Genesis Hoshinara

✨MHA, JJK, Chainsaw Man✨ 💜Animal Crossing💜 🔮Sometimes some art shit🔮27🔮 ☀️Libra☀️ 🌕Cancer🌕 ⬆️Leo

[radicaltiod]

jjk twt links pt.2

cw: fingering, sucking dih, rough sex, smoking, squirting, jerkin off, cunnilingus, freak nasty

GOJO - ۶ৎ

he's so gone for you, he doesn't even need to feel anything to cum

gojo taking you from the side

gojo fucking his pussy pocket

GETO - ᢉ𐭩

how geto takes care of himself

makes you get high while he fucks you

geto devouring you when you act up

TOJI - .ᐟ.ᐟ

him fingering you

sucking him off (god i need that)

and you better take it

NANAMI - ⋆𐙚 ̊.

fucking you against the couch

fingering you in his lap

you been a bad girl? this is how he's ending the night

CHOSO - Ი𐑼

genuinely this is choso moaning like this is actually him

you looked too good doing the dishes

you make him send a video in those hello kitty pants you got him

overstimulating choso

SUKUNA - ꩜

sukunas big fat dick

on the rare occasion he actually gets drunk on your pussy

how rough he manhandles you

he pounds into you

HIGURUMA - ♡⸝⸝

straight home from work he's got you on his face

VIBE ON HIS DIH

he loves fucking your face too

SHIU - ᰔᩚ

shiu gets bored in the car while waiting on his clients

how he breeds you

shiu eating your pussy in the car

INO - ✰

making you squirt on his tongue wherever

fucking his boxers

power washing his dick

YUKI - ཐི༏ཋྀ

she's eating you however long she wants

type shit she send you when you're busy as fuck

scissoring with yuki

a/n: i added an extra link for choso and sukuna since i forgot them last time. i also added yuki cuz i #needthat

divider: @/renyanovy

thank u for supporting!

[incelz]

just a pinch

the piercer at the shop is really, really hot. how many visits would it take for you to be dicked down?

piercer!choso x female!reader wc. 4k cw/tw. explicit sexual content, unprotected sex, vaginal sex, cunnilingus, oral sex, creampie, overstimulation, piercing, needles, semi-public sex, rubbing, teasing, shameless smut 18+ mdni

                             ➳ this work is part of THE PERFECT MATCH collection

Choso is very much aware that he has the face of someone who looks like he’d rather be anywhere else.

Long brown hair falls messily over his bored, half-lidded eyes while he flips through a magazine with the enthusiasm of someone reading a grocery list. His sleeves are pushed up to his elbows, revealing forearms corded with lean muscle and ink that disappears under the fabric again.

You wonder if he ever smiles or if his face just clearly isn't built for it. But, you are determined to see more of him.

“I’m in total luck,” your friend says, nudging you with her elbow while pointing at the appointment book. “They squeezed me in for tattoos today.”

You hum, but your attention snags back to the guy again. He hasn't looked up once since you walked in, even when the bell above the door jangled. His fingers tap absently against the counter, like he's counting down the seconds until his shift ends.

The tattoo artist—a woman with neon pink hair and a sleeve of snakes winding up her arm—motions your friend over. You both follow but still, your gaze keeps drifting back to the guy at the front. There is something about the way he carries himself, all quiet intensity and zero effort to be approachable.

“You getting anything else done today?” The tattoo artist asks while she preps her station.

You hesitate, then nod. “Maybe a piercing?”

She glances over at the man on the counter and smirks. “I can pierce you but… Choso’s also good with needles,” she says. “He has much steadier hands.”

Choso.

The name rolls around in your head. Your eyes flicks back to him, who still, hasn't so much as glanced in your direction.

Your friend is guided into the chair and you watch the way the tattoo artist’s hands moved with ease. She wipes down on your friend’s skin and traces the stencil with the tip of her needle.

A few minutes haved passed before you finally cave in.

“Actually,” you say, smoothing a hand over your thigh, “I think I’ll get that piercing now.”

The tattoo artist doesn't look up since she’s working on your friend's tattoo, only jerking her chin toward the front.

“Choso. Customer.”

His head lifts slowly, dark eyes meeting yours for the first time. There is no warmth there, just a detached sort of focus like you are another task on his to-do list.

“What do you want?” He asks, voice low and rougher than you expected.

You step closer, leaning against the counter between you. “Lip piercing.”

The chair in the piercing room is cold against the back of your thighs, the overhead light harsh. Choso moves quickly and methodically. Disinfectant spray, gloves on, tools laid out in a neat row. He didn’t speak as he prepped, and while the silence should’ve been uncomfortable, there was something strangely intimate about it.

Choso studies your lips with a detachment that shouldn’t send heat pooling low in your stomach—but it does. His fingers on your chin are warm despite the gloves. His thumb brushes the corner of your lips, then tilts your face to the left, the right, back to center. The pad of his finger lingers a second too long on your bottom lip.

“Where do you want it?” he asks.

You smirk, letting your knee brush against his thigh as you shift in the chair. “Surprise me.”

Choso holds your gaze for a beat, his expression unreadable, before reaching for the marker.

The marker tip presses cool against your skin, Choso’s hand steady as he draws a precise dot just left of your lower lip. His breath ghosts a bit near your cheek, close enough that you catch the faint scent of mint and something like tobacco. You sit completely still, just watching the way his brows furrow slightly in concentration.

“Keep your head straight f’me,” he murmurs. You obey, eyes flicking down to his lips instead.

The clamps come next, cold metal pinching your skin as he positions them with efficiency. But his hands are so gentle and light that you don’t flinch even when the sharp sting of the needle pierces through the flesh, quick and clean.

Then the jewelry comes after—a small, silver flat-back stud that catches the light when you slightly tilt your head. His fingers brush against your lip again as he secures it, the warmth of his skin lingering even through the latex. He grabs a small pad and wipe the edges of the piercing. You inhale slowly, watching the way his lashes dip as he focuses.

“All done,” he says, stepping back to survey his work. “Suits you well.”

The words are casual, almost indifferent but they flutter in your stomach anyway. You slide off the chair.

“Oh, yeah?” You tilt your head, catching your reflection in the full-body mirror hanging on the wall.

Choso’s gaze lingers on you for half a second too long before he turns away, peeling off his gloves with a practiced flick of his wrists. The latex snaps against his skin as he tosses them into the biohazard bin.

You watch the flex of his fingers and wonder how’d they feel inside you.

“Aftercare instructions are on the counter,” he says lazily, nodding toward a stack of printed sheets without looking at you.

You bite the inside of your cheek to keep from grinning. Casually, you lean against the edge of the chair, one leg crossing over the other as you pull a folded bill from your pocket along with a small paper with your number scribbled on.

Choso’s gaze flicks down the moment your fingers slip into the pocket of his apron. Yet his expression still doesn't change—that same, bored neutrality as if he can't be bothered to react.

You stretch your neck slightly, feigning a glance toward the mirror again. “How long ‘til I can change it out?”

“‘Bout six weeks,” he says, voice flat. “Maybe two months or so, just to be sure.”

You hum, stepping closer just to watch his shoulders tense ever so slightly. “Guess I’ll have to come back, then.”

Your friend’s tattoo is already halfway done by the time you wander back into the main area, the buzz of the needle mixing with the rock music playing overhead. You touch your new piercing absently, the metal cool against your fingertip, and glance back toward the piercing room. The door is half-open, but Choso is already gone—back to his post at the front counter.

You don’t expect him to text you. Not really.

But three days later, your phone buzzes with an unknown number and a single message.

Unknown Number: Aftercare going okay?

You roll your eyes at how the message sounded so dry and detached like he's checking in out of professional obligation. You bite your lip, the piercing twinging slightly.

You: think so. u offering to check it for me?

While waiting for a response, you change his name on the Contacts app. The reply took twenty minutes, as you counted.

Choso: If you need.

You can almost picture his face—expressionless and eyes half-lidded. But you don't care. The fact that he kept the paper with your number on and texted you first is buzzing through you.

You come back to the tattoo and piercing shop a week later under the guise of needing aftercare advice, even though you’ve already Googled it. The shop is still in its usual operation. Though this time, a metal music you recognize is blasting through the speakers.

Choso and the neon pink-haired tattoo artist are lounging behind the counter. She raises an eyebrow when you walk in but doesn't really say anything, just smirks and disappeared into the back. 

Choso looks up from his phone as you near the counter. His dark eyes flicking over you.

“Piercing infected?” 

“Nope,” you say, leaning against the counter. “Just thought I’d get your opinion on my next one.” 

His gaze drops to your lips, then lower—your collarbone, the hint of ink peeking from under your shirt.

“Where?” 

You tilt your head. “I haven’t decided yet… maybe you could help me brainstorm?”

You are so full of shit. Seriously? Brainstorming for a piercing?

For the first time, you see something flicker in his expression—a faint tightening of his jaw, the barest hint of interest.

“Follow me.”

The piercing room smells sterile with the sharp tang of antiseptic mixing with something faintly metallic. Choso flicks the lock on the door behind him—just a quick twist of his wrist. The click sends a curl of heat down your spine but you don't mention it.

There's a new chair. A sleek, black leather furniture. It's cool under your thighs as you settle onto it. Choso drags a swivel chair toward you and drops into it, his knees bumping against yours. He briefly pulls away to snap on a fresh pair of gloves.

His gloves snap sharply against his wrists as he adjusts them, eyes dragging over you with a slow, assessing sweep.

“Aight, next piercing. Where?”

You push back the hair covering your ears, fingers brushing over the small hoops and studs already decorating the cartilage.

“I was thinking of another ear piercing,” you muse, “but they’re getting heavy now.”

Choso’s eyes flicks down. “How about nose?”

You wrinkle your nose, then shake your head. The thought of healing a septum or nostril piercing doesn't appeal to you right now—not when you have other plans.

Choso breathes in quietly. His fingers twitch against his thigh before he leans in closer, the scent of antiseptic and something musky clinging to him.

“Tongue piercing?”

For the second time, you shake your head, letting your lips curl into something teasing. The corner of his lips twitches, just once, before flattening back into neutrality.

“Then what?” he asks, voice lowering.

You uncross your legs slowly, letting your knee brush against his again. This time, neither of you pulls away.

“I was thinking somewhere… less visible.” your voice dips, fingers tracing the hem of your shirt where it rests just above the waistband of your jeans.

Choso’s dark and unreadable eyes follow the movement. Then, without breaking eye contact, he reaches for the marker on the tray beside him.

“Show me,” he says.

You hook a finger under the fabric of your shirt, lifting it just enough to expose the smooth skin of your abdomen—right where the delicate fine lines of your tattoos curled. Choso’s gaze burns as it traced the ink, then lower, back to your jeans.

But that doesn't stop you. Your fingers only move higher, pushing the fabric up further until the underside of your breast is visible, the swell of it barely peeking above the lace of your bra.

“Here,” you murmur, tapping a spot just beneath the curve.

For a long second, Choso doesn't move. His gaze only flicks up from where you're pointing back to your eyes.

“You sure ‘bout that?”

You arch a brow. “Would I be here if I wasn’t?”

Choso’s fingers trace the lines of ink, following the swirls and sharp lines that disappear beneath the fabric of your bra. The marker hovers just above your skin.

“Where here, exactly?” his voice is an octave lower.

You gulp, your heart hammering against your ribs. The cool air of the room ghosts over the exposed skin of your abdomen, but his touch—even through the latex—burns. You shift slightly, pulling your shirt higher before tapping a spot where your nipples would be.

For the first time, his usual bored expression changes. His dark eyes turn sharp and focused. There’s a smirk creeping up to his lips.

“You’ll have to take your bra off.”

You don't hesitate. The clasp comes undone real quick and easy. You drop the bra on the empty space beside you. Choso’s gaze never wavers, still locked onto you as he uncaps the marker with his teeth. The cap clatters somewhere unseen but you don't care.

Not when his hands finally move.

Choso’s fingers are warm through the latex, rough against your skin as they curl around the swell of your breast. He squeezes slightly, and you feel a shudder down your spine. His thumb grazes over your nipple, already hardening from the cool air and the weight of his stare.

“Here?” he murmurs. The tip of the marker hovering—teasing.

You swallow while nodding. “Mhm. Right there.”

The disinfectant pad is cold against your peaks the second it makes contact. His fingers press firm as he drags the pad in slow circles over one nipple, then the other.

He presses the tip of the marker against you; the ink is a little cold, a stark contrast to the heat of his touch. 

Choso’s grip tightens, making you suck in a breath. His fingers slide to your other breast, kneading the soft flesh with such slowness. His thumb brushes over the nipple again and you swear you see his pupils dilate behind those bored, hooded eyes.

“It’s not hard enough,” he mutters, more to himself than to you.

His fingers pinch your nipple suddenly, rolling it between his thumb and forefinger until the peak stiffens under his touch. A small noise escapes your mouth, something between a gasp and a sigh. Choso’s eyes flick up to your face, watching the way your lashes flutter.

The marker presses against your skin again, leaving another small dot to each side of your nipples. His fingers doesn't stop teasing your nipple even as he pulls the marker away.

“You’re gonna have to stay completely still.”

The clamps come first, cold metal pressing against your already-sensitive buds. Choso’s fingers linger a bit too long once more, his thumb brushing over the peak of your nipple one last time before positioning the tool.

You still can't help but feel nervous. Sure, you’ve handled piercing needles before but those are for your ears and well, the latest for your lip.

“Breathe,” he tells you. His knee nudges your legs apart slightly. You exhale shakily, your fingers curling into the edge of the chair. “It’s jus’ a teeny tiny pinch.”

The needle pierces through the skin sharp and quick. But it lingers, throbbing in time with your pulse. Then, he gently inserts the silver jewelry into place.

“You good?” he asks softly.

You nod, almost breathless. “Yeah… just-” You gulp. “Just do the other one.”

Choso’s hand moves to your other breast, rolling the nipple between his fingers again before positioning the clamp. His eyes snap up, watching the way your chest rises and falls faster now.

“Same thing,” he murmurs. “Just a pinch.”

This time, you are ready. Though the pain still shoots through you—sharp and hot—you bite down on your lip hard. His touch stays too long this time, twisting the jewelry before smoothing his thumb over the swollen flesh around it. As usual, he grabs a pad and wiped the edges clean.

“Done.”

Choso pulls away from you then peels his gloves off with a snap. You stay still, expecting him to walk away like he always does—detached and professional. To your surprise, he sits back in the swivel chair and comes closer to you again after disposing the things in the bin.

He leans forward, forearms resting on either side of your hips, caging you in against the leather chair.

“You obviously came here for piercings,” he says, voice thick with something you can't name. “But, anything else in mind?”

The question hangs between you, heavy as the silence that follows. You smile, shifting just enough to press your knee against the inside of his thigh again.

“Do you guys offer anything else aside from tattoos and piercings?”

Choso grins, a sight for you since the very first time you walk into the shop. Then he is on you, his hands gripping your waist as his mouth crashes against yours.

You gasp into his mouth, fingers immediately tangling in his hair, tugging just enough to make him groan. His hips press forward, the hard line of his cock visible even through the layers of his clothes.

“Fuck.” he mumbles against your lips, one hand sliding up to cup your breast. His thumb brushes over your new piercing.

You whine and arch into his touch, the sting mixing with the heat pooling between your thighs. His other hand grips your hip.

“You been thinkin’ about this?” he growls, nipping at your bottom lip where the silver stud sits.

You laugh, rolling your hips up to meet his. “Fuck, yes.”

Choso’s mouth trails down your jaw then sucks hard to leave a mark. His hands move with purpose, finally yanking your shirt over your head. His fingers hook into the waistband of your jeans.

“Off,” he orders.

You shimmy out of them, kicking the fabric to the floor while Choso strips off his own with quick, impatient movements. His shirt hits the ground, revealing the lean cut of his abs, with dark ink curling over his ribs.

Just when you thought he only had tattoos on his arms.

You try to reach out for him but he catches your wrist, pinning it on your sides as he leans down to lick a stripe up your neck.

“Should’ve known you’re trouble,” he whispers, his free hand sliding between your thighs. “D’you think I was dumb enough to not see through your moves last time?”

You bite back a moan as his fingers brush over your clit, already swollen and aching. 

His mouth find yours again as he thumb your clit in slow circles, making your hips jerk forward. Then, without a warning, he pushes two fingers inside you. You clench around him, the stretch sharp and perfect.

He fucks you with his fingers, curling them just right where he hits your sweet spot while his thumb presses against your clit in time with each thrust.

Choso’s fingers curl deeper inside you, the rough pads of his fingertips pressing against that tender spot that makes your thighs tremble. You arch off the chair but his free hand splays across your stomach, pushing you back down and pinning you flat.

The contrast of his warm skin against yours, the sting of your nipple piercings—everything feels too much and not enough all at once.

“Stay still,” he murmurs against your throat. His fingers don't slow, fucking deliciously into you as if desperate for more friction. “You’re gonna mess up your piercings.”

You let out a shaky laugh, nails digging into his shoulders.

“I don’t really give a fuck.”

Choso’s eyes darken and his mouth twists into something between a smirk and a snarl. He pulls his fingers out abruptly, the sudden emptiness making you whine. But before you can even protest, he suddwnly hooks his hands under your thighs and yanks you forward, tilting your hips up. The leather squeaks under your skin as he settles between your legs.

He ducks his head and licks a slow, delicious stripe up your aching and gushing pussy.

You gasp, fingers immediately entwining in his hair as his tongue circles your clit. He teases the swollen bud then sucks it into his mouth. The pain from your fresh piercings blurs into the pleasure. Choso hums against you, the vibration sending sparks up your spine.

One of his hands slides up your torso, thumb grazing over the fresh metal adorning your nipple. You hiss at the sting but he doen't let up, he still pinches your nipple as his tongue laps at you feverishly.

“Fuck—ah! Choso!” your voice cracks, thighs tightening around his head.

He chuckles, the sound muffled against your skin. Then, he drags his tongue lower before pressing inside you with a filthy, wet noise that makes your cheeks burn. His free hand grips your hip, holding you still as he eats you out like he has all the time in the world.

You tug at his hair in desperation but he only groans and presses deeper, his nose bumping against your clit as he fucks his tongue into you. The coil in your stomach tightens—your breaths coming in short, uneven gasps.

Just as you teeter on the edge, he pulls back, leaving you shuddering and empty again.

“What the fu-”

Your protest is cut off when he stands up, stripping off his boxers with one hand while the other grips the base of his cock. The tip is already flushed and leaking.

His cock is thick, long, and pinkish.

Cute, you think to yourself. Though he doesn't give you any longer time to stare—he lines himself up your pussy and pushes in with one smooth trust.

The stretch burns, deliciously slow, as Choso bottoms out inside you. His hips presses flush on yours, the coarse trail of hair above his cock tickling your skin. His hands are suddenly on your shoulders, pinning your back further into the chair. The material now feels warm as he pins you flat, your hips tilted up at an angle that makes every inch of him feel twice as deep.

“Shit—you feel so good,” he moans out. “So tight around my dick.”

Choso’s breath hitches above you, his lips parted around silent curse. His fingers dig into your thighs, spreading you even wider. But then he pulls out almost completely—keeping his tip inside—before slamming back in.

The sound of skin hitting skin echoes in the small room. You can't even be bothered whether his co-worker is listening or if there are customers who came in. All that matters are Choso’s grunts and his punishing cock.

You choke a moan, babbling ‘pleasepleaseplease!’ as he thrusts into you mercilessly. He started with a rigorous pace that still hasn't died down now.

“You like that, huh?” he grits out. His hips snaps forward again, the veins embedded on his cock dragging around your walls.

You can only nod, can barely speak out coherent words to answer him. You are good at pleading with him to go deeper and faster, though.

“Please! F-Fuck, right there!” The words tumble out between gasps, your voice ragged as Choso’s hips brutally piston into you. “Oh, m’god…! H-Holy s-shiiit!”

He leans down, his breath hot against your ear. “Louder,” he demands. “Wanna hear how bad you want it.”

You whimper and whine. “Choso, I—nngghh!—I can’t-”

The sounds created as he pushes in and out of your tight, swollen pussy are both delicious and filthy. It’s all squelch! squelch! squelch! every time he bottoms out—his balls also hitting.

“Gonna cum on my dick like this? Hm?”

You choke on a sob, your thighs shaking as the pressure coils tighter and becomes almost unbearable. You roll your eyes to the point you could swear they reach the back of your head.

“I’m—mhhhmm—I’m close!”

Choso’s rhythm stutters for half a second but snapping harder and deeper back again. “Me too. Fuuuck, me too.”

You can feel it. The way his cock twitches inside you, the way his breath comes ragged against your neck. The growing pressure in your abdomen tightens to the point of pain. Choso’s hand slides between your bodies, his thumb finding your clit again—rubbing rough and relentless as his thrusts turn uneven.

You shatter. White-hot pleasure rips through you, your vision blurring as you clench around him with a choked gasp. Choso curses, his hips slowing as he fucks you through your orgasm, his own release hitting him like a truck. He buries himself into you with a groan while his cum spills hot and full inside you.

The only sound is your mingled panting and the slick drip of his cock sliding out of you. Choso stays braced above you, his arms trembling slightly with the effort of holding himself up. Some hair sticks to his forehead, now damp with sweat. You reach up, brushing the strands away.

“Shit. Your piercings.” Choso’s voice is rough. His fingers ghosts over the jewelries. The skin around them is angry red.

You grin up at him. “You can suck on them next time.”

Choso’s lips quirks up as he brushes over one of the piercings again. He watches your face closely, eyes darkening when your breath catches.

“Next time.”

[mrsblaileen]

More

Pairing: Choso Kamo / Fem!Reader

Shameless Smut, Submissive!Choso, Switch!Choso, Riding, Praise Kink, Implied Virgin!Choso, Reverse cowgirl, Manhanding, Choso has a big dick, Reader gets put in a (gentle) headlock, Starts as slow sex and becomes rough sex, Choso is a little naive and gets lost in the sauce.

Choso was sweet, quiet, thoughtful. Ever since you'd met him you’d been hoping for something more. It would be simple - you’d take the reins, teach him how to really have some fun. Its not like the gentle, doting man could ever give you something you couldn't handle... right?

✎ Words: 1.9k

Ao3 | Masterlist

──── ୨୧ ────

Ever since you had first met Choso you’d been quietly hoping for something… more.

More than the few quiet moments shared between you, the soft brush of knuckles, lithe hands gripped around your arm during training. Hesitant, polite touches that were soft, chaste, apologetic.

But now, with the man finally below you, having shed his usual robe, all that muscled skin laid bare and blushing beneath you - you had to admit you were actually a little nervous.

Thankfully, Choso seemed to be fairing even worse than you were. He peered up at you with an awestruck expression, usually tired eyes open wide. His eyes moved slowly, blinks few and far between, as if he didn’t want to waste a single second of the view - though his gaze hardly strayed from your face.

His face was blushed a sweet cherry red, and you hadn’t even done much more than shed your clothes and climb atop him, hands splayed over his bare stomach, ass settled comfortably over his hips, still clad in his dark boxers.

“You can look you know. Don’t be shy.” You teased, wiggled your shoulders a little, knowing full well the way your bare chest jiggled responsively.

You felt Chosos breath catch beneath your hands, and despite his obvious restraint, his caramel eyes dipped down to track the new motion, and he let out a low whimper at the sight.

“Just relax.” You whispered, teased the tip of your pointer finger along the curves of his abs, feeling a prickle of goosebumps raise in the wake of your tracing.

Your eyes flickered to his face, and he flinched like a child caught doing something they shouldn’t, eyes once again fixed on yours.

“You’re still sure you want to do this?” You questioned.

And despite the desperate ache pooling between your thighs, you would put it all to rest this second if he asked you to.

Choso’s response came without a second thought, he nodded frantically up at you.

You chuckled, leaned forward to press your lips to his cheekbone in a chaste kiss, words curling hot over the shell of his ear.

“I need to hear a ‘yes’, baby.”

He honest to god shivered beneath you, hands flying up to grip at your waist, inadvertently nudging you forward against the outline that had slowly been growing between your spread thighs - pressing against his cotton boxers.

“Yes. Please, yes.” He croaked, still nodding frantically, his voice rough and low like he hadn’t used it yet today.

“That’s a good boy.” You pressed another soft kiss to his cheekbone before you straightened up.

You watched his adams apple bob as you leaned back, lifted your hips, hand snaking down to tease over his waistline, where dark spatter of neat hair dipped below the fabric.

Your fingers dipped beneath the elastic, hooked over the fabric to tug down and…

You sucked your lip between your teeth. Oh.

Not to say you’d expected him to be small, but the reality was borderline ridiculous. He was long, and thick, and pretty. You were a little proud to see he was already rock hard and weeping, tip drooling, blushed a needy red.

From the wide eyed, nervous expression he was fixing you with, you were sure he had no idea the kind of blessing he was gifted with.

“You’re beautiful, Cho’” You whispered, and he jolted beneath you when you captured him in your grasp, gave a few teasing pumps before you lined him up.

Choso moaned unashamedly when you first slipped him between your soaked folds, and you both gasped when he dipped inside, breached your entrance as you began to slide down, inch by inch until…

You froze about halfway, hands splayed over his lower abdomen, twitching beneath your palms as your nails dug lightly into his fevered skin.

Choso let out a sharp, breathy sound, hands tightening where they were grabbing desperately at your hips. He watched your face with wide eyes, frantically switching between your own, his brows knitted together.

You made a high, weak noise in your throat as you took another few inches inside, then stilled, lips parted in a slight pant.

You could feel his gaze on your face, watching the way your body tensed, brows crinkled, the way your face contorted in… pain? or was it?…

“You’re disappointed.” He figured, voice thick and laced in apology.

When you opened your eyes and peered down at him, you felt your chest tighten. He looked like a kicked puppy, trying his best to hide his upset.

You almost laughed, instead huffing out a half snort half sigh as you tried to relax back onto his hips, flush with his warm thighs, wincing a little.

“No, Cho’ it’s the opposite.” You breathed and shook your head, lashes fluttering closed as you took a moment to relish in the burn, the stretch.

“You’re just… big. Need a sec.”

Choso blinked slowly, thumbs pressing into the plump flesh of your hips as he considered your words.

“Oh…” He murmured, lips parted as he watched you adjust, little breathy sounds leaving him with each adjustment, hips twitching inadvertently in response.

“That’s a relief…” He swallowed thickly. “Because you feel really good.”

You moaned at that, and you must have tightened around him, because Choso’s head fell backward, dark hair splayed over the pale sheets.

You took a moment to admire the toned column of his bare throat, the way his sharp jaw clenched before you lifted yourself up a few inches and then pressed back down, engulfing him as you set a steady pace - bouncing on his cock.

Choso’s face softened, pink bitten lips parted as he watched you move through dark lowered lashes, pupils well and truly blown.

“S-o tight.. s-so warm…” He stuttered, fingers biting dark marks into your thighs, eyes flickering between watching where he was disappearing inside of you, and the way your bare breasts bounced in time with the rhythm of your hips.

You gulped. Half of you wanted to speed up, show him what a real good time was, draw some more of those pretty sounds out of him. But the realist part of you was wincing with each downward motion, each time he bumped an inch too deep, a deep ache blooming to life in your gut, peppered with little sharp sizzles of pain.

“Just wait a second.” You interrupted, hips slowing to a halt. “Gonna try something.”

Choso said nothing, but his grip on you loosened as you lifted your shaking hips from him, letting him slip entirely from you and instead lay weeping against the rivets of his stomach.

Conscious of the way your thighs were trembling, you threw a leg over his waist, switching positions until you were facing away from him.

You bit your lip not to whimper when you snaked your hand beneath you to guide him back inside, realising this angle was much the same as the reverse.

You were about to grit your teeth - lift yourself up and resume your bounce when you felt Choso’s warm hands slide up your waist, thumbs tracing little patterns into your lower back.

“Could you please sit up?” Came his soft request.

You paused for a moment, before shrugging and lifting yourself from him until just a few inches remained nestled inside, knees dipping into the mattress.

Without another word, Choso’s hips began to buck slowly, and you sighed in unexpected relief. At this new angle you found that he hit a perfect depth, kissing that sweet silky spot inside - just shy of too much.

You groaned, bent in half at the waist as little bursts of pleasure began to zip through you, fingers splayed over his toned thighs as you held on for dear life.

“Is that.. ah-… better?” Came his soft voice from behind, and you simply nodded wildly, gripped at the space above his knees as your eyes fluttered closed, relaxing to let him rut up into you.

“Yes Choso, fuck - that’s so good.”

He let out a strangled sound at that.

As if spurred by your praise, you felt his pace quicken, each stroke a little harder, a little deeper. But through the haze of pleasure washing over you - you couldn’t find it in yourself to be concerned.

You simply closed your eyes, relished in the sensation of him fucking you so sweetly. Body relaxed despite the way his thrusts seemed to be speeding up, creeping toward rough.

However, your brows did quirk in mild confusion when you felt his big hands grip tighter around your waist.

In the next breath you were moving. Tugged into an upright position, you found yourself kneeling before him, his solid form pressed to your back.

“Cho, what are you- Ah!” You cried out when he slipped back between your thighs, this time buried to the hilt, until his pelvis was flush with your tailbone.

Through the blaze of pleasure, you felt his arm snake around your throat, thick forearm coming to rest above your collarbone as he set a shockingly brutal pace.

“Ohmygod…” You whined when you realised he had you in a makeshift headlock.

Gone was the soft, sweet and restrained rolls of his hips, instead his thrusts were desperate - hips stuttering as he chased the pleasure nestled between your slippery thighs, each stroke clearing any coherent thought from your mind.

His chest pressed against your shoulders like a concrete wall, his grip over your throat had your back arching, pushing back down desperately to meet each of his steady thrusts, moaning out guttural little 'ah' sounds with each frantic roll of your hips.

Choso was gone. His lips parted, brushing against your skin as he licked and sucked at your throat, at the sensitive little strip of flesh behind your ear. Head craned to bury his nose in your wild hair and inhale.

“Mmmnsorry, wasn’t enough… Needed you. More of you, needed you closer…” He rambled between frantic kisses, sucking dark marks into your throat. Every press was hot and open mouthed, his teeth grazing skin like he was trying to devour you.

Your mouth opened and closed in muffled silence, trembling hand flying up to grip at his thick forearm like a lifeline, chin nestled in the valley between his bicep and forearm until your cheeks were smushed.

Your spare hand trailed down to your lower stomach, pressed into the bulge there to trace the outline of him, rutting up inside you.

“So deep Cho’…” You whimpered, fingers snaking further down to draw sloppy circles over your clit.

Choso groaned at that, sound muffled where his head was pressed so tight into the nape of your neck that you thought he might be trying to crawl inside.

“Ohgod… Please pleaseimsorryimso-“ He moaned, trailing off into a strangled cry, head bowed, buried in the crux of your shoulder.

His hips slapped haphazardly against the backside of your thighs before they stilled, pressed so hard you’re surprised it didn’t bruise as he buried himself inside, deep as he could manage.

You dove off the edge directly after him, hand stuttering in a frantic rub over your sopping cunt, clenching as you felt him begin to throb, hips twitching as he filled you.

As if turned boneless by his orgasm, Choso fell forward, taking you along with him until you were pressed into the mattress below - his limp body flung over you like a weighted blanket.

For a moment you both just lay in silence, sharing each others air, listening to both your pulses slow, little gasps filling the space between you as you twitched around him - still buried inside.

Choso was the first to break the comfortable silence.

“I’m so sorry.” He whispered into your ear, breath prickling the hair curled with sweat at the base of your neck. “I got carried away.”

You shook your head, laughed breathlessly as you hugged the pillow below you and settled into the plush mattress, eyes fluttering closed. Your voice came muffled, softened with the threat of sleep.

“Cho’, that was the best sex of my life.”

[glystenangel]

Say You Love Me Too

Soft!Dom Choso x Afab!Reader Oneshot (Modern AU)

tags/warnings: 18+ MDNI, we gettin DOWN, best friend to lovers trope, comfort smut, choso’s a little obsessed with you, okay maybe alot obsessed, alot alot alot alot aLOT of praise, words of affirmation, scent kink if you super squint, oral sex (f receiving), nipple play, penetrative sex, raw sex, multiple orgasms, mention of a safeword but not used, one mention of cervix f*cking, one mention of drinking, aftercare and cuddles

summary: you’re venting to your best friend and he accidentally confesses to you

~4.6k words

thanks for reading and enjoy<3

_________________

“So, whats going on with you?”

You peer up at Choso over the tea he brewed from the plant riddled kitchen in his apartment, the steam obscuring his expression and thankfully your own. Although you could guess with certainty that he was searching your body language for any sign of discontent.

“Ah, nothing.” 

Feigned nonchalance lines your voice, and you take another big chug of herbal liquid before setting ceramic onto mahogany. The tabletop just below your crossed ankles sports an assortment of neatly stacked books and unused marble coasters. Choso seemed to only display them for show, citing the ringless surface of his coffee table as justification for his laziness. 

You two were catching up after you had asked Choso if you could come hang out. You hadn’t bothered waiting for him to reply, only reading that he had texted you back with a ‘yeah, door’s unlocked’ once you were standing outside.

He had dropped the chore he was doing to hug you as soon as you made it across the threshold, and you couldn’t help but close your eyes as you discreetly memorized his cologne. It’s a fresh, calming scent you could never fully place except in association with him.

Maybe you paid a little too much attention to that brief embrace, but you set aside your thoughts as you notice Choso staring at you expectantly. The fog of tea was gone, and you know that look. It had taken you years to recognize previously. Now, it is glaringly obvious as he sits across from you.

He drapes an arm over the back of the couch, “Everything alright? Is this about that guy you told me about?”

A corner of your mouth pulls down for a second, Choso could read you too easily.

“Oh, him?” You begin, and then you ultimately resign to clicking your tongue while making a slicing motion across your neck.

The space between his eyebrows furrows with concern, “What happened?”

You bite the flesh of your bottom lip, hesitating.

“Tell me.” Choso presses a large fist into his cheek, resting his elbow atop his thigh and staring at you intently.

It seems impossible for him to regard you with any sort of gaze less than piercing. In fact, Choso’s default state tends to sit in the realm of perceptiveness and placidity. It definitely came with the territory of having to watch over his little brothers for the entirety of his life thus far. He often had a hard time shutting off his protective instincts, even with his friends. Of course, that includes you.

You shrug under the intensity and partially dodge it by picking your tea back up, “He ghosted me.”

Choso reels back, offended on your behalf and tilting his head to the side with a disbelieving scoff. 

“What the fuck?”

“It's okay, it was a couple weeks ago. I’m pretty much over it, just stings a little.” You trace a finger over the rim of your beverage, glancing at him and emitting anything but confidence.

You were over your last dating attempt, but the cowardly rejection still hurt your self-confidence. It was difficult for you to accept that someone you saw potential in had neglected your feelings, and worse, for an ungiven reason. It almost makes you doubt yourself, and you hate that.

Choso makes a contemplative noise, probably reading more of your thoughts.

The idea of that forces you to straighten your posture, “I mean there’s nothing else to it. I thought we had a connection, we liked a lot of the same shit…great sex...” 

You give him a sideways glance.

Choso barely moves as you speak. The only time he does is when he blinks or swallows, the sweep of his lengthy eyelashes and dip of his Adam’s Apple punctuating his wordless reactions. The pale column of his throat stretches towards the hollow shapes of his collarbone, and you admire how they complement the strong silhouette of his shoulders. His entire frame is bulky and tall, which he claims is convenient during instances where he has to split up his younger brothers’ fights or during times when you get so plastered that he has to carry you home. The structured, milky planes of his skin are sharply contrasted by every other feature that defines the fine structure of his handsome face, all velvet, dark eyes and messily bundled strands of hair in deep shades of midnight. Even the swipe of black across his nose boldly complements the pretty set of his nose and lips. It was often a habit of Choso’s to absentmindedly tap the middle of the mark whenever he was thinking, coupled with clenching his jaw when annoyed or working hard on a task. The purpled skin underneath his lower lashes gave him a boredom marked countenance, but the gloom seemed to consistently disappear whenever he smiled.

As close as you are with him, it was sometimes hard to talk about your sex life with Choso when he always looked…like that.

Part of you has always been attracted to him, but friendship was safer. At least, that’s what you told yourself. He never said anything otherwise either, and you didn’t suspect he would.

It’s difficult to tear away from him, but you persuade your vision to analyze the cracks between the sofa cushions instead.

“Guess I missed some red flags.” You finish lamely.

Choso shakes his head, “Don’t blame yourself. That guy’s an idiot.”

You wave a hand into the air, “It’s whatever.”

“It’s not ‘whatever’.” Choso catches your eye.

You can see the broad movement of his chest tensing underneath his shirt, and the grit of his teeth in the set square of his jaw.

“I mean it’s happened before. Maybe he just had some things to work on emotionally and wasn’t ready. It’s okay.” You suggest, though you know you were being too nice with that explanation.

“It’s not. He’s an asshole.” Choso repeats, his tone even yet filled with immense reproach.

He doesn’t seem angry despite the slight scowl on his face, more frustrated. You’re not certain why though, so you decide to be blunt.

“Choso, what are you getting so worked up about?” 

Choso opts for bluntness as well, scoffing incredulously, “You don’t deserve that and you shouldn’t be making excuses for him.”

You’re a bit annoyed now, it already stung and you expected at least some consolation, not to be lectured.

“You don’t think I know that? God, you’re being an asshole.” 

His jaw clicks, and you dare him to say something with your eyes.

Choso goes quiet, settling in his seat as he lowers his sightline. 

You wonder if you were too harsh as the air in the room seems to still. Not knowing what to say, you reach out to take his hand in yours. He doesn’t look at you, but accepts your touch and delicately wraps his hand around yours. Silence descends over you both, and a shiver runs through you as Choso brushes the tops of your knuckles with his thumb.

Then, he lifts his head. His eyes are set on yours, and you know something has revealed a shadow of itself in the way he considers you. An inexplicable something.

Somehow, you know exactly what it is.

“I would have never done that to you.” Choso finally says.

As soon as the promise leaves his mouth and your eyes widen in reaction, he bows his head and touches the smooth skin of his forehead to where your hands are still woven together.

“Shit. Sorry. Don’t say anything. Please.” He intakes a breath and you blink upon hearing the tremor running through it, “Now’s not the right time for that.”

“Choso.” You let go of his hand, cradling his face instead.

He allows it, but immediately drops his gaze once you make eye contact and tries to subtly pull back from your grasp.

“No- Sorry, I just-sorry. That’s not-” He stops himself, opting to press his lips together and seal them.

Gently, you slide your hands down to the back of his neck, tucking your chin to see if you can convince him to look at you again.

“Say it.”

Hesitation, and then you feel him melting into your touch. The skin of his cheeks is cold, but when he speaks the warmth of his breathing skirts past the heels of your palms.

“I love you.” He swallows, like the admission is poisoning him, “I…want you.”

You’ve never seen Choso appear so hopeless or apologetic. 

Like it broke his heart to say it.

You don’t let the admission sink in for more than a second. You tug him forward and sense his hands startle until they automatically anchor into your waist the deeper your lips meet.

A desperate type of flavor colors the kiss, your entire body heating with unrestrained fervor as Choso’s hands move down your body and hook into your thighs. He easily hoists you up and sits you on his lap, wrapping your legs around his waist and swooning when he lets out a small moan between your lips.

Choso’s thumbs knead into the skin underneath your shirt, “Can we-”

“Yes.” You answer, and he bestows more eager kisses to your lips.

You feel him standing and you wrap your arms around his neck, swiping your tongue across his bottom lip as Choso carries you into his bedroom. Once your back hits the cool surface of his sheets, you start unbiasedly gripping fistfuls of his clothing to get it off.

“The couch would’ve been fine.” You mumble as he drags your shirt over your head.

“No.” He cages you between his arms, which are wiry and lined with veins you want to lick, “You said you hated my couch when I first moved here.”

You laugh at him remembering, and he smiles into the next kiss he gives you.

“Only the best for you.” 

“So sweet.” You kiss him back, your stomach fluttering at his genuine words.

He starts shrugging your pants off of your hips, “Something about you makes me like this.”

As soon as you’re both stripped down to your underwear, the want you hold for each other slowly takes over. You fully explore the mind hazing feeling of his tongue gliding against yours, looping your saliva together and roaming your hands over each other’s skin.

A groan leaves Choso when your fingertips stroke against the fabric tented over his hardon, his grip on you tightening and you start getting shy.

Because, well, it’s Choso.

You only ever fucked him in your head and he was pretty private about what he liked from his exes.

He seems to notice your apprehension immediately, his nose hovering by the shell of your ear, “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know what to do. With you.” You sheepishly admit.

The edge of his lip grazes your ear, “You don’t have to do anything.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure, I’ll prove it.” Choso reassures, kissing your cheek, “Just give me a safe word.”

Before you can stop yourself, you tauntingly blurt out, “Couch.”

An astounded laugh leaves him, “You suck.”

“Aw, I love you too.” You respond, smirking at the immediate effect it has on him.

He bites his bottom lip to keep from grinning, but it breaks out across his face anyway.

“Come here.” Choso leans down to capture your lips once more, mumbling sweet nothings as he trails kisses down the curves of your neck.

“Leave it to me.” He whispers, licking a spot at the base of your throat and nipping the sensitive skin there.

“I’ll make you feel good. Want to.” Choso continues, tracing your body with touches of his lips and hands so dedicated to pleasing you that you become wracked with trembles.

He tweaks your nipples with pinches of his fingers, teasing the taut peaks further with his tongue. 

“Ah, Ch-Choso.” You arch your back, clutching at one of his hands as he uses the other to push the side of your hip flat to his bed.

“Wait.” He softly instructs, continuing to squeeze and lick your tits until you’re squirming underneath him.

Rushes of adrenaline roll down your body, collecting in your thudding core and visibly leaking your excitement into the cloth covering your sex. Choso is patient and attentive, and you wonder how embarrassing it would be if you came just from him playing with your tits.

Choso breathlessly rubs his thumbs back and forth over your nipples, concentrating on the growing splotch between your legs and your whimpering lips.

“Is this turning you on? You’re getting all wet. It’s cute.” 

You try to keep a straight face, but you know that it’s not working. Hiding from Choso never worked.

He openly chuckles at the sight of you struggling, and you shiver from the low reverberation of it.

Choso coos at your obvious need, “Okay, okay. I’ll stop teasing.” 

One last kiss to the marks he left on your chest, and then he crouches down to adorn the middle of your waist with a slow path of kisses to where you want him the most.

“So wet. Fuck, I’m getting so hard.” He mutters, pressing his lips to each side of your inner thighs.

“You don’t mind right?” He pulls at the waistband of your underwear, the sizable imprint of your arousal drenching the front.

“No.” You say quickly, bucking your hips into his face, “Want it. Please.” 

He unfurls his tongue, using the pointed tip to draw a pensive line down the thin material ruined by your desperate cunt.

“I want it too.” 

Sounds of satisfaction leave him more and more as he adds to the slick staining your panties. He kisses along the hems and then finally bunches them past your ankles to unceremoniously toss them on the floor.

Choso takes in the messy view of your pussy for mere seconds, and then he’s gripping at your bare ass to languidly stroke up and down your folds with the pink of his tongue. 

As frantic and filthy as his motions are, he takes his time when his tongue starts swiping into your slick warmth. 

You think he might be talking between noisy gulps of pussy, but you honestly aren’t listening and far more focused on how his nose periodically nestles against your clit. The malleable swells of your ass are spread apart by Choso as he continuously drools and bends his tongue into your excited walls.

He seems to like how your fluids dribble along his tongue, beading into his throat and giving him mouthfuls of your cunt.

The enthusiasm he has is so endearing that you reach for his hands, wanting to reciprocate with some sort of connection. The skim of skin has him glimpsing up at you before he takes both of your hands in his.

Choso’s thumb steadily rubbing across the tense grooves of your knuckles is so different from the firm, dizzying laps of his tongue, but you adore them both. 

Once he’s collected enough of your precum on the flat of his tongue, he starts making long licks up the seams of your pussy that end with aggressively circling his tongue around the swollen flesh of your clit. Sucking at your clit, he devours every creamy drop of lust from your pussy so fast and well that you can hardly tell if he’s breathing anymore.

You possess a similar struggle, your vision turning to static and your breath continuously getting caught in your chest from how good he’s eating you up. 

He’s moaning unbiasedly into you, like you’re the best thing he’s ever tasted. Like every squishy piece of your cunt is saturated with pure sugar and sex.

Choso then lets go of one of your hands, reaching his fingertips over your thigh and then placing the tips on your soaked nub. He rubs it back and forth, pressing the pads down in a bliss inducing pattern as he keeps fucking open your cunt with his tongue.

You feel every tastebud on his tongue twisting against your walls as far as he can reach, the hum of his lips buzzing electricity throughout your core.

It’s so good that you don’t even realize how many times you’ve already cummed into his mouth. All you can do is flinch and surrender under his keen administrations.

Wanton cries part your lips, and although your vision is blurry you manage to see Choso giving your wetness one last lick before he rises to kneel in front of you.

He keeps giving your clit loving attention, forcing your hips into a taut curve as he tucks his thighs beneath yours and lines himself up to your pulsing sex.

You peek over your quivering breasts to see the defined shape of his dick, the hardness twitching and grooved with aching veins. He’s as big as you expected, and just seeing his girthy cock is already making your stomach ache and twist. The head is swollen thick with a slit sheened in precum, a glob of it slithering over the sides and forming a dewy drop next to the coarse nest of hair over his balls. He holds the base while looking into your eyes, and the thickness twitches in his hand.

“Say the safe word if you need it, okay?”

Choso makes sure you’re watching him, and at your faint nod, he starts pushing in.

He doesn’t stop mashing your clit back and forth with the stickied pads of his fingers, slowly stuffing you with his cock and bringing your hips together.

“W-wait. Choso-I’m about to-!”

You’re cumming again as he puts his dick in, sliding in so effortlessly it’s like he was always meant to be there.

“Oh, fuck!” You let out a whine as you begin recklessly fucking into each other, each synced push of your hips leaving you both gasping.

“Your cum feels so good on my dick.” Choso groans, the whites of his eyes showing as he reels his hips back.

“Want more of it. Gonna keep making you cum.” He pants, pumping faster and prodding at your cervix.

He hits an eye crossing spot in the ceiling of your pussy, and that’s when your whole body seizes again.

“Stay there. S-Stay, please please please, Choso.” You nearly black out between begs, but Choso doesn’t have to hear it more than once.

“I got you, here. Here.” He grunts, clasping your hands in his again to hit that spot within you until you’re screaming.

Choso stops to look at you every now and then, tenderly scanning your face to make sure you feel nothing but pleasure.

“Oh my god!” Your nails indent crescents into the backs of his hands and he slots his tongue into your mouth in time to hush your next delight filled mewl.

“Shit, I’m gonna cum.” You can feel every stutter of his hips, and his pupils are completely blown out as he urgently searches your eyes, “Wanna cum with me?”

“Mm,” You taste the salt of your tears pooling in the corners of your mouth, “Please, Choso. Now, please.”

Instead of answering, he kisses you, forcing you to only hear the sounds of his tongue in your mouth and the squish of your pussy as its molded into the shape of his dick. It pummels into your walls until you can’t deny each other any longer.

“I’m cumming- Ah- Choso-” You weakly confess, Choso’s ropy gushes of cum following the spurts of heady fluid from your overwhelmed pussy.

“Good girl.” He says, observing you through a half lidded squint and the cloudy lens of his own uncontrollable shudders, “Good girl. Good girl. Showing me how good you feel? Thank you.”

Wispy whines prelude Choso pulling out, and he soothes his hands over the ravaged areas of your body as you do your best to hold onto his neck and stop shaking.

“Hey, it’s okay.” He murmurs into your hair, delicately kissing a spot on your jawline, “You were so good for me. Perfect.”

He lays you onto the bed, cupping your chin and dotting your face with more kisses.

“I’m gonna clean you up, ‘kay?”

You make a tiny sound of agreement, and Choso rests a hand along your body as he makes his way off of the bed, only separating at the last possible moment.

He returns quickly, wiping you off with a warm, wet cloth and then taking you back in his arms while covering you with his fluffy comforter.

“Sorry I had to go.” Choso settles you on his chest, enveloping his hands behind your lower back.

“It’s okay, thank you.” You kiss the base of his neck, sighing into his skin.

“I really like you.” He says, and you poke fun at the sudden, timid proclamation. 

“I know,” You gesture to the marks he spotted all over your body, and at one you bit on the side of his throat, “I really like you too.”

“Yeah? Got a little crush?” He muses, preening at your proximity.

“Huge one.” You shift closer.

“That’s funny, me too.”

“Embarrassing.” You tease, moving your gaze to his cupid’s bow.

Choso lets out a long exhale, “I know. Can’t help it though.” 

You give him a happy peck on the lips, and he cradles the back of your head as he sweetly returns it.

A pout accompanies the wave of exhaustion that floods you when you pull away from Choso, “I want to keep talking to you, but I’m so sleepy.”

“We can talk for a little longer. Whatever you like, as long as I can keep holding you.” Choso bargains, and the offer makes your heart melt.

“Sounds fair to me.” You beam, and he kisses your forehead.

“My heart’s still beating like crazy.” He admits, skating his fingers around your face.

“Mine too.”

Choso’s fingertips fall to your lips, cascading along your chin and neck before settling between your shoulder blades. A thoughtful hum leaves him as he lightly rakes his fingers across the space of skin, studying the places he bruised on your neck.

He briefly presses his lips together, “Okay, I’m going to calm down.” 

Even as he says so, his breathing hitches when you wink at him.

“Okay, you do that.”

He inhales, and a beat of silence occupies the space between you too.

“God,” Choso cranes his neck to inch closer, “You smell so good.”

“Choso.” You admonish playfully, propping yourself up to create some distance.

“Okay, okay. I’m sleeping.”

He settles into the sheets, loosening his grip on you and pretending to close his eyes. You almost believe him, but your instinct doesn’t at all.

Handfuls of seconds tick by, and then he peeks his eyes open, an enamored smile cinching his mouth upwards.

“Hi.” You give him a cheeky wave with a couple of fingers.

“Hi.”

In an instant, he showers you with kisses, smushing your cheeks with a hand and making your heart swell.

“Okay. Now-” Another couple of sleepy kisses are paired with a content sound that you echo.

“I’m done.” He lets go of your face, sinking back against his pillow and genuine sleepiness now overtaking his voice.

“Goodnight.”

You snuggle into the nape of his neck, worn out from your shared affections, “Goodnight, Choso.”

_________________

The sun drapes its silken rays through Choso’s windows the next morning, muted orange urging you to wake.

A relaxing, undulating motion lulls you out of your slumber. You haven’t moved at all from your position on Choso’s chest, the solid muscle of his stature supporting your aching figure. The natural inclination to raise your head and check if Choso is awake becomes interrupted by the sensation of him tenderly stroking your hair.

And, he’s talking quietly.

“So beautiful, even asleep.” He tries to stifle a good natured laugh, but you still feel it a little between your hearts.

“I don’t think you even know how precious you are to me…how highly I think of you. I can talk to you about anything.”

“You’re gorgeous too. Drives me crazy.” He curls a strand of hair around your ear and repeats it more softly.

“...Gorgeous.”

Like it’s your name.

“I don’t think I’ve said all of this to you yet. At least when you’re awake. If you ever woke up during one of our camping trips or after party sleepovers I would probably die of embarrassment.”

He makes a thinking sound, and it ripples through you. You’re speechless.

“You know it’s kind of stupid, I always imagine talking to you. What you would say, how you might react to some good news I have. You exceed my expectations every time though. It’s pretty close to pathetic-”

Choso scoffs and it’s tinged with shame, “I hang on every word you say.”

The confession has you starstruck, you had been so clueless.

“I don’t even remember when I started falling for you, maybe a few months after we met? When I finally asked myself why I hated every guy you dated? Or, maybe after you met my brothers for the first time, and they told me I looked at you like you put the stars in the sky. I don’t think I realized it even then. Didn’t wanna freak you out, I didn’t want you to think I only wanted to be your friend to get in your pants. I’d fucking hate myself if you ever thought that.”

Deep exhales wash over you, “I hope I don’t fuck this up, for as long as you’ll have me.”

The dark haired man gives the top of your head a kiss, and then lets out another sigh.

“You’re my best friend. I love you. Every time I think about love, I think about you.”

He contemplatively plays with your hair, using another hand to draw random shapes into your back.

“I always, always think about you.”

The well of emotion in your heart nearly spills over, you don’t think anyone has ever told you anything close to the casual details Choso shares about his thoughts on you.

You try to keep your tears in, but Choso continues with a small snicker, “I’m getting ahead of myself…but that’s how I feel. I hope you wake up soon, I miss you.”

There’s a pause, and you finally can’t take it anymore, tears fall from your eyes at the doting words you unintendedly overheard.

“What’s going on? Hey, wake up.” Choso is immediately concerned, holding you close and tucking your hair away from your face.

“Nothing, I just - I’m really happy to wake up next to you. And I’m sorry I didn’t tell you how I felt sooner.”

“That’s alright. You’re worth the wait.”

Choso never seems to run short of patience or kindness for you.

He wipes at your tears, “What are we going to do today?”

You cease your sniffling, pacified by his considerate assurances, “Um, I don’t know. It’s the weekend, we could get breakfast and then watch that movie we had been meaning to last night?”

“That sounds good.” Choso kisses your cheek.

You yawn after stretching your arms out, “Oh, do you have popcorn? I really want some.” 

“Some what?” Choso mumbles, caressing your sides.

“Are you even listening to me?” You jokingly narrow your eyes.

“Of course, hang on every word you say.” Choso lifts his chin, smirking.

You bring yourself nearer, nose to nose, “Oh, so you can compliment me when I’m awake too?”

He pales in epiphany, “That’s-”

You use a kiss to muffle his protest, “I was hanging on every word too. Believe me.”

Choso softens completely, a myriad of stars speckled in his eyes as he stares up at you. You drink in his utterly captivated face, the effort of last night dewing his features and blooming on his musculature. 

You know exactly what he’s thinking, and he confirms it when he speaks again.

“I love you.”

“I love you too, Choso.”

_________________

End Notes:

i feel like choso likes plants bc he likes taking care of people/things🌱✨

comments and messages on this are appreciated if you'd like to leave one <3

[mrsblaileen]

Choso shows you his new piercings

warnings. fem!reader x choso, soft sub!choso with nipple piercings, nipple play, dryhumping, coming (kinda) untouched, mild pain play, piercings, fluffy smut. nsfw 18+ mdni.

✎ Words: 2.8k | Ao3 | Masterlist

━━━━━━━━━━━━━ ୨୧ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Choso had never been one to show particular interest in his physical form. Sure, he liked keeping himself groomed and dressed well, but ultimately his body was a vessel, a tool. He treated his naked self with a distinct air of aloofness - like it was neither something to show off, nor something to be ashamed of.

That wasn’t to say that he didn’t take sufficient care of it - he supplied it with apt nutrients, sunlight and physical activity. But to him it wasn’t something to pamper or fuss over. It simply was. 

That was one of the reasons you’d found his recent behavior so odd. For lack of a better term there was a sudden shrewdness about him. He was insistent on wearing a shirt 24/7. Covered head to toe in bed, or lounging around the house. As far as you could recall for the past few weeks he’d quietly don multiple layers - even on a blazing summer day, or on a trip to the beach.

You’d originally been willing to let this shift go unquestioned, who were you to nitpick the decisions someone else made with their own body? That was until tonight. When you’d watched the bathroom door swing open after a grueling day of work, the idea of cuddling up to your boyfriend’s bare chest the sole gleaming light at the end of the dark tunnel. Your smile had faltered a little when he emerged from the bathroom in a cloud of steam, freshly washed and smelling softly of clean mint and bergamot. And it had dropped entirely from your face when the image of the faded band shirt tugged over his chest filtered through the soft tufts of heat.

When he finally plopped down onto the mattress beside you, fingers lacing through the loose strands of hair at the nape of his neck that had curled, wet with droplets of water - you just couldn’t help yourself but to say something.

“Cho’, baby.” You greeted, voice a little tight as you turned to face him with a crinkled brow. “What’s with the shirt?”

He blinked over at you with wide eyes, looking like a doe eyed calf caught in the beam of a flashlight as his head tilted down to his t-shirt. He gazed for a long while, scrutinizing the worn fabric, thick brows furrowed softly in confusion.

“What’s wrong with it?” He questioned, pinching the shirt with his thumb and forefinger before he lifted it to his nose, where he inhaled, nose crinkling quizzically. “It’s clean, does it smell bad or something? I can change it if you want.”

Before the sentence left his mouth he was lifting himself from the bed, eyes already cast toward the dresser in search of another shirt. 

The corners of your lips curled slightly and you shook your head, chuckling in a soft exasperated sound as you lifted a hand to settle him. He paused when he felt your fingers grasp the hem of his shirt lightly, settling back into the mattress.

“No, I mean why are you so covered up all of a sudden?” You continued, tilting your head to study his expression. “You’re usually shirtless after a shower -  at least until you dry off properly - but for the last few weeks you’ve been leaving the bathroom fully clothed.”

His head turned to look at you, the barest beginnings of rosy pink blushing the high points of his cheekbones.

“You noticed that?” He questioned, a little surprise tinging the edge of his voice.

“Course I did.” You replied, frankly a little insulted. “And not to sound like a perv, but I miss seeing you Cho’. All of you.”

The air was silent for a few dragging moments once the words left your lips. You could all but see his mind racing behind those dark eyes as he chewed at his lower lip so frantically you thought he might actually break skin.

“I… uh…” He swallowed thickly, and suddenly you felt a tiny prickle of nervousness flare at the back of your neck, a little unsettled by his hesitance.

“Well, I got something…” He continued, voice trailing off as his fingers toyed at the hem of his shirt, where the stitching was frayed with age. “For you…” 

You tilted your head in confusion, eyes roaming subtly around the room for where he might be hiding a box or envelope of some kind. If anything this reveal confused you further. Choso was never one to be particularly good at hiding his feelings, or intentions for that matter - let alone a gift. In fact he was usually so excited about presenting you with it that he would forgo the event entirely and just shove it into your grasp the moment he saw you, all but shaking with excitement, those big brown eyes locked on your face, holding his breath as he watched for your reaction.

“For me?” You questioned. “What do you mean?”

He exhaled a shaky breath, fingers pinched tight around the hem of his shirt in a position that looked decidedly uncomfortable.

“Easier to just show you.” He murmured, eyes diverted to the pattern of the bed sheets beside you.

You opened your mouth to interrogate further, but your jaw clamped shut tight as a clam when you watched him begin to lift his arms, peeling the tattered band tee upward in an action that was undeniably sensual despite the situation. You watched the slow reveal of his body - the dark trail of hair winding from below the waistband of his sweatpants, the soft expanse of relaxed abs, winding up and up until finally you saw what it was that he had been hiding from you all of these long weeks.

Little titanium balls lay embedded on either side of his blushed nipples, each bud flanked by dazzling metal, glittering in the dim light. 

Choso was a sight for sore eyes as he stood before you. Thick forearms crossed over his chest like a bashful virgin, winding veins running like vines over the flexed muscle. His dark eyes were down turned, blinking slowly, avoiding your gaze, blushing wildly as if he were a puppy caught with something he shouldn’t have. 

You leaned in close before you could think better of it, peering intently at his chest.

“They’re all healed, how long have you been hiding this?” You wondered aloud, lips parted as you counted under your breath - doing the mental math for when you had first noticed this little shift in behavior.

“A while,” Came his guilty response. “…Wanted to surprise you.” He continued quietly. The word ‘sweet’ came inexplicably to mind, and you felt your chest tighten. 

You found that when you went to speak your mouth was dry, and you swallowed roughly, licking your lips before you opened them again to reply.

“Looks so good Cho', I love them.” You praised, sounding a little breathless despite yourself, eyes still locked on the glistening beads embedded in his skin. “Can I touch?”

Tugging your eyes up and away from the tantalizing sight, you finally met his gaze. 

“Pleeeease?” You mouthed, voice low and unashamedly sultry, rumbled in that particular way you knew turned him to mush. 

He nodded without giving himself time to think, plump lower lip tugged between his teeth - trembling in what you were sure was equal parts nerve and excitement as he tugged the shirt the rest of the way over his head and tossed it aside.

You lifted yourself to your knees, digging into the mattress as you inched forward until you were close enough that you could reach out and touch him. When your fingers hit his waist, he hissed as if you’d burned him. You could see him swaying in place, and you found yourself suddenly worried his knees might actually give out beneath him.

“Wanna lay down?” You giggled, blinking up at him, eyes crinkled in gentle amusement.

He exhaled a relieved sound when he met your gaze, smiling softly in a way that made your pulse quicken.

“Yeah.” He replied in a half chuckle, half breath, and you found yourself smiling along with him, shuffling backward on your knees until he had enough space to slip down onto the mattress beside you.

With a sly grin you crawled your way across the bed, and he watched you stalk toward him with soft eyes, hands planted into the soft duvet until you were sat atop him - one knee tossed either side of his waist, settled square over his hips.

You gazed down at him for a slow moment, eyes roaming over the dark hair splayed over the pillow, framing his head like a shadowy halo. The way his cheeks were still kissed pink, knowing if you pressed a thumb to them you’d feel his skin burning hot beneath.

“Ready?” You questioned gently, and he nodded wildly in reply.

“Ready.”

Without further words, you slipped both hands up either side of his waist, trailing in a mirrored motion, feeling the ripple of muscle beneath your palms before your finger traced the shape of his pecs. Your thumbs teasing the inch of milky skin around his nipples until they pebbled under the attention.

You could feel his pulse racing beneath your hands, thumping frantically like the tapping foot of a nervous bunny. You craned your head, pressed a slow, soft kiss to the center of his chest, right over his heart, and then peered up at him through your lashes, fixing him with a soft smile.

“Gonna be good for me, right?” You mused, lips brushing his fevered skin, still warm from the shower.

“Yeah. Good for you. Always.” He echoed, and you felt his pulse slow an inch beneath your palms.

You lifted your thumbs from his chest, bringing them back down over his nipples in the barest brush, like the sweep of a feather, but he jolted in place nonetheless as if you’d slapped him.

“Hah-…” He breathed softly - a surprisingly weak noise beneath you, jaw slack as he watched your thumbs tease slowly over his nipples. 

“Shhh.” You soothed, waiting a few moments before you touched your thumbs to skin once again, pressing down this time - just hard enough that you could feel the metal bar bite against the pads of your fingers. He groaned, and you began to rub in slow delicate heart shapes, feeling the smooth balls rolling beneath.

Choso made a sweet, keening sound, his chest lifting instinctively into your touch as he sucked in a shaky breath.

“I know, I know. Shh.” You cooed sweetly, though the searing rub of your thumbs didn’t falter, didn’t slow an inch. “They’re just so sensitive now, huh baby?”

He nodded, the motion delayed, lax, as if his head were just too heavy to keep upright. He looked wrecked already - lips bitten plump and glistening, eyes half lidded and blown dark where he was watching your thumbs trace dizzying circles around the sparkling silver.

You could feel him getting worked up beneath you - thick length hard where it was pressing up against your ass through his sweats, probably weeping a dark little sticky patch into the fabric.

“Look at you, so pretty. Did this all for me, huh?” You praised, and switched your motion. Interrupting the steady circles to instead pinch gently, tracing your nail over the buds and pressing indents of little crescent moons into the pretty pink.

“Does that feel good?” You asked, voice a low purr rumbled into his ear. When you heard him swallow hard, you pressed your lips to his throat just to feel the motion against your tongue.

“So good.” He managed a choked gasp as you began to pepper the expanse of his throat with kisses, interrupting the gentle rhythmic press of your lips with teasing kitten licks. 

You worked your way downward - over his bobbing Adams apple, the curve of his bare collarbones, until your lips halted just above his pecs - breath ghosting cool and teasing over the pebbled nubs.

“Can I?” You all but whispered, mouth curling into a smile when you felt him shiver below. His skin turned to a plain of goosebumps beneath your touch.

“Please.” Choso breathed in reply, not even trying to hide the desperation edging his voice.

You licked then, a single delicate stroke over the bud of his nipple that had him sucking a sharp breath through his nostrils. You let him adjust for a few moments before you pressed your lips flat and suckled, rolling your tongue, the metallic taste of titanium and him sharp and sweet on your taste buds.

“Oh god-.” He choked when he felt your teeth close around the nub lightly, teasingly. Nibbling around the metal in a gentle little love bite - feeling the thin bar threaded there before your tongue laved soothingly over the site again.

You could hear him grasping desperately at the sheets either side of you, fingers gripping the duvet so tight you’re sure his knuckles were turning white with the effort. Purple veins dark and swirling beneath the translucent sheen of his skin.

You felt his hips buck where they were trapped between the press of your thighs. And you simply rocked back in response, pressing your weight against him as you felt the metal balls clink dully against your teeth. You steadied yourself, rolling your hips in a tight, slow grind in time with the swirl of your tongue, humping until his eyes rolled back in his skull and he let out a noise that sounded shockingly close to a sob. 

Lifting your head, you pressed a dull little kiss to his twitching pecs, admiring the way your spit glistened in a slick sheen over his nipple - bitten red and swollen beneath your attention.

“Gonna come just from this, huh baby?” You purred against his dewy skin, panting a little yourself with the grinding friction of your hips. Your lips brushed his chest, cool breath turning the slick sheen to ice. “Just from having your pretty nipples played with?”

He nodded frantically, chocolate brown strands flailing wildly, wet now with fresh sweat rather than soapy water. He was panting beneath you - his whole chest and belly flushed pink. Over sensitive with the sheer number of sensations. Your hair tickling at his skin, the hot press of your mouth. The sharp pinch of your fingers, and the soothing lave of your tongue.

“God… ohgod… please-hhhn…please don’t stop-…” He whined, words coming out a frantic string of babbled sounds as he bucked into you. Back arched into a sinful curve, pushing his chest up into your touch, chasing the delicious friction of your mouth.

You lifted your head, capturing both swollen nipples between your fingers, rolling them between your thumb and forefinger for a moment before you craned your head back down and ran your tongue in a slow circle around one while you flicked at the other.

His chest was slick with spit, and peppered with darkened marks where you had sucked him into your mouth. Covered in sweet little hickeys alongside stray indents from your wayward teeth. 

With a rumbled hum, you released him and sat up, licking your lips and pushing back against his trembling thighs. He blinked up at you slowly, eyes narrowed and faraway like he was fighting every sensation in his exhausted body to hold your gaze, head nodding in time with the rock of your hips.

“You close, sweetheart?” You asked, tilting your head as you peered down at him.

He nodded, eyes finally rolling back and fluttering closed. His jaw was slack, lips parted as he panted out desperate little sounds. You watched the twitch of his lashes where they were fanned delicately over his cheekbones. Then you closed your fingers around either pretty rose bud and pinched, hard.

He made a low, strangled sound beneath you, before you felt him begin to tremble. He jolted against the blinding sizzle of pain - hips bucking up in stuttered, humping thrusts, the motion jagged and desperate. 

“C-uh-…cumming… Oh, please!…”

You could feel the throbbing kick of his cock tight against the underside of your thighs, and you rocked back just to hear the sweet broken sob that escaped his throat at the friction.

You shushed him, pressed soft kisses to his cheeks - wet with tears - and murmured sweet words into his ear as you worked him through it. Thumbs brushing soft as silk over his abused nipples, hips rolling in wide, slow circles until he finally collapsed beneath you.

You both lay there for a few quiet moments in the afterglow. Him splayed loosely over the duvet, you curled atop his bare chest. Your ear pressed to his collarbones, listening to his pulse slow to an easy thrum, finger still tracing childish little patterns over his skin.

When you finally tilted your head up, you found that he was watching you in return. Peering down at you from beneath dark lashes, still dotted with tears that glittered in the lamp light like little diamonds.

“I got another one too.” He murmured sheepishly, voice a little rough from overuse, and you raised an angled brow at him.

“It’s a little… uh… lower.” He continued, clearing his throat. “Want to see?”

[revolvingsaturn]

𝜗𝜚 feeling Choso’s pretty piercings!

content: pathetic Choso, tongue + lip piercings, fingers in mouths, mention of crying, oral fixations

a/n: this can be read as a standalone, or as a section of this miniseries! + more like this

ೃ࿔*:･

“Choso…” you hum, “does that feel good?”

“Mmfph.” Comes his muffled response, words cloudy, cloying and hidden as he hums muddled and needy syllables around your thumb. Skin dampens in his warm mouth, metal sparking sensations along the tantalisingly sensitive tissue surrounding the silver hoops decorating Choso's pouted lower lip as it juts out willingly for your touch.

You rove the pad over the cool metal sphere of his tongue piercing, feeling the way the ball warms. Plush lips cushion your skin, a thin, tricking sparkle of drooling spit coating your hand.

He’s so, so turned on.

It's almost embarrassingly evident in the needy strain of his desperate cock against the boxers he's donning, bead of pre dampening the fabric with smears of translucence. But Choso isn't embarrassed, not at all- how could he be?

“You’re so pretty, you know?” You coo quietly, absentmindedly, your thumb dragging slowly over matching, silvery snake bites. They puncture his lip, curving delicately around the skin.

His mouth is so lovely. Even like this, when he’s not even talking- can’t talk- just hanging slightly parted for you, lips open for the lewd, barely-there whispered kiss of your fingers against them.

“Yeah, you areeeee…” you continue, face hovering near his mellifluously, “letting me do this, letting me hold onto your piercings like this while you go all stupid f’me…”

He whimpers, the vibrations catches on your skin and makes your fingernails dig into the soft skin on the side of his face you’re using for support. “S’that good?”

He nods vehemently, head lolling as he grins around your thumb. “I haven’t even touched your cock, Cho.” You murmur, “just your mouth. And you’re this hard?”

Choso’s hand snakes to your upper thigh, under the soft oversized fabric of his shirt you borrowed, and the whine that tears from his throat at the realisation you aren’t wearing panties vibrates out around your prodding thumb.

"Yeah, thought you might like that..." you smile, lips brushing the shell of his ear, "since you stole them all." It's all hyperbole, of course- only one pair (or two) has made their way from your wardrobe to his house, but it gives you an excuse to keep your fingers in his mouth.

His hand twitches, fingers slipping down to slick themselves up with the glossy sheen coating your cunt. A cool silver ring catches your clit, and you reel unexpectedly- the sudden jolt shoves your thumb deeper into Choso's mouth, and he sucks eagerly.

You hiss in a sharp inhale, hand inside his mouth twitching across his snake bites again as he captures your thumb in his teeth and bites down; not hard enough to draw blood, but hard enough to leave a mark while you cradle his face.

Dark eyes half lidded, he’s peering up at your warm face with blown pupils. His hand- the one that isn’t thumbing around your slick cunt- comes up to circle your wrist.

“Cho…” you breathe, thumbing back and forth over the cool sphere pierced through the pink of his clever tongue. His grip tightens on your wrist.

Choso doesn’t pull you away; he’s just holding onto you, feeling the way the muscles in your wrist flex with every touch into and outside of his mouth; between his teeth and dragging over his sparkly lips, smearing beads of his own lacquering, debauched spit across the skin.

He moans, and you shudder. “I can’t believe you’re so into this. Should’ve been doing this for a while, huh?”

Your boyfriend’s eyes flutter shut, his face dropping forwards just enough to keep your thumb locked inside his mouth. The hand circling your wrist flexes once, and then moves up to your other fingers- then, he’s manipulating the digits himself.

But it's not to stop you, not really- he isn't snapping and pinning your wrists to the mattress, or nervously guiding them towards his throbbing cock. Your thumb is pushed out of his soft mouth, hanging uselessly at his chin. He’s moving his hands languidly, as if in a dream, his eyes almost closed.

“What’re you d- oh. Oh.” You stare at him. Choso looks pathetic- hair loosened abstractly from the two buns, fringe framing his cheekbones and the dark slash across the bridge of his nose. And, to top it all off, as you drag your gaze from his teary, begging eyes-

Two fingers.

Two of your fingers- inside his mouth. Feeling his piercings from a different angle, feeling the way the ridge of the little metal sphere bumps into the dip between your two fingers, feeling the way his hips jerk into the small space between your bodies, desperately searching for friction.

“Baby…” Choso groans. His hair is even more loose, aching for you to careen a hand through, or scratch at his scalp, or tug- and he just barely manages to force out three little words around your fingers that have you twitching.

“You next, please?”

ೃ࿔*:･

masterlist

a/n: comments appreciated!! This has been in my drafts since December </3

tags (open):

@esavyrse @f33bs @loverofladybugs @p3stop3sta @arabellasolstice @dreamcastgirl99 @starsandni7 @sharkiethrts @what-the-jams @likstars @elenathriel @gyusheadphones

[simplychoso]

*.ೃ༄ shy boyfriend! choso kamo x reader, fluff, timestamp

—2:45pm

today was one of the rare days you got off of work early and choso came to pick you up since he wasn't on a mission. he texted you earlier in the day, saying he had a surprise for you after work and you've been curious throughout your entire shift as to what it was.

"can you please tell me now?" you asked, as he kept his eyes on the road. you can tell he was nervous because his cheeks flushed red, and he's barely spoken to you since he picked you up. which is unusual because most of the time he'll fill your car rides with stories about his little brothers.

"it's called a surprise for a reason babe and besides we're almost there anyways" he mumbles and you drop it because you know how he gets shy and a little stressed out when it comes through planning things for you. he doesn't care for surprises usually but once he found out you loved them, he makes an effort at least once a month to surprise you with a date of his planning.

"OH MY GOD?! ARE YOU FINALLY GONNA TRY TO ICE SKATE WITH ME?" you squeal from the passenger side as he pulls into the parking lot for your local skating rink.

"uh... yeah, I rented it out, I thought since you've been asking me for a while now, it's something you'd want to do together" he says, turning off the car and in his seat to look at you.

"you know, you always act so nonchalant about these things, but i've only mentioned it once and you planned a whole afternoon around it," you say to him, full of nothing but love and gratitude for the man in front of you. choso blushes at your comment and gives you a soft smile before pulling you in to give you a forehead kiss, "let's go then" he says quickly, before getting out of the car and running over to your side so he can open your door.

"are these things usually this uncomfortable?" choso asked, stumbling towards the rink in his skates, laughing at his awkwardness.

“it’s not that bad babe, just don’t let go of my hand, okay?” you say, holding both his hands and helping him into the ice.

choso let out a small yelp, his foot slipping the second he stepped onto the ice. his hands holding yours tightly as you guided him to the middle of the ice.

"you gotta bend your knees a bit, cho" you explained, waiting for him to do so.

"how are you making it look so easy?" choso said, his eyebrows furrowed in concentration.

"hey, hey, look at me" you said, stopping in the middle of the ice, as he looked at you, "it's okay, take a deep breath" you say, realizing he was getting more anxious than you thought.

"I just don't want to mess this date up" he said, his eyes glossing over slightly. that was one of the things you loved about him, how sensitive he was, he never hid his emotions from you either. skating closer to him, he pull you into a hug.

"you could never mess it up cho. im already having a great time just being with you, it's just fun okay? don't overthink it," you reassure him, he tries to lean down to give you a forehead kiss, but ends up taking a step and slipping on the ice, bringing you both down onto the ice.

"fuck, it's cold" he says, a smirk pulling his lips, "are you okay?" he asks, trying to hold in his laughter. you looked at him, a snort escaping you, seeing his face flushed red, and him trying not to laugh. choso and you both burst into laughter, as you both attempt to stand up again.

© 𝐬𝐢𝐦𝐩𝐥𝐲𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐨 ; minors do not interact. all rights reserved. i do not allow translations, plagiarism, or reuploading.

[chosayi]

plug!choso who you only hear about because your friend swears up and down that he is the most reliable dealer in the area.

plug!choso who your friend texts first instead of giving you his number right away because apparently he does not just deal with anyone.

plug!choso who shows up exactly on time the first time you see him, and is surprised that a pretty girl like you were buying from him.

plug!choso who barely talks at first, just asks what you need in a calm low voice.

plug!choso who notices you’re not reckless or loud like some of the other people he meets.

plug!choso who hands you his number after that first link and says to text him directly next time. your friend just raises their brows like oh!

plug!choso who starts responding to you faster than he responds to anyone else even though he tells himself it doesn’t mean anything.

plug!choso who later on asks for your instagram just to stay in contact with you more (as if your number wasn’t enough) and lowkey stalks your highlights whenever he’s high or horny and you’re not there.

plug!choso who believes that you’re his favorite customer and reassures you that you don’t have to pay anymore.

plug!choso who stays a little longer whenever he drops your stuff off instead of leaving right away and when he does he leaves you with extra weed and goodie bags filled with candy and chips.

plug!choso who realizes that his feelings for you may be stronger that the drugs he sells/takes.

plug!choso who finally stops contemplating with his foggy brain and asks if he can smoke with you at your place and feels genuine happiness for the first time in a while when you say yes.

plug!choso who has a foreign feeling of nervousness when he’s at the front of your door because he realizes that this isn’t one of his regular drop offs and is more so the two of you hanging out.

plug!choso who feels his throat get stuck and his dick swell in his pants when you open the door in a black & white polka dot shorts and cami set that defines your body better than ever, your nipples prodding slightly through the thin fabric.

plug!choso who listens to you talk about your day so sweetly and insists on helping you roll the blunt because he is afraid your manicured nails will poke a hole in the paper and brings water to your mouth whenever you cough a little too hard.

plug!choso who gets warmer and more touchy with you three blunts later, his hand rubbing along your thigh when you inhale and exhale.

plug!choso who leaves you dizzy when he gently grabs your chin and blows smoke into your mouth, his lips so close to yours you can still smell the mint underneath everything and before you can stop yourself you lean in and kiss him.

plug!choso who ends up between your thighs after the kiss that escalated into a messy makeout session. tongue pressing flat against your throbbing clit.

“chooo!” you moaned, pedicured toes curling as he continued to eat you off the bone. his groans vibrated through your core, and nasty obnoxious slurps filled the room.

“y’ taste so good. s’ sweet.” he was high out of his mind. giving you sticky kisses on your clit, and tests the waters by slipping one finger in… then another. wrapping his lips around the bundle of nerves and sucks really hard. trying his best to make you cream on his tongue and he doesn’t fail.

plug!choso who makes the sexiest face when his tip pushes into your walls. jaw dropping, brows turning up, eyes extremely low.

plug!choso who becomes the most talkative during sex. “i’ve been trying to fuck you for so long,” he said, plunging his dick in and out of you. “this feels good, yeah? talk to me, baby. please.”

plug!choso who becomes the first man to ever make you squirt.

plug!choso who’s a complete whimpering mess when he’s close. he cums so good. so hard to the point where he almost blacked out and collapsed right on top of you. his head falling right between your boobs, and you lazily rub his face, giving him kisses on his sweaty temple until he softens inside of you. he was in heaven.

plug!choso who you cannot get enough of after your smoke sesh so you call him to come over but not for weed this time.

plug!choso who goes from being your favorite eater to your sweet boyfriend and sometimes takes you on his trips despite protesting for you to stay home because he does not want you involved in his work.

@chosayi 2026 (my debut post… hiii :3)

[amourkisses]

ᢉ𐭩 "GEEKED UP LOOKING FOR AN EATER"

a/n: first post kinda nervy

plug!choso who immediately deemed you as his "favorite" customer the second he saw your highlights after you hit him up on instagram for a 3.5.

plug!choso who began to make excuses to just to talk to you and who actually turns out to be super sweet and easy to get along with despite his appearance.

plug!choso who treats you way better than any of his other customers. always ending up giving you free stuff whether it's snacks or extra weed and whenever you question him about it, he just shrugs it off.

plug!choso who finally gathered up the courage to ask you to smoke with him, which you gladly accepted.

now here you were, sitting next to him hot boxing his car.

his playlist played on low volume in the back as the conversation flowed between you two. you both passed the blunt back and forth until you both we're equally fried. the more you both smoked, the more the mood shifted between you two.

"ma, can i try something?"

you raised an eyebrow at him but nodded anyway.

"c'mere." he spoke

you leaned in and just watched him. with one hand he softly grabbed your chin and pulled you closer. and with his other hand he took a long hit and blew it into your mouth.

he pulled away and gave you a lazy once over.

that shit he just pulled had you dazed as fuck. and without even thinking you pulled him back into a messy kiss. . . which turned into both of you in the backseat with him in between your legs.

"been thinking about this for so long." he muttered as he peppered kisses all over your inner thighs, dragging down your panties that were already slick with arousal.

"look at that, so wet f'me." he says before his tongue ring dragged over your already sopping cunt, making you shiver.

"fuck, cho." you moaned out as your hands found their way into his dark locks, tugging whenever it felt a little too good.

he took that as a sign to continue what he was doing, your arousal dripping down his chin as he lapped at your pussy, grabbing your thighs to pull you closer and nuzzle his nose against your clit.

you let out an embarrassingly needy noise as your thighs tightened against his head.

at this point, the blunt was long forgotten. "wanna do this forever, taste so good, shit." his voice sent vibrations throughout your whole body. "can't believe i've been missing out on this the whole time."

tears pricked at the corners of your eyes and soon enough you came all over his mouth. tears running down your cheeks. as you loosened your grip on his hair and looked down at him.

he met your gaze and gave you a lazy smile, pressing a kiss on your sensitive clit.

plug!choso was now crossfaded, overly high and pussy drunk.

[arinavah]

haircut

[space-princess-genesis]

beautiful boy

[cinnavanillaa]

Y/N thinks Choso invited her to his room for a hookup… but all he wants is to hang out with her alone.

The house is loud before I even step inside. Bass thuds through the walls, lights are low and warm, and the air smells like perfume, alcohol, and bad decisions. My friends are exactly where I expect them, hovering near the kitchen, guarding the drinks like they’re treasure.

Then I see him. He’s a little apart from the crowd, leaning against the counter like the chaos doesn’t touch him. Tall. Broad-shouldered. Dark hair pulled back loosely, a few strands brushing his cheek. His face is serious, permanent, like it was carved that way at birth.

He looks… dangerous. Not in a loud, flashy way. Quiet. Controlled. The kind of man you assume knows exactly what he’s doing to people. And, inconveniently for me, he’s exactly my type.

“Who’s that?” I ask, nodding subtly so it doesn’t look like I’m already gone for him. My friend follows my gaze. “Oh, that’s Choso.”

Just Choso. No explanation, no warnings. Suspicious.

“He’s friends with Yuji,” my friend says. “Or Megumi. Or both. I don’t know… he just sort of appeared.” I hum, my eyes still on him. Of course he did. And then, our friends always do that, pull people together under the guise of being social. And there he is, standing apart from everyone else, calm, quiet, like the chaos around him doesn’t exist.

Yuji’s grin snaps me out of my thoughts. “Y/N, this is Choso.” I blink, caught off guard, and he turns toward me. The kind of gaze that could anchor you in the middle of a storm. “Choso, this is Y/N,” Yuji adds, puffing out his chest like he’s just scored a victory.

Choso fully faces me, and his attention locks in so completely that it nearly knocks the breath out of me. “Hello,” he says. Deep. Steady. His eyes hold mine, not flirtatious, just… present. Focused. For a moment, the bass, the shouting, the chaos of the party, all fade. I feel like I matter more than everything else in the room.

“Hi,” I reply, smiling, and he nods once. Just nods. I blink. Then laugh softly. “That’s it? No dramatic introduction?”

His eyebrows draw together slightly. “It is… nice to meet you,” he says carefully, almost stiffly. But there’s something in the way his gaze lingers, steady, that makes my teasing falter.

He doesn’t glance away. He doesn’t check the crowd. He just… looks at me, fully present. “Are you always this serious?” I tease lightly, leaning in.

“I do not wish to make people uncomfortable,” he says quietly, almost apologetic, but the faint curve at the corner of his mouth betrays a sense of amusement. I can’t help it. My chest tightens. “You’re… interesting,” I murmur.

He tilts his head, studying me like he’s trying to figure out a puzzle that’s suddenly very interesting as well. “I hope that is not a bad thing,” he says. “Not at all,” I whisper back, more aware than ever that this man is magnetic. And somehow, I can tell, he feels it too.

We end up near each other, talking over the music. Or, more accurately, I talk, and he listens. Doesn’t interrupt. Doesn’t glance around. Doesn’t look bored. His attention stays on me.

I step closer than necessary so he can hear me better. “You have a face that makes people nervous,” I tease.

He blinks at me, calm, serious. “I did not intend to appear intimidating,” he says quietly, voice measured, careful. I grin, leaning in slightly. “Maybe a little intimidating… but in a good way.”

His lips twitch, not quite a smile, but the faintest lift at the corners. “That is… reassuring,” he murmurs, earnest as ever. I watch him over the rim of my cup. “So… do you do this often? Stand in kitchens looking mysterious?”

“I do not believe I look mysterious,” he replies, deadpan. “You absolutely do,” I insist.

He considers it, nodding slowly. “I suppose that is possible.” God. He’s so earnest it’s disarming, in a way that makes my chest tighten. “You don’t seem like a party person,” I say. “I am not,” he agrees easily. “I do not enjoy loud environments.”

“Then why come?” I ask, curiosity tugging at me. He glances around briefly, then back at me, calm, steady. “My brother likes them. I wanted to join him.” His gaze returns to mine, unwavering. It’s simple, polite but there’s something about the way he says it, the quiet thoughtfulness behind it, that makes me feel seen in a way no one else here does.

That shouldn’t be attractive. And yet… I can’t look away. I tilt my head, studying him openly now. “You’re not what I expected.” He meets my gaze, calm, steady, unreadable.

The crowd surges around us, someone brushing past me from behind. Before I even realize it, Choso shifts slightly, his hand hovering near my waist, almost unconscious in its movement. Not touching, just… there. Like a shield I didn’t ask for but somehow needed.

My breath stutters. He notices and quickly pulls back. “I apologize.” I grin. “You’re fine.” I’m very aware now that I misjudged him completely.

This man is nothing closer to a collage playboy. He’s worse. He’s hot, quiet, attentive, and painfully sincere, and I am already attracted to him in a way that feels dangerous.

I catch him watching me when he thinks I’m distracted, his expression soft, almost uncertain. Like he’s trying to figure me out instead of trying to impress me. For a moment, I let myself believe I was wrong about him in the best way possible.

He doesn’t touch me unless he has to. He doesn’t flirt in that lazy, practiced way I’ve seen a hundred times. He listens like he’s actually interested, like this isn’t a temporary distraction until something better comes along. He isn’t scanning the room for someone hotter, louder, or easier. He feels… different. Not like the guys who come to parties looking for quick hookups or easy validation.

The music shifts, louder somehow, bass shaking the counters beneath our hands. The kitchen fills up fast, bodies pressing in, voices overlapping until it’s hard to hear anything at all. The warmth of the room grows heavy, almost suffocating.

Choso stiffens slightly beside me. His shoulders tense. His jaw tightens. I notice it immediately. “You okay?” I ask, leaning closer so he can hear me. He nods.

The crowd surges again, someone shouting, someone laughing too loud right behind us. Choso leans in, close enough that I can feel the warmth of him, his voice low and careful near my ear.

“Would you like to come to my room?” he asks. I freeze. My first thought is oh. My second thought is OH.

I pull back just enough to look at him, searching his face for something: confidence, heat, intent. Something that matches the implication ringing in my head. His expression is earnest. Calm. Almost hopeful. I hesitate.

I had just decided he wasn’t like that. Had just convinced myself he wasn’t here for a quick hookup, wasn’t the type to make suggestive moves in crowded kitchens at parties.

And yet. He’s still a man. A very attractive one. And I am not immune.

The music pounds around us, the air thick with noise and movement. He waits, patient, like he’s already prepared for me to say no.

Maybe I misjudged him again. Maybe he’s just quieter about it. I lift my chin, meeting his eyes. “Yeah,” I say lightly, like my heart isn’t suddenly beating faster. “Okay.” Relief flashes across his face, and he nods once, like I’ve just agreed to something important.

We slip out of the house together, the noise cutting off abruptly as the door closes behind us. The night air is cool, crisp, a welcome contrast to the heat inside. Campus stretches out around us, quiet and dimly lit, the party already feeling far away. We walk side by side toward his flat, close enough that our arms almost brush. Neither of us speaks.

I tell myself not to overthink it. Tell myself that whatever this is, I can handle it. I’ve done this before. I know the rules. Still, I can’t help the small twist in my chest. Because part of me hoped, stupidly, that he really was different. And another part of me is very aware that if he isn’t… I might not mind at all.

His flat is quiet in a way that immediately feels intentional.

Not sterile, not cold, just calm. Shoes are neatly lined near the door. Lights dim but warm. The air smells faintly like something herbal, clean. It’s so different from the party that it almost throws me off balance.

“Please, make yourself comfortable,” Choso says, placing his keys down neatly. “I will prepare something.”

Something? I nod, slipping my shoes off and stepping farther in. My eyes flick to the bed. This is the moment where things usually shift. Where there’s a drink poured, a look exchanged, an unspoken understanding.

I sit on the edge of the bed, pulse steady but anticipatory. From the kitchen, I hear water running. Cabinets opening. No clink of bottles. No cork pop…Okay. Maybe he’s just subtle.

I glance around, then reach for the lamp beside the bed, and after a brief internal debate, I turn it off. The room falls into a softer darkness, lit only by the low glow from the kitchen. I shrug out of my shirt, letting it fall beside me, settling back onto the bed in my bra and pants. Confident. Waiting. Ready. My heart beats faster than I expect it to. I hear footsteps.

He re-enters the room carefully, carrying a small tray with two cups, steam rising gently. He pauses mid-step. Then reaches for the light switch. The room floods with warm light. His eyes land on me. Silence stretches. He blinks once. Then again.

“Oh,” he says, quietly confused, not flustered. His gaze shifts away immediately, and a faint pink color appears in his cheeks. “I… am sorry. Are you… perspiring?”

I stare at him. “…What?” He sets the tray down a little too quickly on the coffee table, turning his back to give me space. “I can… bring you a shirt, if you would prefer,” he says carefully, voice calm but tentative. “It is not cold in here, but I understand.”

No, he definitely doesn't. I look down at myself. Bra. Bare shoulders. Sitting on his bed, I knew exactly what I was doing. And he’s offering me clothes.

“Oh,” I say faintly. This isn’t how it usually goes. “Perhaps the heat from the party made you uncomfortable,” he continues, careful and precise, clearly trying to be helpful. “I did not intend to-”

“No,” I interrupt quickly. “I mean- no, I’m fine. I just…” My words trail off because what do you even say in this situation?

I stop. Because what do I even say? Sorry, I assumed you wanted to have sex, so I undressed. That feels like a confession I’m definitely not ready to make.

Choso turns back around slowly, cautious, and takes a seat in the chair across from me instead of anywhere near the bed. “I made tea,” he says, like this explains everything. He lifts his cup and takes a small sip, shoulders loosening slightly.

I’m still sitting there. In my bra. Processing. “…You invited me over… for tea?” I manage, voice faint. He nods. “Yes. I wanted to spend time with you. Somewhere quiet.” He looks at me again, tentative, careful. “Is that… not what you wanted?”

The realization hits me all at once. Oh. Oh no.

I have never been more wrong about a man in my life. I clear my throat, sitting up a little straighter. “No. I mean… yes. I wanted to hang out. I just… misread things.” He tilts his head slightly. “I see.” There’s no judgment in his voice, only understanding. Gentle. Almost apologetic.

“I am glad you came,” he adds softly. “Even if there was confusion.” I exhale, half mortified, half completely charmed. He slides one of the cups toward me. “Tea?” I take it, fingers brushing the warm ceramic.

He sets his cup down and finally meets my gaze, calm and steady, like he’s waiting for me to settle. “If you would like something else,” he says slowly, carefully, “I will do it for you.” His eyes linger just a fraction longer than necessary.

I freeze. My brain stutters. Did he just…? He lifts his tea again, sipping deliberately, eyes flicking to mine as if daring me to interpret it however I want.

I blush harder, swirling my fingers around my cup, trying to hide my racing thoughts. “…I don’t… I don’t even know what I want right now,” I admit softly, voice trembling a little, caught between nerves and… something else entirely.

He tilts his head slightly, eyes steady on mine, voice low and careful. “If you wish… I could help you fully understand what pleases you.”

[hotties4gojo]

star girl

⭑.ᐟ pairing: gf!yuki x fem!reader

maybe you should've expected that curiosity would indeed kill the cat (your pussy) when you asked your girlfriend to rough you up a little bit in bed with the help of her cursed technique, star rage, but you have absolutely no regrets. in fact, you’d do it again.

⭑.ᐟ content & warnings: MDNI 18+, canon jujutsu universe, wlw, smut, humor, pet names, sorcerer!yuki, sorcerer!reader, reader’s CT has to do with teleportation purely for quicker progression to the smut lol, yuki loves you real bad, muscular yuki agenda, inappropriate use of cursed techniques (yuki uses hers to restrain & manhandle you), service dom!yuki, penetration, use of toys, pegging, prone bone, manhandling, light spanking, chokeholds, praise & degradation

author's note: writing this fic had me 🧱🆙 beyond belief icel… this fic is for my kinktober roster but also for one of my anons that planted this idea in my head a while ago!! let’s all ignore that it’s no longer october… let’s just call this kinkvember atp 💆🏽‍♀️🚶🏽‍♀️ but anw i hope u guys enjoy this depravity 🫶🏽 main masterlist.

edited pics © tsukumodaily_. wc: 10.2k.

It’s unfair, really— how someone like Tsukumo Yuki can be both so effortlessly, disarmingly beautiful. Even when she’s just standing there with one hip cocked, sunlight gleaming off her long fanning hair that’s been spun with golden-soaked twine, there’s something magnetic about her that charges the very air you breathe.

Her presence fills a room before her words ever do. It was impossible for her to not draw in eyes, what with her arms carved with the sort of disciplined muscle that could easily carry the world and in the next second shrug it off with an easygoing grin that curves her mouth and honey-brown irises. Her enchanting prettiness is one that doesn’t sneak up on you, but hits you like a force of nature, because Yuki didn’t strike up a fight with genetics in order to be born beautiful; she just is, and she stands out all the more for it.

She’s a hurricane of a woman, one that could snatch you up seamlessly, your struggles to no avail, and you’d get so swept up in staring into the eye of her that you’d forget there was ever any danger to begin with.

The first time you ever laid eyes on her was way back when you were contracted to Kyoto High. You were a sort of free-baller sorceress, not to be confused with the faculty proper, and only really swung by campus to rattle off mission reports before retreating to your personal hole in the wall deep in the concrete jungle of the city.

It figures that your first real encounter with her would be you barreling straight into her in the middle of the campus’ courtyard— because of course someone like Yuki, with her own gravitational pull, would have a way of tugging you right into her orbit.

She apologized, saying she’d make up for your spilled coffee after a quick training session with some kid named Todo, and even said you could come along and spectate before she fulfilled her promise. And suddenly, your plans of bed-rotting after taking down two first-grade curses earlier didn’t seem so urgent anymore.

So, naturally, you followed along and watched her spar with her one and only student.

She made it look like an art form— maybe even a dance, honestly, given that her movements sang with graceful precision and ease. You’ve never seen someone blatantly laughing and having fun between traded blows like fighting was the world’s most entertaining capoeira; an Afro-Brazilian martial arts style that blends elements of dance, acrobatics, and rhythmic kicks, all of which she seemed to be pulling off every time she swept low to the ground to disarm Todo or playfully feinted to sharpen his awareness.

“You were staring pretty hard. You see something you like?” You remember she teased afterwards, all sun-bright skin layered in sweat and warm brown eyes that sparkled when you flinched, caught.

You rolled your eyes at the time, but there was never any hiding it: you were staring. And you’d always find yourself staring from then on.

The first time Yuki nearly made you crumple on the spot was before she and Todo even got into the swing of things; all she did was tie her honeyed hair back into a recklessly swinging ponytail, revealing the play of muscles in her arms, and you nearly dropped your already empty coffee cup again, because holy sleeper build. You had no clue she was packing all of that.

The second time, Yuki had whisked the bottom of her tank top up to wipe the glistening beads of perspiration from her Cupid’s bow, abs bunching below the line of her sports bra in a strained flex that sent a ripple down her torso (making your own stomach coil with something embarrassingly mushy), you had to stop yourself from outright dropping your pants on the field.

And the third time, when she finally called Todo off and slung a bag of heavy supplies over one sturdy shoulder before coming to join you— you had stopped trying to look away at all. In fact, you ogled her a little too blatantly, having given up on any sense of propriety. That’s exactly why she shot that comment your way.

Yuki carries herself with a paradoxical ease that’s equal parts strength and softness as if she’s in control of gravity itself. And in a sense, given her capabilities, she is. Years of discipline and training has carved definition into her; her thighs and biceps are sculpted slabs wrapped in smooth skin. Every line of her underscores that she’s someone who pushes her body as hard as she pushes her mind.

That strength, however, becomes something otherworldly when she invokes her cursed technique: Star Rage. By adding virtual mass to her body, Yuki could make her frame heavier, denser— like pulling a star down to earth and wrapping it in human form. It wasn't just brute force; it was the weight of inevitability, the feeling that resistance was futile because the cosmos itself leaned on her leash.

And the moment Yuki allows a flicker of her technique to bleed through, the ground beneath her always groans and bends as if struggling beneath a giantess. You’re strong yourself, a given in the field of sorcery, but seeing Yuki crush curses into dust without breaking a sweat… that’s something else entirely. You’ve seen her toss curses the size of trucks like they were rag dolls and shatter concrete with a singular blow.

It’s actually fucking insane.

Yet despite all that supernatural prowess that’s earned her the special-grade ranking, she’s still your Yuki: talkative, cheerful, all brawn and brilliance and bright laughter and never quite serious enough for her own good.

And she’s strong on her own, you know that. You’ve seen her fight before, seen the way her blows carry the weight of meteors even without activating her cursed technique, and you’ve lost count of how many times you’ve thought how is she even real? Better yet, how is she even mine?

A very particular thought concerning Star Rage creeps into your mind one lazy afternoon— an afternoon that was no different from any other— while the two of you are lounging in Yuki’s newest hideout, a renovated warehouse turned half-gym, half-living space just outside the city. It’s one of her many spots— she owns property all around Japan and across the country. You’re both killing time on a rare day off, which Yuki treats with the same enthusiasm she reserves for an all-you-can-eat buffet (she always fucks up the chicken burritos whenever you stumble upon said buffets).

The air is humid and humming, making even breathing feel like you’re still wading through the warm waters of the shower you just finished. Shampoo tickles your neck where the spray missed its mark, a faint reminder that you never quite rinsed Yuki’s favorite scent for her hair— crushed wildflowers and mandarin— off of your skin.

The warehouse itself still bears the bones of what it used to be. Steel pillars stand like sentinels between cables snaking across the floor between scattered gym equipment in the corner, the faint thrum of Junko Ohashi playing from a stereo stacked on a mismatched pile of books. It’s spacious, yet not in a way that feels empty; it feels lived in, like the air itself hums with Yuki’s presence.

Her touch has softened it: potted plants cling to the sills, their trailing stems swaying high above the woven mats that cover the scuffed concrete floor almost entirely. A singular cushy sofa is draped with thickly lined quilts with hanging lights strung like constellations just above, and a few steps away from the living space is the door bordering it from the bedroom and adjoining bathroom.

Sunlight filters through the warehouse skylights and the cracked industrial windows in hazy yellow sheets, carrying the buzz of summer cicadas from the swaying trees into the building. It slashes golden stripes across the floor and Yuki’s hair, turning the strands into spun metal. There’s the faint smell of exhaust from Yuki’s motorcycle parked just outside on the gravel path, too, but aside from that, there’s nothing.

It’s comforting to know you’re far away from everything. No curses, no higher-ups, no bigwig glimmering city chattering drunken sins in your ear. You’ve become so fluent with the sounds of the wild that hitting the crowded streets feels like plunging into neon static that your skin doesn’t know how to soak in properly when it's not the sun.

The breeze blanketing the room hauls playfully at her hair like a misbehaving child as Yuki leans back on one hand on the floor, tank top rumpled, steely calves stretched out on the rug. Entirely in her element, she rambles on and on about some new theory of curse evolution from around an absentminded mouthful of a watermelon-flavored sucker.

(She wears her power as casually as her shorts and tank top; like it’s just another thing she happens to have in excess.)

Nearby, you’re sitting cross-legged, chin propped on your palm. You aren’t really listening, even though what your girlfriend was saying was incredibly interesting. You’re mostly content to note how the corded lines of her left arm jumps beneath the guise of her buttery-soft lotioned skin every time she reshifts her weight.

With the calluses on her knuckles and the faint scars that traced her skin, she’s the prettiest woman you’ve ever seen, and would forever be. You harbor a kind of quiet awe for her that’s never really faded, and your pulse picks up to beat a steady hammer at the base of your ridiculously dry throat the longer you observe her.

“So pretty it’s unfair,” you murmur under your breath, mostly to yourself.

Of course, it’s that she catches. Yuki pushes off of her palm to fold her legs in a lazy cross that mirrors your own, elbows perched on her knees. Her fingers idly tap away at her thighs to keep time with the song floating through the warehouse. It’s a languorous kind of motion— unhurried, her body let loose, yet carrying that faint undercurrent of restlessness that always seems to hum beneath her calm exterior.

“Hm?” She tilts her head toward you, her brilliant grin already squinting her eyes together into tiny crescents like she’s heard the murmuring of your heart and she’s about to use it against you. “You say something, lover? Are you trying to butter me up now that I’ve fed you dinner?”

You let your head teeter back enough to rest it on the edge of the couch, attempting to hide your fluster behind a thin veil of nonchalance. “Maybe,” you sigh, an idea beginning to form that probably shouldn’t, “but I was just thinking of something,” you admit, taking a glance at her from beneath your lashes.

Yuki squints at you, suspicious in the way only someone used to your schemes can be. “Uh oh. Well, I know that tone. That’s your ‘I’m about to suggest something stupid’ voice,” she lightheartedly accuses, her lollipop muffling the vowels that roll off her tongue.

“Not stupid,” you counter petulantly.

Her eyes glint, then, golden honey at the edges. “Okaaaay… Should I be worried, then?”

“Only if you’re scared you’ll crush me.” It comes out breathier than intended.

Yuki laughs— full-bodied and bright, her giggles shaking her shoulders. “Oh, so you wanna spar? You know I don’t pull punches, babe.” She winks.

“You already throw me around during sparring sessions. How much worse could it get?” You snicker. You glance up at the high ceiling so that her presence doesn’t fill your senses and drown you in her steady warmth before you can get the words out. “But no, not exactly. I was just thinking, do you think you could throw me around with those?” You nod at Yuki’s jacked arms.

An entirely rhetorical question. You’ve lost count of how many times she’s flung you around during spars (each one a dance you never quite lead, no matter how many times you tell yourself you will).

One second you think you’ve got her, your hand grazing her shoulder, your stance set— and the next you’re soaring over her shoulder, your vision spinning before she drops you flat on a mat hard enough to feel the echo in your teeth. It may bruise your pride a little (and your shoulders and back) when you’re beat, but it all flies out the window when Yuki grins down at you like she’s playing with her best friend and girlfriend rather than fighting.

And every single time, you find yourself staring up at her with that same stupid awe, her musical laughter cutting through the ringing in your ears as she crouches over you, sweat beading along her temple and the smug tilt of victory tugging at her mouth. When she offers you her hand to help you up, the calluses of her palm brushing your fingers, she’s always still smiling— wholly radiant in a way that makes you almost forget how hard she just floored you.

That question gets her attention in the way you expected it to. Yuki stops fiddling with the stick of the lollipop peeking from the corner of her mouth, blinking big brown eyes at you through the sunlight shrouding her vision. Confidence winks in the milky pool of her irises like her very own stars that’ve sunken into the orbit of her pupils. “Yeah, no doubt. I have before,” she says slowly, drawing it out like she’s weighing you for amnesia. “Why?”

You swallow. The easy truth in that doesn’t even wound you; it just makes more warmth puff from your core that’s already long heated from her mouth and fingers that descended on you earlier that not even your shower could wash away. You’re still aptly stretched; dreadfully empty. A glass that’s half full, aching to be tipped, to be filled until the rim quivers and everything spills over in her name.

“Even if it means using your CT? ‘Cause like—“ and you’re suddenly fumbling over the subject like a grandma spilling a carton of eggs— “y’know, the extra mass.”

But what you really wanna say is I want you flip me upside down and top me. You keep that part to yourself for now, though.

Yuki’s plump lips curl into that trademark half-smirk that always means you’re about to playfully squabble as she teases you mercilessly… or you’re gonna fuck. Or both. Either way, you’re more than a little hot between the thighs. “I see how it is now. You wanna see how much stronger your girlfriend can get with the help of Star Rage, huh? You wanna feeeeel iiiiit all up close and intimate?” She singsongs.

“Not like that,” you lie like a goddamned liar immediately, pointing at her as her grin widens. Then, because you’re embarrassed about how badly you actually want it, you deflect. “Don’t make it horny.”

Yuki’s laughter rings through the hollowed space of the warehouse like windchimes hit by a playful gust, the sound all cheery and mischievous. You definitely don’t make moon eyes at her upon being granted an utter blessing— her tank top clings to her ribs and abdomen (and most importantly her boobs) with each shaking chuckle.

The stick of her lollipop clacks satisfactorily between her teeth when she shifts it to rest in the pocket of her cheek to speak without an object in the way of her tongue. Though it makes her sound a little bit like a chipmunk, what with the hard candy puffing one cheek out enough to make every word come out slurry and warped when she does speak, “‘Don’t make it horny,’” she pokes, mimicking your tone with exaggerated dramatics, “says the massive pervert herself right after asking me to use my cursed technique to have my wicked way with her. You hear yourself? You’re either a masochist or you wanna play a little predator and prey, bu-nny.”

She may as well have pushed her thumb over one of those dog clickers for training with how swiftly you push off of the couch and rigidly right your shoulders. “There will be none of that, because that’s not what I said. Or meant. Or—“ You cut yourself off, because the way she’s tucking her hair behind her ear to eye you up makes the spouted falsities trip over each other like a magician’s misbehaving rabbits. Which feels fitting.

“Please, by all means, explain it to me then,” Yuki goads, raising her finely manicured brows like she’s already dismantled your entire defense. “You don’t know this, actually, but I’m secretly a certified scientist. Precision of language matters in my field. Go on, chop chop!”

“Yuki,” you groan, unimpressed by her sarcasm. Her earth-brown irises snapshots the twitch of your fingers where they still point at her, trembling just slightly, before you tuck them into your lap to keep them away from her growing smugness.

“Uh-huh?”

You exhale through your nose, a strangled noise bubbling up in the back of your throat that’s supposed to sound like a scoff but comes out more like a whimper of bashful surrender. “Forget it.”

She doesn’t move closer, just blinks readily at you before lowering her voice enough that it skims over your skin. “God, you’re cute when you dig your own grave. If you wanted me to forget it, princess, you shouldn’t have said it while looking at me like that,” she purrs prettily, rocking back and forth in her cross-legged position like a cat that’s just spotted a particularly juicy-looking mouse.

So you do the only thing you can do— escape.

You push yourself up, palms pressed to the woven mat for a beat longer than necessary— mostly to make sure your knees won’t give out from how flustered you are. You stand, brushing invisible dust from your shorts even though your hands don’t need something to do nearly as much as your dignity does. That slow-blooming warmth crawling up your neck isn’t the summer heat; it’s Yuki’s gaze following you.

“Okay, I’m dipping before you get any ideas,” you mutter to yourself, voice a notch too thin but thankfully pitched quiet enough that your girlfriend doesn’t catch on. You crouch to collect the empty bowls and cups from the low table between you, careful not to meet her eyes lest you fall for her siren-like charms.

The soft clatter of ceramic fills the air as you stack and gather them up a little too carefully, hoping the sound masks the tiny stutter in your movements— the smallest tell that you’re retreating, if only to give your embarrassment somewhere to hide. When you step around the side of the table with your arms full, a stray finger snags in the hem of your shorts to playfully jostle you, and you squeak out a laugh as you bat Yuki’s hand away with a nudge of your hip.

Yuki’s chuckles floats over like a teasing melody as you go darting away, dishes balanced precariously. “You’re a menace!” You call out, feet skittering across the floor a little too fast— definitely not running, definitely not affected. The hum of cicadas fills the space between your footsteps, their rhythm quickening suspiciously in tandem with your heartbeat. You can feel the way your panties cling a tad damply to your skin beneath your shorts.

“Takes one to date one!” She hoots back instantly, and that’s all it takes to shift the simmering playfully challenging tension to something somewhat softer, more intimate.

When you start giggling yourself and shoot a half-hearted glare over your shoulder to further share the good humor with her, you briefly freeze when you find Yuki unfurling from her lioness-like sprawl, rolling up on the balls of her feet. In that split second falter of yours, she tucks her fingers together, extending her arms wide above her head, and tilts her entire body to the side in a wave of falling golden hair with a crisp pop of joints cracking. An exaggerated groan flits from her crimson-glossed lips when she stretches enough that there’s an imperceptible ripple of muscle moving under her tank top.

Fluid and slow, like she’s a predator deliberately giving you time to create some distance knowing damn well that she’ll catch you with ease, eventually— and there’s no escape window here to even open and jump out of in time.

Shit. You’ve started something you won’t win. All you can do is get to the kitchen— which, in truth, is just a section of countertop, a sink that gurgles when it’s overworked, and a mismatched pair of cabinets that Yuki scavenged from a hardware store clearance sale and hammered into the wall— and decide if you’d rather be caught sooner rather than later. That’s the best you’ve got.

You place the dishes in the sink and exhale, biting your lip as if it’ll relieve the aroused throb growing a home in your core. This feels like some strange sort of foreplay, and not even the subtle push and pull kind. Just a very elaborate game of “how long can we pretend this isn’t going exactly where we both know it’s going?” before Yuki comes to collect what’s hers and indulges you in the same breath the moment you stop pretending to be busy.

Not that she gives you much time to even do so.

The sound of her foot pressing the pedal of the trash can at the edge of the kitchen space tells you that she’s already closer than you thought she was. It’s followed by a savory crunch of the lollipop finally splintering between Yuki’s teeth and the soft shhh of the garbage bag catching the stick she tosses in.

Something that doesn’t at all fit in with the natural melody of the warehouse is the sudden creaaaaak of floorboards beneath her feet— they’re bowing to her, as though they’ve become sentient and the floor’s suddenly realized it’s supporting something far beyond human. Even the metal struts of the warehouse give a faint groan in protest of the shift in the air that’s almost imperceptible until it isn’t.

Her cursed energy begins buzzing warmly, equivalent to a July storm steadily rolling in over the sea. There’s a subtle heaviness to it, a pull of gravity doubling, tripling, compressing the air down into a strip thinner than a paper. You sense it vibrate through the floorboards first, subtle but unmistakable, then it spreads like static at your back when she pads closer on graceful toes.

It makes the hair at your nape rise to attention. But what really makes you shiver is when Yuki blows a long breath over the back of your neck, just to amuse herself with the shiver that zings through you.

Her shadow eclipses yours as she swarms in, caging you in your spot. “Caught you,” she preens softly, snaking her arms around you from behind and fanning her hands firmly over the expanse of your midsection. The press of her palms is impossibly heavy as if she’s dragging the invisible weight of the atmosphere itself toward her, and you with it.

It has you teetering a little in place as you try to push against it in the opposite direction, just a token unserious protest. But the second she flexes her fingers and tugs you back enough that your spine meets the warm, plush wall of her breasts and the notch of her hips sliding into place against your ass (you nearly fumble the sponge when you reach for it to run it under the tap water), the density around you tightens. It’s more absolute than an entire fucking solar system.

“Cute,” she coos, then, “I think I get your interest. I mean, Star Rage’s what makes me a special grade sorceress, babes. Can’t just rely on good looks and charm, even though those are my natural assets.”

She’s half teasing still, but the way her voice swoops low— smug, raspier— burrows under your skin and takes up residence there. Every word radiates through the room like it’s carrying a fraction of the earth’s core. It’s dangerous.

“Mmhm,” you manage instead of the agreeable laugh you tried (and failed) to force out, the weak noise barely passing your lips as her body heat radiates over your back and sneaks into every muscle of yours. Suddenly even breathing feels like an effort. Like your lungs have to work harder just to pull air past the virtual mass that’s gathering around you.

Her clever mouth finds your shoulder first, brushing lightly against the slope of it before drifting higher. The kiss that follows lands against the base of your neck, her smile etched into it. You can just imagine Yuki’s face; honey-brown eyes drooped lazily and every fair line of her expression oozing intimate arousal. It makes your fingers flex around the sponge for one useless second before you pump soap over it—

— And you promptly fumble it for the second time when she settles more deliberately, pinning you gently between the counter’s edge and the warmth of her that seeps through your clothes. You’re acutely aware of every tall, pretty inch of the blonde beauty behind you. The state of your wettening panties is pathetic, frankly.

“See, the trick,” she murmurs, her nose brushing along the curve of your ear before she kisses just below it, “isn’t just about stacking weight. It’s about control of all this pressure and knowing how much someone— or something— can take before it breaks.”

That makes your cunt twitch and shudder.

Her hands slide over your curves to your hips, thumbs circling lazily over your hipbones to map the shape of you that she already knows so well. You can’t bite back your instinctual shiver. “It’s something I gotta be careful with, but I’ve learned to be more and more precise with the output over the years.”

“Does that mean that you’re basically holding me with the mass of a small planet right now?” You swallow hard, the sound of it almost embarrassingly loud in the kitchen.

“Mm, not really,” she hums thoughtfully, leaning in so that a strand of her hair brushes over your skin. There, Yuki plants a smooch just behind your jaw, slower this time, lingering enough that her breath warms the spot she leaves behind. “I’m more like a… compact star. Not quite supernova or blackhole material, which is basically what I get when I crank it up to one-hundred percent.”

The fact that she’s not even exerting anything close to her max potential— why does that turn you on? She keeps chattering, barely giving you time to go down a horny spiral, “But you have nothing to be afraid of, lover. Pinky promise.”

Her words sink into the space between your racing heartbeat and the hum of dusk’s life outside. Somehow, you can’t decide if what’s holding you is her cursed technique or the simple fact that you don’t really want to move. You chew your lip harder, scrubbing halfheartedly at the soapy bowl in your hands. “I never said that I didn’t trust you not to crush me,” you say eventually.

Yuki hums again. You feel it more than hear it vibrating where her chest meets your back. “Didn’t say you did, either,” she replies. It’s just shy of laughter, her words brushing over your skin like a breeze through warm air.

You try to focus on the dishes, on the faint squeak of sponge against ceramic, but your grip falters when her mouth opens against your neck again. Her cadence drops to a murmur so sinful it curls straight into your spine, “But I know what you really wanna say. I think it turns you on that I could hold you down and keep you beneath me all night if I wanted to,” Yuki purrs lightly, the words drawn out with a confidence that makes your pulse stumble.

There’s no malice in it— just affection wrapped in the thrill of teasing you, of testing the edge of how close she can get while knowing you explicitly before you push back.

Her tongue traces a slow line along your skin, and your next breath is caught halfway between a surprised noise and something dangerously close to a moan. That alone earns a quietly satisfied chuckle from her that’s almost carried away by the soft hiss of the running tap.

You can’t resist showing her the vulnerable column of your neck like a wild animal turned sweetly docile, head tilting to the side to grant her further passage. Yuki takes it in stride and mouths and nips indulgently at your skin until you’re squirming.

Fruitlessly squirming, might you add, since there’s a very attractive brick wall quite literally preventing you from making a wily escape.

“I plead the fifth,” you rasp, just to fuck with her. You don’t turn around. You just stand there, thighs embarrassingly clamped together to get some friction on your clit and hands still in the sink, pretending that the plate in your grip demands your full concentration even though you’re buzzy with arousal.

“Still pretending you’re not enjoying this?” Yuki teases, studying your reaction as much as she’s savoring it.

Her body finally presses in fully flush against your back, the pull of her cursed energy threading through like gravity’s hands have decided you belong exactly where you are. She grinds her pelvis into your ass, just like that, forcing your stomach further into the cold razor of the sink’s edge. Though you can’t feel an obvious press of her arousal, she sure is making a point to showcase her lecherous intent and interest.

You don’t even realize your fingers have gone slack until the next dish slips from your hands and clinks into the sink, startling you. Water runs in lazy rivulets over your fingers and swirls the pinkish suds down, down, down into the drain, the sound suddenly distant beneath the steady drumbeat filling your ears. You watch it all funnel downwards, distantly comparing your sanity to the disappearing streams.

Yuki’s chuckle is low and pleased, the sound of someone who knows they’ve just proven a point. The warmth of it spills across your skin like sunlight through the half-drawn curtains framing the window that looks out into the field beyond the warehouse. When she presses her lips to your neck again, it’s less of a kiss and more of a bid for attention— a touch that says ‘I’m here. You feel that, don’t you?’

You shakily wipe your hands off on the nearest dishtowel before pressing the digits to the lip of the sink until your knuckles whiten. “Yuki…” you warn, but your voice comes out closer to a softened plea than a protest with any sort of backbone behind it.

(Horny thought: Yuki could break your back anytime.)

“What’s up?” She hums with faux innocence. Boldly, she reaches past you to turn off the running water with an airiness that projects her confidence in knowing she owns the space you occupy.

The faint scent of the watermelon lollipop lingering on her breath and something wild— maybe her shampoo, maybe her— fills your head until you forget what you were trying to say. So you blurt out instinctively, your totally eloquent word choice making it sound as though you’re a child pleading to be carried away for nap time: “Bedtime.”

Yuki’s responding giggle that’s almost girlish in its higher-pitched excitement is the sound of someone who knows they’ve just won. It’s quick and bright, the summer sun incarnate, bringing some levity to the simmering tension.

It makes you almost afraid to look behind you; you know you’ll melt the second you spy Yuki’s signature lopsided beam that’s entirely doglike. The one that adorably scrunches up her nose and blonde brows and crinkles her dusky brown eyes until they’re half moons of umber fire, glowing at their edges where sunlight seeps through her pearly cracks.

“Wanna go to bed, huh? Guess I made quite an impression,” Yuki chirps, clearly enjoying every second of your fluster. Her hands creep up, heavy where they begin blatantly groping your tits in anticipation. Your knees nearly buckle at the pressure over your nipples, which stiffen accordingly.

Before Yuki can take this situation (read: you) into her own hands and sling you over her shoulder like you’re her bride in some deeply chaotic version of a fairytale wedding, you let your cursed energy wink, just once— and the kitchen folds and swirls in on itself in a dizzy whirl of light and sound. In the blink of an eye, you’re being dropped into the wide, open bedroom of the renovated warehouse.

Yuki shimmers into place at your back as intended. She lets out a sputtering snort of laughter that sings through you right before she releases you, allowing you to stumble a few steps forward into the edge of the bed. You don’t get very far from her; it feels like the air around you is threatening to suck you into her all-encompassing void.

Finally, bracing like you’re about to stare at the eternally beautiful Medusa and be frozen in place, you peek over your shoulder. Yuki’s blinking rapidly, standing tall and pressing her palm flat over her heart to steady herself. “Okay, wow,” she says, drinking in the familiar walls of the lofted bedroom, her blonde hair a little frizzed from the jump. “You always do that too fast. Next time, give me a countdown before you whisk me away. I nearly left my stomach back at the sink!”

“I thought you wanted the deluxe package,” you deadpan through your abnormally dry throat, making it extremely obvious that you’re checking her out.

“What does that include?” she asks, arching an eyebrow. She only smiles wider in a pull of her lips that flashes her pearly whites when she catches you; you nearly have to cover your eyes to avoid being blinded by the golden blaze of radiance oozing off of her.

Instead, you give her a playful side-eye. “First-class delivery. Door-to-door service. Occasional pussy and throwing my ass back at you action.”

“Scandalous,” Yuki sighs dreamily, drawing out the word like honey off a spoon and playfully fanning herself as she saunters over to cover the scent distance you put between the two of you. “You sure know how to sweep a girl off her feet.”

Around you, the bedroom feels like the warehouse’s secret heart. It’s less a separate room and more a pocket of warmth carved out of the industrial shell surrounding it, and though it’s not massive, it’s expansive all the same— mostly because of how intentionally Yuki decorated it.

The ceiling beams are exposed, crisscrossing like the ribs of some great creature, and from them hang strings of warm light bulbs and a few dried flowers bundled together in twine— lavender, baby’s breath, something that might’ve been wild roses once, and it subtly perfumes the air without being overpowering. Along one mossy green wall that you recently painted sits a dresser (covered with peeling stickers Yuki’s snagged from souvenir shops from around the world) cluttered with things that belong to you and Yuki.

There’s stray silver and gold rings that missed their designated dishes and hair ties on its surface. A few photo strips from some old booth are pinned to the corner of the mirror hanging above the dresser, housing memories of your smiles that came out blurred from the two of you laughing too hard.

The large window of the opposite wall is cracked open just enough for the afternoon air to sneak through. It carries in the low hum of nature’s breath, distant and lazy, and the rhythmic tapping of a wind chime.

Finally, there’s a bed that dominates the center of the space that calls your name. Beneath the wooden legs of the frame is a thick rug from Morocco, clearly thrifted but loved all the same. The bed itself isn’t precisely made up, but it’s comfortable looking in that careless, sleepily rumpled way, the sheets a pale cream gone a little washed from the sun that spills through the windows in the afternoon. A mountain of mismatched pillows crowds the headboard, patterned with simple lines or embroidered flowers.

Though your curated space is lovely, Yuki’s beauty far surpasses it. Now that you’re not staring pointedly at the dishes that have been abandoned in the sink, you properly take your girlfriend in.

Her body doesn’t look different— she’s still the same lean woman that you love in her tank top and cozy shorts that match your own— but there’s a palpable density to her presence now that Star Rage is active. The layers of invisible weight line Yuki’s edges in a faint shimmering outline that reminds you of heat distortion on concrete, thick and wavery in the air.

You barely have time to note the tightening of muscle before Yuki moves faster than she should be able to for someone who just multiplied her own mass. One second you’re standing upright, the next you’re being tackled backwards as she playfully pounces. “Yuki!” You yelp out with a peal of startled laughter, your body hitting the bed and getting swallowed up by the puffy comforter that absorbs the impact.

Yuki’s shadow falls over you as she leaps atop you in quick succession, knees pressing deep into the blanket on either side of your hips in a comfortable straddle. Taking advantage of your shock, she snatches up your wrists with a triumphant grin and pins them to the pillow above your head with one of her hands.

And oh, you can really feel the difference when you start trying to thrash back despite your giggles that weaken you— the extra mass of her cursed technique grounds her and pins you effortlessly. The substantial weight isn’t crushing but present, and you can tell how carefully she’s balancing that impossible density so she doesn’t hurt you.

Jesus. You’re so turned on that your brain is turning to static.

“Oh my god— what the hell!” You manage between laughter despite yourself. You arch up to shove your shoulders and chest into her without the use of your hands, but Yuki doesn’t budge an inch, laughing so hard herself above you that she nearly loses her balance on her own rather than due to your efforts. “You’re crushing me!”

Her voice rings out from between her glossed lips, bright and unrestrained. “You wanted to see what it was like if I added a little mass!” She crows, starting to tickle you in earnest now, making you shriek bloody murder at the silly race of her fingers across your vulnerable tummy.

“This isn’t ‘a little’ anything! I can’t— move—!”

“Exactly!” Yuki sings, positively delighted. “That’s the point.”

You twist futilely under her, the two of you dissolving into giggles like kids roughhousing on a lazy afternoon as Yuki keeps going, relentless and giddy. Through your mirthful tears that haze your vision, she’s radiant— blonde strands of hair falling loose around her face, framing her face like honeyed corn-silk ready for harvest.

Your girlfriend’s breathless and red-cheeked from the effort, and you’re trying to tell her to (unseriously) fuck off through your chortling that gives way to shallow wheezes toeing the line between hilarity and something more heated. It feels natural, what with how light yet tight-knit your relationship has always been. Getting to horse around with the woman you adore with all of your heart, without all the heavy stuff from the outside world, is… nice.

(Mass joke intended.)

The giggles you share taper off, Yuki still bending down enough that her humored exhales ghost across your mouth. Her fingers slow where they’d been merciless and the grin painting her rosy face softens as she watches you try to catch your breath below. Still, her weight remains firm, her other hand still caging your wrists.

“Is someone ready to tap out already?” Yuki pokes fun the second you slump back, teasingly smug.

“I’m just warming up,” you jest right back even though you’re beyond winded.

“You talk big game,” she murmurs, her tone suddenly too pointed to be more of that joyous play. The air between you feels charged, intoxicatingly so. “Still think you could take me?”

You start to scrounge up a coy answer for that loaded ass innuendo, but the words fumble in your chest when she replies for you— quietly, with her mouth descending over yours.

The corners of Yuki’s lips are still curved where they press into you, tasting sweetly of watermelon-flavored candy and something cinnamon-y. It’s like a dose of addictive, sugary heat poured straight into your lungs, impossible to breathe without wanting more. You’d let her win every time if it meant this. It kills all of your fight and turns you into malleable clay beneath her, dissolving into the easy pull of her affection.

She moves unhurriedly against you, her trail glistening over your mouth. Every time you meet, drawn into each other, there’s a rhythm to it— a glide of lips, a whisper of tongue, a faint scrape of teeth dulled by restraint. The impressions left by your pressed mouths leaves a bloom of gut-twisting warmth behind.

You can’t tamp down the moan that breaks free when Yuki bodily flattens herself atop you, chest to chest (making it a little hard to breathe) and stomach to stomach, and licks heavily into your mouth that bends open until she reaches where she wants. It’s hard to do anything but unconsciously obey— especially when she abruptly frees your wrists and guides your hands up to meet her.

She could take over completely if she wanted to. It’d be laughably easy for her, in all actuality, especially with Star Rage idling beneath her sunkissed skin. But she lets you feel like it’s your choice to stay beneath her, to allow her to guide your own touch— a display of casually confident dominance that sends a shudder through you from the top of your head to the tips of your toes.

Twining your wrists at the back of her neck, you arch into her more readily. Your tongues meet and trace, brushing against teeth, lips, and the roof of each other’s mouths with an intimacy that has every nerve ending humming. It’s lazy at first, then your joining grows with mounting urgency until all that exists is the burn of Yuki’s mouth on yours and the sudden wedge of a knee between your legs.

“Fuck,” you breathlessly curse into her, the word half-tangled by her tongue. Her cursed energy pours more heavily into her concentrated knee, pulsing like a heartbeat against your clothed cunt. Your legs spread, equal parts your own body’s response and the command of Yuki's sheer presence, and you grind into the give of her.

The clothed friction chafes sinfully over your clit— it makes your fingers uselessly curl at her nape. Your second moan, reedier this time, has Yuki peeling her mouth away from yours with a lewd shllick of saliva separating and breaking.

She placates you with a few quick, chaste pecks that allow her to linger a heartbeat longer. She’s propped above you, lips shimmering and kiss-swollen with the evidence of her play. Her brown eyes are half-lidded cups of espresso, scalding and humming with satisfied energy, blonde lashes lowered like the fall of dusk over her eyes. Yuki looks as wrecked as you feel, still needily rolling up into her as if you can’t bring yourself to stop now that she’s where you want her.

“You really are something else,” Yuki murmurs in a rasp that nearly makes you cream on the spot, her hands finding your circling hips to brush her thumbs along your hipbone in a steadying caress as you work against her. “Most people flinch when they feel this kind of pressure. But you like it, huh? Would this count as a violation of the ‘don’t make it horny’ clause?”

Your brain bluescreens for a moment until your earlier declaration of ‘don’t make it horny’ after expressing your interest in her using Star Rage against you pops to mind. You snort, trying to sound casual but failing entirely, “Yeah… I mean, I definitely like being overpowered way more than I probably should. But don’t let it get to your head.”

Yuki tilts her head, hooded eyes alight— you can see yourself in the glassy sheen, splayed out beneath her for the taking, your hair mussed and shirt askew. She chews her wrecked bottom lip, clearly enjoying the sight. “Too late,” she sighs huskily yet lightheartedly, clearly savoring your reaction. The playful heat is still there but it’s tempered just slightly by affection.

She lets her forehead press against yours for a beat before she ducks down, trails teasing kisses down your jaw and to your neck. She gently bites into you the same way she would a tangy and sweet slice of sun-warmed blood orange, pulling a gasp from your quivering throat.

A lazy swipe of Yuki’s tongue somewhat soothes the build-up of a pounding throb right as her once-encouraging hold on your hips grows firmer all of a sudden. Her cursed energy is crushed into her grip, holding you still. Whining a little, you try to buck up against her knee again in a desperate bid for friction, but Yuki only chuckles and pushes down harder, keeping you helplessly pinned. It makes you feel a little bit like you’re a trapped insect that she’s studying.

"You're really struggling now, princess," Yuki mocks teasingly between the kisses and plum-purple hickeys she decorates your neck with. The touch only makes your cunt squeeze harder around nothing and your legs thrash in almost childish frustration, so keyed up you could cry. "But you're not fighting me. You're just grinding under me like a dog in heat. Feels that good, does it?”

You can’t even respond— not when she sits her curved ass back on your thighs to further subdue you as she strips you of your shirt and tosses it to the floor next to the bed before you can blink. The brush of cool air is a startling gust against your sensitive flesh, leaving your skin prickled in its wake. You’re not wearing a bra— why would you in the comfort of the space you share with Yuki?— and she takes advantage of that immediately with a flick of her manicured finger over your springy nipple.

“H-hhhnn,” you hitch when her cursed energy sparks and she uses it to squeeze around your protruding buds. It hurts so good, her fingers steadily rolling them and groping the plush fat of your breasts.

“My girl’s got such pretty tits,” Yuki practically groans as her dark brown eyes dart up and down your body, from the frantically fluttering muscles in your stomach to your heaving chest, “and they’re so reactive, too.”

The slick heat pooling between your thighs and the sore yet pleasant ache in your chest has your brain short-circuiting. Yuki just hums at the way you choke on a sharp gasp at the pressure of her wandering hands, clearly delighted with how completely she’s got you under her thumb— literally, since her thumbs and forefingers give you one last teasing tweak before retreating.

Your body raises of its own accord as much as it can with the sudden addition of her palm splaying firm over your sternum, the titanic mass that she’s added to herself keeping you heeled. Her other hand slyly delves beneath the hem of your shorts and panties to touch inflamed, soaked skin, stirring the pot of your arousal. The sudden clean stroke of her fingertips parting your folds so that her thumb can come down in neat circles over your clit rips a needy cry from your throat, your entire body shaking from the stimulation.

"You're so soaked for me," Yuki whispers appreciatively in an almost cheery lilt, though it does nothing to disguise how she’s breathing just as heavily as you are as if she’s the one being touched. She doesn’t stop watching you thrash and buck into her touch, not once. "All this time, you just wanted me to crush you until you can’t think and use you as much as I want. Ugh, I could just eat you up."

"Yuki,” you whimper, hands scrabbling uselessly at her strong biceps that are strung taut, “please, please, oh my f-fucking god, please—“

"Please what, lover?" Yuki purrs prettily like a particularly cheshire feline, toying with the swollen button that makes your breath hitch violently, spreading your wetness in a sticky layer that coats her fingers and your already ruined underwear.

“Tell me exactly what you want. If you don’t, I could just keep you here ‘n play with this pretty pussy until she’s crying and making a mess. And fuck—“ she punctuates her words with a sudden crook of three fingers that slide into you all too smooth from being stretched out earlier. Your throat fractures around a wordless sob; it’s as maddeningly pleasurable as it was hours ago. “She’d like that, huh? Your cunt’s always greedy for me.”

Your eyes flutter as fragilely as a butterfly’s wings, tears pricking from the intensity of it all— being petted over, teased, trapped and utterly at your girlfriend’s mercy. Being with a woman like Yuki, who could do this all without breaking a sweat as she practically giggles over your neediness, is exhilarating.

Between stuttering noises that Yuki plucks from you with ease, you manage your best desperate keen, "Just fuck me, Yuki. Please. Need you ‘n your strap, hah, inside.”

That plea makes Yuki's lips perk up in yet another blinding smile. "Good girl, baby." Her fingers work deeper for a moment, curling just right until you're nearly cumming from just the sweet drag of them over your rippling inner walls.

You go bonelessly into the bed when she draws her hand out from your slippery entrance, out from beneath your clothes, and leaves your poor core yawningly empty and primed for more. She manages to make the act of licking and sucking your slickness that coats her fingers a sensual performance that quakes your knees.

Almost woozily, dangling on the edge of delirium, you blink wetly as you watch Yuki draw it in with obvious hunger. The world seems to shrink down to just the sound of her quiet, wet enjoyment, and the following ‘pop’ of her fingers being pulled from the suction of her mouth. It’s all too hot.

Finally clambering off of your lap, Yuki slinks backwards towards the edge of the bed, dragging your shorts and panties down with her descent. She flicks the fabrics aside to join your discarded shirt, meeting your gaze with a heavier one of her own. “You’re pretty every hour of the day, but especially when you’re like this,” she croons sweetly, lashes batting as she looks you over.

Heat rushes over you so quickly that it makes you impossibly more lightheaded. You halfheartedly tuck your legs a little closer to cover up your drooling cunt that’s already threatening to leak all over the sheets, but Yuki’s suddenly cooing that you’re just adorable and she practically flicks your thighs apart with all that wound-up strength, the motion so effortless it’s humbling. A fresh reminder that she could probably crush this entire building if she wanted to.

"Don't hide from me, that’s mean.” Yuki’s tone is half-endeared, half-command. “You’re the most gorgeous trap I’ve ever fallen into. A-woof.”

That startles you into weak laughter that breaks apart your embarrassment at its root, and she practically glows with satisfaction before wasting no second in peeling her own shirt off. Your mouth runs dry. Her tits bounce free, sitting pretty, and she steps off of the bed so that she can shed her bottoms, too. A fine thatch of trimmed blonde hair curls at the apex of her thighs like a veil of temptation.

Yuki does a little theatrical twirl at the end of the bed when she catches you ogling her, her chest swaying hypnotically. She’s all perfectly carved curves that her musculature only enhances, wide hips and bulging forearms and graceful leanness. Holy fuck. She reminds you of a lioness.

“Do you like what you see?” She giggles, fully confident beneath your forthcoming gaze, every bit the woman who knows her dangerously tempting power. Her stormy brown eyes, warm yet unpredictable, coax you in and dares you to bite.

You think your embarrassingly loud swallow as she bends to fish a little box out from beneath the bed is answer enough. Still, you answer as you drape your arm over your forehead to try and catch your breath before she really gets started, “‘Like’ isn’t the word I’d use.”

“Oh, really?” Yuki lilts. She pulls out a harness for her hips with a gold-colored dildo already attached from the last time she ruined you, fake bulging veins underscoring its curve, and tosses the box aside. She steps almost lazily into the harness, taking her sweet time securing the straps of the harness and tugging them just tight enough to hold firm. “What would you say, then?”

You’re already trembling from the way Yuki had wrung you out, hair clinging to your damp forehead, but you swear you nearly shiver out of your skin when she presses a knee to the edge of the cushion. Totally relaxed, she pushes herself back onto the bed so that she can prowl your way on her hands and knees, hips swaying and dildo bobbing in a trance-like rhythm between her thighs.

“I’m obsessed with what I see,” you murmur, almost choking, voice barely audible. “You’re so fucking gorgeous, babe. You’re unreal.”

And oh, isn’t that enough to make the blonde beauty poof up with the arrogance of a peacock as she looms over you again, pearly whites bared in a grin so bright you swear that sunlight glints off of her teeth. “You’re so sweet to me,” she titters. “I know you probably wanna see my face while we fuck, then, and I know I’d loveeee to look into my pretty girl’s eyes as she melts for me in missionary, but—“

Yuki’s hands are on you before you can register the swift movement and the indenting press of her palms against your scalding skin, deceptively gentle fingers finding your shoulders. There’s laughter in her breath as she leans close, and then you feel the sudden shift of weight— her strength coiled and quick as a cat— as she flips you clean onto your stomach so swiftly that it spirals your vision, sending you face-down into the mattress with a soft oof. Cursed energy ripples again, doubling, tripling Yuki’s weight towering above, and she flattens you like a damn pancake.

One hand lightly slaps down between your shoulder blades to keep you from wriggling up— not that you want to, as you’re already mushing your face into the nearest pillow as she singsongs in your ear, “… but, I think I like taking you from the back even more, princess. Isn’t this better?”

“After all, you’ve been working so hard to hold yourself up for ages, bunny.” Yuki shifts, slinking to straddle the backs of your thighs and pressing her weight down enough that you can feel her steady thrum of Star Rage. It feels like the earth itself is embedding itself into the curve of your back, a weight not even Atlas could shoulder, but it’s oddly grounding. “But now you can just relax, breathe, and take it. You don’t have to do anything at all. You're pinned so tight under me, you couldn't move if your life depended on it. Don’t you like that?”

You melt bonelessly into the sheets with a helpless little nod, hips canting up a fraction in an arch the second her palm slides along your ass, the knobs of your spine, and up the back of your neck, pushing a few damp strands of hair aside as if to draw calm back into your body. You barely even flinch when a sudden wad of saliva lashes down between your asscheeks when she spits. Her textured fingers greedily peel apart the globes so she can watch it stream like molasses over both of your clenching holes.

But you do go rigid when a hand, buffed with cursed energy, comes out of nowhere and goes cracking down right over your puffy slit with an almost absentminded ease. It hurts just enough to frazzle and numb. “Yuki,” you whine from between drunk lips and a dumbly tangled tongue, gasping halfway through her name when the next slap passes harder over your ass enough to make the fat jump beneath the stinging slap.

Yuki has developed what can only be described as a professional-level appreciation for your rear end. If you so much as bend to tie your shoes, she’s right there behind you in seconds, tilting her head like an eager canine to better admire you and rubbing over the plush swell as if it’s the most natural place in the world for her touch to land.

She claims your ass is her favorite part of you, always quick to announce it with that little grin that curves like she’s constantly plotting ways to prove her devotion for her favorite vice. You’d be surprised how many times she murmurs for you to walk ahead of her on a random street as if she’s trying to hang back and get a better look at some storefront displays, but really, it’s just so Yuki can watch how your ass sits in your jeans and skirts.

So the fact that she’s squeezing and groping you like a mutt ready to mount is unsurprising, really; you can feel her gaze on the backside of you in this vulnerable position, heated and sultry, like a sunbeam tracing the shape of you just because it has the freedom to bleed wherever it wishes.

Your girl indulges for a moment longer until you start puffing out your impatience, hips giving a wiggle that you barely have the room to perform when she slides easily over your shoulders, her body blanketing yours. Fuck, if you’re not turned on to frankly concerning levels when a sudden cool, blunt press teases your clit.

“S-shit, ri’there,” you slur nonsensically, fingers tensing up the crumpled sheets below.

"Look at you... clenching on nothing already. My needy, needy girl,” Yuki observes in a throaty purr. You can just imagine her curling prettily over you, hips hinged so that she can rub the heavy head of her strap all over your sopping pussy, slicking the silicone up. It nearly slips in, only for her to tilt just right so that the tip indents your core that trembles open and closed for her, sliding wetly past where you’re fighting for it.

Your cunt’s doing all the begging for you at this point; contracting to push out more slick, trying to suck Yuki’s cock in that’s growing sleeker and sleeker with your abundant wetness. You swear, any more of this teasing rutting over your folds in maddening drags, and you’re gonna shrivel up from strap withdrawal and an overwhelming need that’s more harshly crushing than her cursed technique.

Blessedly, the circles she paints your debauched cunt with come to a head at your entrance, which she knocks the tip of the toy on. "Relax," Yuki said, leaning down to kiss your sweaty nape with a softness that made your chest ache despite the need tearing your body asunder. "I'll give you what you want. But you're not moving an inch."

When she finally begins her steady push, your body hungrily devouring the beginnings of her strap past its tight barrier and sinking no more than a centimeter inside, you squeak out a cry. You raise into it as much as the cursed pressure above allows despite her words, hips instinctively straining. You can’t stop yourself, and the helplessness that washes over you when she halts right there with a teasing ‘tut’ sends you deeper into a heated spiral.

“Oh, c’monnn. Is that dumb slutty head of yours not registering a thing I say? I said relax and don’t move—“ She punctuates her brightly chirped command with a sudden fluctuation of her cursed energy, bunched up muscles working as her fingers snag your hips. She bodily shoves you so deep into the bed with the virtual mass, hard enough that the bedframe moans weakly.

While every inch of you is raring to go, eager to throw your ass back into the cradle of her pelvis until her strap is meanly bruising your cervix, there was no way you could possibly accomplish the feat of fighting metric tons of gravity— Yuki holds the reins entirely, just as you wanted her to. That thought alone has you gushing sticky-sweet slick.

Melting into it is a given, so you do, letting your trembly limbs rest limply against the bed. You shiver, spent and weak, unable to do anything but take it exactly as she wants. Yuki coos a faint but undeniably sweet, “such a good girl, I knew you wouldn’t be mean to your Yuki,” while splitting you apart another few inches. Subdued all the while, your senses are entirely attuned to her cock seeping along your walls, which cling desperately to her toy like a sodden glove made of velvet.

The thick fullness of her finally lodges herself to the hilt, Yuki so close to you that you can feel the hanging edges of her blonde hair brushing along your shoulders like they’re strands of whispering wisteria. Your body being adhered flat to the mattress grants Yuki deeper reach, so snug within you that you swear you can feel her cock carving out a space in your guts.

You chew up and spit out a strangled cry, delirious with the pleasurable stretch of your weeping, engorged cunt around Yuki’s strap. "T-too much, it’s so fuckin’ deep, Yuki,” you moan into the silken pillowcase that steadily dampens with your pooling saliva.

“Shh, I’ve got you. Let it take you, princess," Yuki manages breathlessly, sweet as sin despite how unwaveringly she dangles your loss of control between her fingers. “You can handle it. My pretty girl always does."

Your breath wavers at the praise. Her weight withdraws a fraction as she rears her hips back in a slow, steady draw, savoring the sight of your folds convulsing around the toy. She pulls back enough that she threatens to slip free even with how fiercely your cunt wrings in rhythmic pulses to keep her close, then snaps her hips forward firmly enough that you swear she nearly breaks the bed.

This time, the air is punched out of you for an entirely different reason. Your wet gasp fractures into a moan that vibrates your lungs as Yuki rocks her hips down and forward, driving into you with steady strokes that carve you inside out. She’s deliciously entwined with you, her heat seeping into your own.

Each slick, impaling rut is only amplified by the sheer force she exerts to keep you pinned while tempering her output enough to keep the compression from fracturing your body. Her control over her cursed energy, even when she’s fucking into you like she’s got something to prove, makes you more frazzled with arousal— if that were even possible.

The prodding of her thick strap finally nails that spongy tightness inside you that makes your cunt instantly rush a fresh wave of wetness around and down the intrusion. Squealing desperately, you bite down hard into the plush give of the pillow to try and muffle the deranged litany of sounds starting to spill out of you to salvage even an ounce of dignity. But the effort dies halfway through.

“Right there, bunny? You’re, hah, squeezing so hard that it’s difficult to push forward— loosen up so I can reach, ‘kay?” Yuki croons summer-sticky instructions, patting your hips as if it’ll jostle you into following through. Trembling so hard your teeth grind together in their grip, you force your cunt to unspool a fraction, inner muscles releasing their tension.

Then you promptly shriek out a keening whimper when Yuki angles her hips and punches her firm cockhead right into the desired spot.

“Good girl, baby, you’re so cute obeying me so eagerly,” she grunts, sliding her hands up to capture the indent of your waist as she starts really fucking into you at a faster pace. Her fingers press hard into your skin, bruises threatening to bloom like ink on paper— she’ll kiss every single one later when she’s not busy demolishing every inch of you on her cock and drawing out those sweet moans that are a symphony to her soul.

“Feel that?” Yuki’s rolling her hips steadily, sweaty golden skin clapping filthily against your skin every time the globes of your ass round right into her upon rejoining with each other completely. She’s consistently kissing her mark without fail, the pointed pounds of her cock striking true sending you higher. “That deep enough for you?”

“Yes, y-yes, god yes, babe,” you reedily sob out, voice warbling with the thrusts that shake your body to and fro. You’re slipping over the sheets with how sweat-drenched you are, being driven closer and closer to the slamming headboard. “Right there, right there, dun’ stop.”

Her cursed energy rolls outward in response— the heaviness recalibrating, then narrowing down to the drive of her hips and the strap as another extension of her body. Increasing pressure from Star Rage strengthens her thrusts, making you wail loud enough to cover up the obscene shhlicks of your cunt hungrily slobbering down her strap. There’s no doubt that Yuki’s entirely in control of the current, you and even gravity itself bending to her will.

Yuki takes pride in knowing you this intimately and being the only one to render you to this state. She’s memorized the exactness of your every twitch and breath, how you get so overwhelmed sometimes that you start trying to skitter away like a particularly cute mouse fleeing a lion. There’s been countless times where she’s had to wrangle your flailing limbs as her tongue slurps over your clit, your body overloading so intensely because the edge of bliss is so sharp that your body forgets what to do with itself.

And there’s nothing more she loves than watching you fall apart as you struggle to handle her generous, giving endeavors in the realm of pleasure.

So when you claw harder at the sheets with a sudden burst of desperation, tendons straining and sweat slicking off your fingers that fruitlessly try to get a good enough grip that’ll maybe allow you to haul yourself away, she laughs like this is a fun chase for her, endeared and delighted and overflowing with cuteness aggression all at once, and wrenches you back.

You babble out a string of nonsense curses when Yuki claps a hand down over your unbruised asscheek; the other swells a fine, glossy red from her earlier spank, like the blush of a fresh June strawberry. The swat of her hand stings pins and needles into your rear, molten lava coiling hard beneath your skin and in your gut.

(If you weren’t slightly embarrassed at the thought of your friends and fellow sorcerers seeing your puffed up skin, you’d be asking her to direct that controlled force on more visible stretches of your body. Purely so you can press on them tomorrow when they’re more tender and feel the aching burn of pleasure-pain that takes you right back to this moment— stuffed full and entirely at Yuki’s mercy.)

"Awww, where do you think you’re trying to go? You’re adorable, bunny, but this isn’t, h-heh, how this works,” Yuki crows, dripping fondness and mockery all at once. Her raspy voice thrumming over the back of your ear as she cranes impossibly closer makes your brain fizzle out. "You wanted to know how strong I was, so you’re gonna stay caged under me juuust like this. You’re not leaving until I let you; hell, I know you don't even want to."

She nails you right in the head with that correct observation, making you moan helplessly— the sound edged with something dangerously close to a sob. But it’s too much, the drive of her strap in and out of your convulsing walls that eagerly drip your nectar for her too good, a maelstrom of debauchery that has you slurring mewls, has Yuki puffing and groaning when the base of the strap presses deliciously against her own clit.

Before your body can forget what resistance of the overwhelming buzz of bliss even means, you writhe like a bucking bronco, cheeks tight with flushed heat and eyes spinning in their sockets from pleasure. No matter how hard you twist, though, there’s no budging the cursed mass that’s more restraining than iron shackles.

In a blink Yuki’s suddenly dropping like a barbell over your rippling back muscles, letting just enough of that crippling force— a force no normal body could possibly hope to generate— pour into the hold to keep you helpless in the sweetest way. The sultry lines of her body mold to her own and her breasts squish into your back, swaying in place as she cants her hips forward over and over again with the might of a star. You swear you’re so close that your ribs entangle, the bones getting caught on each other’s.

The strength behind it makes your cunt quiver around her hefty, fat cock in a needy rhythm— it weeps thicker, too, when one of Yuki’s strong arms curls around your chest, hauling you neatly back against her. The other slides up, her forearm bracketing just beneath your jaw until the crook of her elbow rests snugly at your throat and tightens in a hugging embrace.

Her chokehold’s not suffocating, just firm enough to remind you who’s got you and who’s most definitely not letting you scamper away without an orgasm beneath your belt.

With her new grip, she gently tugs up and urges your face out from the pillow you’ve been crying and dribbling globs of saliva into so she can hear every pretty little noise as she wrecks you thoroughly. She could patiently listen to you babble nonsense all day, a dreamy beam curving her lips all the while— hell, she has before. Yuki swears up and down that your voice is the loveliest sound in the world, especially when you're barely stringing sentences together because of her cock.

You wheeze out a high, needy noise that sounds more animal than human, more from surprised arousal than shortness of breath. Her breath fans hot against your cheek as she leans in closer, chin catching on your jostling shoulder, “Caught you again,” she chuckles in a wrecked, scratchy rumble, her grin audible in her tone, “you really are my favorite little escape artist.”

You can feel her heartbeat buzzing against your back, wild in its thump thump thumps, and bizarrely it’s that— more than the restraint— that makes you stop fighting the bliss she’s drumming into the marrow of you. Her strength curls around you like a living tether, a comforting tether in the face of the swirling, distorted flecks beginning to blot your vision.

You’re trapped between two black holes; the ecstasy and Yuki herself, all wound up with her cursed technique that rushes like prickling lightning over you. You don’t know which spot of blackness you want to sink into more, but your quavering voice sings your answer for you— “Yuki, Yuki, y’r fucking me so good, Yuki,” you cry out.

With your body molded and pressed exactly where Yuki wants you, cunt soaking the sheets, your thighs and Yuki’s, paired with the near-punishing slaps of her hips into your smarting ass as she buries her thick strap inside of you in a relentless mantra, she tugs your head back to face her a little better, whispering, “lemme see my bunny cry f’me.” There, she spills her honey-sweetness into your awaiting orifice— praise, praise, golden and good praise.

"You're perfect, princess. Such a good fucking girl," Yuki damn near whines out, still drilling in and out of you at a pace that screams she’s an athlete trying to win an Olympic fucking gold for fucking you. Each bump ‘n sway sends her clit pressing into the harness holding her strap, friction washing over her hard. “My strong, stunning girl pinned under me… s-shit, ‘m obsessed with you. Take my cock, baby, juuuust like that. Doing so well for me.”

She’s driving you crazy. “You’re so deep, oh fuck— god, yes yes y-yes, ah!” You manage through your constricting throat. It’s so hard to keep up with Yuki when she’s fallen into a frenzy that orbits around servicing you, fucking you so thoroughly that you can’t tell left from right.

She bites her lips— still just barely smooth with her gloss that you all but mauled off of her and the remnants of your saliva and her saliva combined— as she observes the play of your face. Your tongue lolls helplessly from between your hinging maw. Eyes prettily rolled back and their edges brimming with moisture, saliva racing down her bunched, corded arm, you’re the most sinful sight she’s ever seen.

How could she not be addicted to ruining you?

"I can tell you’re gonna cum soon,” Yuki rasps out, tossing her sweat-heavy blonde strands back with a purposeful tilt of her head. “You really love being pinned, stuffed, and used, don’tcha? Cuuute. You wanna let go for me, baby? Wanna make a mess of your Yuki’s cock?”

Your high-pitched keens and whines that thread from between your teeth in a shivering string is answer enough. The waves of sensation leaves you weaker, more undone, while Yuki's strength never wavers, holding you completely in place.

Yuki laves hotly at your cheek, swiping up your tears that finally leak free with her tongue, before dipping her face into your neck. "That's my girl," she pants from exertion and the pleasure of crumbling you like this. Her voice is softer now but no less commanding.

She kisses, licks, and gently nips at your throat even as she pounds you mercilessly into the squeaking mattress, murmuring against your skin, "So beautiful like this... letting me ruin you sweet. You don’t even realize how gorgeous you are when you give in and let me fuck you the way you deserve. You have no idea what that does to me.”

The contrast of pounding force sawing through your quivering channel, the blunt tip of her strap bullying your cervix with how deep she is, mixed with her earnest words— it unravels you entirely. You cling to Yuki's words, trembling hands hanging weakly onto her biceps at the same time as your body snaps clean under the dual weight of cursed energy and overwhelming pleasure.

You convulse— your thrashing muffled by Yuki’s stagnant power— as release tears through your nerves and blots out everything except for Yuki, Yuki, Yuki, your voice entirely raw and frayed as you sob out whiny noises between panting breaths. You can barely moan, just breathing out whatever you can like you’re fighting to hold on. The dizziness of the slight asphyxiation from her arm snaked around your throat makes your haze of pleasure impossibly more staggering.

And still, your girlfriend doesn’t let up. Though she slows considerably to let you ride it out, she grinds as deep as she can get, milking you for every measly pulse of your cunt, for every rush of slick, cloyingly sweet stickiness. Her lips ghost over the place where your pulse flutters hardest in a flurry of gentle-touched kisses.

"That's it, baby," Yuki rasps in an almost singsongy manner, bright as a clear sky with satisfaction. “Shake for me, fall apart again,” she whispers huskily in your ear, finally slackening her hold around your throat and chest.

Without her support, you tremble weakly, dazed and entirely fucked out and so glad that you brought up Star Rage that you barely register what she’s saying until she continues, “You've still got more in you— l know you.”

You hiccup out a laugh, going bonelessly with the flow as she pulls her strap out and languidly rolls you over. Your entire body is sore from being trapped in place, thighs smeared with release and your vision curling in a dreamy haze of heat.

Above you, Yuki kneels between your legs. A few strands of blonde hair are plastered to her flushed face. Her body, still faintly ringed golden with Star Rage’s activation, is flushed pink with pleasure and exertion. Lean muscle tumbles under her skin like lazily fluttering lightning peeking out from behind a storm-slick sky when she leans in, her grin blinding. “Ready for round two?”

You’re gonna be here all night.

a/n: i need to write more of yuki so bad brah... writing this made me feel deranged in the best way possible

perma tags: @libr4sonsa @spirit-kat @kaitospo @m1nrrva @enchantinghonymoon @shokogasm @dairyfaerie @pvmpkingod @skz8stay @floriophrastus @originalsaucy @loyalguma @wormplant @amane1271 @oporotheca @teachmehowtodokiaye @dogwhiskey @sunnydayqq @yoshinorecommends @spoooooork @satoruxmo @yomama2089 @nymeriassecretgarden @nina-from-317 @uzumakioden @loudshortbookworm @elijahgetsbeachess @jadelen @dookieslayer @naammiii @luxylucylou @user3779135 @xxdiaqiaoxx @angellvk @sahlestial @cowboyvsshop

[kurooh]

DOUBLE FANTASY ★ JUJUTSU KAISEN

⊹₊˚. featuring threesomes with gojo satoru + geto suguru, nanami kento + higuruma hiromi, shiu kong + fushiguro toji, tsukumo yuki + kamo choso.

warnings. 18+ content — mdni, f! reader, threesomes, oral [m&f rec], spit roasting, double penetration, some degradation, choking, rough sex, squirting, sharing a cigarette, spit, clit slaps. | 4.5K words of FILTH

xoxo, juno. comment & rb if you enjoyed <3 !

GOJO & GETO.

perhaps letting your two roommates take care of you after a messy breakup wasn’t a good idea—or is it? less than an hour ago, you’d come home sobbing, cheeks wet with tears and eyes puffy.

satoru and suguru had pulled you into a tight hug, internally thankful you’d broken things off with that asshole (they’d hated when he would come around) but also sympathetic towards you. it was a tough choice, which was then promptly celebrated over margaritas and shots on the couch. one thing led to another, and before you knew it, you were pressed flush against suguru’s strong chest, body sweltering with need hotter than a fire.

“s-sugu, i don’t think you can both fit inside.”

“not with that attitude, sweetheart,” suguru murmurs, hands settling on your hips as he places a small kiss to your cheek. “come now, anything’s possible if you believe in it.”

“bleh, you sound like confucius,” satoru fake gags dramatically, lining his cock up with his best friend’s. their sticky tips prod at your folds, and your heart races faster, rattling around in your ribcage so loudly you can hear it in your ears. although you’re a little nervous, the alcohol you’ve had helps to take the edge away; you impatiently wiggle your hips forward.

“i’m sorry . . ? do you even know who confucius is?” suguru asks incredulously, flicking his bangs to the side with a jerk of his head.

“i’ve seen you read enough of—”

“don’t do this right now,” you plead, voice whiny. “just fuck me already.”

“now, honey. you’ll have plenty of time to slut yourself out for us, don’t you worry.”

“nah, she’s right,” satoru quips, wrapping his hand around their cocks. suguru inhales sharply, unintentionally jerking his hips forward for more. “you ready for us, babe?”

you nod weakly, and the three of you moan in unison as satoru pushes their cocks inside you. it’s slow at first, but the stretch is one that you’ll remember for a lifetime—the burn of being split open on two cocks melts into something euphoric as each inch passes your entrance. satoru groans hungrily, his head falling back. snowy tufts of hair obscure his diamond blue eyes that he tightly squeezes shut, and a huff of breath leaves his lips.

suguru kisses your jaw, fingers trailing along the slopes of your body before finally sweeping over the delicate skin of your throat. you breath hitches when he whispers into your ear: “we’d always hear you begging to be choked harder. don’t you remember that, satoru?”

“hngh, yeah,” he swallows hard at the memory—he and his best friend always heard everything through those paper thin walls. they’d heard your dissatisfaction and vowed to satiate you someday. “and you’d always be going deeper, deeper!”

your cheeks burn with embarrassment. had your roommates really heard everything? how did they face you so easily in the morning after being kept awake each night?

“we’ll give you everything, sweetheart.”

suguru squeezes your throat experimentally, and the corners of his lips lift when you release a moan you’d been holding back for far too long. he and his best friend slowly start to move, rocking their hips into you and developing a smooth tempo.

“both of you are so fucking big,” you mewl, back bowing off of suguru’s chest. they’re filling you up and stretching you out and just as you think it can’t get any better, satoru’s nimble fingers wander to your clit. he curiously toys with it, eyes darkening lustfully once you react how he’d been hoping you would.

“perfect size just for you,” suguru coos, yanking you down by the throat. “satoru, spank her a little.”

he obliges, reading his best friend’s mind easily—a stinging slap lands on your clit, sending prickling shocks of pleasure through your body. the tips of their cocks kiss your cervix, pushing so deep you can’t seem to breathe. satoru gifts your swollen, sensitive clit with slap after slap; the force behind each one only increases until you’re crying freely.

but you’re not begging him to stop, you’re begging him for more.

“god, i always knew you were a fucking slut,” satoru chokes out, pausing to lick some of your slick off his palm. your stomach flips around at the simple action, something hot flashing through you when he closes his eyes momentarily and savors the taste. “finally . . got you to myself.”

then he looks at suguru, who rolls his eyes. “well, for the most part.”

“no need to sound so excited,” he deadpans, huffing beneath you. “as if you’d fuck any better than that damn ex boyfriend.”

satoru scoffs in disbelief, slapping your clit with renewed strength. his hips are still moving, still burying his cock and suguru’s inside you deeper. they’ve got you entirely stuffed—maybe this would be better than some turkey on thanksgiving. your clit throbs with each punishing slap, but your eyes still roll back each time. while they bicker, your oxygen deprived brain spins with arousal and tipsiness. you shudder, going still and barely even managing to warn them of what’s about to happen.

“fuck, i’m gonna—‘m cumming,” you sob, sounding fragile just before you’re about to break. flashes of heat chase their way through you, until they finally explode out of you, in the form of a soaking orgasm. out of patterned habit, satoru’s palm smacks your puffy clit, which only prolongs your intoxicating high further. the intense contractions inadvertently push their cocks a few inches out of you, and your cum splashes on their skin, eliciting pleased groans from them both.

“baby, did you just—”

“she did, satoru,” suguru confirms, biting back a moan.

“i don’t even—i don’t know what happened,” you pant, hissing when someone’s tip bumps against your twitching clit.

“‘s called squirting,” satoru supplies, entranced as he stares at your messy cunt. a mixture of slick and cum coats your inner thighs, and he can’t help but swipe a finger across your skin and then stick it into his mouth. he releases it with a pop, and eyes suguru knowingly.

his voice is now raspy, thick with desire. “let’s make it happen again, sweetheart. we can take turns, of course. but my face comes before satoru’s.”

NANAMI & HIGURUMA.

the smooth oak wood surface of higuruma’s desk is littered with papers hastily swept to the side, and the fabric of your skirt fans out over a few of them. pens and other stationary supplies are forgotten on the floor, along with your now wrinkled blouse.

“h-holy shit—‘romi, right there! just like that.”

“one can only hope that this’ll be enough luck to carry us through the trial,” higuruma grunts, nails digging crescent shaped indents into the fat of your ass. he’s gripping you tightly, chest heaving rapidly as he vigorously fucks his cock deeper.

“ah, hiromi,” nanami huffs, pushing a few stray hairs away from his forehead. they’d escaped their neatly gelled place on his head when the three of you had rushed into higuruma’s office to discuss the final procedures before your trial. “don’t be a downer . . . this is more than lucky. we’ll win, of course.”

you sob, clawing at higuruma’s shoulders. he’d discarded his suit jacket long ago, carefully folded it on one of his bookshelves so as not to ruin the cuffs and smoothness of the fabric. now, he’s rolled the sleeves of his white shirt all the way up to his elbows, and his loosened black tie swings in your face with each of his thrusts.

“wait, hiromi,” your clammy hand pushes against his stomach insistently, “s-slow down, it’s too much, i—”

higuruma looks toward nanami for instruction, and the latter simply pauses stroking his cock. he stands, pushing back the spinning chair he’d been sitting on, and steps toward the edge of the desk. a sheen of sweat covers your forehead and disrupts the smoothness of your makeup, but nanami doesn’t take much pity on you—instead, he lightly slaps your cheek.

“need me to show you too much, angel?” his voice is low and dark, words laced with a throaty rasp that has your pussy squeezing higuruma’s cock. nanami’s eyebrow raises as he pushes your thighs apart to take a look at the mess between them.

“seems to me like she wants you to,” higuruma nods toward your pussy, then loosens his tie and collar further. “after my turn, of course.”

nanami grunts in agreement, settling on the edge of the desk beside your head instead of the chair. the desk creaks weakly from the newly added weight, and for a moment the idea of it collapsing beneath the three of you crosses your mind. higuruma snaps his hips forward, unconsciously licking the sweat away from his upper lip when he starts up.

your hand lamely pushes against his stomach again, but he shakes his head and nanami reacts immediately, intertwining his fingers with yours and slamming your hand down on the wood. whimpers leave your lips and the air is punched out of your lungs with each of higuruma’s strong thrusts; he’s so deep you can practically feel him in your chest.

“ken, i need—my clit,” you gasp, back bowing off the desk fruitlessly. your hips twist and jerk away from higuruma’s cock, for fear of being split open. “touch my clit, i need to cum—”

nanami slaps your cheek again, and your eyes roll back at the penalizing sting. “hiromi, you hear that? she wants to cum.” he mocks your words, then turns back to you, hazel eyes burning holes into your own. “and how do good girls ask to cum, baby? certainly not the way you just did.”

“‘m sorry,” you mewl, and higuruma slaps your clit and makes you shudder. “p-please, i wanna cum for you—i’ve been a good girl!”

“hm, hiromi? you think she’s been a good girl?”

you look up at higuruma pleadingly, tears gathered in your lashes and sparkling in the light. you’ve got that blissed out and dumb look on your face, completely at peace with being thrown around and shared between them.

“sluts take it,” he groans, teeth sinking into his lower lip hard. he yanks your body closer, further bullying his cock inside you. “‘nd you’ve been running from me—isn’t that right, babygirl?”

nanami clicks his tongue, and pinches one of your hardened nipples between his fingers. he looks down at you nicely, cheeks pink and hair mussed.

“maybe i’ll let you cum when it’s my turn,” he huffs, a small smile playing on his lips when you weakly moan his name as if he’ll give you permission. “for now, you’ll have to beg. now, go on and open wide, baby.”

the moment your lips part, nanami spits onto your tongue; he watches you expectantly and nodding in acceptance when you swallow, drunk on the taste of his peppermint gum.

“that’s right,” higuruma backs him up, looking down his nose at you expectantly. “speak now or forever hold your orgasm, sweetheart.”

TOJI & SHIU.

“so, princess, still up for lunch later?” shiu grunts around a chuckle, passing the lit cigarette to toji. the latter accepts it with a scoff, rolling his jade green eyes as he sticks it between his lips.

“yes,” you and toji answer at the same time, but your voice is muffled on shiu’s cock.

toji gifts your ass with a slap and exhales the smoke, handing the cigarette back to shiu with a glare. his once stagnant hips begin to move again, almost as if he’s rejuvenated from his little smoke break. shiu only laughs, cupping the crown of your head in order to ease his cock further down your throat.

“i’m surprised you’ve got the money for that, toji,” shiu teases, exhaling sharply when the tip of his cock bumps into your uvula and makes you gag. your throat constricts around his length and you let out a muffled whine in reaction to the stretch.

“you crazy or sum’n?” toji snaps, choosing to argue with his best friend while he’s balls deep inside you. his harsh thrusts make your pussy squelch, and shiu’s cum from earlier spills out onto the bedsheets below. “of course i’ve got the fuckin’ money for lunch, but you’re gonna be the one paying, dumbass.”

his fingers find your swollen clit and he pinches it, making you gasp around shiu’s cock. you choke, gagging so hard tears pool in your eyes—shiu strokes your head comfortingly as you pull off his cock, coughing hard.

“you okay, babygirl?” and he looks at toji disapprovingly, but he only continues to fuck you. the blunt head of his cock kisses your cervix lightly with each thrust, and when he feels like he’s not going deep enough, he lifts your hips to pull you back. “toji, that was mean.”

“mean . . ? shiu, my girl can fuckin’ handle it. ain’t that right, baby?” he looks to you for confirmation, quirking a brow while the scarred corner of his lip curves into a smirk.

this whole mess had started when you’d spent a night in with toji, watching movies and taking shots every now and then. you’d gotten drunk, swaying on your feet and giggling as you’d pointed to the tv screen dazedly.

“oh, toji, look! that guy looks like shiu!”

he could see the resemblance, and grunted, “damn, he does. ugly just like him too.”

“shiu isn’t ugly!” you jumped up drunkenly to defend his best friend’s appearance, waving your arms around dramatically. “he’s very good looking, actually.”

“oh, really? he doesn’t have any muscle, though.”

“toji, don’t be silly,” you laughed at your boyfriend, “‘course he does, it’s just under all those clothes of his. if he took ‘em off, you’d know what i mean!”

“so you got a crush on shiu?” toji asked in disbelief, his cheeks flaring a deeper pink as he took another vodka shot. “aw, i should let him know.”

one thing led to another, and shiu had come over for breakfast. then your little crush had gotten out, and a bet was placed—who could fuck you better? the condition for the loser was then set in place: whoever lost would buy lunch for the three of you without question.

“y-yeah, toji,” you mumble, forehead pressing into shiu’s pelvis weakly. he’d been the first to fuck you, and now it’s toji’s turn with your pussy—you’re sure you won’t walk smoothly ever again.

“can’t hear you,” toji taunts, lifting your hips and yanking you back onto his cock. the new angle forces him deeper, stretching your cunt out even further. “wanna repeat that for me, doll?”

“ngh, f-fuck,” you moan, eyes rolling back. his cock slams into that sweet, sensitive spot that’s deep inside you, and the tears that had been building in your eyes finally pour down your cheeks. the mascara and eye makeup you’d worn for the breakfast smears against shiu’s skin and makes messy tracks down your face. he curiously slips a finger beneath your chin to make you look up at him.

“aw, baby. i really can’t wait to hear who fucked you better . . . my back certainly wasn’t cracking as much as his is.”

“shut it, shiu,” toji groans, savoring the broken moans that freely leave your lips—gasping ah’s and whines that you couldn’t stop even if you wanted to. “hand me the fuckin’ cig.”

shiu obliges, chuckling softly when he notices you pawing around his thighs in search of his cock. you whimper when you finally get his tip back in your mouth (with his guidance), slowly taking him in inch by inch. he groans, tossing his head back when he finally bumps into the back of your throat.

“m-mind if i fuck your mouth, doll face?” he asks, thighs twitching expectantly. a vein in toji’s forehead bulges at the way he steals his pet name for you.

you shake your head shyly, blinking slowly while toji fucks every single thought out of your head. he’s deliberately holding himself back so you’ll go dumb on his cock, unable to scream anything but his name. yes, this is how he’ll show shiu who can fuck—show him that you’re his girl, his doll face.

tendrils of smoke waft over your break before dissipating in the air as if they were never there. you shudder as toji’s fingers reach your clit, rubbing sloppy circles on the sensitive nub even though your hips rear away. you still haven’t recovered from the overstimulation shiu caused with both his tongue and fingers, but that’s okay. he’ll have you cumming on his cock regardless.

with a deep groan, shiu cups the back of your head to keep you steady, and he shoves his hips forward, his cock slamming far down your throat. you gag, but he’s merciless—doesn’t give you more than a second to breathe before he’s at it again, setting a brutal pace that matches toji’s.

“ugh, fuck—want ya to cum on this cock for me, doll,” he groans, starting to slap his fingers against your clit. your legs kick out in reaction, and you hump your hips back against his hand. toji’s fucked you so hard you can’t even feel shiu’s cum dripping out of you anymore; he’s seconds away from replacing it with his own thick load and having you hold it inside you during lunch.

you nod dumbly on shiu’s cock, starting to sob louder as your own orgasm hurtles toward you. the high is absolutely inescapable, and your watery eyes meet shiu’s when you tip your head up. to the best of his abilities, he’s sweetly talking you through it, his words jumbled although you manage to hear a few clearly.

“how ‘bout we all cum together?” he suggests, wiping a stray tear from your face with the pad of his thumb as if he wasn’t the one that caused it.

“whatever, just as long she does first,” toji warns, his husky voice carrying a tenderness that only you can hear. “got that, shiu?”

like a cheshire cat, he smiles in response, sticking the worn down cigarette between his lips. he takes a drag and thrusts as deeply as he can go before holding your head down at his pelvis. you can hear his quiet moan beneath the clapping of skin against skin and all the other noise; his cock shoots ribbons of white down your throat and he shudders when you swallow it all eagerly, looking up at him for more.

toji throbs against your cervix, and he grabs your asscheek in one of his hands to tug and slap at. “‘m gonna cum, shit . . . wouldn’t ever wanna cum outside of this pretty pussy.”

his fingers work your clit until you’re arching your back and crying out, gushing on toji’s cock with no end in sight. wetness sprays against his pelvis and abs, and he groans, fucking you through it.

“such a mess, doll,” he groans, slipping a hand around your throat and pulling you off shiu’s cock. he instead pins you against his muscular chest, looking over your shoulder through hooded eyes at shiu, who hasn’t gone soft yet. “fuckin’ love it, though.”

toji places a few wet kisses to your neck, moving close to your ear. “so, doll face? where’s lunch gonna be? shiu’s treat, of course.”

YUKI & CHOSO.

“c’mon, you don’t really plan to just sit and watch us, do you?” yuki pushes her blonde bangs away from her forehead with an enchanting smile playing on her lips. she playfully tilts her head to the side, eyeing choso and his seated form.

“well, i . . . you said you’d teach me,” he offers lamely, his reddened cheeks only darkening. he catches your eyes on him too and awkwardly crosses his legs, trying to hide the tent in his pants.

when you’d finally had enough of your boyfriend’s ineducable inexperience, you’d decided to bite the bullet and ask your best friend. yuki had been receptive from the start, her eyes gleaming while you’d explained the situation to a willing choso.

“oh, you won’t learn anything from over there,” she laughs, waving him over to the empty space beside her on the bed. “y’know, sex is pretty hands on.”

choso settles beside her, and the bedframe creaks as it accommodates the new weight. his fingers are trembling as they brush over the tender skin of your inner thighs, and his eyes widen when they come close to your dripping pussy. slick is smeared all over your skin and shining in the low light, utterly enticing to the both of them.

yuki spreads your legs further, and you draw in a sharp breath, lower lip slipping between your teeth.

“come closer,” she coos, pointing at your clit with a smirk. “that’s her clit . . . ‘s the secret to the female orgasm, choso. go on, give her a lick.”

without question, choso adjusts himself so he’s on his stomach, and he experimentally licks your clit. his silky tongue is flexed and nervous, dipping down further to taste the wetness trickling from your slit.

“f-fuck, choso,” you cry, insides lurching deliciously at the feeling. one look at yuki—her cheeks are colored pink, tongue unconsciously darting out occasionally to sweep over her lower lip—and another at choso, whose movements are gradually becoming more insistent, has a sweltering heat coiling deep in your stomach.

your hips jerk forward, pelvic bone nearly nailing him in the bridge of his nose, and choso’s head rears back in concern. “‘m sorry, are you—”

“our girl’s loving it,” yuki hisses, not even missing a beat as she cups the crown of his head, manicured nails digging into your boyfriend’s scalp as she forces his head back down. he doesn’t resist, letting out a muffled moan when his face lands directly in your pussy. slick smears across the lower half of his face and he feels the saliva pool on his tongue from how hungry he is.

choso’s nose bumps into your swollen clit, and a pitched whine tears from your throat. “need—i need more, please,” yuki settles onto her stomach beside choso, palm leaving his head. her fingers impatiently push past his chin, stroking lightly against your dripping pussy, and she quietly moans in delight.

you watch slack jawed as yuki pushes her fingers into her mouth, and her eyes squeeze shut. her hips grind against the bed, sheets rustling softly beneath her body. choso’s too caught up to notice, dark strands of hair sticking to his sweaty forehead.

“cho—ah, shit—use your fingers, baby.”

your boyfriend obliges obediently, carefully pushing his fingers inside you and tugging back to let yuki take over with her mouth.

that heat inside you ignites into an inferno the second her mouth finds your clit. her lips lightly wrap around it and her tongue sweeps over the swollen bud; to tease you a little further, she lets her teeth occasionally nibble at it.

“this what you wanted?” choso pants, voice lilting curiously as his eyes rake over your body. he’s always been rather shameless when it comes to looking you over, but after this, he’ll finally be able to back it up with a hundred percent. the heave of your chest and parting of your bitten lips is enough of an answer, but he wants to hear it from you. his fingers curl inside you, pressing into a spot that scratches the unbearable itch in your brain perfectly.

“y-yes, cho!” and you’ve got stars in your eyes, feeling an unfamiliar pressure straining in your lower abdomen. “wanna—wanna cum on your face, please.”

“you heard her,” yuki quirks a brow, thumb working your clit in place of her tongue. she’s got a wildness in her eyes, with the lower half of her face sticky like choso’s. “let’s make our pretty girl cum together, hm?”

choso flushes all the way to his neck but nods, his two fingers pushing deeply over and over. a small sting accommodates the stretch, but is quickly forgotten when their faces push against one another’s in their rush for a taste. your slick is sweet like ambrosia, and they’re far too greedy to take turns with your cunt.

your clammy fingers push into yuki’s flowing tresses, while your other hand cups the crown of choso’s head and pushes him impossibly closer. her moans are softer than his as she finds your clit again, licking desperately, almost as if she’s begging you to cum.

meanwhile, choso places a hand above your pelvic bone, palm pressing into the soft skin—you’d mentioned that fingering wasn’t fingering without that small detail and he hasn’t forgotten it since—and it’s becoming difficult to breathe without panting. whiny moans fill the spaces in between your babbled words of bliss, and yuki knows that she won’t be able to get enough of you once this is over.

“ooh, fuck,” you sob, nearly choking on your words when your back uncontrollably arches off the bed. your fingers tighten in her hair and your nails scratch against choso’s scalp, making a mess of his once neatly tied buns. “yuki, ‘m so close, can’t hold it—”

she’d known what had been coming the moment you’d asked for choso’s fingers. she’s unable to stop herself from smiling against your clit, and choso’s tongue bumps into her own as he fights for a piece of you too. he’d initially been all for this so he could learn how to make you tick, what you really meant when you’d beg for his mouth.

his skin is hot as it pushes against hers, their cheeks puffing up a little as they fight for dominance over your clit. they’re shaking their heads all too much, and choso’s grunting while yuki does too, sending vibrations through your already sensitive clit. that pressure burns through your body, and your legs begin to tremble on either side of them as it grows more intense.

“hmph—cum for us, pretty girl.”

similarly, choso tugs away for a moment and lets out a huff, pressing down hard while his fingertips push into your sweet spot, “let us taste it, baby.”

their simple words do the trick, and with a gasp, your pussy begins to gush waterfalls right onto their faces. yuki eagerly slurps up the slick and cum from your cunt, with no regard for the way it’s still fluttering sensitively. choso barely gets a taste, only getting the tip of his tongue wet, and he pulls back with an annoyed scoff.

“yuki, that’s—”

“y-yuki!” you interrupt, voice breaking as you pathetically try to writhe away from her. with choso sitting back, she’s able to grab you by the hips and drag you close, insistently licking you through the dizzying high. “‘s too much, wait—choso!”

“yuki,” he scolds with a shake of his head, but makes no move to pull her away. honestly, if he tried, he wouldn’t be able to. “that’s no fair, i didn’t even get a taste. and she’s my girl.” choso’s words are pointed and a little whiny, and yuki just rolls her eyes.

“then come here ‘n try again. just look at her, she’s dying for more . . aren’t ya, pretty?”

[cupidstrace]

16 October 〃 PRIDE

── 〃 𖤍 KINKTOBER '25 .

Your best friend is totally not in love with you. Or a pervert who has his go-to gooner videos bookmarked on the laptop he lets you use.

Pairing: Down Bad!Choso x Childhood BSF!Reader Content Warnings: MDNI 18+, virginity loss, praise, awkward pervert choso, lots of kissing, giggly sex, he goes pussydrunk at the end WC: 2.8k

A/N: also for my baby’s ( @j3llyc4kes' ) birf HEHE <33 happy belated my lovee

Contrary to popular expectation, Choso Kamo is not an inexperienced virgin loser.

He's just a virgin.

Which by some measure would mean he’s inexperienced – if he didn’t jerk it at every given moment to the extensive filth he has downloaded to all devices.

Okay. So maybe he’s a loser, too.

But he can’t help it!

It’s not his fault the only girl he’s ever talked to is you. His childhood best friend – the girl he’s known since diapers and block parties on the cul de sac down the street. The girl he can’t view as anything else, because sure, you have a pretty laugh and a pretty smile and reeeeal pretty tits, but you’re also.. y’know, you.

Not that that’s a bad thing!

In fact, you’re really sweet. An angel. The kind of person that could say something completely random and somehow not be misinterpreted or misconstrued because you’re just that lovely. Which is definitely what everyone at your uni thinks – not just him, of course. Not that he thinks about you. Not that he thinks you’re lovely. Or anything.

You do have pretty tits.

Speaking of you (and your pretty tits), you’re currently splayed out on his bed whining because you forgot your computer and you need to submit this very important report by tonight. What it’s about, he couldn't tell you. His brain stopped listening after the third whisper of his name, and something lower down roused up instead.

“Can I use your computer, Cho? Pleeease?”

“Y– yeah,” he stammers, voice cracking to an ungodly degree.

He tries to save himself with a cough. Miserably fails. Stands up and fumbles around his desk until he gets ahold of his laptop and offers it stiffly, avoiding eye contact like it’ll save him from melting into the ground.

You turn it on and input his password – the same one it’s always been since you were kids, because he told you like it was some sort of secret for the two of you to share, and never bothered to change it after.

And.. yup!

As if today couldn’t get any more embarrassing, there it is.

His “stash”, so to speak, sitting all nice and pretty on the tab the screen opens to.

“Uh,” you blink, eyes trailing over the files with mild confusion, “What’s ‘Special Folder #3’?”

Something inside Choso dies.

Actually, no – it’s him. He dies. His soul leaves his body and evaporates toward the ceiling and watches as you move the cursor closer to the tab that holds the worst, most depraved corners of his brain (dick?) in 1080p60 HD.

“Don’t–!”

He makes a last ditch launch for the device.

Too late.

Click.

Silence.

The sound that follows might actually haunt him forever – a sharp, pornographic moan, echoing throughout the room. Followed by the low whir of his laptop fans trying desperately to process a full-screen titjob porno.

You freeze. He freezes. The whole room seems to freeze, and Choso’s blood runs cold, like he’s been caught in the act. Which, in a way, he has. Because you’re in his bed. Watching. And it’s his laptop. His porn.

“..oh.”

You pause, gaze darting from the screen to him.

He looks like he’s about to start sobbing. Or confess to a murder. Or both.

“Cho–”

“I– it’s not.. that’s– it’s–”

He sounds like an inflatable tube in the middle of summer with a hole poked through the plastic.

“Special folder number three?”

“Please don’t–”

“You.. name all of them, huh?”

“Could you please pause the video–”

You bite your lip, trying to hold back a laugh. But the way his face is turning red – whole face, beetroot red – is killing you.

“You’re cute when you’re embarrassed,” you coo, and he short-circuits.

Because you just called him cute.

And you’re smiling.

And you’re sitting pretty like an angel in his sheets with your legs tucked under you, wearing that top and those shorts, looking at him like he’s more than just the inexperienced virgin loser he likes to say he isn’t.

“Don’t say that,” he whispers, throat tight.

“Why not?”

“Because I–”

He cuts himself off with a press of his lips.

He’s so fucked.

If he admits to what’s sitting in his chest (and in his sweats), he’s fucked.

If he doesn’t, he’s fucked.

He’s just.. fucked. Royally fucked.

You’ll never look at him the same way again.

You tilt your head, all soft and curious, and lean forward, and it takes every ounce of willpower in his pathetically horny soul not to look down your shirt.

“Because what, Cho?”

“Because I’ll–”

“Get hard?”

You grin, shutting his computer lightly. Setting it on the bedside table

He chokes.

“Wha– I–”

You shrug. “It’s not like I didn’t notice, y’know..”

You say it so casually – motioning with your hand in a general gesture – and Choso thinks maybe he is dead. Maybe he died when you clicked that tab and the angels made a mistake and put him in heaven, because all of a sudden you’re curling your fingers around his arm, pulling him just an inch closer, pressing your tits against his skin. And god, you’re soft. Plush lips parting with the prettiest smile he’s ever seen.

Something in his bones tells him to lean in and kiss you. Something in his stupidity makes him do it. And he reels back the moment your lips brush his, panicked.

“Shit! Fuck. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to– well, I did. It’s just, I shouldn’t have, uh. Fuck.”

You just stare up at him. Then laugh, like you’re not disgusted, like you don’t want him to die for thinking about you like this.

“Choso,” you whisper. “You think I’d be sitting on your bed dressed like this all afternoon if I didn’t want you to kiss me?”

He opens his mouth. Closes it. Tries to formulate a sentence and ends up with nothing.

And then you roll your eyes and lean forward, pressing your lips to his once more. Light, then deeper, until it’s messy and desperate and he’s kissing you back like a man starved, tongue plunging in and swirling with yours. His hands hover, uncertain, before finally settling gentle on your waist, and god, you’re sweet. Your taste and your kiss and everything about you – even sweeter than he thought you’d be, somehow.

You pull back slightly, just enough to nip at his lower lip, drawing a sharp inhale from his throat.

“See?” you murmur against his mouth, voice all sultry and saccharine, “not so bad, right?”

He nods, quick and jerky, fingers flexing against your skin as he swallows down a nervous whine. “Yeah. I mean, no, uh.. it’s good.”

“That’s good,” you hum back, smile sweet. Sliding one hand up to trace the line of his jaw, thumb pressing light against the side of his neck. “Just feel it. I’ve got you.”

You kiss him again, slower, guiding him with the press of your lips and a shift of bodies, until you’re straddling his thigh, rolling your hips ever so subtly. And he’s hard – painfully so – cock straining against the thin fabric of his sweats and twitching with every little move you make.

Choso breaks the kiss with a gasp, head thrown back. Breathing heavy.

“I.. fuck, I don’t know what I’m doing,” he heaves, looking back down at you. Hands trembling as they slide beneath your top, calloused fingers brushing the swell of your breasts.

“That’s okay,” you hum, arching into his touch. “We can go slow. Tell me what you want.”

Your fingers trail down his side, tapping gently at the waistband of his sweats. And like second nature, he gets up. Discards his clothes. Cock slapping against his stomach, curved and throbbing, tip flushed a pretty pinkish hue and leaking pre.

“You,” he breathes, slipping back into the bed just to wrap his arms around your body. “You. All of you. I want you.”

His confession hangs tender in the air – need and fear and adoration tangled up and hoarse in his throat.

"Okay."

You push him back gently, until he’s leaning against the headboard and you’re in his lap, his length pressing against your clothed cunt. And he doesn’t put up a fight. Just stares up at you, transfixed, as you peel off your top and let it drop to the floor. Nipples hardening under the cool air and the burn of his gaze.

His tongue darts out to wet his lips. Eyes flitting across your body, like he doesn’t know where to look. Or if he’s even allowed to.

“Touch me," you whisper. Taking his hands and guiding them to your chest. His big palms spread tentative against the underside of your breast, thumbs circling your nipples with hesitant strokes – and you sigh into it, rocking your hips down to grind against him. Giggling when a choked sound escapes his throat and he bucks up out of instinct.

“Like that?” he asks, voice strained. Thumbs pressing firmer, rolling your nipples around. Shifting to pinch lightly. The sensation sends tingles down your spine, shooting straight to your cunt.

“Yeah, just like that."

You lean down to capture his mouth again – kiss hungrier, teeth grazing, tongues sliding all wet and desperate as your hand slips between your body and his, palming his aching cock.

“Please,” he pants, breaking away to trail messy kisses down your neck, sucking a light mark at your collarbone. Uncoordinated in a sort of endearing way, unraveling right before your eyes.

His breath hitches as your fingers wrap around his length, barely meeting, stroking slow and firm from the base up to his leaky tip. And he ruts desperately into the feeling, like he can’t control himself. “F–uck,” he whines, eyes squeezing shut. “Feels.. fuck.”

“You like it?” you smile, squeezing gently just to tease. Watching as his face contorts in pleasure. You lean back to kick off your bottoms, too, pretending not to notice the way his eyes follow your panties, all slick with arousal.

His breath hitches when he sees your cunt. Murmurs a “you’re wet” beneath his breath, like it’s some sort of astounding discovery, sliding a finger along your soaked folds. Circling your clit with the rough pad of his thumb. When you gasp and grind down, he follows your rhythm – rubbing steady circles. A finger dipping inside so hesitantly it feels like he’s doing it on purpose. Edging you with the promise of pleasure.

“It's for you,” you hum, pressing a gentle kiss to his jaw. “All for you, Cho.”

He blinks, eyes half lidded, before smiling up at you, sheepish. Finger delving deeper, mapping out your insides with the softest touch. Not skilled, completely intimate – watching your every reaction, adjusting based on the slightest sound. “You’re so pretty, baby.”

You shiver at the warmth behind those words. Stroking him faster, matching the pace he starts to set, room filling with the sounds of your shared breaths and the wet slide of skin. Tension building, coiling tight in your stomach, before you pull back to meet his gaze. Both of you flushed, hearts beating the same slow rhythm.

He gnaws his bottom lip for a moment, embarrassed, before speaking up. Breaking the intimacy of the moment with a weak whisper of your name.

“Can we.. make love?”

You blink. Then your lips curve into the prettiest smile he’s ever seen as you nod.

And the second you do, his hands come around your waist. Flipping you gently so your back is to the bed and he’s between your legs, hand around his cock. Head nudging gently between your folds, slicking itself with your wetness before pressing against your entrance.

Choso pauses, and for a moment, you wonder if this is some kinky thing he’s watched on the many files he has downloaded. Some sort of cruel edging he’s into. But his voice comes out with an unconfident waver, and you know there’s no way he’d be that mean.

“I, uh.. this is the right hole, right?”

You burst out laughing.

Literally.

Body trembling with amusement as his tip slips clumsily between your folds, slick and pre smearing together into a sopping mess.

Choso goes red in the face, lowering his head until his hair covers his eyes as he concentrates on where your bodies connect. Pushing in once you nod through tears of amusement.

You cut your own giggles off with a whine as he sinks in, inch by inch, all slow and careful and stretching you out with a burning kind of pleasure. He groans loud and long, almost in response, fingers digging into the sheets as he fights not to thrust in too abruptly.

“It’s tight,” he whispers, hoarse, “warm. Holy shiiit– my perfect pussy. Sorry. Perfect baby–”

He cups your cheek and kisses your forehead, leaning forward all awkward, like he’s afraid of pressing too hard even while bottomed out. And you laugh again. Sound reverberating through your body until he’s bucking into you with a whine.

“Am I doing okay?” he asks, tentative. Grinding his hips down and trying not to smile all cheesy when you meet him with a slow roll of your own.

You hum an affirmative, eyelids fluttering when his thrusts grow bolder at your encouragement – deeper, reacting to you. Pulling all the way out and then right back in, tip grinding against a spot that has your toes curling.

“Harder,” you breathe, nails digging into his shoulder. And he listens, like he always does. Slamming up into you with a grunt of your name, the bed creaking under the force. Your breasts bounce with each thrust, and he leans forward with a lovesick grin, sucking one nipple into his mouth. Tongue laving spit over your skin as he fucks into you steadily.

When you start to slip into your high, pussy fluttering around his cock and pulling him in deeper, he tucks his head into the crook of your neck and smiles against your skin.

“So good to me,” he whispers, voice adopting an almost worshipful, delirious tone, “pretty girl. You don’t know how long I’ve dreamt about this, jerking off all day, thinking ‘bout you– shiiit, you gonna cum?–”

His thumb slips down to rub at your clit, all messy and uncoordinated. And somehow, it works – your orgasm crashing over you in waves, a cry of his name swallowed by the sweetest kiss you’ve ever been granted. Walls fluttering helplessly around his pulsing length.

Choso follows seconds later, pulling out with a guttural groan. Cock drooling cum across the sheets – a laundry issue he’ll think about later, because all he can focus on right now is how good he feels, how pretty you look cumming just for him.

You collapse together in a tangled mess of sheets and limbs, breaths in sync as the high fades into a pleasant buzz. His arm drapes over your side in some sort of possessive, more-than-friends instinct, and you let him pull you close with a soft sigh.

And then post-nut clarity hits like a bitch.

Choso’s bottom lip trembles. Ears running hot as he drops his head, pressing a shaky kiss to your shoulder. Like some sort of massive teddy bear trying to hide in your warmth.

You snort and thread your fingers through his hair.

“Hey,” you murmur. “It’s just me.”

And fuck, you’re right. That's the issue.

It’s you.

The girl who he used to share juice boxes and bike rides and inside jokes with. The girl who gave him spare pencils in middle school and study guides in high school and his first everything, now, in uni. The girl who’s known every version of him – even the inexperienced virgin loser one.

Oh.

He’s just an inexperienced loser now.

Maybe he’ll keep the term, like a bucket list of things to work on.

“I like you,” he blurts out. “I really, really like you. A lot. God, you’re so pretty. Sorry.”

He’s not sure what he’s sorry about.

The fact that his confession ended up being an afterthought? Or maybe that he made love to you and didn’t know if he was inserting himself into the right hole? Or maybe the shame started before then, all the way back to when he first accidentally subjected you to his depravity via the porn folder on his laptop?

He shuts his eyes tight.

And then you laugh, pulling away so you can see his face. Kissing his eyelids in the softest, most tender way, like you can tell he’s overthinking again.

You probably can.

You know him well.

“I like you too, Cho,” you coo.

Ah.

He whines in response, arms wrapping around you to pull you close, cuddling you against his chest. And you lean into his touch with a content hum, cheek over his pounding heart.

Fuck, he adores you.

“Also.. maybe password-protect your porn next time.”

“I'm so sorry."

[webism-deactivated20251110]

pornstar!choso has a curated look that throws off a lot of his costars. strong build, straight-set face, hands made to choke and tear… most of those he film with don’t expect to be doted on the entire time.

people joke that pornstar!choso falls a little bit in love with every costar he fucks or gets fucked by. that glossy look that always pulls at his face by the time a scene ends, how his lip trembles with a need to be kissed raw when he cums. he says it's just the bliss of his orgasm—that he gets emotional in the moment, but it doesn't mean anything. well, until he meets you.

pornstar!choso who looks you up before his shoot because your name sounded vaguely familiar when it left his agents lips. he could have sworn you'd fucked before, because when he rolls the syllables of your name on his tongue they're nostalgic and taste like the sweat and laboured breaths of a long night between satin sheets. had you shot a scene together before? or had it been a one night stand?

pornstar!choso who realises that no, he hadn't slept with you before. but the familiarity of your name isn't a coincidence—he's fucked his fist to your videos more times than he can count. your name hits him like lightning, he had typed it into his search bar late in the night, cock hard and in need of instant relief. it's almost scary how well he knows you, what sounds you make when you get close to cumming, how you often arch your back and try to run from the overwhelming pleasure, how your eyebrows knit together when you're feeling so good it almost hurts.

pornstar!choso who realises with a now-red face that you probably don't have a clue who he is, and yet he's cum in time with you for months now. he's pretty sure he's drained his wallet at least twice on your cam shows... what if you recognise his name and piece it together with his username that he donates under? he debates cancelling the shoot, faking covid to get some time at home to hate himself endlessly.

but pornstar!choso realises that this is his chance to get to know how you really feel. he's imagined it so many times, as he fucked fake pussies or his closed fist using spit or his own cum as lube. you'd be warmer, undoubtedly tighter... so much prettier. and he wants to know more: would you prefer to take control and turn him into the toys he so often pretends are you? would you lay back all pretty and let him ruin you on his cock? how deep could you take him he knows he's big but you seem so eager, would you take him to the base with ease or would he have to force it in? bully your pretty pussy until it stretches to his shape?

pornstar!choso who hates the fact that your first, and possibly only, time together would be in front of a production crew and under the unsympathetic lights of a porn set. but he'd fuck on a stage in front of thousands if it means a taste of you.

pornstar!choso who makes it to the shoot before you do, comes ten minutes early to settle his anxieties and get a feel for the scene ahead. the director tells him its a simple shoot, that choso is meant to let you ride him for a while until you pull off and suck his cock for a nice close-up facial shot. the way the director speaks so clinically about sex with you makes choso grimace, he feels pathetic for feeling like this. like he'll be a changed man after feeling you around his cock, which is already painfully hard.

pornstar!choso who hates himself for stumbling over his words when he meets you. he wishes he had never looked you up, though he doesn't doubt seeing your pretty face like this would have wrecked his confidence regardless. you're kind, greet him with a shy smile as if he isn't about to slip balls deep inside of you.

pornstar!choso who, once he has you sitting on top of him on that bed—cameras pointed dutifully as you start to play your role and hike your skirt up so you can sink down on his cock—he can't handle the thought of fucking you like it's nothing, like it's not been the crux of his fantasies in the dark hours at night.

pornstar!choso who, probably to the detriment of his career, pushes you backwards onto the bed and connects his lips to yours in a kiss that surpasses every single fantasy he's had in his mind. you taste good, and he wants more. he speaks against your lips, asks whines a question that makes your stomach coil. 'can i eat you out first? please?'

pornstar!choso who is chided by the production team as he gets his head under your skirt and laps at your pussy in the most desperate act of need he thinks he's ever displayed. those that claim he falls in love with each shoot would be wholly correct in this case: he is in love with the taste of you, with the way your legs trap him in and ask for more. he could eat you for hours, run his tongue from your clit to dip it inside of you in reverence of the goddess he believes you to be. and you laugh at the absurdity of his hunger, at the courage it takes to run off script, and the pure need in which he eats you out.

pornstar!choso who only stops once the director threatens to cut the scene entirely. his cock hurts with how hard it is though, and he thinks the redirection of blood has made him lightheaded, because when he's made to sit back and let you sink down onto his length he swears he meets god.

pornstar!choso who can't help his whines as you ride him, an addiction already laying down roots in his brain. he has to try and think of anything less godly than you to hold on to his orgasm though, because the combination of your body and having subconsciously trained himself to associate you with climaxing is all too strong, and he's a hairs breadth away from cumming prematurely and ruining the scene.

pornstar!choso who realises as you continue, however, that your moans arent the same as he's heard them before, though the speakers of his phone. you're more breathy with him, your moans are less honeyed, more raw—as if coming from your chest rather than your throat. he wonders for a moment if he's not good enough, if you're having to fake your pleasure to save face for the cameras. but you're soaked, and even above the sounds of your shared pleasure he can still hear the squelch of his cock rutting in and out of you.

but before pornstar!choso can question himself further, your eyes are widening and you're latching a hand onto his throat as your pace increases. he can feel the way you tighten impossibly around him, the way your hips stutter and your pupils blow out with lust—you're cumming. and of course he remembers his instructions, to let you climb off of him and take his load over your face... but you're not climbing off of him.

pornstar!choso who understands the pointed look you manage to give him, that it's your turn to bypass the scene direction. you want to be greedy, to feel him finish inside of you, even through the confines of a condom. your moans arent fake, they're the first real ones you've let sound on a porn set—and choso is pulling them from your lungs like a choir's conductor.

pornstar!choso who can't last a minute longer, now with the way you lean in and coax him to climax with your voice, the soft praise that leaves your lips is an aphrodisiac and all too powerful. he sees stars when he cums, full blown galaxies too complex to imagine. call it an out-of-body experience or not, but choso is lost in his orgasm for long enough to warrant you bringing him back down with a soft kiss to his lips. he looks sinful: his hairs come loose, messy and stuck to his forehead. his eyes, though, are what's going to be the subject of a few screenshots taken by his fans: he looks totally infatuated.

pornstar!choso who, after taking a few minutes to settle himself after the shoot, watches as you walk over to him, a very pretty smile pulling at the corner of your lips before you lean down and peck his lips goodbye. he assumes it's the last he'll see of you, that there's no way he's worthy of every tasting you again. that night, he's scared to brush his teeth, to lose the way you linger on his tongue.

pornstar!choso who debates fucking his fist to the memory of you in bed that night. he thinks you've ruined masturbation for him, or sex in general: nothing could quite be the same. and as if its a sign from god that he's done enough good in his life to deserve some positive karma, his phone dings.

a photo of you, a pretty vibrator laid over your stomach. your laptop open in the background, his porn playing on the screen.

attached, a message that makes the poor boy cum in his pyjama bottoms. 'lets meet up again. i want to tie you up and film how stupid you get with a vibe strapped to your cock—a movie just for us, though. no audience.'

pt 2 in the works :p

[peachsayshi]

Honey (Vampire!Choso x F!Reader) 

Synopsis: Choso refuses to feed and you know it’s your fault.  

A/N: (18+ / minors & ageless blogs DNI) this is smutty - this is a piece I made for @laudthingcat​​‘s Halloween Event! I hope you all enjoy it! - TW: mentions depression & suicide(ish?), blood/blood manipulation/blood sharing, getting kinky with a vampire, choso’s blood is sort of an aphrodisiac?, angst and fluff and smuttt, maybe a blasphemous phrase lol

(PS. I am so sorry this turned out so long)

Keep reading

[ryoride]

streamer!choso was the perfect roommate... the first few weeks he lived with you. Quiet and kept to himself, he barely made a mess. Almost too good to be true.

Until streamer!choso's former roommate brought the final boxes of his stuff, and you got woken up that night by his deep voice echoing through your shared wall—which would have been fine. Everyone has needs—but the weird thing was he hadn't brought a girl home.

streamer!choso opened his door rather quickly when you knocked, a headset pushed off just one ear as he leaned against the wall, not to block you from seeing his stream setup, but to block them from you.

streamer!choso apologized quietly, assuring he'd keep down better—offering to move his setup to the opposite wall to avoid waking you again, until you waved him off. whispering that it was fine—just as long as he kept it down.

streamer!choso had kept that deal for almost a month—almost—until one night, he had streamer!gojo over, and he realized just how loud his friend could be & nearly jumped out of his skin when Satoru fell over.

streamer!choso apologized to his fanbase and quickly ended his stream just before hearing your bedroom door click open—awaiting your swift knocks, but what he & his friend least expected was for you to worryingly ask if they were alright.

streamer!choso quietly shuffled to his door like a dog with its tail between its legs and not like the literal 6'0 angel he was, apologizing profusely for waking you—only to be pleasently surprised that you had been watching his stream, shooting his friend a death glare when streamer!gojo whistled behind him.

streamer!choso woke up before you the next morning, and decided to apologize for being an annoying roommate, by making you & him chocolate chip pancakes, waking you with the promise of a 'surprise' leaning over the kitchen island & eating with you while you asked him all the little details you'd noticed in his streams.

streamer!choso felt something new after that breakfast—this little flutter in his chest whenever he saw you around the apartment; he just felt so much more comfortable around you.

streamer!choso & you ended up spending more time together whenever he wasn't streaming, to the point where he was actually quite talkative around you—which shocked himself time to time.

streamer!choso took it upon himself to be a good roommate and challenged you to a match of his favorite game. Both of you lounged together on his bed, laughing and quietly talking throughout the round.

streamer!choso wasn't an ass when you lost the match, only putting an arm around you, guiding you through the next one, and happily taking the high-five you gave him once the two of you won.

streamer!choso stiffened like a board when your gaze softened, flickering to his lips momentarily before looking away—his hand quickly coming out to pull you back to him, taking only a second before slamming his lips against yours.

streamer!choso felt like he was in heaven; one second, he was pushing you down onto his mattress kissing you softly, and the next? He was fucking you into a mean mating press, drinking down each whine that escaped your throat.

streamer!choso was big—you knew that from his height, but nothing could have prepared you the absolute girthyness of his cock, pierced at the tip and kissing your cervix with each bullying thrust

Words couldn't describe how it felt, splitting you open like that. streamer!choso was wrecking you and treating you like something utterly fragile, cradling your cheek.

streamer!choso carefully felt around where he was stretching you wide with a soft groan against your lips, pulling back just enough to stare down at you as his thrusts turned gentle.

streamer!choso pulled out just after making you cum so fast you felt like you'd levitated off his bed—and finished on your lower stomach with a groan, collapsing next to you in a breathless mess.

streamer!choso ended up cuddling you to sleep that night—never more thankful his bed was perfectly out of his camera's view that night as he started stream that night, staying nice and quiet so you could stay asleep

streamer!choso's stream caught fans' eyes for the simple fact that there seemed to be a pair of lace panties hanging from his ceiling fan and a perfectly on-display hickey on his throat.