And again.

And again-

He’s staring up at you through his lashes, words sputtering. “I-I meant-”

“Hm?” Yet another clench- a mere clench. And that round, reddened tip of Gojo’s ends up swervin’ straight against the door to your womb—the nerd’s mouth waters as he thinks of all the possibilities…

“I just meant that m’thankful, sweetheart.” Gojo’s crooning up at you. He loops his arms around your papping! waist and brings you deeper against his toned chest, probin’ your spots even deeper. “I’m so thankful to get to- hck! fuck a pussy like this- so, so thankful…”

“Mhmmm?”

“There’s a reason I cried a little when I first put it in, y’know? A loser like me could never have even imagined- fuck.” Answering, he keeps on drilling his hips up into you - sloppily. Semi-thrusts that leave your entire body on edge from how fast n’ frenzied they were becoming. “And no hentai nor manga nor bodypillow in the world could ever compare to you—” 

“Fuck-” You whisper. It was only making his mazing tip, his massaging piercings, do their magic even harder inside your slippery channel.

And Gojo whispers - mostly to himself. “I got those just because they looked like you, anyways…”

But you’re hearing him perfectly.

And it takes only a few more swerves n’ grinds of your hips to draaaaag yet another orgasm out of Gojo Satoru—you’ve lost count which one it was for the night. But it’s enough that your walls feel slightly inflated with the sheer volume of seed pumped into you, the clingy wads n’ webs stuffing you so full.

Part of it sprays between your legs and glues the backs of your thighs to his waistline. 

And you’re only tightening them ‘round him deeper- ready to ride him maddeningly through another burst of euphoria.

But the surprise comes when Gojo pushes his foggy glasses up in determination - it comes when he peeks down at your pussy through his sweaty bangs. Pinkish tongue sticking between his teeth, the nerdy man locates your neglected clit in a few seconds and starts rollin’ over it with his thumb like a machine. 

He wasn’t quite sure what to do - but he knew from those sultry mewls leaving you that it felt good. And so he’s alternating between slow hearts n’ rapid stripes drawn down your puffy nub.

Every drag of his digit sending sparks to your brain. Overheated.

“Shit-” You’re somehow managing to choke out. And it takes only one-two-three more twists n’ turns of his wrist to get you to start trembling. “Shit, shit—Toru. That feels so-”

To get you to cum.

And so you do-except…you weren’t just cumming.

You were squirting—glittering, hot splashes of sap escaping between your pussylips. They splatter all over Gojo’s slender waist, drenching him all the way down to his chair- and he doesn’t care. 

Fuck, he’s having the girl of his dreams soak his cock with her pussy—and you think he’d care about something like that?

Barely paying attention to his own orgasm, Gojo balances you on top of him n’ drags you through your high. Such strong, sudden zaps of bliss going from his roverin’ tip and straight up to your muddled mind—just a few hungry hammers, and you’re already babbling with pleasure. The knobs of his Jacob’s Ladder massaging your sweetest spots, only elongating that wave of euphoria even further.

It shatters through your body until you’re a mess.

You’re dripping between your legs- and from your eyes. Sobbing into Gojo’s shoulder, “Sa-Satoru, that feels so good—fuck, that felt so good.” Perking your hips up n’ down his swollen shaft—even the area ‘round his pelvis was reddening with impact. “You did good, baby.”

“I d-did?” Gojo asks.

And you can only nod. “You have to delete that insane collection of yours, though.”

“W-well of course, I will…” He smugly pushes his glasses further up his nosebridge- and the sudden improved vision lets him see the dark patch you’d squirted all over his favorite Digimon t-shirt. 

And Gojo can’t help himself from tugging up that hemline and fucking sniffing your sweet, sweet juices-

“Now how about I introduce you to my PocketPussy3000…that I named after you?”

.

.

.

Professor Yaga is just about reconsidering his resignation plans- it’s been a while without any…incident involving his students pushing him to the verge of an aneurysm, he hasn’t had any problems with grading, he hasn’t had any problems with the other staff.

Overall, life has been good.

The problem comes when Gojo Satoru comes to class looking as though he’d come to the very same conclusion.

That morning, he decides that the bespectacled man - his star student in Physics class - looks blissed out…too blissed out. His skin was glowing. His eyes seemed sparklier than ever. He was practically hovering into class.

And Yaga’s eternal conundrum is put to rest when you walk in right after, looking (perhaps not as dramatic) equally happy.

Ah…he connects the dots. And he catches the way the two of you look at each other as though you wished the rest of the class didn’t exist-

Yaga shudders. He reconsiders reconsidering his resignation plans.

He splits the two of you up during seating.

Gojo’s loud cries sound like music to his ears.

♡ HIGURUMA HIROMI - Mr. Mr.

“Fuck…” Higuruma Hiromi finds his head pressed against the polished mahogany of his desk yet again, breathing out his woes into it as though it could hear him.

It always was his most avid listener, these days.

He ignores the newest paper that’d landed on his desk - Higuruma wasn’t above taking cases that interested him anymore. But then again, most cases required attention—and that was exactly what he was lacking right now. These days.

And who else was to blame for such a transgression by Tokyo’s best law professor but you? 

You. You. You. You.

Ever since you’d walked into his lecture hall at the start of semester- your pencil skirt sharp, your mouth even sharper. Higuruma would be lying if he said he wasn’t drawn in by the sheer breadth of your knowledge—even to a man like him who lived and breathed law itself.

He was stunned.

And you were stunning.

Both in your beauty and your brains- and everything else in-between that Higuruma Hiromi just couldn’t stop fucking thinking about-

It was driving him crazy.

He thinks he might be going crazy.

He can’t spend a single class without his eyes drifting towards you—as though drawn in by magnets, even though he didn’t really have a point to emphasize nor any question to ask. He can’t grade your papers without fearing that he might just subconsciously slip in an extra point or two - not because you need it, but because he’s a weak man. He’s a weak, weak man. 

And Higuruma always ends up loaning off your papers to some other attorney friend of his - it always does make him breathe easier when he finds out that you’re always given top marks regardless.

Even the clock has found itself inutile ever since your entrance into his life—no longer is it a device to display time, but rather a countdown for when he might see you next.

The next class. The next orchestrated bump in the hallways. 

The next time he sees your beautiful, beautiful smile.

If Higuruma isn’t in class with you, he’s spending his time counting down the hours until he does. And that’s what he was doing at this very moment—that’s what he was attempting to stop right now.

“I must have gone mad.” He runs a hand through his thick, black hair - usually parted to perfection, but it usually seems to unravel whenever he thinks of you. As does every other part of him. And Higuruma whispers his confession into the late hours- with no one in the vicinity right now.

Class had just ended, and he was still reeling from the vision of you in that short, short skirt. So short…

Higuruma’s breath hitches at the mere memory of it, like a dying man. He’s always been the type of man to prioritize his career - and that means he’s never quite…felt anything like this before. He’s never quite looked out of his books long enough to take interest. Perhaps he’s been in a maddened haze—“That must be it.” He declares, “I really must have gone mad-”

He stands abruptly. Slightly teetering.

“Because I can’t—” You were a university student. You were a decade his junior. You were the beautiful face he got to see everyday- and yet, he wasn’t supposed to notice just how beautiful you were. “It’s not right. It shouldn’t be done. I really can’t-”

“Professor?”

“My law student of all things-”

“Professor?”

“And yet- fuck, I’ve never wanted anyone so desperately-”

“Professor.”

Higuruma feels his blood grow cold. Without a speck of sense in him, still, he’s whirling around to face you - he’d recognize your voice above thousands.

You were standing at the edge of the doorway, tip-toeing slightly inside as though unsure whether you should interrupt. One of your hands rest at your chest to feel your beating heart—and the other one slowly but surely closes the lecture hall door behind you.

“I came here to get a bag I’d left behind…” You’re starting off- and to Higuruma this doesn’t feel real. He’s falling into his chair—“But maybe I’ve left something a little more ah- important.”

And that smile of yours definitely doesn’t feel real.

“I-I beg of you to reconsider.” He starts off, nervously fiddling with his glasses frames.

“Motion denied.” You smile, stepping closer. And the way you’re looking at him—fuck, he feels his cock start to throb already.

“I’m much older than you, my angel.” Higuruma attempts to reason - but the thing is, he isn’t sure whether he’s attempting to reason with you or himself. Because you certainly had an air of finality about you- “And I’m your professor.”  He gulps. He has his books in his office- so, so many books. And yet, none that would help him find the words for right now. “Not to mention, there are so many other eligible bachelors who would be a better f-”

“Dismissal with prejudice.” You hum. Examining the older professor before you—dark circles, beautifully tragic, such a bookish air about him. “Anything else?”

He pushes his stern glasses up his nosebridge. “No…sentence accepted, Your Honor.”

.

.

.

And it’s not too long before you’re finding yourself spread flat across Higuruma’s desk - all polished, poised, formal. Not a speck of dirt or document out of line—except for the fact that you had your back against it and was currently being fucked dizzy on Higuruma’s fat, throbbing cock.

Throwing both legs on top of his shoulders. Pinning you down with a hand at your throat. 

He was giving you all that you were going to get- and all that you were getting were looooong swipes of his bulging tip. In and out. In and out.

Plummeting between your pussylips n’ tickling the deepest spots in the back of your pussy. The deepest—Higuruma makes you taste his rotund circumference at your throat, before he’s dragging his sloppy cock back out and repeating it all over again.

Reddened tip to the tiny curls at the base of his cock- and luckily for you, this was everything you’d been wanting since the second you walked through those hall doors.

Ever since you’d seen your hot, nerdy law professor. 

Higuruma pushes his thin-rimmed glasses up his nose, and you’re gulping at just how handsome he looks. A thin line of sweat tricklin’ down the side of his temple- “Shit-” He’s hissing between clenched teeth, voice higher as though he still couldn’t believe that this was real life. “Shit, you’re taking me so well.”

“A-anything for you—” You’re gasping out. His thrusts are hard enough that you swear you could feel him empty out his pre all the way in the back of your throat- and you swear you could taste it, too. That salted caramel flavor that clogged up your tastebuds—

“For me, huh?” Higuruma’s handsome nose crinkles, and he slams a set of his fingers down upon your clit. “Teacher’s pet.”

You’re whining at the stars that makes you see. “You have no idea.” It was only in the slight reprieves between his thrusts - when he’d pull back from your cervix and relieve the pressure on your womb - that you could manage to even speak. “You have no idea how fuck- how long I’ve wanted to fuck you.”

“That long, huh?” His dark eyes widen.

“So long.” And you’re not even sure why you’re being so honest - but you suspect it has something to do with just how stupid he’s making you with his textured length. Those zig-zagging veins and ridges upon his swollen cock—fuck. “You have no idea how many nights I spent- ngh, poring over textbooks. Just to memorize things n’ impress you.”

His achingly-hard cock grows even plumper inside of you. “You d-did that for me?”

“I wanted you to be proud of me—” You’re almost sheepishly admitting to him. You dare to hide your face behind your hands- but Higuruma stops you then and there to take in your full expression. “-sir.”

And that almost makes the stoic man…pause.

It almost makes his lungs heave out.

It almost makes his glasses slide completely off of his nose-

Something in him just snaps - perhaps his sanity, his restraint, his hips slamming into yours until your very mind jolts. Fuck…

And Higuruma has to stare at you - whilst his cock still shovels in at a rapid pace - for a few seconds just to register. He has to throw his head back—“Fuck. Substantive and procedural law, right and duties- liabilities.” Such an odd slew of words and concepts from your syllabus leave him, growing even more feverish the more fervent hush hips become. “Theory of legal positivism—”

“What are you…” You don’t even have the words to describe it.

But Higuruma looks down at you with such dark, depraved eyes - a slight glaze atop them that made you realize he was completely and utterly pussydrunk. “That’s to distract myself, angel.”

“Oh—fuck.”

And before you know it, he’s scooping your lower half even further into his body and bending deeper down. Deeper. Deeper. Deeper. Higuruma folds you until the cheeks of your ass aren’t even touching the polished wood of his desk, and his cock reaches in so deep that it makes your pupils cross-

“And that’s to remind you that big girls never hafta bow down- not to anyone.” A line of drool travels slowly down the side of his mouth - he kisses you. “So how about it—”

“You want me to call you-”

“I’ll be calling you-” He starts off. “-something very fitting, Your Honor.”

You shiver.

And he basks in his own glee - what else for his star student?

Higuruma’s poundin’ away at the gooey back of your pussy- all the way until it feels as though he wants to fuck you through his damn office desk. 

And you’re sure by now that a print in the shape of your two bodies has formulated on top of the varnished mahogany—and knowing Higuruma, he’d likely just admire it all day. And as if he was trying to make this dream a reality, his bludgeoning pace increases until that gluttonous cock of his was nothing more than a dark pinkish blur between your pussylips.

Thrashing and swiping.

Locating your sweetest spots.

Higuruma draws a particularly good stripe down your puckered g-spot and you moan- “Please- m’so close, s—”

“What was that?” He cuts through. Stern. 

You didn’t think you’d get anything past him, did you? There was a reason he was so damn famed in the courts of Tokyo.

Higuruma’s sharp eyes glint. Through slower, sensual draaaaags of his cock he asks- “What- was- that—”

“Nothing-”

“I believe there may be inaccuracies in that statement.” He hums. Thickened shaft plummeting once more to your womb—thud-thud-thudding. “Try again.”

“You must’ve heard me-”

“Hearsay.”

“I called you-” Ultimately, you’re left to cry out. Nothing left but to have Higuruma’s hazy peripherals staring intensely down at you, and his cock twitchin’ as he pumps you through your orgasm. “…sir.”

And he reels back in delight at having won.

Your body trembling. Your eyes welling up with tears.

It was such a startling wave of bliss- one that almost made it hard for his fattened cock to fuck deep into you - not with your walls clinging onto him like that. And he has to fight to keep himself from cumming right now, just wanting to let you bask in the simmering pleasure first.

Just rammin’ a bruise of his cockhead against your cervix. Again. And again.

Though his steamrollin’ cock fucks you through peak after peak, Higuruma’s smile stays as mean and merciless as ever. Tutting, “Someone deserves some punishment, sugar.”

You’re still shivering from the force of your euphoria- “R-request for a fast trial?”

Wordlessly, Higuruma then reaches somewhere behind you—and you don’t have to turn your head to know what it is. Because soon enough, he’s bringing his shiny gavel to your line of vision- and dragging the honed tip of it straight between your legs.

“My conditions are that you cum with just this-”

“And my punishment if I can’t?” You breathe.

That perfectly poised wooden tip is just starting to inch inside and graaaaaze down your tight walls.

Higuruma gruffs, “Then I sentence you to ride my face until you squirt.” 

He smiles.

.

.

.

“Hiromi—” Masamichi Yaga’s drawling tone echoes down the empty corridor- it’s been just a few hours since he’d last been in the Law Department. Not one of his usual haunts (and he was almost glad for it, law students just seemed so much more…intense), he felt awkward waddling down the barren place.

It was long after classes had ended, though it was a sure shot that Higuruma would be in his office.

If not for the little…task he’d sent his friend—then because of his workaholic nature. Yaga was sure that his friend would have that little letter typed out for him by now, Yaga was sure that by tomorrow he could walk up to the Dean and let them know that he was resigning. Officially.

And with such a formal letter to boot- his pension was going to be luxury!

He was sure of it…

So tell him why he’s wandering right up to Higuruma’s door and hearing the strangest…groaning noises from inside. Worried that perhaps his friend might have gotten into some trouble with his health, Yaga’s hands twist upon the door handle- one that would’ve been less easy to open than a safe.

It was firmly locked.

“What the…” His brows raise well above his shades, and Yaga can’t help himself- he really can’t. He was acting under the presumption that his close friend might have been hurt—alright! The older man leans down to the keyhole on the door and…peers inwards.

He knew that Higuruma was never the type to keep a key in a door- he preferred deadbolts and such. But oh, how Yaga was wishing it was the opposite as he snatches a glimpse.

And what he sees is his best friend- not suffering from any health complications or injuries as he could see. Instead, Higuruma seemed as healthy as ever as he arched you deeper into his front and fucked you - you - in a way that made Yaga blush.

He’s shooting upright as if burned.

Speedwalking down the corridor—fuck the letter, fuck the Law Department, fuck everyone around him.

Yaga was never resigning.

A/N. Got a little…carried away with this one whoops-

Plagiarism not authorized.

[sincerelyneo]

dirty little secret | l.hs

“don't tell anyone, or you'll be just another regret.”

💿now playing: dirty little secret by the all-american rejects

❯ summary: Hooking up with the hot soccer player who doesn’t believe in labels (and just so happens to be your brother’s best friend) obviously had to stay a secret.  His rules, not yours. And it’s easy…until Heeseung starts acting like any other guy who so much as looks at you is a problem. Because apparently, he doesn’t do labels. But he does do jealousy.

❯ pairings: jock! heeseung x fem!reader

❯ genre: college!au, secret relationship, brother’s best friend, popular boy x quiet girl

❯ words: 7.0k

❯ tags: 18+ minors dni, sneaking around, miscommunication, ANGST, jealousy, dirty talk, fingering, gagging, unprotected rough sex (this is silly! don’t do this!), creampie, possessiveness, questionable toxic behaviour, just heeseung being kind of an asshole for 7k words

{AN: paige's first enhypen fic}

“Ugh. I don’t get the obsession with soccer players,” Yunjin groans, snapping a few shots of the college team before slumping down dramatically against the bleachers. “Next time we draw straws for a project, I’m doing it. Because, honestly? You have the worst luck, Y/N. We could be watching a band practice right now. Instead, we’re documenting sweaty boys chasing a ball. It’s so…gross.”

Right on cue, Park Sunghoon, number twenty-three, yanks up his jersey and wipes the sweat beading on his forehead. There’s a flash of his incredibly sculpted abs that has the team of cheerleaders on the sidelines squealing like they’re barricade at a boy band concert. Which, fair. He has the face for it…and clearly, the build.

Yunjin recoils. “Are they serious? Him? He’s literally ran through—”

“Slut-shaming is very outdated, Yunjin,” you cut in, laughing as you adjust the settings on your own camera. Slutty men with abs or not, you have a journalism project due, and you need these shots.

“How convenient,” she deadpans. “Men spent centuries crucifying women for their sexuality, but now, when I try to do it, suddenly it’s all peace, camaraderie, and let’s all love each other, y’all. No. I say let the cycle come full circle.”

“Or,” you murmur, clicking the shutter, “we could just…all mind our business.”

Yunjin narrows her eyes, then she springs up from her seat only to flop back down beside you, arm slung across your shoulders like you’re friends. You’re not. Not, exactly. You have this journalism class together where she’s assigned herself as your permanent partner. That’s it. 

“You seem awfully defensive of them…” she says, then her eyes widen in mock horror. “Wait. Hold the phone—are you fucking one of them?”

Your jaw practically hits the bleachers. “W-what? N-no. Absolutely not.”

She tuts, utterly unconvinced, which is not a good sign. Not because you actually care what she thinks you’re doing with your free time—you don’t. You really don’t. Despite your prior protests, you’re actually very sex-positive. Liberated, if you will. Very on board with empowering women that they can, and should, fuck who they want, yadda yadda yadda.

At least… you were. Until him.

Him being Lee Heeseung. Number forty-nine on the team. The right-winger with defined arms, plush lips and long, thick fingers. A body part you’d never thought twice about—until one was pushed past your lips, keeping you quiet, and the others were pressed against your clit, pinning you against the cold slab of your kitchen island four months ago while he was supposed to be your family’s guest for dinner.

Not exactly your proudest moment. Not because you think getting finger-fucked in the kitchen of your family home makes you classless—it doesn’t. But because it was Heeseung. And a part of you can admit that getting secretly finger-blasted by your brother’s best friend, while you were supposed to be washing dishes, is probably… slightly… definitely tasteless.

But not as tasteless as what came next.

Later that night, letting him sneak into your bedroom, gag you, and fuck you senseless with your brother asleep on the other side of the wall. Tasteless doesn’t even begin to cover it. You need a word stronger than that. Ill-mannered? Crass? Stupid?

Stupid was probably best. Because when you factor in the rules of whatever this is between the two of you—it defies every feminist bone in your body. Heeseung was clear. He’s always clear. Commanding. Bossy is more appropriate. He told you this—whatever it was—had to stay a secret.

“Shhh,” he’d whispered, lips dragging over your ear as his hips drove deeper into your cunt. It was a slow, tantalising pace. Mocking. “Your brother’s right down the hall. You want him hearing how desperate you sound for me?”

Your head thrashed against the pillow, a strangled sound caught in your throat as your pulse skittered. You’d had sex before—but never like this. Never the purposeful pace, the filthy mouth, the multiple orgasms. (Orgasms, period, if we’re being honest.)

“You’re not gonna tell anyone about this, are you, Y/N?” he asked.

And how dare he ask? How dare he want you to think and process questions when his cock was stretching you open, letting you have it balls deep, making you stupid and breathless and weak. All you could do was shake your head, brain fogged, hoping that was enough to satisfy his question.

“Good girl.” His mouth brushed your jaw, the words curling into you as his thrusts quickened. “You’re the only one who needs to know I’m fucking you.”

His hand slid from your hip to your mouth, three fingers shoving between your lips, muffling your moans, making them vibrate against his skin. His favourite thing to do. “My dirty little secret,” he murmured, eyes dark. “That’s all you’ll ever be. Isn’t that right?”

“Uh-huh,” you gasped around his fingers, though shame burned hot in your chest.

“Such a good little slut.” He smirked, grinding into you harder. “You won’t tell anyone, will you?”

And you agreed. Then…and several more times after. 

So, no. You’re not quite as liberated as you like to believe. Not anymore. You keep your sexcapades very private. Very quiet. Very personal. And very far away from your project partner, who you aren’t even friends with.

“I’m not fucking any of them—or anyone for that matter!” you blurt, shutting down the sexy memory reel playing in your head. Except the words tumble out all flustered and defensive, which isn’t helping your case.

Yunjin’s face scrunches. She doesn’t believe you. And she needs to believe you. Because the last thing you need is her running her mouth and telling everyone that you’ve got a thing with someone on the team. That rumour would travel fast—straight to your brother, and worse, to Heeseung. And Heeseung was clear: if you told anyone, you’d stop being his dirty little secret and start being nothing at all. A thing of the past. A regret.

And unfortunately for you, giving up sex with this man (this absolute feral sex god of a man) is not on the table.

“You can tell me, you know.” Yunjin shrugs, ever casual. “Your dirty little secret is safe with me, you minx.”

Dirty little secret.

Ironic.

You suck in a breath and reach for the only other tactic you have. The one you hate using. The one that makes people weird around you every time you tell them.

“I’m not defending them because I’m fucking one of them, Yunjin,” you say flatly. “I’m defending them because my brother is on the team, and I don’t love the imagery you’re putting in my head.”

Her jaw drops. “Y-your brother?”

You nod. “Uh-huh. Jungwon.”

She stares at you, dumbfounded, and a little...annoyed? 

“You’re telling me you’ve had a brother on this team the whole time, but you’ve been dragging us to these long ass practices, making us wait around, just so we can beg one of them to give us an interview for our article?”

“Well, yeah,” you say, prickling under her question. You're glad her train of thought has shifted, but not appreciative of her tone. You continue: “A big part of journalism is trying to convince the client to give you an exclusive.”

Yunjin scoffs so loudly it echoes off the empty bleachers. She shoots to her feet, dusts off her jeans. “Yes, Y/N, but a big part of living in the real world is having connections.”

You blink at her as she starts shoving her camera into her tote bag, lens cap barely on. “Hey—what are you doing? There’s still twenty minutes left of practice.”

“Not for me.” She slings the bag over her shoulder and swings her backpack onto her back in one seamless motion. “You, my darling girl, are going to use your nepotism and talk to your brother.”

“That’s not—” you sputter, staring as she marches down a few steps.

“Think of it as your free pass. Your bloodline advantage. Your genetic lottery ticket.” She’s counting them off on her fingers as she descends. “Whatever you want to call it. Use. It.”

You open your mouth, protest on your tongue, but she’s already halfway down the bleachers, hair bouncing, zero remorse.

“Wait, Yunjin!” You call, but she waves a dismissive hand over her shoulder, already moving toward the parking lot like she hasn’t just abandoned you with twenty minutes of practice left, a camera bag digging into your hip, and the sudden, horrifying prospect of actually approaching your brother for this project. 

Which, obviously, is never happening. Siblings don’t do you favours out of good faith. They do them reluctantly, conditionally. Especially older brothers. Especially Jungwon. And you have nothing to offer him. 

But before you can explain that, Yunjin’s gone. And now you’re hyperaware of the practice going on. The shrill of the coach’s whistle, the sound of boots tearing into turf, and the unsettling awareness of number forty-nine on the far side of the field. It’s like your body knows he’s there before your eyes even find him. 

But you won’t look. You can’t. Not unless you want to broadcast to the entire soccer team that you’ve been banging their best forward. Because one look is all it ever takes. One glance, and suddenly your skin’s prickling, your pulse is sprinting, your cheeks flushing. And none of it is your fault. It’s his. For being good with his hands. And his mouth. And his—

“Hi…”

The word comes from a voice that is small, hesitant, but definitely very, very male. It cuts clean through your spiralling thoughts and has your eyes jerking up from the camera in your lap that you were trying to distract yourself with, to a boy.

And then you’re staring. At his messy blonde hair, at his sweet features, at his teeth, which you find far too perfect to belong to a college student. Recognition tugs at you. Kim Sunoo.

You know him. Sort of. Two, maybe three rows behind you in Journalism 101. Doesn’t really matter because right now he’s standing over you with his hands shoved in his jeans and his lips pursed like he’s waiting for something.

Oh. Right. A response.

“Hi,” you blurt.

Fantastic. You’re truly an elite small talker. 

But Sunoo doesn’t seem to mind. He drops down on the bleacher beside you, sprawling his legs out like it’s the most natural thing in the world (he’s a man) ankles crossed on the metal rail in front of him.

“I see your partner ditched you too, huh?”

You grimace. “You saw that?”

“Well, yeah.” He gestures toward the field with a lazy flick of his hand. “Other than the team and the cheerleaders, we’re the only other people here.”

You glance around, and—yep. He’s right. Just the two of you and the echo of testosterone on the field.

“Why are you here?” you ask before your brain can stop your mouth. Then you wince. “Wait—sorry, that sounded way ruder than I meant. I just meant—you’re in my class, right? Journalism? And I know me and Yunjin got stuck with the sports piece, but you—unless your girlfriend’s a cheerleader or—”

The laugh that falls out of him is raspy and warm, brushing right over your skin like sunlight. He’s like sunlight. And that’s when it hits you—you’re rambling. Loudly. Full-on word vomit, and you have no idea why.

That’s not true. You know exactly why. It has everything to do with this boy’s smile, and his easy demeanour and pretty—really fucking pretty—face.

“No cheerleader girlfriend,” he says after a beat, his laugh finally settling. “Don’t think we’d have a lot in common, really.”

You arch a brow. “Well that’s a pretty harmful stereotype. Maybe one of them’s secretly obsessed with the art of journalism. Opposites attract, you know.”

His grin tilts. “Speaking from experience, are we?”

Your stomach flips and heat licks up your neck. You look away, pretending to fuss with your camera strap again, but the blush gives you away immediately. You force yourself to look back at him, even though your pulse is hammering. 

“No,” you say, shaking your head. “No experience.”

“Ah.” His eyes spark. “So that conversation you were having with Yunjin about some little fuck buddy on the team—that has absolutely no merit?”

Your mouth falls open. “You—oh my god!” You shove at his chest, heat flooding your face even more. “You nosy little—were you eavesdropping on us?!”

He just laughs, throwing one hand up in mock defence. “I’m a journalist, Y/N. It’s literally my job to eavesdrop. And in case you forgot, we’re the only ones here besides twenty sweaty guys running drills.”

You freeze, the reminder hitting hard. Because he’s right. It’s just the two of you on these bleachers, every sound and shift magnified—the scrape of his shoes, the brush of denim against denim when his knee nudges yours, the way your breath catches a little too obviously in your throat.

Your breath absolutely has no business doing that right now. But you know exactly why it is. Because Sunoo’s close, he’s here, and somewhere across the field, Heeseung is too. And it feels dangerous, sitting here with this boy’s knee pressed to yours, while the one you’ve been trying not to look at runs drills a hundred yards away.

You shift focus by clearing your throat. 

“Speaking of…you never answered my question about the assignment.”

“Question?” He echoes, tipping his head to study you. “You fired about ninety rapid-fire at me. I’d call it more like…cute rambling.”

“I was not—” you stop, then suck in a breath. Because you were. You square your shoulders, trying to reframe your original question. “What’s the subject matter that has you sitting at a soccer practice, Sunoo?”

His lips twitch. “Interview with the coach. Training methods, team dynamics, the ups and downs, that stuff, you know?”

“I do.”

“Boring, right?”

“Immensely,” you deadpan, earning his laugh. It skates warm down your spine. “What about your partner? Can I know why you’ve been ditched since you know all about mine running off?”

“I’m with Yunjin, to be fair,” he admits, deflecting. “Nepotism has its perks. Except if I’d had an easy way into talking to the coach, I wouldn’t have been stuck here at this practice…and I wouldn’t have gotten the chance to talk to the prettiest girl in our class.”

The words slam into you, pounding in your ears.

And suddenly you’re too aware of everything—his shoulder brushing yours each time he shifts, the faint scent of his cologne drifting over to your nose, the way the heat of his body reaches you even without touching.

“W-what?” Your voice breaks.

He laughs, awkward now, arm reaching around to rub the back of his neck. For the first time since sitting down, he looks less in control. “Was that too forward? Yeah, it was, wasn’t it? Sorry, I—” He clears his throat. “The girl I was paired with…she has a complicated history with one of the guys on the team. And she’s one of my best friends. So I told her I’d handle it. Carry the weight of the project.”

The words settle between you, and for a second, you can’t breathe. Because Sunoo’s not just nice, he’s good. Clearly. The kind of boy who steps in for a friend and calls you the prettiest girl in your class. And you should be melting at that. You should be leaning into that warmth, letting it wrap around you until your pulse slows down.

But you’re not.

Because all you can think about is him. The way he’s never once called you pretty. No. Heeseung doesn’t do sweet, tender, pretty. He doesn’t compliment by standard metrics; it’s all filthy praise…words that tear through you, and have lodged themselves so deep it’s all you can think about when another boy is calling you pretty.

Filthy girl. Fuck toy. Cumslut. 

Crude. Ugly. Explicit. And you crave every single syllable.

Because when he says them, when his voice drops low and his hands are on you, they don’t feel like insults. They feel like possession. Like worship. Not pretty. Never pretty. Something darker. Something that makes your body thrum in a way Sunoo’s gentleness never could.

Your head feels split in two. One side wants to lean toward the boy who’s safe and sweet. The other wants to look across the field at number forty-nine—the boy who ruins you with nothing but his mouth.

The silence between you and Sunoo goes sticky. Until—mercifully—the coach’s whistle slices through the air. Down on the field, practice begins to break apart, players scattering into clusters, some heading for the locker rooms, others stretching lazily as they peel off their shin pads.

Beside you, Sunoo exhales a small, slightly self-deprecating breath. He leans back, dragging a hand through his blond hair before turning to you with a sheepish smile. “Well—uh—I guess I’d better actually try and bag that interview with the coach before he disappears.”

You find yourself smiling back. “Good luck.”

He hesitates for a beat, eyes catching yours like he’s trying to hold them just a second longer. “I’ll see you in class, yeah?”

You nod. 

It should be a nice moment. A neat little bow to tie the awkwardness up with. But it doesn’t get the chance—because an arm, solid and heavy, slams down around your shoulders out of nowhere. The weight jerks you forward so hard your camera nearly slips out of your lap. 

You don’t need to look—you’d know that grip anywhere.

“Jesus Christ,” you snap, clutching your bag against you like a shield. “What the fuck, Jungwon? You almost broke my camera.”

He doesn’t budge. His arm stays draped over you, iron-tight, and he lifts his head to look at Sunoo—the blonde boy who was just about to get up—and pins him in place with a stare that’s all protective. Sunoo freezes, half-rising, caught in the beam of Jungwon’s attention.

Fucking great. 

When your brother speaks, it’s in that precocious older-brother tone that makes your skin crawl. “What is my darling baby sister doing out here?”

You shove at him, trying to shake off that arm. “Shut up. I’m doing homework.”

Jungwon’s eyes flit between you and Sunoo. “Didn’t look like you were doing homework to me,” he murmurs.

You want to throttle him. You might actually. Your parents would disown you, of course, he’s their favourite—but maybe tattling about the massive rager he threw senior year of high school (you still have the photos) might give you a pass.

Then Jungwon leans a fraction closer, lips slipping into mock concern for maximum effect at trying to mortify you. “Is this your little boyfriend?”

Your jaw drops. Sunoo sputters, coughing as his face goes crimson. Around you, the small cluster of Jungwon’s teammates snicker, making you aware of their presence. The laughter is full and echoing, and it sinks into your skin until your cheeks burn. 

Before you can spit out a defence, Sunoo clears his throat. “I’ll catch up with you later, Y/N.” And then he’s gone—bolting toward the coach and retreating from your brother and his pack of assholes.

Jungwon’s grin is wolfish. “Aww, did I scare off your date?” he asks brightly. “Although…I must say, a college practice isn’t exactly a romantic—”

“I told you I’m here to do homework, you ass!” you snap, your grip strangling the strap of your camera bag.

Jungwon’s eyebrows pull together. “What kind of homework?”

You roll your eyes, stand, and shove your equipment into your bag harder than you need to. “A sports interview. With one of you on the team. Hence me sitting through your stupid practice.”

“Stupid?” He presses a hand to his chest. “Ouch. You’re not very professional, sis.”

“I’m going to poison your food the next time we see Grandma for the holidays.”

Jungwon looks around at his cronies, suddenly public-spirited. Actually, he’s always public-spirited. A performer. Your idiot, annoying, older brother. 

“Y’all know which direction to point the cops in when I show up dead,” he says. 

The guys laugh. You feel your skin go cold.

“Jungwon—” You start, but he’s already up, patting the nearest player—number twenty-three—on the chest. 

“Hoon will do the interview with you.”

“No.”

It’s not you who says it. The clear, harsh, abrupt syllable comes from the man you crave everything from. Heeseung. Number forty-nine. 

He’s leaning back on the metal railing, arms crossed over his chest, jaw set so tight it could cut glass. He looks…angry. Irritated. Like Jungwon just suggested something offensive. Which would be ridiculous—if you didn’t know better, if you didn’t know him, you’d say he looked—no.

You’re being delusional. There’s no way this boy who keeps you in the dark, who hates labels, who doesn’t do claiming, is feeling jealous right now. It’s absurd. It’s silly. It’s Sunoo’s fault, you think. All his sweet compliments and warm smiles have gone gassing up your ego until you’re seeing things that aren’t there.

Heeseung speaks again. “I’ll do it.”

It’s not an offer. 

“Cool.” Jungwon yawns, stretching his arms above his head. “Heeseung will do it. Big brother saves the day again. Looking forward to my birthday present this year, Y/N.”

You spin on him so fast your hair nearly whips you in the face. “What—no. Absolutely not. I didn’t ask you to—”

“Relax.” Jungwon grins, already moving down the stairs of the bleachers, waving his hand like your opinion doesn’t matter in the slightest. “You needed an exclusive, now you’ve got one. Say thank you.”

“Thank you?” You echo.

Thank you? What does he want you to thank him for? Thank you for serving me up on a silver platter to the one person I cannot, under any circumstances, be alone with? 

Never mind Jungwon. What is Heeseung even playing at? He’s always so serious about keeping things on the down-low. About boundaries. About making sure the two of you barely even look at each other in public. The two of you have gotten so good at not raising suspicion, even your brother seems to think it’s a great idea to leave you with him—sweaty, sexy, shirt sticking to his body after practice—in a dark locker room. Alone.

Heeseung’s eyes flick up to yours, steady and unreadable, though the muscle in his jaw ticks once. He doesn’t say anything else, just lets the silence work on you until your lungs feel tight. 

You clear your throat, fumbling for words. “I—you—already asked Sunghoon—”

Your protest dies a quiet death as you glance at the stairs. Jungwon’s gone, disappearing to the lockers and taking most of the team with him.

Now it’s just you and Heeseung.

He pushes off the railing, the scrape of his cleats against the concrete piercing. “I’ll text you when everyone’s left,” he says, voice low. “So you can come into the locker room and we can start.”

There’s something about men that will never make sense to you—like how they can shower and get dressed after a full ninety minutes of soccer in under fifteen minutes. Fifteen. That’s not enough time to be clean. It just isn’t.

Or maybe you’re just bitter. Bitter that they’re so quick, because you need at least another two hours to mentally prepare yourself for the boy waiting inside that locker room. The one who sent you the all clear text five minutes ago. The same text you’ve been staring at and procrastinating over for far too long. 

With a resigned sigh, you shove your phone into your tote bag and head for the door. You cautiously knock twice because you’ve learned your lesson. No one needs a repeat of the Jake incident, where you barged in looking for your brother and were greeted by a very clear imprint of Jake’s dick in his boxers.

When silence greets you, you wait another beat before knocking again. But still…nothing. You decide to suck it up and push the door open anyway. You mean…it’s only Heeseung in there. Not only have you already seen the imprint of his dick, you've had it inside of you. How bad can it—

Oh.

Right. 

That bad.

He’s sitting on one of the benches—legs spread, torso bare, towel tossed aside despite his skin still visibly glistening from the shower. It’s taunting how the droplets trail down his chest and follow the slope of his defined collarbone before disappearing beneath the waistband of his black briefs. His hair is damp, the dark strands looking almost completely black as they stick to his forehead. When he looks up, the movement in his hands stills.

“I texted you ten minutes ago,” he says.

“I was—uh—sorting my stuff,” you manage, clutching your tote higher on your shoulder. “Making sure I had all my questions ready to go.”

His gaze drags over you slowly, his head tilting. “Do you?”

“Yep.”

“Then sit.” He gestures toward the bench across from him. “And lock the door.”

Your breath catches. “W-what?”

“Door. Lock. Now, Y/N.”

“I don’t think that’s really necessary...”

“Trust me,” he deadpans. “It’ll be very necessary. You don’t want anyone walking in on our interview. Might interfere with your little recording.”

Your pulse flutters against your throat. He has a point. A rational one. No journalist enjoys sifting through empty noise when drafting up their report. But it’s also him. And logic doesn’t work the same when Heeseung is sitting there half-naked, voice all low, asking you to consensually lock yourself in a 194 square foot box room with him. Alone.

“Come on,” he continues. “You’ve been in locked rooms with me before—”

“Okay,” you cut him off, just to stop the potential memory he’s about to bring up. You reach back, click the lock, then make your way over and sit on the bench opposite him. 

“What happened to you?” You ask, nodding toward the gash running along his pinky. The bandage wrapper and antiseptic wipes scattered across the bench beside him make it obvious what he was doing before you came in here.

Something in his jaw flexes. “You didn’t see?”

You try to think back, but your brain had been everywhere except on the field—on your camera angles, on Yunjin’s constant pestering, on Sunoo’s laugh. Certainly not on Heeseung. Not on your secret fuck buddy, who you put extra effort into avoiding because he can make your stomach flip from ten feet away. 

“No,” you admit. “What happened?”

He studies you for a second, his jaw ticking as he swallows. Then he shrugs one shoulder. “Jungwon knocked me down during a tackle after halftime, then his boot caught my hand.”

“Jungwon did that?” You wince, leaning forward a little. “Looks bad.”

“It’s fine.” He glances back to his hand, but the set of his shoulders says otherwise—tense, coiled, like he’s…irritated?

You want to ask if it hurts. If he’s sitting there, body tight, pretending not to be in pain because of you. Because he said yes to this stupid interview even when he clearly should’ve gone home and iced his hand. But before you can open your mouth, his eyes flick back up to yours.

“Not surprised you missed it,” he says after a beat. “You seemed…preoccupied. Didn’t realise you’d have company at practice today.”

You know exactly where this is going.

“Sunoo was just being nice,” you say.

He hums, eyes narrowing a fraction. “Trust me. I know. He seemed very nice.”

Your brows knit. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Heeseung’s mouth tightens. “Nothing. Just saying.”

“No, you weren’t just saying,” you shoot back, arms crossing. “You’ve got that voice. The one you get when you’re being—” You stop yourself, the word jealous on your tongue, because it feels too dangerous to say out loud. Too humbling if he denies it. 

He. Doesn’t. Want. You.

Not properly. 

“When I’m being what?” His brows lift, the challenge there, daring you to say it.

You won’t. Instead, you let out a scoff and settle on: “Weird. You’ve been acting weird since I walked in.”

He laughs under his breath. “Weird?” He leans back, knee bouncing restlessly. “I’m just surprised, that’s all. Didn’t know you and Sunoo were that close.”

“We’re not,” you defend.“We have a class together. Not that it’s any of your business. We were talking about our projects.”

“Right,” he says dryly. “Because it looked like a really academic conversation from where I was standing. I always laugh and bump knees with the girls I’m studying with too.”

You blink at him. You can’t believe him. Can’t believe he’s being serious. All this over a bumped knee? Childish. 

“Are you actually serious right now?”

He says nothing. 

That’s it. You grab your bag, shove the strap over your shoulder, and push to your feet. Your heart picks up, hammering loud enough that your thoughts start to muffle. “Do you even hear yourself right now?” You ask. “You’re the one who didn’t want anyone to know about us. You made the rules, not me.”

His expression hardens. “Yeah, because your brother would kill me if he found out.”

“That’s such a cop-out.” You laugh, but there’s no humour in it. “Jungwon’s grown. He’d get over it. You just—” your voice wavers, “you just want it both ways. You want to be free to do whatever you want, and still have me waiting around for when it suits you. But you can’t have it both ways, Heeseung. You don’t get to tell me to keep it quiet and then glare at anyone who talks to me.”

“I don’t glare—”

“You do!” The words burst out of you. “You’re mad, and I don’t even know why! You don’t want me, but you don’t want anyone else to either? What the hell is that? I don’t do that to you!”

He’s on his feet before you can blink, and suddenly there’s nowhere to go. He’s big, so big his entire presence fills the small space between you with something too hot to breathe through. His chest rises and falls hard, brows drawn low, and that expression on his face…confusion, frustration, something that looks too much like want.

“I never said I don’t want you,” he grits out. “I always want you. Every fucking time I see you, Y/N, I want you. I just—” He stops, swallows hard, that muscle in his jaw jumping. “I don’t know where you’ve got this idea that I’m seeing other people when I’m not, I wouldn’t—”

“Then why,” you interrupt, “are we a secret?”

Silence. He doesn’t answer. 

Instead, his hand moves before you can stop it, fingers brushing your jaw before curling around it. His thumb drags across your cheek, soft and rough all at once, and the fight bleeds right out of you.

You hate it—how easily he does this. How he turns everything you feel into static. He always does it. Distracts. Deflets. Avoids the question that could change everything. And you let him. You always do. Because when he looks at you like that, when the delicate pad of his thumb tilts your chin up just enough, the words die on your tongue instantly. 

“Heeseung—”

But the rest never comes. Because his mouth crashes into yours in his signature hard, messy way. Your back hits the locker before you can think about what that means. His lips are perfect, almost like they were moulded for you. It’s that premise alone that tells you why you’re still a secret. Why you’re stuck here—caught in this stupid, secretive cycle you can’t seem to crawl out of. Because you’ve convinced yourself that part of him is perfect.

He kisses you harder, a hand fisting in your shirt, the other curling around your neck like he needs you close to breathe. The air between you charges, absorbing all of the frustration, the want, the confusion. You taste the anger on his tongue, the jealousy he won’t admit to.

“Heeseung—” you start, but the word dies when he presses you closer. “You can’t just—”

“Can’t what?” His voice is low, almost a growl, lips ghosting over your jaw. “I can’t take what’s mine?”

Your pulse stumbles. “I’m not–”

“I fucking dare you.” His forehead drops against yours. “Finish that sentence, Y/N, and I swear—”

“I’m not yours!”

He releases the wrinkled fabric of your shirt, his calloused fingertips travelling slowly along the curves of your body. Your stomach muscles flutter beneath his touch until his hands reach the worn denim at your waistband. He searches your eyes, hesitating until he sees your breath catch in your throat and your slight nod. The corner of his mouth curls into a knowing smile.

"If you're not mine," he whispers as his hands slip lower and lower until a finger brushes against your most sensitive spot, "why are you letting me touch you like this?"

You gasp, hands clutching around his wrist like you mean to stop him, but your hips roll into his touch, betraying you. He drags over your clit again, lazy and confident, making sure you feel every ounce of what this is. This isn’t affection. This is a claim. Raw possession. Control. Want. You feel it everywhere. 

He presses closer, crowding you against the locker, his bare chest firm as his teeth scrape the shell of your ear. “You think just because I haven’t given us a label, you’re not already mine?”

Your breath stutters. He chuckles. 

“Cute,” he hisses, tightening his grip on your hip. “So fucking cute.”

His name leaves your lips in a broken sound. 

"Shh."  

Then his hand is inside your jeans, past your underwear, and his finger sinks into you in one smooth, unforgiving thrust. The stretch is instant, burning, big, and your knees nearly give out. Honestly, they would have, if not for his arm snapping around your waist to keep you upright. He curls his finger inside you, slowly, deliberately. 

“You’re my dirty little secret. Mine. Understand?”

“That’s not—” you pant, your voice coming out embarrassingly breathy. “That’s not fair.”

“Fair?” His mouth tilts, amused. “You think I care about fair?”

“Heeseung, I’m—”

“You’re what?” He stills his hand inside you, making you whimper at the sudden absence of movement. “Mad at me?”

You glare at him, even as your thighs tremble. “It’s not funny.”

“No,” he agrees softly. “It’s not.”

He presses his forehead to yours again, thumb moving leisurely over your clit, steady enough to make you shake, light enough to deny you any relief.

“So go on,” he murmurs. “Tell me what I did wrong. What made you think another guy was allowed to make you smile?”

Your pulse kicks hard. He has no right to do this. You know it. You want to tell him so. Tell him that who you smile at, or flirt with or even kiss is none of his damn business!

“You don’t get to be jealous,” you whisper.

His eyes flash.

“Sweetheart,” he says, curling his finger just enough to remind you who’s in control. “This isn’t me being jealous.”

He presses deeper. You whimper.

“You don’t belong to anyone else but me.”

A shudder tears through you.

“I get possessive,” he adds. “There’s a difference.”

You shake your head, clinging to your pride like it might save you. You don’t know why you think that. It’s never saved you in the past. But all you know is, if you cum right now, like this, to his words, on his fingers, you’ll lose. He’ll be right.

“You want all the perks,” you manage, breathless, “of being my boyfriend… without the commitment.”

His smile turns wicked.

“Is that what you want?” he asks, voice dipping. “You want the big, shiny fucking label?”

“Maybe I don’t want you at all! 

It’s a lie. A pathetic, brittle lie. One you say just to rile him up. And oh—he hears it. He feels it. Every muscle in his body goes still. (You hate yourself for that because your vagina is aching). You’re not even sure it was all that worth it because the look on his face is not soft. Not wounded. No. Heeseung is dangerously quiet.

For one horrifying heartbeat, as his hand leaves you, you think he’s going to walk out of this locker room. But he doesn’t. He grabs you by the jaw and turns your face back to his, holding you still. His grip isn’t gentle. His eyes burn inches from yours.

“Say that again.”

You try to speak, but he squeezes harder. His thumb presses into your cheek until your lips part on instinct.

“Go on,” he says. “Say it again, Y/N. Repeat it.”

“Heeseung—”

He drops your face only to catch your hands instead, dragging your wrists above your head. He slams them against the lockers, pinning both in one palm. His other hand trails down your body, slow. Punishing.

“Say it.”

You swallow hard. “Maybe I don’t want you.”

Your voice trembles, and the weak sound gives you away. You know he hears it because he smiles. It’s not nice. It’s not sweet. Nothing about him ever is.

“Open your mouth.”

Your brows pinch at that. “W-what—”

His thumb finds your lips again, pressing past them before you can think to resist. He pushes down on your tongue insistently. Claiming space. Your pulse stutters.

“Open,” he repeats, firmer.

You do.

His eyes never leave yours as he pushes deeper, thumb shoving past your tongue until your throat tightens around it. Not choking, but close enough you can feel the control he has. He could choke you, but he won’t. You groan around his thumb, humiliated by how weak it sounds.

“Don’t want me, huh?” He rasps. “Then why are you drooling on my hand?”

You glare even as your cheeks burn, but he only presses harder until you gag around him. His favourite thing. Heat floods between your legs. Hot. Mortifying. He pulls his thumb free with a wet drag, smearing saliva down your chin. He watches it fall like it’s the prettiest thing he’s ever seen. Then—his hand is back between your legs, shoving your jeans down roughly, no patience left.

“No more bratty little speeches,” he growls. “You want rough? You want mean? Then I’ll give you something to cry about. Me. Because you’re mine, and you want me.”

He doesn’t even give you another second to argue. He spins you around making your chest hit the cold metal of the locker with a clang. His hand slams between your shoulder blades, pinning you there. You feel the cold as your cheek presses to the locker door as he drags your ass back toward him, yanking your panties down again without care.

He hisses when he sees your pussy bare and ready for him.

“Fuck. Look at you. You’re so wet for someone who doesn’t want me at all.”

You whimper, fingers curling uselessly against the locker slats. His hand comes down on your ass. A sharp thwack that has your skin stinging. Not to hurt you. To claim.

“I don’t want your whimpers, Y/N,”  He says. “Use your words.”

“Heeseung—”

“Try again.”

“…please.”

“Please, what?”

“Please—fuck me.”

His low laugh is pure sin. “That’s better.”

Then he’s pushing into you from behind. You have no choice but to gasp. To let your back arch and accommodate him. To let your legs shake because he’s so big. So rough. So impatient. And completely bare. 

He grips your hips, tight, you know you’ll bruise. Good. You want to bruise. You want to feel him tomorrow. Want proof he was here when you wake up aching. Because labels don’t exist between you. Not here. Not now. Maybe not ever. So you’ll take what he gives. Always. And right now, this is the souvenir—finger-shaped bruises and the sting of his palm on your ass. 

“Fuck, you’re tight like this,” he groans into your ear, pressing flush to your back as he bottoms out. “Made for me. You know that? No one else gets to see you like this. No one gets to touch you like this.”

He thrusts so hard your body jerks forward and your forehead knocks the metal. It’s like he’s on a mission to knock the breath clean out of you. That drive has your moaning growing shameless. Helpless. Mixing with the sound of skin on skin. It’s all wet, filthy, echoing. 

Your nails scratch across the locker, but you can’t find leverage. He’s pounding into you too hard, too deep, too good. Especially when his hand slips between your legs, fingers finding your clit, rubbing fast.

You cry out. 

“Shhh,” he breathes against your ear, still fucking you relentlessly. “Someone could hear you.”

He warns, but you don’t think he actually cares since he doesn’t slow down. You’d stop him if you could. If you really wanted to. But your own body clearly likes to torture you too, rocking back into every thrust like it was programmed for him. Like it’s been waiting for him. 

“That’s it,” he grits out. “Show me. Show me how much you don’t want me.”

You’d tell him to shut up. If you could think. But there’s no thinking left. There’s only him. His rhythm. His breath fanning hot across your neck. His voice in your ear and under your skin, filth coating every word like honey you can’t stop licking up.

His cock. His hands. His moans. His fucking audacity. 

You’re gone. 

You cum so hard your vision whites out. He fucks you through it, using your orgasm like it’s his right for his own. His hips slam against yours—harder, dirtier, hungrier—until he finally cums too. Thick and white, spilling into you and dripping down your thigh. 

You’re slick, messy and hot, and completely his. He doesn’t pull away immediately, just presses you against the cold metal lockers. 

In this moment, you don’t think you need labels. What you have with him is too inevitable—too consuming—to be reduced to a word. Maybe that’s his whole point. You’ll never exactly know. He’ll never tell you what this is. Never give you an answer. He keeps you claimed in private and erased in daylight. And maybe that should break you.

But when he looks at you like you’re the only thing he’s ever needed and marks you, you find yourself thinking: Who has to know?

[heesngirl]

୨ৎ ֹ 𝐇𝐄𝐄𝐒𝐍𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋 ; 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ⋆

𝐅𝐋𝐔𝐅𝐅 𝐒𝐓𝐔𝐅𝐅 :

【 ✶ 】 SOFT PLACES ; Heeseung - f. reader : fluff, comfort, clingy Hee, domestic setting, established relationship, skincare routine, physical affection (cuddles, kisses, touch), playful banter, emotional intimacy, safe space vibes.

【 ✶ 】 KISS MARKS ; Heeseung - f.reader : soft, kisses, established relationship, playful intimacy, fluffy, lipstick test, kiss marks, domestic vibe, sweet teasing, tender gestures, romantic mood.

【 ✶ 】 SPARKS ; sweet chaotic bf! Heeseung - f. rational gf reader : long-term relationship, established couple, mutual teasing, playful banter, affectionate humor, “us against the world” energy, pet names, cozy late-night vibes, romantic fluff, almost caught, comfort in chaos.

【 ✶ 】 VICTORY CUDDLES ; Heeseung x Reader : fluff, established relationship, post-award celebration, daesang win, surprise visit, cuddling, kisses, comfort, emotional intimacy.

𝐒𝐌𝐔𝐓 𝐒𝐓𝐔𝐅𝐅 :

【 ✦ 】 SLIPPED OUT ; fwb! Heeseung x Reader : rough sex, mating press, creampie, overstimulation, dirty talk, size kink, praise kink, choking, squirting, possessive sex, dom! heeseung, raw sex, mdni.

【 ✦ 】 SWEET SURRENDER ; sweet husband! Hee - cold wife! reader : oral sex, worship, overstimulation, creampie, loving dirty talk, praise kink, size kink, gentle dominance, pinning, mdni.

【 ✦ 】 CLOSER TO YOU ; soft bf! Heeseung - needy gf! reader : cockwarming, clingy-comfort sex, praise kink, loving-dirty talk, creampie, healing intimacy, slow grinding, multiple orgasms, emotional release.

【 ✦ 】 HEART TO HEART ; husband! Heeseung x Reader : pregnant intimacy, belly worship, breast play, slow deep sex, creampie, praise kink, gentle dom, cockwarming, body adoration, fluffy smut, mutual climax, tender aftercare, mdni.

【 ✦ 】 YUMMY BREKKIE ; Heeseung - f. reader : dom! Hee, kitchen sex, playful teasing, dirty talk, fingering, nipple play, rough fuck, creampie, food play.

【 ✦ 】 3 AM : RIGHT TIME ; Heeseung - f. reader : cons. somnophilia, midnight sex, established relationship, reverse cowgirl, spooning, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, creampie, dirty talk, mdni.

【 ✦ 】 ECSTASY ; Heeseung - f. reader : gooning, face-sitting, overstimulation, oral fixation, sloppy oral, breath play, sensory overload, subspace, mdni.

【 ✦ 】 NOISES ; idol! Heeseung - f.reader : hard sex, dorm sex, dirty talk, p in v, no-com, public setting (it's in Enhypen's group dorm with them around), suppressed, dom! Heeseung, smut, mdni.

【 ✦ 】 AGAINST THE WINDOW ; Heeseung - f.reader : rough sex, creampie, hair pulling, public sex (slightly), squirt (suggestion) dominance/submission, sloppy kissing, cervix penetration, overstimulation, mdni.

【 ✦ 】 WARM RELIEF ; Older bf! Heeseung - U-student gf! Reader : shower sex, oral sex, blowjob, fingering, p in v, creampie, multiple orgasm, mdni.

【 ✦ 】 NOT SO SECRET ; dad/husband! Heeseung x Reader : bathroom sex, passionate intimacy, caught in the act, embarrassed Heeseung, domestic fluff, soft smut, mdni.

【 ✦ 】 MORNING SEX ; Heeseung - f. reader : rough morning sex, unprotected sex, messy, spit, p in v, pet names, dom! Heeseung, dirty talk, oral sex (f. received) creampie, mdni.

【 ✦ 】 AFTER THE SHIFT : IT'S ALWAYS HIM ; roomie! Hee - f.reader : no established relationship, fingering, no condom, p in v, dirty talk, riding, reverse cowgirl, dom! Heeseung, chair gamer, tit sucking, messy, mdni.

【 ✦ 】 HARD, PUFFY 'ND PINK ; Heeseung - f. reader : nipple play, unprotected sex, dry humping, oral fixation, cum on tits, slightly rough sex, dirty talk (not much), mdni.

【 ✦ 】 RELENTLESS LOVE ; dom boyfriend! Heeseung - f.reader : a-sex (condom use), v-sex (bareback), rough sex, doggy style, collar and leash, handcuffs, bondage, spanking, loving degradation/dirty talk, spit, overstimulation, orgasm denial, begging, creampie, mdni.

【 ✦ 】 ANGEL IN HEAT ; Heeseung - f. reader : needy/messy makeout, oral (f receiving), fingering, dry humping, cum-stained clothes, body worship, pet names, intense pining, all-day/all-night marathon (suggestion), sensory/explicit details, mdni.

【 ✦ 】 BECAUSE OF YOU ; roomie! Heeseung - f.reader : oral sex (f! receiving), body worship, dirty talk/praises,mutual pining, unprotected sex, fingering, multiple orgasms, creampie, aftercare, mdni.

【 ✦ 】 SHARED MESS ; Heeseung & Jay - f.reader : threesome, double penetration, p in v, p in a, blowjob (heejay receiving), creampie, squirt, anal plug, praise/dirty talk, breeding messy, excessive cum, overstimulation, size difference, multiple orgasms, mdni.

【 ✦ 】 LIL' TOUCH ; Heeseung - f.reader : oral sex (f receiving), cunnilingus, riding, insecure reader, body worship, marking, scratching, hair pulling, soft dom heeseung, praise, emotional intimacy, established relationship, begging, consent talk, soft vibes, mdni.

【 ✦ 】 HEALING TOUCH ; boyfriend! Heeseung - f.reader : stress relief sex, oral sex (f. receiving), pussy worship, slow foreplay, fingering, multiple orgasms, raw sex, internal cumshot, praise/dirty talk (light) soft dom!heeseung, nipple play, breast caressing, dirty talk (light), begging, drool, mdni.

【 ✦ 】 BEG FOR IT ; Heeseung - f. reader : needy hee, dom! reader, lipstick & hickeys, dry humping, riding, creampie, begging, praise & teasing, messy grinding, worship, whiny sub heeseung, overstimulation (hint), mdni.

【 ✦ 】 BIRTHDAY GIRL ; Heeseung - f. reader : fingering, , p in v, sloppy kisses, unprotected sex, mutual orgasm, spanking, dirty talk/praises, pet names, semi public (elevator), established relationship, dom! Heeseung, slightly cheesy intercourse, mdni.

【 ✦ 】 SWEET SCENT ; Heeseung - f. reader : scent kink, oral sex (f. receiving), fingering, p in v, dirty talk (a little) unprotected sex, creampie, multiple orgasms, mdni.

【 ✦ 】 BETWEEN TAKES ; idol! Heeseung - idol! reader : dressing-room sex, rough sex, quickie, p in v, unprotected sex, wet sounds, creampie, praise/dirty talk, lipstick smearing, nipple sucking, mdni.

【 ✦ 】 BENT 'ND BRED ; Heeseung - f.reader : daddy kink, breeding kink, p in v, unprotected sex, creampie, size kink, public/car sex, praise/dirty talk, claiming/marking, pwp, dom heeseung, sub reader, mdni.

【 ✦ 】 HARD SESSION ; Heeseung - f.reader : college au, dorm room sex, teasing, edging, orgasm denial, cockwarming (brief), riding, rough sex, multiple orgasms, forced orgasm, creampie, raw sex, dirty talk/praise, fingering, soft dom!heeseung, mdni.

【 ✦ 】 STEP BY STEP ; Heeseung - f.reader : best friends, virgin reader, experienced heeseung, gentle sex, foreplay, dry humping, thigh grinding, nipple play, clit play, fingering guided, riding, creampie, praise kink, soft dom!heeseung, size kink (implied), mdni.

【 ✦ 】 AFTER THE SHOW ; Heeseung - MC/Model reader : tipsy hee, car sex, oral sex (f.receive), p in v, spit, unprotected sex, mutual orgasm, spanking, overstimulation, dirty talk, semi public, mdni.

【 ✦ 】 THE MUSE ; Painter Heeseung - f. reader : obsession, paint kink, messy sex, studio setting, p in v, unprotected sex, dirty talk, partial restraint, frantic sex, biting kisses, rope, mdni.

【 ✦ 】 BOTH WAYS ; Heeseung & Sunghoon - f.reader : threesome, established relationship (hee - reader), oral sex (heehoon received), fingering, cum shot, double penetration, p in v, anal sex, condoms/lube, dom! heehoon, pet names, mdni.

【 ✦ 】 BUSINESS HOURS ; CEO Heeseung - f. Secretary reader : oral fixation, deepthroat, face-fucking, no gag reflex, sloppy head, spit & drool, fingering (reader to herself), dirty talk/praise, smoking mention, mdni.

【 ✦ 】 HIGHNESS ; king Heeseung - queen reader : established relationship (husband and wife), fingering, mirror sex, p in v, hard sex, no-com, praise, dom/mean! Heeseung, edging, squirt, cum, mdni.

【 ✦ 】 BLUEBERRY FLAVOR ; Heeseung - f. reader. : vers! Heeseung 'nd vers! reader, established relationship, fingering, oral sex (f. Receives), squirt, cum, fuck panties, grinding, size kink, edging (a little), jerk off, lube, not p in v, mdni.

【 ✦ 】 DRUNK 69 ; Heeseung - f. reader : sixty-nine, drunk sex, carpet sex, dirty talk (mild) oral sex (both), p in v, cum eating, unprotected sex, a little soft towards the end, mdni.

【 ✦ 】 BABY-MAKING ; Heeseung - f. reader : ovulation/fertility topics, p in v, unprotected sex, breeding kink (mild), baby-making topic, passional stuff, cum, mdni.

【 ✦ 】 USING WORDS ; dual/dom! Heeseung - f. reader : established relationship, oral sex (f. received) fingering, no condom, p in v, dirty talk, daddy kink, spank, groping, pet names, overstimulation (mild), praise, mdni.

【 ✦ 】 COMEBACK HOME ; Heeseung - f. reader : no-condom, p in v, fingering, dom! Heeseung, dirty talk, hard fuck, reunion sex, pet names, riding, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, mdni.

© heesngirl ★

[liuhsng]

───〃⋆⭒˚.⋆ ENHYPEN MASTERLIST

⤷ nsfw content ahead, minors do not interact

‎

‎

✩ˎˊ˗ INDIVIDUAL

⤷ LEE HEESEUNG ( lhs )

⤷ PARK JONGSEONG ( pjs )

⤷ SIM JAEYUN ( sjy )

⤷ PARK SUNGHOON ( psh )

⤷ KIM SUNOO ( ksn )

⤷ YANG JUNGWON ( yjw )

⤷ NISHIMURA RIKI ( nk )

✩ˎˊ˗ SERIES

⤷ UNTOUCHABLE — OMEGAVERSE SERIES

⤷ XO, WITH YOU — UNIVERSITY SERIES

© 2021 liuhsng — reblogs are highly appreciated and please don’t hesitate to request some fics here if you want me to write anything !

[heejamas]

✰ HEEJAMAS MASTERLIST ✰

> last updated: 02/23/26 > navigation: 📱smau | 🔞 smut | 📝 on going | 💌 finished | 💣 popular | 🍀 personal faves | 🗞 one shot | ⏰ hiatus | 🏆 award-winning fic | 📓 drabble/short fic

> do not repost, copy, translate, or modify my works without explicit permission. these are works of fiction and are not meant to represent real-life actions, thoughts, or personalities of any public figures. > minors do not interact! i read, write and reblog smut. i will block u!!

✰ enhypen masterlist

𝙇𝙀𝙀 𝙃𝙀𝙀𝙎𝙀𝙐𝙉𝙂

→ waiting room 💌🔞💣💣🍀🏆 pairings: heeseung x female reader // genre: college friends to lovers, fluff. smut, this fic was inspired by the song waiting room by phoebe bridgers. synopsis: for three years, you and heeseung have hovered between friendship and something more—stolen glances, late-night car rides, hands brushing under tables. but when the waiting finally ends, you realize you were never just friends to begin with. w/c: 21k → girlfriend simulator 💌🔞🍀💣 pairing: heeseung × fem!reader // genre: fantasy; romcom; fluff; comedy; light sci fi; college au; game simulator; slow burn; smut (mdni). synopsis: when heeseung agrees to test jungwon’s new dating sim game, girlfriend simulator, he expects a dumb, half finished game, until he boots it up on his switch, the screen glitches, and he’s dragged straight into the world he just created. the “girlfriend” character, you, isn’t scripted at all; and heeseung has to figure out how to get out while accidentally developing feelings for a girl who inconveniently does not exist in real life. // w/c: 37k → the sweet escape 💌🔞📓 pairings: bowser! heeseung x princess peach! reader | genre: mario bros au, smut (mdni!!), i would say crack fic bc come on, cheating, rivals to lovers, pwp, secret relationship | synopsis: you're tired of being princess peach: the perfect life, the perfect husband, the suffocating routine. for months you've been secretly fucking heeseung, the bowser: fake kidnappings that turn into real, filthy nights of rough bondage, his mouth devouring you, his cock claiming you while you pretend to resist. | w/c: 5k

→ see you at the movies 📱⏰ pairings: heeseung x female reader // genre: social media au (smau), fluff, crack, strangers to lovers, movie theatre au. synopsis: every thursday night, you walk into the theater alone, big popcorn in hand, like it’s a sacred ritual. heeseung, the overworked (and nosy) employee, can’t help but wonder—do you just hate people, or are you on a mission to watch every movie ever made? either way, he’s starting to think he kinda wants to be your plus-one. → gameboy 📱 🗞 pairing: pro player! heeseung x fem! reader // genre: smau (social media au), fake texts, situationship, one shot, player!heeseung

𝙋𝘼𝙍𝙆 𝙅𝙊𝙉𝙂𝙎𝙀𝙊𝙉𝙂

→ just like heaven // part 1 & part 2 💌 🔞 pairings: brother's best friend!jay x female reader // genre: 80s/90s au, childhood friends to lovers. synopsis: you never planned to fall for your brother’s best friend, jay. but the summer before college, on 1989, something shifts—between mixtapes, quiet drives, and the kind of closeness that sneaks up on you. and after a few cassette tapes and long drives, the love you never planned for starts happening. w/c: 21k in part 1 and 15k in part 2

𝙎𝙄𝙈 𝙅𝘼𝙀𝙔𝙐𝙉

→ nicest guy 📱🔞💌💣💣🍀 ft. sunghoon pairings: jake x fem!reader x sunghoon // genre: social media au (smau), fluff, crack, smut | synopsis: you decide to go to your first college party after two years, and after having to take care of two different drunk men, your college life changes drastically.

→ manchild 🔞💌💣💣 pairings: cowboy!jake x fem!reader // genre: cowboy au, strangers to lovers, smut \ synopsis: you’re trouble, and jake sim knows it. you flirt like it’s your job, wear sin like perfume, and make men beg without even trying. he’s the only cowboy who doesn’t chase you. so naturally, he’s the only one you want. a small-town, slow-burn, filthy little game of who breaks first. w/c: 9.5k → responsible guy 🔞💌💣💣 pairing: coworker!jake x fem!reader // genre: coworkers to lovers; smut (mdni!); romcom // synopsis: jake swore he’d never blur the line between work and whatever-this-is. one rule, easy enough. but then you showed up, turning coffee breaks into sharp little dares, late nights into the kind of conversations that feel a little too charged to be harmless. he keeps telling himself it’s work, strictly work, but every glance, every brush past, makes that excuse thinner by the second. // w/c: 13k // this fic is part of the man's best friend collab! → i don't wanna be just friends 🔞💌💣💣 pairing: jake x fem!reader // genre: smut (mdni!!), friends to lovers, college au, slowburn-ish // synopsis: jake was stuck. sex had gotten boring, always the same routine, nothing exciting enough to stick in his head. he wasn’t exactly searching for something new, but when a stupid bdsm test came up in conversation with you, he found himself way too curious. suddenly, he’s researching kinks at 3am, making reddit posts like an idiot, and realizing that maybe he doesn’t just want answers, he wants to try them with you. and maybe all he wants right now is ask: i don’t wanna be just friends, don’t wanna be away from you, can i be a pet? // w/c: 28k

𝙋𝘼𝙍𝙆 𝙎𝙐𝙉𝙂𝙃𝙊𝙊𝙉

→ nicest guy 📱🔞💌💣💣🍀 ft. jake pairing: jake x fem!reader x sunghoon // genre: social media au (smau), fluff, crack, smut | synopsis: you decide to go to your first college party after two years, and after having to take care of two different drunk men, your college life changes drastically.

→ how i met sunghoon 🔞💌💣💣🍀 pairing: downbad!sunghoon x fem!reader // genre: romcom, friends to lovers, slow burn, smut, crack // synopsis: sunghoon was always the kind of guy who fell too hard, too fast, the type who thought a shared playlist meant commitment and that liking the same sandwich was fate. spoiler: it never worked out. well, that’s until you showed up. he didn’t mean to fall for you. you were just his friend. the funny, smart, annoyingly pretty friend. it wasn’t supposed to turn into heart flutters and late-night guitar practice. but somewhere between friendly teasing, shared drinks, and the world’s longest friendzone, sunghoon realized he might actually be in love. oops! // w/c: 28k

𝙆𝙄𝙈 𝙎𝙐𝙉𝙊𝙊

→ coming soon!

𝙔𝘼𝙉𝙂 𝙅𝙐𝙉𝙂𝙒𝙊𝙉

→ night changes 💌 pairing: jungwon x fem!reader // genre: stranger things au, romcom, mystery, slowburn, strangers to lovers, 70s au, paranormal // synopsis: jungwon never planned on spending his nights dodging half-demodog girls. he just wanted to be normal hawkins boy in 1976, or at least make it through a party without running away from girls. instead, he ends up pulled into something bigger: training sessions he never asked for, government secrets, and a girl who never tells him her name but keeps saving his life anyway. does it ever drive you crazy just how fast the night changes? jungwon knows it does. but what scares him more is how quickly he stopped wanting to run from any of it. // wc: 22k → just my luck 💌🔞 pairing: jungwon x fem!reader // genre: luck swap au, romcom, fluff, crack, strangers to lovers, slowburn, roommates to lovers; smut (mdni) // synopsis: when your impossibly good luck vanishes overnight after kissing a stranger at a masquerade ball, a fortune teller confirms what sounds impossible: you transferred it to someone who needed it more. now you have to find jungwon who accidentally stole your fortune, except you start to think that maybe meeting him was the luckiest thing that ever happened to you. word count: 33k → jungwon text's as your brother (nicest guy spin off) 📱🗞

𝙉𝙄𝙎𝙃𝙄𝙈𝙐𝙍𝘼 𝙍𝙄𝙆𝙄

→ 717 amortentia 💌 pairing: slytherin! niki x gryffindor!fem!reader // genre: hogwarts au, enemies to lovers, strangers to lovers // synopsis: in your final year at hogwarts, all you wanted was quiet. until a transfer student from durmstrang is placed in slytherin, paired with you in advanced potions, and starts asking the wrong questions. when students begin falling ill and secrets bubble beneath the castle’s surface, you find yourself tangled in a web of forbidden magic, deception, and a boy who was never supposed to care. he came to investigate you. he stayed to protect you. but in the shadows of the castle, even love comes with a price. // word count: 21k words

─ enhypen smau masterlist

── coworkers to lovers series: heeseung | jay | jake | sunghoon | jungwon

── .✦ when enhypen steals your food── .✦ enhypen x latina girlfriends── .✦ enhypen texts after your first kiss── .✦ enhypen when you're interested in league of legends── .✦ enhypen ways of saying they miss you── .✦ enhypen reacting to your new ig post── .✦ did you break up with him yet? (enhypen as your ex) ── .✦ stop using my account! (enhypen as your ex)

✰ txt masterlist

𝘾𝙃𝙊𝙄 𝙔𝙀𝙊𝙉𝙅𝙐𝙉

→ your heart got teeth 🔞⏰ pairings: mafia!yeonjun x female reader // genre: enemies to lovers, yeonjun as your childhood bsf, mafia au!! smut, yeonjun is mafia leader and reader too. synopsis: years ago, yeonjun shattered your life with a single lie — and vanished. now he’s back, offering salvation laced with secrets, handing over pieces of your land to save the very people he once left to die. old scars reopen as you're forced into an alliance stitched together with memory, resentment, and the kind of tension that never really left. while danger brews at every border and loyalty crumbles beneath ambition, you must decide if the devil you once loved is worth trusting again — or burning with everything else. w/c: 28k

𝘾𝙃𝙊𝙄 𝙎𝙊𝙊𝘽𝙄𝙉

→ 1980s horror film 🔞💌🏆 pairing: soobin x bi!fem!reader // genre: smut, slowburn, friends to something, power play, pwp // synopsis: you are mostly into girls. everyone knows that. soobin knows that. but that never stopped him from watching you like he knew something you didn’t. he’s your favorite boy, your quietest tension, you flirt with him because you think it’s fun. until one night, a horror movie, and a question you weren’t ready for — are you really not into guys? and maybe it was never about boys. maybe it was just about him. w/c: 15k

𝘾𝙃𝙊𝙄 𝘽𝙀𝙊𝙈𝙂𝙔𝙐

→ scott street 💌🍀📓 pairings: beomgyu x female reader // genre: childhood friends to lovers, beomgyu as your ex, romance. this fic was inspired by the song scott street by phoebe bridgers w/c: 3.3k → out of tune // part 1 // part 2 // part 3 💌🔞 pairings: producer! beomgyu x female reader // genre: enemies to lovers, fluff, smut on part 3. // synopsis: you and beomgyu have been at each other’s throats since day one at HYBE. both of you are producers, both of you are talented, and both of you absolutely refuse to lose to the other. whether it’s competing for the best demo, fighting over studio time, or bickering in team meetings, everyone knows one thing: you and beomgyu cannot stand each other so, of course, your boss decides to put you two on the same project—producing ENHYPEN’s next album. together. as in, sharing a studio, making creative decisions, and not murdering each other in the process. and suddenly, the tension isn’t just about work. w/c: 27k in part 1 and 26k in part2

[butvega]

escreve algo com jay piloto de f1 e a leitora wag juro to obcecada esses dias por causa do casamento do leclerc 😭😭😭😭

amo vocês alimentando minha obsessão pelo jay ❤️✨

— jay é aquele piloto naturalmente confiante no paddock. postura perfeita, óculos escuros, macacão meio aberto na cintura depois da corrida. mas a postura muda completamente quando ele te vê esperando perto da garagem.

— ele sempre te procura na multidão. entrevistas, engenheiros falando, câmeras… nada importa até ele achar você encostada no muro dos boxes.

— antes de entrar no carro, ele tem um ritual: encostar o capacete no seu ombro, murmurando um ‘te amo’ baixinho, por um segundo. ninguém entende muito bem, mas é o jeito dele “se ancorar”.

— você sempre usa alguma peça da equipe dele. às vezes a jaqueta enorme do time, às vezes só o boné. jay ama porque parece que você faz parte da equipe. (até pq, você é parte da equipe pra ele)

— nas corridas mais tensas ele fica absurdamente focado, quase frio. mas no rádio da equipe, quando vence, a primeira coisa que ele pergunta é: “ela tá aí?”

— quando ele sobe no pódio e o hino toca, ele sempre olha pro paddock. não pras câmeras. pra você.

— depois das corridas, jay chega ainda com o cheiro de gasolina e borracha quente, cabelo bagunçado e suado do capacete. ele te abraça forte, como se tivesse passado horas prendendo a respiração, te dando mil selinhos.

— ele adora quando você entra na garagem da equipe e todo mundo já te conhece. os mecânicos brincam dizendo que você dá sorte.

— jay finge ser todo sério nas entrevistas, mas quando perguntam da vida pessoal ele solta um sorrisinho de canto e muda de assunto rapidinho. TODO VERMELHO.

— viagens são metade do relacionamento. aviões, hotéis, jet lag. mas jay ama porque sempre encontra você no final de cada corrida. (aliás, sexo em muitos muitos lugares diferentes, países diferentes, e mtooo sexo no jatinho).

— quando a corrida foi ruim, ele fica quieto no motorhome. frustrado. você senta do lado dele no sofá e ele acaba deitando a cabeça no seu colo, só querendo um carinho seu.

— quando a corrida foi perfeita… ele aparece correndo pelo paddock e te levanta no ar sem se importar com absolutamente ninguém olhando.

— no fundo, todo mundo no paddock sabe: ele é caidinho por você.

[butvega]

(🫧) . ݁₊ você e o jay terminaram.

e agora?

{❄️} headcanon sobre como seria o término/possível volta, entre você, e seu namorado bambam.

— jay sempre foi seu namorado doce, educado, que fazia de tudo por você; não havia sentido ali um término, mas fora necessário.

— você recebia MUITO hate por parte das fãs, e em um dia específico, após cair no mundo obscuro do twitter, e ler por horas todo aquele material de tortura, você decidiu que não aguentava mais.

— jay estava cumprindo compromissos de seu calendário, e voltaria para o apartamento de vocês dois dias depois.

— mas quando voltou, encontrou o ap vazio, silencioso, e sem a sua bagunça, o seu calor, o seu cheiro.

— primeiro entrou em pânico. já havia estranhado o fato de você não respondê-lo, por isso havia voltado com um dia de antecedência. quando não te viu por lá, não conteve a crise de ansiedade.

— a respiração descompassou, acelerada, o coração batendo forte, as mãos tremendo, te procurando, tentando te ligar.

— até que encontra uma carta sua, explicando tudo, e pedindo desculpas por ter sido covarde. ele fica acabado.

— ele fica acabado. chora sozinho, de soluçar mesmo, liga pro heeseung desesperado, e o hyung dele até vai lá pra consolar o bichinho.

— te manda um milhão de mensagens de texto, e de voz:

amor, pfvr, vamos pelo menos conversar, n me deixa assim, eu tô me sentindo pessimo

não acredito que deixei isso acontecer com vc, eu sempre prometi que ia cuidar de vc e te proteger, me desculpa ter falhado, me desculpa ter errado com você

eu te amo muito, sem você não tem sentido continuar nesse apartamento, tudo aqui é nosso. a gnt ia construir nosso futuro aqui, lembra?

vida, me responde por favor

vida

eu te amo mt cara pfvr

— não consegue dormir direito, acorda de madrugada achando que você enviou mensagem, mas era só notificação do ifood.

— não tira por nada a própria aliança. sente que ali tem você ainda pertinho.

— de tanto te procurar, te acha na casa de uma amiga, e bate na porta tarde da noite com os olhos vermelhos.

— começa a falar, mas engole as próprias palavras, respirando devagar, porque se falar tudo que sente rápido, sabe que vai chorar.

— “jay, não é tão simples…”

— e ele desaba. e você também desaba, por vê-lo chorar. jay está tão magoado, tudo dói. só quer poder te abraçar, te beijar, quer seu carinho, seu afago.

— “falaram coisas horríveis de mim” você murmura baixinho, totalmente vulnerável.

— ele não aguenta, acaba com a distância e te abraça muito forte, murmurando mil pedidos de perdão, e jurando nunca mais deixar que te façam mal.

— a noite acaba com vocês agarradinhos na cama do quarto de hóspedes da casa de sua amiga, ele murmurando palavras doces, ainda com uma leve dor de cabeça de tanto chorar, mas finalmente depois de dias, se sentindo em paz.

[butvega]

── .✦ adivinha? visita ‘pra dama, o vagabundo.

avisos. jake namoradinho x reader, oral!masc, dry hump, namoro proibido. ah! nenhum jake foi ferido subindo em árvores durante essa one shot.

Seus ouvidos tendem a lhe enganar, mas desta vez não. Realmente era o característico som de uma pedrinha em sua janela de vidro. Desacreditada, você deixa sua escrivaninha, onde permanecia estudando desde cedo, e vai até a porta da pequena varanda de seu quarto. Abre as persianas, e enfim abre o vidro. O coração acelerado e o frio na barriga dizem muito sobre seu pressentimento de ser exatamente quem é.

O maluco do seu namorado, parado na grama de seu jardim, com uma sacolinha nas mãos.

“— Porra, Jake! ‘Tá doido? Se meu pai te pega aqui ele te mata.” — você sussurra desesperada.

“— Mata nada! Ele nem vai saber. Puxa essa cadeira aí pro lado, vou subir aqui pela árvore.” — ele diz, já trepando no ypê florido que tem em seu quintal.

“— Jakeeeeee!” — reclama manhosa, chega a bater as perninhas no chão.

“— Ô gatinha… Puxa aí. Prometo que não vai dar ruim, só queria te dar um beijo. ‘Tô cheio de saudade.”

Os olhos tão escuros quanto a noite brilhavam no breu que era seu gramado. Você suspira fundo, ainda tentada a ter razão, mas acaba cedendo ao biquinho de seu namorado. Ele sobe pela árvore, e finalmente, em silêncio, está em sua frente.

Estava com um moletom grande, o capuz tampando além do cabelinho jogado para o lado, pois também estava com um boné virado para trás. Retira os óculos de grau do rosto, apenas para passar a lente levemente no tecido do casaco, para limpá-la.

“— Suei, aí, embaçou tudo…” — murmura limpando.

“— Jakey…” — você murmura assim que ele coloca o óculos novamente no rosto, e o abraça, se perdendo dentro do quentinho de seus braços fortes.

Você sempre fora uma menina de rédeas curtas. Seus pais eram extremamente rígidos com sua educação, nunca permitiram namoros, saídas, festas… Nada além do foco, mesmo que amargo, na faculdade de engenharia, e nos estudos.

Sua mãe fora a primeira a saber que estava namorando. Os sorrisinhos bobos pro celular, as rosas que recebia, as ligações fora de hora que melhoravam seu dia em 100%.

Até que ela indagou sobre o assunto, e você não conseguiu mentir. Havia conhecido Jake na faculdade, e estava totalmente apaixonada. O jeitinho atrapalhado do menino havia lhe encantado.

Exigiu que Jake saísse para jantar com ela, e com seu pai, para que conhecessem o rapaz. Quando ele chegou, de boné para trás, roupa despojada, e o pescoço arranhado, não causou uma boa impressão. Mas decidiram dar um voto de confiança, desde que não atrapalhasse seus estudos. E não havia atrapalhado até então. Até… Decidirem ir a pedra do sal com o Jay, o Markinhos e o Nana, e você chegar em casa às oito da manhã meio bêbada. Ah, sua aula começava às seis e meia.

Desde então, mesmo sendo maior de idade, estava de castigo, sem poder sair, e consequentemente sem poder ver Jake.

No meio daquele abraço gostoso, lhe veio a dúvida:

“— Como cê conseguiu entrar aqui no condomínio sem interfonar?” — pergunta meio abafada.

“— Jefferson.”

“— Ué. ‘Cê conhece o porteiro?” — ele acena que sim.

“— Joga bola comigo toda quinta, no racha lá perto de casa.” — ele diz com humor, e você sorri.

“— Você é doido, cara. A gente não tá nos Estados Unidos não, era risco de cair dessa árvore e eu ter que chamar o Samu. Vem, entra.” — o puxa para o interior quentinho de seu quarto.

“— Iam ter que chamar o Samu se eu ficasse mais um dia sem te ver. Ia morrer sabe de quê? Saudade.” — eita como era poeta.

Sentia o cabelo grudar em sua nuca por conta do suor. Muito calor. O moletom de Jake já havia ido parar no chão, e ele estava apenas de calça de moletom em cima de ti, ambos na cama, se beijando, se amassando, matando a saudade um do outro.

Amava poder ser a única a ver Jake daquele jeitinho, bagunçado, todo vermelho, com a boquinha inchada e os olhos quase fechando de excitação.

Os sons manhosinhos que saiam da boca dele serviam unicamente para te deixar mais molhada. Era tão íntimo, os transformava em dois burrinhos por sexo, sendo levados pelo momento. Jake não parava de moer o quadril no seu, aquela esfregação gostosa, forte, simulando estocadas, desesperado, e com tesão.

“— Não trouxe camisinha, achei que eu não ia conseguir nem subir a árvore, quanto mais ainda ter pique pra transar.” — ele murmura com a boca coladinha na sua, e você ri.

Não tinha camisinha em seu quarto, porque sua

mãe provavelmente iria ver. E se visse, saberia que você e Jake já transam. E se soubesse, contaria ao seu pai. E se seu pai soubesse… Mais castigo.

“— Eu posso fazer uma coisa por você então.” — diz, mexendo no cordãozinho no pescoço dele.

“— O que?” — sussurra, os pelos arrepiados ansiando por sua resposta.

“— Levanta, Jakey.” — ele a obedece sem pestanejar.

“— O que ‘cê vai fa-ah… Ah….” — a frase morre em um sopro quando você abaixa a calça dele, e o põem na boca. De uma só vez, o sujando por inteiro de baba.

Imediatamente Jake põem a mão em sua cabeça, segurando um pouco de seu cabelo para auxiliar a ditar um ritmo.

“— Isso… Porra… Caralho…”

“— Amor, a boca suja.” — você o tira de sua boca apenas para provocar. Ele força, com carinho, sua cabeça novamente para o pau dele.

“— Desculpa, desculpa, continua, continua.”

Os palavrões retornam quando você sente que ele está perto. Os arfares se tornam mais frequentes, os gemidos mais audíveis, e o movimento do quadril mais irregular. Você o conhece o suficiente.

“— Amor… Onde? Onde eu posso?” — sente o desespero na voz dele, os braços arrepiando, os olhinhos fechados.

Você não o responde, passa a apenas punhetá-lo, e abre a boca com a língua para fora encostada na cabecinha. Ele não demora milésimos para esporrar em toda sua língua, seu rosto, até em seu cabelo. Jatos espessos e quentinhos enquanto ele ainda estoca em sua mão, errante, gemendo baixo, no mundinho dele.

Quando termina, se tornado sensível, ele sobe a calça meio sem graça, e torna a se sentar na cama, desta vez com você no colo, com uma perna de cada lado.

“— Te sujei toda. Até seu cabelinho.” — diz tímido, passando o polegar por suas bochechas sujas. “— Nem sabia que ia ser tanto assim. Sei lá.”

“— Eu não ligo, eu gosto. Tudo que é seu eu gosto.” — você diz, e ele ri bobinho, te dando mais um beijo.

Desta vez você permanece no colinho dele, e é quem dita os movimentos. Rebola com força, fazendo o máximo para que sinta em seu pontinho o volume de seu namorado. Se sente pulsar, sabe o que pode acontecer, mas continua. Os beijos totalmente desastrados conseguem mostrar o quanto o tesão mexe com vocês.

Sabe que está perto, por isso acelera os movimentos, faz mais força, até que goze do jeitinho que dá, se esfregando em Jake, burrinha pelo pau dele. Ele sente a cueca molhar — já que havia abaixado a calça de moletom para poder sentir melhor, e já tão sensível pelo orgasmo anterior, acaba por esporrar novamente, desta vez mais fraco, juntinho de você.

Ele desaba na cama, você em cima dele, com a cabeça no peitoral desnudo.

“— Que isso, mô. Vou ter que esperar um pouco pra ir embora, se eu descer a árvore agora eu vou cair. Tô com a perna bamba.” — ele diz morgadinho, e você ri.

“— Queria que você pudesse dormir aqui comigo.” — sente o início de um cafuné gostoso em seu cabelo, e fecha os olhos com a carícia gostosa.

“— Eu também. Queria muito. Porra… A gente tomaria um banho quentinho agora, ia botar um pijama, e iríamos assistir um filminho, agarradinhos. Depois, eu ia te beijar até a gente dormir. Te beijar muito, muito…”

“— Só beijar?” — ri enquanto ele nega com a cabeça.

“— Não. No meu mundo hipotético aqui, a gente teria camisinha no quarto, e aí a gente transava.”

“— Jakeyyyy! Meu pai não pode ficar nessa pra sempre. Uma hora ele vai ter que aceitar que eu cresci… Que minha vida não gira em torno dele e dos estudos… E que eu amo você… E aí vamos poder dormir agarradinhos.”

“— Eu também te amo, minha vida. Tomara que isso aconteça logo. Não confio nos meus dons de escalada. Essa árvore ‘tá mandada.”

“— Eu toda romântica, e você zoando.” — bate de leve no peito dele, e ele ri.

“— Tô brincando, linda… Uma hora ele vai entender. Enquanto isso eu sempre vou dar um jeito de vir te ver. Te prometo.”

[butvega]

⋆ 𐙚 ̊. fighting! — choi seungcheol.

“seu namorado pode ser durão no ringue, e nas ruas. mas com você, ele é apenas o seu cheollie.”

avisos. sexo semi público, sem camisinha, praise kink, size kink.

Ele não havia te visto.

Você estava recostada em uma das pilastras do galpão amplo, o observando treinar com outro cara. A cada soco dado, os bíceps se contraiam, mostrando a força que ele fazia no movimento. O cabelo suado pingava na testa, volta e meia ele abaixava a guarda para tirar a franja dos olhos, jogando para trás.

Ele estava lindo. A blusa preta colada no tronco, já encharcada também de suor, evidenciava o peitoral largo e malhado. Os shorts pareciam mais curtos do que deveriam, quando ocasionalmente ele chutava seu oponente de ringue. Você não entendia nada daquele meio, nunca havia lutado com medo de quebrar sua unha impecável, ou ganhar um roxo em sua pele de porcelana.

Mas gostava de assisti-lo, apenas por ser ele. A feição séria, o cenho franzido, mantendo-se sempre alerta. Até o barulho que o soco dele fazia quando acertava o oponente. Tão fodidamente gostoso. Ele demora a repará-la, mas quando finalmente vê, declara o fim do treino. O olhar dele brilha de leve, esconde um sorrisinho enquanto ainda esta na presença do amigo, apenas para manter sua pose. O cumprimenta, e finalmente desce do ringue, caminhando até você. Ele está descalço, há faixas em suas mãos, e agora um sorriso no rosto que deixa suas covinhas visíveis.

“— Ei, linda.” — ele diz baixinho, amassa os lábios nos seus em um selinho forte e estalado.

“— Você tá todo suado, Cheollie.” — reclama dengosa, mas não deixa de acariciar o rosto dele, que aprecia o gesto.

Seungcheol estaria mentindo se dissesse que não amava o seu jeitinho feminino. A voz manhosa, as roupas delicadas, a vaidade. Haviam muitas garotas no CT de luta dele que dariam de tudo para ter uma chance. E essas mesmas garotas ficaram irritadíssimas quando viram que o professor Scoups havia assumido uma patricinha como namorada.

Mas o que ele podia fazer? Era de você que ele gostava. Era você que fazia ele sorrir bobo por aí, andar de mãos dadas, beijar apaixonado. Ele amava te mimar como uma boneca. Te buscava no pilates com aquela picape enorme dele, e tinha que te ajudar a subir nela de tão alta que era. Sempre descia, abria a porta pra você, e te dava a mão pra subir. Quando via você chegando para vê-lo lutar, era a mesma coisa; descia do ringue pra te dar um selinho, te pegava pela cintura e te colocava sentadinha com ara assisti-lo.

“— Vou lá no vestiário tomar um banho. Vem, cê me espera.”

O vestiário estava vazio, de tarde era costumeiro. Por isso Seungcheol trancou a porta, para te deixar à vontade ali. O reparava nos mínimos detalhes; ele contraindo os braços para poder tirar a blusa, passando-a pela cabeça, descendo o short junto com a cueca boxer… A marca na pele que a cueca apertada deixou, uma fina linha pelo quadril robusto. Descendo pela linha em V até o pau, que mesmo relaxado consegue ser majestoso. Os pelos aparados que o deixam com um ar tão masculino. Seungcheol é lindo por inteiro, nos mínimos detalhes.

De baixo da água naquele chuveiro consegue ter ainda mais certeza disso. A forma como as gotículas descem por sua barriga, e até quando ele vira de costas consegue ser bonito. Tem as costas largas, fortes, e a bunda grande e redondinha. Estava sorrindo como uma boba o reparando, até ele desligar o chuveiro e começar a se secar. Enrolou a toalha na cintura, e descalço mesmo seguiu até você, sentada no balcão.

“— Que foi, que você tá me olhando?” — ele pergunta carinhoso. Coloca as duas mãos no balcão, ao lado de suas coxas, prendendo seu corpo.

“— Você é muito lindo. Não consigo deixar de olhar.” — a covinha novamente está ali. Uma das coisas que ele mais gosta em você é o quanto você é carinhosa e doce com ele. Sempre elogiando, acariciando.

“— Você é a coisinha mais doce que existe, sabia, meu amor? Hum?” — ele diz, e você dá uma risadinha tímida. Também ama ser elogiada.

“— E gostoso também.” — sussurra sapeca, e o sorriso dele alarga. Os olhos pesados em cima da sua expressão, e com a porta trancada ele sabe muito bem onde aquilo vai levar. Ele tinha tantos, tantos pensamentos. Quase todos terminando com “ela veio me ver tomar banho pra manjar minha rola, puta merda, que princesinha gostosa e safada que eu tenho”. Mas preferiu seguir a linha romântica com você, já que nunca usava nem palavrões perto do ti. Quanto mais falar dessa maneira.

“— Gostoso, é? Não chego nem aos seus pés. De vinte e quatro horas do meu dia…” — ele vai abaixando o tom, sussurrando próximo ao seu ouvido, sabendo que vai te deixar com as bochechas vermelhas — “vinte e cinco eu tô pensando em te comer. De quatro, de lado, papai e mamãe, você em cima… Em pé…” — é sugestivo, enquanto você esconde o rosto com as mãos. Isso faz com que ele ria baixinho, adorando te ver tão envergonhada.

“— Cheollie! Não fala assim!” — você o repreende, mas mantém um sorrisinho no rosto também.

“— Por que? Minha princesa fica envergonhada? Tsc… Ou minha princesa fica molhadinha?” — pergunta mais sério desta vez, as mãos já escorrendo por suas coxas, subindo até pararem de baixo de sua saia. Você sussurra um “Cheol”, enquanto seus olhos escurecem de pura luxúria.

“— Os dois.” — você murmura, e ele sorri satisfeito. O polegar passa de leve por cima de sua calcinha já encharcada, e quanto ele morde os lábios já se imaginando ali dentro.

“— Linda… Tão linda, toda minha.” — elogia, e você tão inerte nem percebe quando a toalha dele vai parar no chão — o mesmo destino de sua calcinha. “— Minha princesa, você me deixa maluco.”

E te beija. Os lábios carnudinhos em contato com o seu, a língua deslizando por sua boca. Você se sente derretendo, mole o suficiente para cair se não estivesse sentada em cima daquele balcão, com seu namorado segurando forte em sua cintura.

“— Cheol… A gente vai fazer amor aqui?” — pergunta com os olhos brilhando, a boca salivando pelo corpo do seu namorado. O seu homem. O sorriso volta ao rosto dele, o peito chega a vibrar, percebe que ele gostou.

“— Vamos, linda. Vamos fazer amor aqui. Agora.”

Volta a te beijar, extrema volúpia enquanto você bagunça o cabelo molhado dele. Ele aponta o próprio comprimento até sua entrada livre, e põem a cabecinha, para enfim ir empurrando de pouco em pouco.

“— Cheollie…” — você resmunga, aperta os ombros dele com as unhas.

“— Eu sei, eu sei, amor… Respira, a gente sempre faz caber, certo? Vai caber.” — ele murmura contra seus lábios.

Era comum ter que ir bem devagar no começo por conta de seu tamanho, até que você conseguisse abrigá-lo. Ele tinha paciência, tanto que sua primeira vez havia sido com ele. Todas as vezes tinham esse mesmo processo: ele entrava devagar, ficava um pouco dentro te alargando, se acomodando, para poder meter.

“— Quando eu puder me mover você fala, huh? Tão quentinha, tão molhadinha. Porra… Eu te amo tanto.”

Você pisca internamente escutando a voz de Seungcheol no seu ouvido. Ele soava tão fodidamente gostoso, a voz rouca, grossa, o sopro perto de seu pescoço fazendo sua nuca arrepiar.

“— Cheol. Vai. Por favor.” — quase monossilábica impulsionando o próprio quadril ao encontro dele. Ele começa com movimentos leves, até que as estocadas fiquem ritmadas.

Ele ama te ver tão entregue, tão vermelha, bagunçada. Seu batom rosa já borrado, a roupa amassada, mas estava ali; de pernas abertas pro seu homem sem se importar com nada. Sente os sinais de que está próxima de seu ápice quando começa a apertá-lo mais vezes. Murmura o apelidinho carinhoso dele repetidamente, as unhas fincadas nas costas malhadas até que seu torpor passe por completo. É a vez dele de se derramar em seu interior. Nunca se acostumaria com o quão gostoso é tê-lo daquela maneira, tão vulnerável, calmo, jorrando o prazer dentro de ti, sentindo o líquido quentinho em suas paredes.

Até normalizarem a respiração ele permanece ali, fazendo um carinho gostoso no seu rosto, na sua cintura… Ele a limpa, coloca sua calcinha de volta, e coloca uma roupa limpa que estava em sua mochila, um conjunto de moletom e um tênis. Coloca a mochila nas costas, e com apenas um braço passa por sua cintura e te tira do balcão. Destranca a porta do vestiário, e em um ato de possessão abraça sua cintura, te direcionado para a porta.

Suas bochechas rubras revelam o que os dois estavam fazendo no vestiário. Mas ninguém ousaria mexer com o professor, com o melhor lutador dali. Você sente os olhares em vocês, agora que o CT está um pouco mas cheio. Por isso tenta se esconder no corpo de Cheol. Assim, vocês vão até o estacionamento. Onde ele abre a porta da picape. Te ajuda a subir. E te leva pra casa. Obviamente, a dele.

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HIGH BY THE BEACH

content you hid the relationship to keep his career clean, but he never gave a damn about playing safe. when the secret finally burned out in the open, you ended it thinking you were saving him—only to realize the only thing he ever fucking needed was you.

pairing idol!jk × choreographer!femreader

trope forbidden love, secret relationship

warnings mention of blood, fight, strong or vulgar language, jealous and protective kook, really possesive jungkook, sex scene, but not graphic, curse words, forced proximity

p.s this piece was written as a request, and honestly it’s all thanks to the imagination of the person who inspired me. your idea had me working overtime—and i loved every second of it.

“and what exactly is that supposed to mean?” your arms fold across your chest in a deliberate shield, though your eyes—wide, curious, sharpened by the glimmer of defiance—linger on him with unguarded fascination.

you’d been bent over lyrics for the better part of an hour, words bleeding onto paper under the dim light of the studio, when jungkook had abruptly slapped his palms against his knees, the sound ricocheting like a drumbeat in the quiet room. he had vanished without a word, only to return minutes later, the door swinging open with the reckless weight of his foot as though the hinges themselves had offended him.

in his grasp glimmered a bottle—expensive, heavy, its surface jeweled with droplets of condensation that slid lazily down the glass, leaving trails like sweat on skin. two large tumblers clinked together in his other hand, announcing his every step with crystalline impatience. he dropped into his chair with the careless grace of someone who knew the room bent to him, the console lights spilling in fractured reflections across his profile.

his mouth curved, not quite a smile but something sharper—an invitation wrapped in mischief. with a sharp pop the cork surrendered beneath his tattooed fingers, rings chiming against the glass as he poured. “it’s alcohol,” he murmured, voice laced with smoke and something sweeter. his lashes dipped, his eyes never leaving you. “s'good for you, honey.” as if the pet name itself could dissolve your resistance.

“cut it out, jungkook. i don’t drink.” the words were firm, but the tremor beneath them betrayed you. he unnerved you—he always did—especially when those shadowed eyes lingered beneath lashes long enough to feel like a caress.

he laughed then, unguarded, the sound rough and boyish all at once. he knew your shyness, savored it like a rare delicacy. and yet, it was his undoing too—because he burned with a hunger for you that outpaced reason, a devotion so reckless it made a mockery of caution. in another life, in a thousand more, he’d find you—of that he was sure.

“tonight the stars aligned,” he said, tongue clicking softly as he tasted his whiskey. the glass twirled between his fingers, liquid amber glinting as it swayed from corner to corner, scattering light like a slow-moving flame.

“i’m serious, jungkook,” your voice faltered against the rising tide of something dangerous. you clung to common sense like a drowning woman clutches driftwood, but sense was no match for the way he occupied every inch of air around you.

“no, baby. tonight is different.” his hand moved before you could stop it—resting heavy on the arm of your chair, then tugging with a casual strength that pulled you forward as though gravity itself favored him. you nearly toppled into his lap, caught by the ease with which he commanded proximity. “yesterday you told me you had so many things to say but no idea how.” his lip piercing gleamed as his tongue nudged it, teeth worrying the metal like a secret he refused to release.

his words hung like smoke, impossible to catch, impossible to dismiss. you wanted to protest, to demand clarity, but his mind was a labyrinth you hadn’t yet learned to escape. he was a riddle you couldn’t stop yourself from wanting to solve—each day an invitation deeper into his mystery.

“jungkook, i can’t read your mind,” you managed, temper fraying at the edges, exhaustion from the day weighing down your spine. you wanted to keep your composure, to ration what strength you had left, but he made control a foreign word.

he exhaled, a slow thread of disappointment coiling from his chest, before reclaiming the moment with a flicker of determination. his dark tracksuit hung loose, almost careless, but it could not disguise the tension of muscle beneath, the coiled strength apparent in every movement. “this will help you unravel,” he murmured, pouring amber liquid into the second glass. he held it out toward you, unwavering, the crystal trembling slightly in his hand as he urged it closer. you didn’t take it—yet your eyes lingered, drawn by the glow, by the weight of his gaze on your indecision.

you take the glass from his hand, the surface chilled just enough to contrast the faint warmth of your own skin, as though it were quietly siphoning the heat away from your palm. “are we just going to drink?” you murmur, half-daring, half-teasing. he has always had a peculiar way of loosening your composure, unraveling your restraint strand by strand. that, you suppose, is the mischief of his charm—dangerous and intoxicating in equal measure.

“no and yes,” he counters, voice pitched in a boyish lilt that manages to be both ridiculous and disarming. “truth or drinking. thought we’d give it a go.” the idea spills out of him so unabashedly, so shamelessly playful, that laughter bubbles out of you before you can stop it. already, you know—you’re smitten with this night, with the reckless ease of it. a night that will cling to your memory like perfume long after it’s gone.

“we’re not teenagers anymore, jungkook,” you chide, rolling your eyes, though the gesture softens as you tilt imperceptibly closer, drifting into the magnetic orbit of his nearness.

“this is bullshit,” he retorts, sharp with conviction. “nothing should fence you in—especially not age, especially not this tired excuse of age”. he swallows a mouthful of liquor, and the rawness of it claws through him, dragging a guttural hiss, an animalistic ‘arrgh’ from his chest, as though the alcohol itself were some feral opponent clawing at his insides.

“do you keep a motivational blog, by any chance?” you taunt, lips curling around the rim of your glass, twirling it idly between your fingers as your gaze fixes on him—like he’s a locked casket of sugared secrets, each one you ache to pry free.

“i could start one for you,” he volleys back with a wink, though the levity falters almost instantly. a shade of unease ripples through him as he fiddles absently with the piercing in his lip—something you’ve come to recognize as his nervous tic, his way of anchoring his focus when words threaten to tangle.

“you did say i’m not serious…” he ventures, quieter now.

“i could say that,” you muse aloud, feigning deliberation, though you already know your verdict. the truth is that jungkook’s spirit is too wild, too capricious for someone like you. and yet—that is precisely what unravels you, what makes him irresistible. he’ll prod you to leap from impossible heights, whispering when else are you going to do this in your life? and you will leap, knees trembling, simply because his hand is near yours. because he is the storm, and you, coward that you are, cling to the thrill of being caught up in it.

he arches his brows, sculpting his expression into something stern, jaw taut as if holding back real ire, tongue pressing into his cheek like a blade hidden under velvet. but you know the game he plays. “stop sulking,” you scold, eyes seeking out his with practiced ease. and when they meet, there is a moment—a suspended breath—where you swear you glimpse yourself, small but crystalline, reflected in the obsidian of his gaze.

“alright, alright,” he concedes, leaning back with a sharp breath. “here’s the rule: say something you’ve been afraid to confess, and tell it honestly—or drink.” the suggestion strikes you harder than expected, so direct it nearly startles. you press your lips together, fighting the urge to smile, because the moment you begin unearthing the things you’ve buried—fear, shame, fragile admissions—you know you’ll be swallowed whole, pulled into a whirlpool you may not climb out of.

“will this help me open up,” you murmur, voice gauzy with suspicion, “or are you just trying to humiliate me?” it’s a weak protest—you know it, he knows it. because the greater truth is simple: cowardice is stitched into you more tightly than you’ve ever dared to admit.

“nah, babe, relax,” he murmurs, a flicker of surprise tightening his features, because he genuinely absorbs every current of emotion surging within you—even the ones you bury beneath silence. he fears missteps, fears that one wrong gesture might drive you back into your cocoon, retreating behind your fragile defenses, or worse, vanish altogether in fright. though he adores the demure quality of your hesitance, he is equally tormented by the idea of losing you to it. so even in his possession of you, even with your bond sealed, he treads lightly—patient, vigilant, prepared to outwait entire lifetimes if that is what you demand. “ain’t gonna corner you or nothing. it’s just a dumb lil’ game. figured it’s the only way i can get you talking straight with me,” he remarks with a slanted smirk, the glimmer of play sharpening his gaze.

your lips release a faint puff of air, your gaze fixed warily on him, warmth blooming across your cheeks like a secret fire. he draws forth sensations from the marrow of your being—emotions that had never existed until his presence rewrote your system. “fine, ask then,” you yield in a half-breath, watching him tip back another sip, though he needs no fabricated excuse to drink; he indulges solely because he wishes to coax you deeper into his orbit.

he smirks again, but with composure—crossing his legs, anchoring a tattoo-inked hand beneath his chin. his brow arches with languid provocation. “alright.. what was your first impression of me?”

“arrogant,” you confess, curling one finger like a reluctant tally, averting your eyes before laughter betrays you.

“hah— harsh,” he exaggerates, clutches his chest like you stabbed him, smirk only growing, “go on, finish me off.”

“self-absorbed, reckless, without boundaries,” you persist, and his face subtly hardens—jaw ticking, hands flexing, though the rest of his frame remains statue-still. yet you refuse to stop. “then i saw what you were really like. big heart. bigger soul. and i knew you were the most beautiful man i’d ever seen,” your eyes drift shut, haunted sweetly by that memory.

in an instant, his body closes the distance—breath warm and heavy with alcohol he drinks too greedily, yet still layered with the expensive musk of his cologne, and beneath it, the raw scent of his own skin, a scent that has always carried the weight of a man meticulous in his care yet untamed in essence. his palm slides along your cheek, across the contours of your face, mapping every curve as though engraving you into memory. “see, that’s what i was waiting for. i knew you’d crack sooner or later. truth is— soon as i saw you, i already decided. you’d end up mine, no matter how long it took,” his eyes hover dangerously close to yours, intoxicated not by liquor but by the inexhaustible pull of your scent, your nearness.

and yet—where you expect fervor, the hunger of pressed mouths and searing touches, he withdraws. he eases himself back into his former posture, deliberately detaching, leaving behind the sting of withheld closeness. it unsettles you, bruises your yearning, though you should know by now: he is always composed. even when liquor fogs his blood, even when fury sharpens his veins, even when the smallest vices gnaw at him—he is ever the sovereign of himself. always in control.

“okay,” his fingers rake through the dark silk of his hair, pushing it back with an almost restless grace, his gaze wandering to the other side of the soundproof glass where the world remains muted. a low chuckle hums in his throat, heavy with mischief. “what’s the most reckless thing you’ve ever done?” his head tips back as if carelessly tossing the question to the ceiling, yet his eyes remain fastened on you—unwavering, sharpened, intent, as though nothing else exists but the flicker of your answer.

“dating you,” you shrug, the words falling off your lips like casual ash, though the weight behind them presses against your chest. jungkook knows how deeply the secrecy gnaws at you, the constant concealment like chains you wear in silence. he is unbothered by public judgment, but you—your ribs tighten around the truth of it.

“are you trying to finish me off?” he leans forward onto his elbows, shadows from his lashes cutting into his cheekbones, his gaze dark, sultry, deliberate—a look that consumes, a look that knows how to strip you open without touching you.

“no, you’re the one trying to finish me,” you counter, lifting the whiskey to your lips for courage. the liquid sears down your throat, a burning trail that should sting, but instead anchors you. “you’ve been reckless, lately. and it terrifies me.”

“i’ve always been like that,” he shrugs, though the glint in his eye betrays his awareness. he knows precisely what you mean—the jealousy that boils him alive, the impulses that coil his hands into fists, the danger of choices that could undo him.

you set the glass down with deliberate calm beside the scattered keys, folding your arms over your chest. “even when john is around?” the name slices the space between you like a blade, and you see it strike him instantly.

his lip curls with disgust, nearly spitting. “that bastard needs to learn to keep his hands to himself,” he growls, the words bitten off, his voice sharp with contempt.

“he’s just doing his job,” you attempt, though the argument collapses even before it reaches him. for jungkook, no duty, no professionalism, no excuse could justify another man touching what he claims as his own. yet the bitter truth is that secrecy shackles him—no one knows of your bond, no one must know, and so he cannot rage as openly as his heart demands.

“i don’t think his job is to grope you,” he mutters into his glass before taking another swallow. but you’ve had enough. your hand snatches the drink away, slamming it hard against the desk, a sharp clink among the silence of instruments and wires.

“jungkook, enough. tomorrow is practice. i need you steady.” your words grit through clenched teeth, but then your chest exhales with a weary sigh—because you cannot imagine a day punctured by a fight with him. you refuse to.

“i am steady. i’m fine,” he lifts both hands in mock surrender, though his smirk edges with defiance, as if convincing either you—or himself.

“this will keep happening,” your voice softens, a plea now more than a rebuke. “people don’t know about us.” your palm finds his cheek, and at last, he exhales into your touch, as though his body had been starved for it all night.

“i don’t care. if they touch what’s mine, they’re finished,” he vows, his voice a low snarl of possession, eyes locked into yours with a gravity that nearly pulls you under. you smile despite yourself, intoxicated by the promise of his protection—even if it borders madness, even if he’d burn his career to ash for you. he has told you before, and every time you call him insane, but you ache with how fiercely you want to believe him.

and then his mouth is on yours. his tongue tastes faintly bitter from the liquor, but the warmth of his kiss floods through you. you moan into him, and he seizes the sound, deepening, forcing his way closer. his hand cradles the back of your head with a grip that allows no retreat, no escape. soon his lap is beneath you, his hands skimming over your body in slow, claiming strokes. his lips find every weak corner of you with precision, as if memorizing them, as if terrified you might vanish if he lets you slip away.

jungkook dreams of nothing but this—your weight pressed into him, your breath tangled with his, your body yielding to the prison of his arms where you belong only to him. words dissolve into silence, because your language is not spoken but written in skin against skin, touch against touch.

“any questions left?” you murmur against his lips, your mouth returning to his before he can breathe an answer.

“would your pussy now taste like liquor?" he whispers between kisses, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear, his smirk brazen, boyish, filth wrapped in charm.

you shove his chest in protest, cheeks flaring, “pervert.”

“but you love me this way,” he answers without hesitation, pulling you tighter, crushing the space between you. and you do. you love him feral, unfiltered, dangerously yours. you roll your eyes, not in annoyance but in surrender—because he is your refuge, your calm, your undoing. and what terrifies you most is not his recklessness, but the fear that someday, somehow, this sanctuary could be taken from you.

you are orchestrating the chaos of the stage, every step consumed by the colossal weight of expectation. jungkook’s schedule is suffocating, his name etched across every post and headline—millions of eyes fixed on how the los angeles concert will unfold. tens of thousands of bodies are expected to flood the arena, and the machinery of preparation churns endlessly. the stage itself is a behemoth of steel and light, vast enough that you had to reframe entire pieces of choreography to match its immensity. staff rush in frantic rhythms, equipment rolling, cables coiling like serpents across the floor—chaos, yes, but a chaos somehow bent into order.

jungkook shifts position again, restless, his body betraying a dissonance you cannot name. his focus scatters, his movements blunt, as though the air itself weighs against him. frustration coils in your spine; you yank your ponytail tighter until it strains against your scalp, adjust your sweat-damp clothes clinging to skin. “let’s run it again,” your voice rises above the cacophony, summoning the dancers behind him into a ragged circle. you dissect mistakes, gestures sharp, your attention lingering longest on him. but he does not meet your eyes—he studies his feet, sweat dripping as though his silence alone could shield him from your gaze.

the choreography demanded precision: jungkook was meant to circle behind the dancer, in this case the girl, shadowing her like gravity itself—hands brushing her waist as he emerged on the other side, fluid as silk, magnetic as the lyric he embodied. yet he faltered each time. instead of grace, there was recoil, his touch stiff, almost disdainful, as though the mere contact with her skin set his nerves alight with distaste. what should have been effortless intimacy bled instead into awkward hesitation. and always, his gaze flickered toward you—pleading, searching, as though awaiting your permission before allowing his hands to rest on her.

your patience frayed like worn silk. exhaustion laced your muscles, irritation pressed hot into your temples. “i’ll show you again what i want from this passage,” you announced, summoning the nearest body without care—only to find john striding forward, grinning with the smugness of undeserved triumph, as though fate itself had handed him a prize. you had no time to decipher his self-satisfaction. your mind was a cathedral of single focus: perfection. the performance must gleam like cinema, flawless in its first execution.

the music ignited, its rhythm folding around you. your voice counted sharp beats, echoing like a metronome through the cavernous hall. john’s hands found your waist, firm, guiding. his execution precise, exactly the fluidity you required. yet his grip was wrong—too forceful, fingers sinking into your sides with an ownership that scraped the edge of discomfort. you bore it, unflinching, professionalism soldered to your spine. but then, the hold was gone.

in its place stood jungkook. his fingers clamped around john’s wrist like steel, eyes black with something primal, his voice steady but glacial: “move. i’ll do it this time. start the music.”

you had no moment to intervene. the track began anew, and instinct ruled you—body aligned to rhythm, discipline masking the tumult inside. yet when the choreography returned to that charged sequence, everything shifted. jungkook drew you against him, so close your breath fractured. his lips grazed your ear, his words molten and venomous.

“did you enjoy his touch, baby? was it sweeter than mine?”

his hands glided possessively down your waist, claiming every contour, his breath hot against your neck, voice dark with threat. “i’ll shatter every finger that dared press into you.”

then, without warning, he withdrew—retreating into shadow, leaving you stranded in the center of the floor. silence crashed after him, the music sliced mid-beat. eyes followed, whispers quivered, but no one moved. jungkook vanished beyond the stage wings, yet you knew absence would not last.

time bends. noon bleeds into dusk, the sun sagging low, its golden edges turning copper. the music looping through the speakers grows like sandpaper against nerves, every repetition fraying the group thinner. exhaustion dulls precision; their movements drag with gravity. you know it’s done for the day, though unease gnaws at the ticking clock—less than a week remains before the stage must breathe its first life.

the girl arrives then—balancing a tray of drinks. she was meant to replenish, to soothe. there are already snacks and bottled waters scattered across folding tables, but the team had insisted on drinks from your usual place. still, jungkook does not like this girl.

his suspicion has grown like a bruise, dark and spreading. her kindness to him is excessive, smothering, tinged with a fanaticism that clings. he understands celebrity, understands adoration as a currency he cannot refuse, but her devotion is not pure—it is rancid, heavy with intent.

she moves among the circle, handing out glasses one by one. jungkook notices the flicker of her eyes—how they linger on you. you stand too close to him, though that nearness was his choice; he had pulled you into orbit without a word, as if your presence steadied the dissonance inside him. when she reaches the last drink, extending it toward you, his hand flashes first. he snatches it from her grasp, his lips closing around the straw before you can speak.

“is there strawberry in this? are you insane?” his tone cuts sharp, ringing in the air.

you stamp on his foot under the table, your hiss a blade of air meant for him alone. “jungkook, what are you doing?” but the others are already staring, dancers caught mid-breath.

“do you even know she has an allergy?” his voice is calm, frighteningly so, though curses ferment just behind his teeth. “or are you doing this on purpose?”

the girl falters, her lips trembling. “i… i didn’t know.” yet behind her thick-rimmed glasses he sees something else—not remorse, but a glint of triumph, something venomous she thought hidden.

he gestures for her to leave, curt and cold. she bows in fractured haste and stumbles out, her retreat only feeding the silence she leaves behind.

“damn, jungkook. that was brutal,” one dancer mutters, clapping him lightly on the shoulder as if to ground the heat radiating from him.

“but she deserved it, jake,” another murmurs, stepping into the circle, voice pitched low. “this isn’t the first time she’s stirred trouble. last time there was a rumor she spiked the producer’s food after he threatened to fire her. never proven, but still…” his words coil through the group like smoke, meant only for certain ears.

whispers unravel among the others, quick and eager, feeding on the taste of scandal. you feel the weight of glances flitting to you, prying and unspoken. you hold your chin high, your body clothed in the armor of certainty, though beneath it tremors crawl. it is always when the stage empties, when the noise collapses into silence, that fear returns—gnawing, whispering that you are breakable.

a hand finds your back then, sliding slow, deliberate, pausing at the hollow of your spine. warmth radiates through your skin, anchoring you in the present. you look sideways and find him—jungkook, sipping casually at coffee now, feigning nonchalance, though a sly smirk tugs at his lips.

someone clears their throat. heat floods your face. you jolt upright, breath shallow, and retreat deeper backstage, the echo of his touch burning against you like a secret branded into your skin.

the air outside was heavy, twilight already drowning the summer sky in bruised hues—rose bleeding into gray, gray into a deep wine red. the heat clung, suffocating, though the sun had long since dipped. you pressed your palms to your face and let out a muffled scream, desperate to order your storming thoughts.

terror pressed sharp into your chest—not for yourself, never for yourself, but for him. if anyone tethered you publicly to jungkook, the consequences would detonate. his career, so carefully burnished, could be undone. he is admired as solitary—untouched, unattached, the glittering idol carved from loneliness. how could you, a woman with no title, no weight of recognition, be revealed at his side? it would not merely be scandal—it would be ruin.

yet the air shifted behind you, and you felt him before you saw him. his presence arrived first as footsteps, then as warmth circling your waist, his arms folding you into an embrace unyielding as stone. he turned you gently but with command, pressing you against the broad fortress of his chest, his muscles a barricade you could neither scale nor resist.

“why did you run, baby?” his voice was silk dragged across steel.

“because it was too much, don’t you understand? why are you even here?” your words cracked, your eyes lifting to his. he searched them, relentless, like a man chasing a truth buried in stormwater. his hands roamed your back, soothing, contrite, though the tension inside his frame betrayed him—he was still aflame, regret and fury warring within his veins.

“i’m sorry,” he said, low and hoarse. “i lost myself.”

you pushed at his chest, weak defiance, but he caught your hand mid-strike and raised it to his mouth. kisses rained upon your knuckles, your palm, desperate, fervent, reverent. he was possessed. no—possessive.

“you’re mine,” he rasped against your skin, his lips tracing each word like scripture. “how could i exist anywhere else? i can already hear what’s turning inside that beautiful mind of yours.”

his breath wandered lower, brushing your neck, leaving a trail of heat—soft kisses, the tug of his mouth marking, tasting, even the languid flick of his tongue branding you as his.

“you’re still a public figure,” you reminded, your voice trembling but firm, “you know what the paparazzi are capable of.”

your hand, still imprisoned in his, was engulfed by his grip. his fist dwarfed yours entirely, yet he held it as though it was both weapon and lifeline.

“they’re not worth your time, baby—forget that noise. screw the rest of the world, it’s just you and me right now,” his palms cradle your face with devastating tenderness, guiding you toward his lips, but you resist, pulling back with a restraint that feels like tearing flesh from bone.

“we can’t play make-believe,” your voice is steady yet tremulous, reason attempting to anchor itself against the tempest of him. you exhale and search his eyes, desperate for calm in their restless depths. “i don’t give a damn about me. but if your career goes down because of me, i’ll never forgive myself.” you fold into the shelter of his chest, into the familiar cocoon of his cologne—musk tangled with bittersweet chocolate, a scent you now instinctively equate with him alone. his embrace tightens, his hand flattening against your crown, his lips pressing reverence into your hair.

“if they ever try to rip you from me, my career’s trash to me,” he confesses, his voice raw against your skin as he rests his head on your shoulder. the danger of such intimacy in the open gnaws at you, yet your heart stumbles, melts, betrays you.

“don’t say that—you know what your career means,” you whisper, needing some tether, some rational thread.

his eyes glint, dark fire flickering in them as his hands descend to your waist, fingers claiming, almost burning.“why the hell do you think you get to decide for me? i call the shots on my life,” his gaze sharpens, obsessive, threaded with a possession you feel down to marrow.

“i can’t be bigger than the life you’re paid to live,” you murmur, shaken by a truth you cannot reconcile.

jungkook smirks then, laughter spilling from him like the crack of flint sparking fire. “baby, that’s the easiest damn choice i’ve ever had to make. you think i’m some talentless rookie? i’ll always find a stage.”

“no—you’re not. you’re insanely gifted, and you know it. but we can’t keep showing us off to the world,” you argue, though the words are as much plea to your own heart as to him.

“god, i just wanna scream it, you know?,” he growls softly, forehead brushing your temple, “tell every single one of them that you’re mine, put my mark on you so no one even dares to look at you again. tell me—am i that obsessed?” his lips find the hollow of your neck, his breath hot, desperate.

your fingers slip through his silken hair, grounding him. you laugh lightly, pressing a kiss to his head. “just a little.”

his eyes meet yours then, luminous with hunger. “but you love me like this,” he insists, voice fraying with certainty.

“i only love you like this,” you breathe, and it is truth.

the world collapses to stillness. the sunset slants over you, gilding your skin in rose-gold fire. to him, you are not a woman but the missing piece of his cosmos. in that suspended breath of eternity, he swears he would sacrifice empires just to hold you in that light a moment longer.

the concert thundered into triumph, an evening of rapture—except for what followed silence. the internet erupted like a volcano. images spilled forth, clandestine shots: you and jungkook, entwined in embrace, lips brushing in stolen reverence. captured from corners, hidden lenses, the paparazzi had ensnared your secret.

you had watched him throughout, every second from backstage—his performance a blaze. he dominated the stage as if it bowed to him, every gesture a spell, every note a blade. the audience lay hypnotized, enthralled.

but the frenzy found you first. people swarmed, surrounding like a flood, voices clashing in an avalanche of questions. your path blocked, your air stolen. panic pressed in. then—a familiar hand, tattooed and unyielding, seized your wrist and pulled you through the chaos.

backstage corridors swallowed you whole, further and further until only silence remained. jungkook’s face was carved into iron restraint, each step radiating controlled fury. never had you seen him so stern, so sharpened.

the room he chose was dim, shadows pooled in corners, the air dense with aftermath. he flicked on a muted light, its glow weak, amber, intimate.

“you’re with me now. no one touches you. anyone tries, they’re done,” he muttered, voice low thunder, dragging you into his embrace.

you pressed against him, confused, trembling. “jungkook, what is happening?”

he exhaled raggedly, exhaustion etched into every line of him. his hand raked through his hair before he lifted you onto a stack of armatures—speakers, cold metal beneath you. he paced the room like a caged beast, his shadow lashing from wall to wall. you sat motionless, eyes fixed, worry carving valleys in your chest.

finally, his voice cut the silence, grave. “they got us on camera that day,” he confessed, still avoiding your gaze. “i thought we were safe. i thought no one followed us.”

jungkook’s skull feels cleaved in two, a dull roar gnawing at the edges of his mind. he has already spoken to every executive whose word matters, bowing his pride just enough to convince them this scandal is smoke, not fire, nothing to drag into spectacle. still, they barked louder, their threats sharp—if this ever repeats, he will bleed for it, pay dearly.

and yet, amid that storm, the instant he spotted you in the sea of reporters—faces like fangs, cameras like rifles—something primal detonated in him. the need to shelter you, to hide you from their teeth, to cage you in his arms where no harm could touch. now you are beside him, within reach, and only then does the pounding in his chest begin to slow. still, the urge festers like a beast: the desire to break every hand that dares graze you. you are his—his to hold, his to protect, his alone.

“how is this happening?” your voice trembles as dread gnaws through you, a prophecy coming to life before your eyes. your hands press against your temples, fighting back the rush of pain in your head. “this can’t be, jungkook.”

“i don’t see the issue,” he shrugs, lowering himself onto the cold rebar opposite you, his body coiled but feigning ease.

“that’s exactly the issue. you’re too damn careless. we can’t keep doing this,” you rasp, leaning against the edge of a metal crate, each vibration in the air striking your head like shrapnel.

“it’ll blow over. we didn’t do a damn thing wrong,” his gaze falls to his shoes, a boyish gesture at odds with the man who just commanded a stage fifteen minutes ago like a god incarnate.

“do you even hear yourself? your career’s hanging by a thread,” your eyes bore into him, pleading, but he stares past your words as if they are smoke.

suddenly, he surges to his feet. “so you’re telling me again what i’m allowed to hold sacred? what matters in my life? i don’t get to choose for myself?” his arms slash the air, tendons standing taut, veins drawn sharp, every fiber straining against restraint.

“because we’re in this together,” you fire back, rising with him, voice breaking. danger whispers in your veins, a shadowed future closing in. you want him to shield you the way he always has, but tonight he looks as defenseless as you.

anger flickers across his face—he feels it, you feel it. his hand rakes through his hair, restless. he pivots away, strides a few steps, then turns back, eyes dark and blazing. “they were always going to find out, baby. lies rot. truth claws its way out. sooner or later, it had to.” his hand cuts the air, reaching as if to anchor his words.

you step closer, clinging to him like a drowning soul to driftwood, fists curling into his shirt. “jungkook, this is too far. you know i can’t let this happen.”

“what the hell are you talking about?” his voice cracks with confusion, his skin flushed crimson with fury he can no longer contain. electricity hums from his body, every nerve screaming.

“you know it’s too risky,” you whisper, collapsing into his arms, but he grips your elbows—not crushing, never crushing, but holding you with a terrifying gentleness, as though one wrong move could shatter you.

“listen to me. i don’t give a damn that they filmed. we crossed no lines,” his words strain, desperate to convince, to steer this away from the precipice he knows is ahead.

“we were caught. we can’t gamble with your career,” your voice frays, tired of repeating, tired of spinning the same wheel of dread.

his mouth twists into a smirk, sharp and bitter. he is at the breaking point. his blood hammers through his body, veins swelling, heat clawing up his neck to his skull. he feels heavier than his own bones. “stop deciding for me,” he snaps, voice exploding, and you flinch backward, a wounded step.

you don’t answer. you only look at him with those eyes—those damn eyes he knows too well, glassy with tears, the kind that unravel him. guilt gnaws at his gut; he takes a step toward you. “fuck, baby, i’m sorry. i’m a goddamn idiot,” his voice collapses into pleading.

but you recoil, shaking your head. “no, you’re right.” your voice is paper-thin, a whisper strangled in your throat. “better you hate me than ruin yourself for me.” your arms wrap tight around your chest, a shield, as though to keep from splintering open.

his breath stutters, rage and panic clashing inside him until he feels unmoored, half-mad. you are unraveling him, tearing at the seams he’s fought to keep stitched. “what the fuck are you even saying?”

“jungkook, we have to stop this. i mean… completely.” your voice fractures as you retreat another step, the air between you suddenly cavernous. you can’t bring yourself to meet his eyes; you tell yourself it’s mercy, that he will be safer without you, that only distance can spare him the ruin you fear you bring.

but jungkook is simmering, his pulse hammering against the cage of his ribs. he cannot fathom how you dare dictate what is best for him—how you can twist the truth so cruelly. in his mind, the best of him is tethered to you; the right decision, the only decision, is to claim you before the world, to brand you as his. your refusal is acid, burning his throat, clenching his fists so tight the bones groan. anger, old and dangerous, coils in his chest, breathing fire he hasn’t felt in years.

“do you even know what you’re saying? you’re giving up on us—on me?” in a heartbeat, he’s in front of you, closing the space, his eyes hunting yours. his hands clamp onto your shoulders, not crushing, but enough to make you feel unbearably small. something splinters inside you at that touch.

“it’s for the best.” your words stumble from your lips like shrapnel. your chest feels like a ticking bomb about to detonate.

“you always love to play savior, making decisions for everyone—it’s getting under my skin,” he growls, and this time his gaze locks with yours. the weight of it is unbearable, a blade twisting.

“because in my head, it’s the only way i know how to save you,” you whisper, a tear carving its way down your cheek, hot and unstoppable.

“why do you always have to rescue someone? try saving yourself first. i don’t need your shield. i’m strong enough to decide my own fate.” his voice doesn’t rise, doesn’t crack—it sinks instead, deep and resonant, and the steadiness terrifies you more than any scream could.

your body betrays you; you stumble back another step, closer to the door, farther from him. “then let me choose for myself. i’m ending this,” you murmur, fragile as thread, but you know he hears it.

his body revolts against the words. blood surges, his fists clench until his knuckles blanch, heat floods his vision until the edges blur in red. rage is a drumbeat under his skin, relentless. “oh… so you’ve decided? i don’t get a voice? i don’t get a vote in us?”

you shake your head, another tear falling, untended, tracing salt across your lips. you can’t give him the choice—because you know he would never let you go, he would always find a reason, always drag you back. and you can’t let yourself stay.

“this is insane,” his voice is rough, unraveling. “you’re throwing us away because strangers—people who don’t know a thing about us—decide we shouldn’t exist?” his hands dive into his pockets like he needs to cage them, his clothes clinging to his body like a second skin, suffocating.

“let me decide this,” you plead, voice trembling.

and jungkook feels the split: half of him soaring with the insane luck of having you, the other half bleeding pride, shredded that you take responsibility out of his hands when it should be his burden to carry. he aches to prove he can hold the weight of your lives, that he can give you everything—wealth, devotion, constancy—but the one thing he cannot yet give is freedom to love you openly. and it kills him.

“fine. go on. make your choices. you’re a big girl, aren’t you?” he smirks, but his eyes fracture, his insides crumbling like glass beneath a boot.

you feel ridiculous, standing there with your fists balled tight at your sides, as if your own body is waging war against itself. you should be composed, professional, untouchable. yet you orbit him like gravity, like some cursed attraction you cannot resist.

“i’ll decide,” you spit, voice ragged, sharp enough to wound.

jungkook trembles on the edge of detonation. but as always, he swallows it back, presenting you the mask: unreadable, ironclad, infuriatingly calm. you ache for him to break, to bleed out his fury, to match your chaos—but he gives you stone.

“great,” he mutters, throwing his hands into the air, surrender twisted into anger.

“wonderful,” you snap back, exhaling through clenched teeth, fists still rigid.

you mutter curses under your breath, fighting the weight in your chest, fighting the screaming urge to collapse into him, to bury everything in one reckless kiss. but that door is locked now; it is not your lips he belongs to anymore.

your hand slams the door shut, the sound ricocheting through your chest as you flee. jungkook doesn’t follow. he stands in the empty room for over half an hour, hollow, trying to stitch the moment into something he can comprehend. the floor feels gone beneath him, the world unmoored.

he doesn’t see you for half a month. you avoid him with surgical precision—packing your things before he steps off stage, slipping away without words, without even a glance. you transform into routine, into cold professionalism, because at least that way, he is safe.

but jungkook rots. he carries you into foreign cities, onto stages, into hotel rooms that smell of silence. his friends whisper that he has grown harder, quieter, as though something vital has been cut from him.

then the company announces a celebration—an after-party before he departs overseas. california, oceanside, luxury sealed away from fans and eyes. guards at every entrance, lanterns spilling colored light across walls, music vibrating the bones of the place.

you arrive in a black dress, the kind that feels like armor, expensive enough to mask your dread. you know you can’t outrun him tonight. fate prowls, certain as the tide.

inside, the air is sharp with alcohol and smoke. voices crash together under the music. the room blooms in color, in noise, in heat. you weave toward the far corner, where your colleagues wait. but even before you reach them, you feel it—eyes on you, steady and consuming. you know whose. you don’t dare turn.

you force smiles, listening to the girls’ thin voices drowned by the bass. dancers hover, familiar faces, and one—john—lingers too close. his stare clings until you forget your place, until you are no longer teacher and he no longer student.

his hand finds your waist. your body stiffens. “want a drink? i’ll grab you something.”

the last person who touched you like that was jungkook, and his hands were the only ones your body ever accepted. every other touch feels counterfeit.

still, you nod, searching for air. “something light,” you murmur, lips curling into a smile you don’t mean.

he vanishes, and you drift closer to the veranda, drawn by the salt air, by the sea calling beyond the glass. john returns moments later, glasses in hand, offering you the burgundy. “you’ll like it—it’s sweet,” he says, attempting flirtation.

you take it with a polite smile, though all you can taste is absence.

you lift the glass delicately to your lips, a tentative sip, then another, the liquid staining your tongue with its cloying sweetness. john leans in, his voice slithering against the shell of your ear, words you attempt to catch, though they scatter in the haze of alcohol settling warmly in your veins. you try to remain composed, professional, but his persistence coils around you, insistent, suffocating. before long, he’s steering you through the swell of music and smoke, guiding you outside into the briny night air, where the ocean lies in restless motion beyond.

the waves hurl themselves against jagged boulders, froth bursting into the night like shattered glass, the salt stinging your nostrils even from here. the horizon breathes with shadows and silver, a contrast to the unease tightening around your ribs.

then comes the question, raw and graceless, tearing you from your fragile composure—“would you give me a chance with you?”

your breath falters, your balance nearly deserts you. his nearness presses like a wall, your back finding no sanctuary, only the cornered weight of his body.

“what chance are you talking about?” your words quiver with incredulity, yet sharpen with a defensive edge.

his mouth twists into a grin that unsettles more than it charms. “i know how you feel about jungkook,” he says, voice dripping with mockery disguised as truth. his hands rise, caging your face between them, forcing your gaze to stay. “don’t pretend. everyone knows. he doesn’t even try to hide it.”

heat swells within you, not from the liquor but from the sudden disgust, from the claustrophobic closeness of him. your skin crawls, your lungs stutter, the very air thickens into something noxious.

“what do you want from me?” you whisper, turning your face aside, desperate to keep his image out of your eyes, desperate for escape.

his answer cuts with cruel precision. “what jungkook had, and i didn’t.” the words linger like venom. “i need you.” as if need could justify violation.

“is this revenge?” you ask, the question dripping disdain, though your voice trembles.

his body edges closer, erasing the already dwindling space, and suddenly you are unbearably small against the magnitude of his intent. alcohol blurs your resistance, weaving threads of weakness through your limbs, rendering you fragile, adrift.

and then—footsteps. sharp, deliberate, a storm heralded by their rhythm.

“hey man.” jungkook’s voice lands like a strike, pulling the air taut. his hand clamps on john’s shoulder, spinning him around. “missed me?” he sneers, though no smile touches his mouth. before john can blink, jungkook’s fist arcs clean through the night, colliding with his face in a symphony of bone and fury. john stumbles, lip split, clutching at the crimson spilling between his fingers.

“you’re lucky i’m in the mood,” jungkook mutters, shaking the sting from his knuckles, his tone dark with restrained violence. “otherwise you’d be counting your teeth off the pavement.”

but john staggers upright, stubborn, stepping between you and jungkook with a trembling defiance. “she’s with me,” he spits, blood wetting his words.

jungkook slips his hands into his pockets, body relaxed yet dangerous, the calm before an inevitable storm. “don’t do that.”

john scoffs, “what are you going to do to me—?” his question shatters as another punch cracks his jaw, the sound gruesome, final. his body hits the ground with a sick thud, consciousness fleeing him before the threat in jungkook’s eyes does.

and then jungkook is upon you, an onslaught of heat and urgency. his hands cradle your face, his touch cold against your fevered skin, “baby, please tell me he didn’t touch you.” his voice is frenzied, guttural, pupils blown wide as if scouring every inch of you for harm.

you can’t answer—your body already does, pressing forward, lips seeking his with reckless desperation. he growls into the kiss, animal and raw, devouring you as though months of hunger have culminated into this single moment. your lips taste of sugared cocktails, and he drinks them down like salvation, his mouth relentless, dirty, demanding. you’re dizzy, helpless beneath the ferocity of his affection, every kiss a declaration, every clash of teeth a vow.

“fuck, i’ve missed you,” he pants between bruising kisses, his mouth returning again and again as if afraid you’ll vanish. “these lips—i’ve been dreaming of them. you’re driving me insane.”

you bury yourself into him—his hair, his scent, the heat of his chest—losing yourself as though your very bones crave dissolution into his form. “jungkook, take me away,” you murmur, collapsing against him, surrendering to the inevitability of belonging.

“come on, my love,” he breathes, threading his fingers through yours with a grip that brands, unyielding.

the beach is endless, waves roaring their chorus while you trail beside him, tethered by his certainty. he halts near a colossal rock, spray misting against your dress, unbothered. his gaze eclipses the night.

“you don’t have a choice anymore,” his voice is low, resolute. “you’re mine. i won’t accept another answer.”

you open your mouth to argue, but he seizes you, words crushed beneath the weight of his resolve.

“i’ve thought about this too long,” he confesses, ocean reflected in his eyes. “without you, my career is dust, meaningless. i want you—in every way. my lover, my wife, the mother of my children. the only woman who will ever matter. lies and fear won’t steal you from me again.” he gestures to the earth beside him, finger pointed like a decree. “your place is here. with me. nowhere else.”

your tears spill unchecked, but for the first time, they are not borne of despair. the sincerity in his words splinters you, remakes you. life without him feels colorless, empty; he is the pulse that dragged you from monotony, the fire that rewrote your existence.

“i want to be yours,” he murmurs, pulling you impossibly close, forehead pressed to your temple. “don’t say a word to ruin this moment. let me have this—let me have you.”

“i love you,” you whisper, the truth dissolving into the sea breeze.

he freezes, eyes wide, disbelieving. “what did you say?”

you lift your gaze to his, steady now. “i love you, idiot.”

his lips twitch, then break into a grin, trembling with relief and pride. “no, not that last part. i’ll take ‘in love,’ or ‘possessive in love idiot.’”

your laughter spills out, caught between kisses as he lifts you off the ground, carrying you effortlessly away from the chaos. the sunset bleeds copper into the sand, gilding the waves as they chase the shore.

“where are you taking me, jungkook?” you shout against the rush of air, squirming in his grip, but he only tightens his hold.

“to my car. stop wriggling, woman. you’re mine,” his tone is half-command, half-tease.

“so i’m just like you then?” you shoot back, laughter bubbling when his hand swats your backside, a playful punishment.

“damn right,” he growls, shifting you into his arms bridal-style. the world blurs around you, but the only thing you feel is joy, fierce and blinding.

“come home with me,” he says at last, voice raw with hunger, with need. “let me show you who your man is. because it’s only me. it’ll always be me.”

and you, with your heart already surrendered, can only smile through tears and kiss him again, letting the sea, the night, and his love swallow you whole.

jungkook halts mid-step only to claim your mouth once more, lips tasting of salt and dusk as he tugs you nearer, binding you to him as though the very notion of letting go would be a betrayal. his arms cradle you with an intensity that borders on reverence, lifting you so lightly it feels unreal, as if disbelief itself has been stripped from your bones. the ocean wind unfurls across your skin, cool and briny, threading through your hair and clothes until your body hums with a delirium that borders on intoxication, as though the tide itself had steeped you in its fever.

“my last name would suit you,” he murmurs lowly, steering toward a shadowed alcove where the sand bleeds into the quiet stretch of asphalt.

“jungkook,” your eyes cut to him, sharp as moonlight, warning folded into the syllables.

“what? i’d call you my wife every second, if only to hear it aloud—just to savor the proof that you’re mine, more mine than the air in my lungs,” he insists, words drenched in boyish arrogance and raw longing.

you swat at his chest, the thud softened by laughter spilling from your throat, yet he devours the protest before it ripens, kissing you again with a devotion so fevered, so single-minded, you lose the ground beneath you—adrift, undone, and helplessly anchored in him all at once.

the villa he speaks of is no mere dwelling, but a cavernous sanctuary perched upon the very lip of the cliffside, where sea winds batter stone and glass with their untamed hymn. the drive had been brief, yet the moment your soles touched the cool marble of its threshold, his hunger descended—his lips seizing yours with the desperation of a famished man, his hands mapping the entirety of you as though cartography itself could anchor him. he swept you onto the expanse of the kitchen island, the cold surface beneath you a stark contrast to the searing press of his palms cupping, kneading, claiming every curve, his kiss a merciless conflagration that stripped thought from your mind.

“fuck, look at you,perfect shape, perfect fucking everything,” he rasped, mouth torn from yours only to lavish words against your skin, fingers worshiping your breasts as though each sigh he dragged from you was proof of divinity. you moaned, trembling, the sound unraveling in his ears like some narcotic aria.

“jungkook, i want you,” you breathed between kisses, tugging at the leather jacket that clung to his broad frame until it fell discarded upon the floor, its worth rendered meaningless beneath the weight of your need. legs tangled around his waist, you felt the rigid length of him pressing insistently against you, a silent promise of what was to come.

“damn, baby, you drive me crazy,” he muttered against your throat, then trailed down, mouth branding hickeys into your skin as though he sought to paint you in the palette of his possession. teeth grazed, lips worshiped, and every mark was an oath that you belonged to him.

soon his hands parted your thighs, tugging fabric higher until your dress bunched at your waist, leaving you clad only in black lace—an offering, a secret, a weapon meant for his undoing. your core throbbed, molten, your dampness betraying you, and his palm pressed brazenly against the soaked fabric. “look at my girl, aching, dripping for me,” he murmured, words like molten metal poured directly into your veins.

his fingers slid beneath silk, finding your swollen bud with precision, coaxing moans that broke you open, tearing breathless pleas from your lips. “please, jungkook,” you whimpered, reduced to nothing but need.

you had braced for patience, for teasing, but instead he stripped the lace away as though it had never existed, descending to claim you with his mouth. his tongue—merciless, skilled—moved as though sculpted by memory itself, tasting, sucking, circling until your body convulsed against his hold. “that’s it, baby, fall apart for me,” he coaxed, fingers thrusting inside you in tandem with his mouth, rhythm unrelenting until your orgasm burst forth in shattering waves, his name a prayer tumbling from your lips.

you were dazed when he lifted you, still trembling, carrying you through vast halls to the sanctuary of the upstairs bedroom. clothing vanished without memory, only the visceral burn of skin on skin, until he was inside you, hard and unyielding, pace punishing. “mine—every inch, every moan, every drop,” he groaned, his chest flush to yours, hands gripping your breasts and teasing your clit until you shattered again beneath him. your climax pulled him over the edge, spilling into you with a force that left you trembling, his release marking you wholly, deeply, irrevocably.

he tends to you with a towel steeped in warmth, its damp fibers gliding across your skin as he carefully erases every lingering trace of grime, every shadow of the night that clings to you. his touch is both cleansing and consecrating, as though he is not merely wiping away dirt but reaffirming possession, a ritual of care sanctified in silence.

“you’d look divine swollen belly with my child,” he murmurs, his tone straddling reverence and hunger, one heavy arm curved lazily yet protectively above your head. your fingertips wander across the expanse of his chest, tracing the intricate ink etched into him, each line and symbol rising like scripture under your nails.

“yeah? you want me to carry your children?” your words come out faint, softened by weariness, though stubbornly tethered to wakefulness—you refuse to let sleep steal this moment, this night that hums with permanence.

“fuck—now i can't shake it,” his voice frays, raw at the edges, as his vast palm nearly eclipses your midsection, stroking across your stomach with an unshakable vision already taking root. “i’ll flood you with so much of my seed that there will be no doubt—you will bear me,” he half-growls, the declaration feral, edged in certainty. he envisions legacy in your body, a constellation of children bound to your name and his, imagines himself as father, protector, unrelenting anchor—a role he knows he would inhabit with brutal devotion.

“jungkook,” you breathe in a faint reproach, shivering at the gravity of his voice, “your words are too indecent for me to get used to,” and in embarrassment you burrow into the warm hollow of his throat, hiding in his scent.

“there’s nothing dirty in what’s natural,” he retorts with quiet conviction, his body a fortress enclosing yours. when he rolls to his side, his sheer mass eclipses the room, leaving you with nothing to see, nothing to sense, but him.

“yes, yes, i remember your damn speeches,” you jest, voice faintly laced with laughter, though your attempt is thwarted when he drags you tighter, fusing you against his chest. he inhales you greedily, as if the very air in his lungs must be filtered through your existence.

“you’re mine. all of you. don’t even think you’re walking away from this,” he vows, his lips brushing the crown of your head, fingers threading languidly into your hair, weaving possession with tenderness.

“i don’t want any other way,” you confess against his mouth, sealing it with a kiss. it is the unvarnished truth—you are exactly where you are meant to be, enveloped in love, in recognition, in acceptance. your heart steadies with resolve: the life you will build together shall be shaped on your own terms, forged by both your hands.

beneath his breath, jungkook forges silent oaths—vows to claim you as his wife, vows to embody the fiercest guardian of your happiness, vows to love you not in passing but endlessly, with a fervor that stretches beyond measure, beyond time itself.

[sereia4skz]

B-Side MASTERLIST

A-Side Masterlist | Special EP Masterlist

WRITTEN FICS

fluff: 🫧 | comfort: 🌸 | angst: ⛈️ | suggestive: ✨ | smut: ❤️‍🔥

OT8

⋆｡°✩

headcannons

you use the safeword 🌸

you don't have a safeword ⛈️ 🌸

you subdrop after a scene 🌸

they subdrop after a scene 🌸

rained on 🌸

baby blankets | poly!ot8 🫧

your bump is showing 🫧

flashing them during an argument ✨ 🫧

freaky reels ✨

drabbles

sun, sand, and swims | poly!ot8 🫧

we got you | polyot8 🌸

tits for all | poly!ot8 ❤️‍🔥

wait?! what? | poly!ot8 🫧

suprise pregnancy | poly!ot8 🫧

oneshots

just smells good | poly!ot8 🌸 ❤️‍🔥 (ft!ateez)

paws, play, pleasure | pt2 | poly!ot8 🫧 ❤️‍🔥

someone has to 🫧🌸

━━━━━━━━━━━━⋆｡°✩

BANG CHAN

drabbles

you’re home 🫧🌸

just let me | sugar daddy!chan 🌸 ✨

we get it, you're in love 🫧

little sanctuary | little!chan 🌸

don't walk away ⛈️ 🫧

just us 🌸

rules are rules 🌸✨

oneshots

let me take care of you | sub!chan ❤️‍🔥

the goodboy and the brat | sub!poly!minchan ❤️‍🔥

dont make me choose ⛈️ 🌸 🫧

hold still for me | sub!chan ❤️‍🔥

in the tv glow | dom!chan 🫧 ❤️‍🔥

⋆｡°✩

LEE KNOW

drabbles

minho's skirt | sub!minho ❤️‍🔥

brat olympics | sub!poly!2min ❤️‍🔥

the way to a man's heart 🫧 ❤️‍🔥

leebit agrees with me | caregiver!minho 🫧

thin walls 🫧

oneshots

silk & consequences | brat!minho ❤️‍🔥

the goodboy and the brat | sub!poly!minchan ❤️‍🔥

the cost of cocky | sub!poly!minsung ❤️‍🔥

just to make him mad | poly!minsung ❤️‍🔥

mornings in bed | sub!minho ❤️‍🔥

think again baby | sub!minho ❤️‍🔥

say that again | dom!minho ❤️‍🔥

cognitive dissonance: uncontrolled annoyance | poly!minsung 🫧 ✨

cognitive dissonance: flirtation & fault lines | poly!minsung 🫧 ✨

welcome back | dom!minho ❤️‍🔥

⋆｡°✩

CHANGBIN

drabbles

exploring situationship!Changbin

puzzles | little!changbin 🫧 (soon)

oneshots

warm hands, and a lack of subtlety | poly!seungbin ✨ ❤️‍🔥

heated hands, and fuck subtlety | poly!seungbin ❤️‍🔥

⋆｡°✩

HYUNJIN

drabbles

just wanna be close | sub!hyunjin 🫧 ❤️‍🔥

safe space | poly!hyunmin 🫧

oneshots

quiet hours | poly!hyunlix (ft!seungmin) ❤️‍🔥

⋆｡°✩

HAN

drabbles

softer in your hands | sub!han 🫧❤️‍🔥

just to make him mad | poly!minsung ❤️‍🔥

birthday girl | sub!han ❤️‍🔥

held thighs | sub!han ❤️‍🔥

messy boy | sub!han ❤️‍🔥

one more time, please ❤️‍🔥

not alone 🌸

pancakes and tantrums | caregiver!han 🫧

oneshots

bad bets? good intentions ⛈️ 🫧

so pretty when you cry | sub!han 🫧❤️‍🔥

the cost of cocky | sub!poly!minsung ❤️‍🔥

mine, mine, mine | poly!jilix ❤️‍🔥

cognitive dissonance: uncontrolled annoyance | poly!minsung 🫧 ✨

cognitive dissonance: flirtation & fault lines | poly!minsung 🫧 ✨

⋆｡°✩

FELIX

drabbles

teary and ruined | sub!felix ❤️‍🔥

heels over head | sub!felix ❤️‍🔥

whiskers and whines | poly!seunglix 🫧

late night on the phone | sub!felix ❤️‍🔥

again | sub!felix ❤️‍🔥

oneshots

security blanket 🫧

my pretty girl | sub!felix ❤️‍🔥

mine, mine, mine | poly!jilix ❤️‍🔥

anything he wants | dom!felix ❤️‍🔥

quiet hours | poly!hyunlix (ft!seungmin) ❤️‍🔥

⋆｡°✩

SEUNGMIN

drabbles

spoons and pouts 🫧

shy little puppy | pt1 | pt3 ✨

safe space | poly!hyunmin 🫧

exploring situationship!Seungmin

messy little puppy | pt1 | pt2 ❤️‍🔥

whiskers and whines | poly!seunglix 🫧

heel | sub!seungmin ❤️‍🔥

brat olympics | sub!poly!2min ❤️‍🔥

puppy rut ❤️‍🔥

hard to resist | caregiver!seungmin 🫧

the drop after the high 🌸

oneshots

warm hands, and a lack of subtlety | poly!seungbin ✨ ❤️‍🔥

heated hands, and fuck subtlety | poly!seungbin ❤️‍🔥

⋆｡°✩

I.N

drabbles

little lessons | caregiver!jeongin 🫧

oneshots

tame that smirk | sub!hybrid!jeongin ❤️‍🔥

[sopeverse]

updated: 26/06/21

(m): mature content 

Keep reading

[pasteljeon]

Peppermint Mocha (m)

Summary: A week in the college life with seven boyfriends.

Pairing: Namjoon/Reader, Jin/Reader, Yoongi/Reader, Hoseok/Reader, Jimin/Reader, Taehyung/Reader, Jungkook/Reader

Warnings: fluff fest, you are advised to visit the dentist following consumption, sub!jungkook, sub!jimin, sub!taehyung, switch!hobi, sub!namjoon (ish), sub!jin, sub!yoongi, handjobs, cock rings, vibrators (anal), oral (male), dry humping, multiple orgasms 

Length: 4.9k

Notes: WHEW i finally finished shdsskd i’m never using google docs ever again, formatting never saves and i had to manually fix the spacing and italicizing i’m scarred for life. i hope this lives up to expectations and i’m sorry it took so long but now i’m gonna disappear for a bit to do midterms lmao lmk what you think!!

College!AU - Film major!Jin (Master’s), photography major!Tae, graphic design & photography double major!JK, philosophy & history double major!Joon, performing dance major!Hobi, contemporary dance major!Jimin, music composition major!Yoongi, unspecified major!reader

.

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Monday, 8:01 AM

“Baby.” A small moan escaped your throat as you snuggled in closer, chasing the warmth that tugged at you.

“Baby, you need to wake up.” Gentle fingers brushed at your cheeks and you nuzzled into the touch as palms cupped your face. “Baby.” Amusement laced his tone, and you knew he was smiling down at you.

Peeking through one eye, lips pouting as you lifted one finger to poke into those infuriatingly gorgeous dimples, Namjoon grinned. “Time for class, baby girl.”

Groaning, you let yourself drop back onto the mattress, watching as he stood. He was already fully dressed for the day, with dark washed jeans, a fitted black turtleneck, silver wristwatch and thin framed lenses that perched on his nose. You melted a bit when he leaned in to press a kiss against your temple. The man looked like he’d stepped out of a fall edition magazine. “Coffee’s on the table, see you at 2.” Namjoon grabbed his keys from the nightstand, slinging his messenger bag over his shoulder as he made his forever timely morning exit. 

“Namjoonie-hyung gone?” You hummed in response as you slipped from the bed, dropping a quick kiss to Jimin’s cheek as you made your way to the bathroom. “Where’s Kook?”

“Still sleeping,” he replied, trailing after you. You relaxed into his hold as you brushed your teeth, him resting his chin on the grove of your shoulder, arms wrapped snugly around your stomach. Moving through the remainder of your skin care routine, Mondays were always a little more bearable with Jimin playfully swiping cream onto your nose, running a brush gently through your hair as you washed your face.

Keep reading

[taegularities]

ruin you | kth & jjk (m) | masterpost

It started with a gentle spark and harmless gazes; but by now, you’re caught in a wildfire that will expand until you’re burned inside and out.

➳ pairing: Taehyung x female reader x Jungkook

➳ rating: 18+

➳ genre: established relationship, fwb; fluff, angst, smut

➳ status: completed

➳ full word count: 85.2k

➳ playlist 🎶 

Keep reading