choso is a perv... still ended up in your bed tho .ᐟ mdni 18+
𝜗𝜚 cw: dom!reader, sub!choso, fem!reader, roommate!choso, riding, choking, kind of a pain kink, panty-stealing, teasing, edging (kinda), mentions of weed, cervix kissing, pervy!choso, biting, sadist!reader?, masochist!choso??, he whimpers n he begs (as he should), slightly oral fixation!choso???
𝜗𝜚 wc: 1.2k
if choso had known that stealing your panties would eventually have him propped up against your headboard with your soft thighs caging his sturdy hips and your tits bouncing heavy in his face– he would have gotten caught way sooner.
“ngh– fuck,” choso’s voice breaks around a whimper, his brows furrowed together and sweat beading down his temple as you bounce yourself fucking stupid on his cock. you should be mad at him right now; your roommate had been stealing your favourite pairs of panties for months and you’re rewarding him by fucking him?
but christ, who knew such a meek and pervy guy who smokes weed next to the bathroom window was hiding not only an insane sleeper build, but a monster cock embellished with veins and a mushroomy tip that was bullying your cervix with every bounce.
“nnh— what did you do with them, cho?” you purr, dragging your thumb across choso’s bottom lip, your other hand planted firmly on his unfairly chiselled abs. his abs tense under your touch, his core fighting for movement but alas, he lost that privilege the moment you caught him fisting his cock with your latest pair of missing panties– and in your bed. said panties are wrapped tight around his wrists behind his head, lightly damp with his own pre and sweat and making his biceps bulge so deliciously.
oh how you want to sink your teeth into them…
“p-please–” he begs, drool collecting at the side of his mouth as you rolled your hips into his, a deep satisfied sigh pouring from your lips as the blunt head of his cock nudged against that spot inside you that made your tummy drop n’ your poor clit rubs against the coarse happy trail at the base of choso’s dick.
“c’mon, baby… don’t be shy on me now,” you tease, pressing your thumb against his bottom lip until he shyly parts his lips, eyes droopy with lust and need as you press the pad of your thumb to his tongue.
“m’sorry—“ saliva drips down his chin as you press your thumb against his tongue, the wet muscle fighting against the pressure, lips loose around your thumb.
“s’messy, cho,” you coo, your free hand scraping your nails up his chest, his body shivering with the mix of pain and the mindfucking pleasure of your pretty pussy wrapped snug around his aching cock.
he’s so rock hard it’s fucking painful— and you’re teasing him. and he’s letting you because he would rather let you fuck him until he was shooting blanks, than go back to jerking himself off with your panties choking the base of his reddened cock, or humping his mattress with his face pressed into the shirt you’d worn to the gym the day before, or having to excuse himself to rub one out over his sweats when you asked if your outfit looked cute for your night out with your girls.
he’d let you do fucking anything to him right now.
your pretty manicured hand wraps around the base of his throat, finger and thumb squeeeezing the muscles on either side.
your thighs tense as you lift yourself almost aalllll the way off his cock before dropping back down. you bounce and roll your hips, the wet bap! bap! of your ass meeting his thighs forcing choso’s hips to buck, wanting to fuck his mushroomy tip further into your cunt, as if he could bully past your already bruised cervix.
your teeth sink into your bottom lip, biting back a loud moan because he’s so stupidly big and has no earthly idea.
his fucked-out gaze draaaags down your pretty tits and the expanse of your soft tummy before settling on the translucent ring of cum that settles around the base of his cock, watching as your greedy pussylips swallow his length n’ your slick drips down his tight balls and pools against your pale bedsheets.
choso’s lips pull off your thumb, head thrown back and hitting your wall with a quiet thud because if he keeps watching, he’s gonna fucking cum, “ngh, f-fuck—“
“you like that, hm?” you sigh around a moan, feeling his cock twitch inside you.
choso nods mindlessly, humming out an unintelligible noise as you slowly press yourself uuuup n’ dooown on his cock.
“c-can you go f-faster?” the question is a broken whine, his breaths hot and heavy as they fan across your throat. “please–”
choso feels the hand around his throat sneak higher, pressing tighter around his windpipe and forcing his eyes to roll back as you lift your plush hips off his cock just to plummet back down with a mean roll– but it’s still too slow for poor, sweet choso.
he whimpers again, the sound gurgled and forced from the pressure of your hand around his pretty throat.
choso’s eyes glaze with tears, “pleaseplease– i wanna cum–”
he can feel his balls tighten, feel the heat curl in his abdomen only to shy away when you lift your hips, just to fuck yourself with his tip, feeling the swollen tip catch and stretch your throbbing hole.
“ngh, ngh– pleeeaaaase–”
you grin devilishly, pressing your lips to the corner of his eye to kiss away the salty globs. your grip on his throat loosens, but still holding possessively. the corded muscles of his biceps are taut behind his head; tensing and straining with the desperate need to grip you–
riiiiip–
you still your movements and choso’s eyes blow wide.
he ripped your fucking panties.
the remnants of the lacy black fabric hang loose around choso’s red wrists, deep lines indented into his pale skin from pulling and tugging against the delicate elastic.
his pretty puppy eyes, filled with tears, glance up at you, “m’so sorry–”
you tilt your head to the side, a faux pout tugging at your bottom lip, “you wanna touch me that bad, cho?”
you run your hand through his hair, nails scraaaping against his scalp, “but you ruined my favourite panties.”
you feel choso’s cock twitch against your gummy walls, revelling in any type of affection you give him.
perv.
“i’ll make it up t’you,” choso mutters, hands landing very cautiously on your hips.
“oh, you will?” you lean in close, pretty lips brushing the shell of his ear, sending a mean shiver up his spine as your tits press flush against his broad chest.
choso moans against your shoulder, “yesyes– i promise.”
“how’re y’gonna do that, cho?”
you’re teasing him harder now, just fucking with him because he’s too pussydrunk to know what’s good for him.
“i-i’ll be s’good, i promise– i’ll make you feel sooo good, baby, please–” he’ll say anything to get you to bounce on his dick right now.
you grin against the hot skin of his neck, lips brushing down the thick muscle that tenses under your touch, “oh, yeah?”
“yeah– yesyes,” he whimpers, teeth sinking into his bottom lip and fingers curling into the meat of your ass as you nip and bite at the side of his neck.
you pull away, the hand sitting at the base of his throat curling to grab his jaw, fingers squeezing his cheeks and forcing his lips into a cute lil’ pout.
your eyes look him up… n’ down.
“prove it, perv.”
𝜗𝜚 a/n: ...do i like subby men? is that what i've discovered about myself?
Everyone loves Captain Tadashi’s girlfriend a little too much!
Shoyo Hinata, Tobio Kageyama, Kei Tsukishima, Tadashi Yamaguchi x fem!reader
Tags: General pervertedness, grinding, voyeurism, male masturbation, panty sniffing, implied Tsukiyama, pussy eating, vaginal sex, creampie, nudes.
SMUT AHEAD! MINORS DNI, THIS IS NOT FOR YOU.
@sugioki this was personally written for you :)
There’s a certain amount of camaraderie that comes with being teammates, especially on a team as tight-knit as Karasuno. The team spends hours a day together, often in close contact until the sun goes down. For Shoyo Hinata, Tobio Kageyama, and Kei Tsukishima, this camaraderie extends to their Captain Tadashi Yamaguchi’s beloved girlfriend.
Shoyo Hinata is sweet. He’s always been sweet but with you, he’s positively saccharine. Running up to you to sweep you into hugs after a game, muscular biceps squeezing around your waist, laughing innocently as if your breasts aren’t pressed against his chest. Helping carry the crates full of water bottles back to the bus during away games, positively preening as you praise him for his strength. Offering to teach you how to receive, sliding up against your ass from the back as he corrects your form.
Hinata is also sweet as he tells you how good you look in your uniform skirt, those pretty sunset-brown eyes fixed on the curve of your exposed thighs as you bend over to retrieve a loose ball on the court. His tongue pokes out the side of his mouth as he prays he’s lucky enough to catch a glimpse of your panties.
Tobio Kageyama’s never been one to listen well, except when it comes to you. He’ll do anything you say, whether it’s tidying up the gym or studying so that he isn’t banned from the next away game, just as long as you say his name. You can practically see the shiver run up his spine when it falls from your pretty pink lips, cock hardening painfully in his gym shorts and straining against the thin fabric. He’s positively shameless about it too, begging you to call him by his first name because you’re friends, and that’s what friends call each other, right?
It’s over for him the moment he hears you call him Tobio– He has to excuse himself to the bathroom to clean up the mess in his boxers. Still, it doesn’t stop him from fisting his sensitive, overstimulated cock right there in the stall, whimpering out loud from the memory the shape of your lips around his name.
Kei Tsukishima hates being jealous, because it would mean admitting that someone else has something that he really, truly wants. And really, he’s not jealous. He doesn’t even like you! It’s obvious in the way he’ll never look you in the eye when you visit the gym, making up something or other as an excuse when Yamaguchi invites him out to dinner with the two of you. He’ll walk home on his own, thank you very much, but not before doubling back to the clubroom, eyes flickering back and forth surreptitiously as he unlocks the room.
He knows what you and Tadashi get up to when you think the team’s gone home for the night, up against the shelving and the desks, and he also knows where you swap out your extra pair of panties for when the ones you wear are too ruined by his best friend’s cum to wear home. Digging around in the lockers, he pulls out the freshly-stained garment, still damp from your arousal and Tadashi’s own essence. Too impatient to wait until he gets home, Tsukki presses them harshly against his nose, inhaling the mixture of sweat and yours and his best friend’s love, letting out a deep groan. Thank gods he’s often responsible for the clubroom key after club hours are over.
Tadashi Yamaguchi isn’t the bright-eyed naive first-year he was when he first came to Karasuno. He’s grown a considerable amount in both brains and brawn, and it shows in the way he runs the team– both visible and invisible. On the court, he’s jovial and supportive, teaching his juniors how to improve their skills and rallying them when game time begins. And off the court, he isn’t opposed to giving the other third-years crumbs of you if it bolster their team spirit. So long as he’s the only one who gets to hear you crying out as he presses you into the mattress, slurping noisily as he eats you out for the third time that night.
He soothes you with inaudible praises as he spreads your pretty pussy, wrapping his lips tightly around your clit and sucking it into his mouth. The raw little bud must be throbbing so much right now, so just let him soothe it with his tongue even as you cry out “‘s too much, Yama, I’m gonna squirt!” You’re his pretty girl– he knows you can take it. Just give him a couple more minutes between your legs and he’ll be ready for the main course. Then you’ll get to enjoy cockhead giving your pretty cervix kisses right up until the moment he floods your womb.
Of course, Captain Tadashi is a generous man, so he makes a deal with himself. He’ll snap a picture as his cum leaks out between your thighs and send it to Hinata, Kageyama, and Tsukishima if they make it to nationals this year.
[ SYNOPSIS ] — You try to be the "perfect" partner to Megumi by hiding your own needs and pain so you wouldn’t be a nuisance. This habit becomes dangerous when you get badly hurt on a mission and lie about it, leading to a tearful confrontation when he finds you bleeding in secret. w.c: 4.8k
[ PAIRING ] — megumi fushiguro x people pleaser!reader
[ TAGS ] — gn!reader, established relationship, canon compliant (?), hidden injury, blood, reassurance, hurt/comfort, use of [Name] once, megumi is a sweetheart as usual. Lmk if I missed anything! art by: @/hong_nock
"You wouldn't mind taking care of these mission reports for me, would you? You're a lifesaver!"
Satoru Gojo didn't even pause to wait for an answer, dropping a stack of heavily redacted, coffee-stained files onto your already cluttered desk. His iconic blindfold was pushed up, a devastatingly charming smile plastered across his face—the kind of smile that made it entirely impossible for anyone to refuse him.
Your head was pounding. A dull, rhythmic thud echoed right behind your eyes, a souvenir from a consecutive string of sleepless nights. You had your own reports to file, a history exam to help Yuji study for, and Nobara had explicitly told you to be ready in twenty minutes to carry her bags through Shibuya. Your throat tightened, the word no forming perfectly on your tongue.
It was right there. All you had to do was push it past your teeth.
"Of course, Sensei," you heard yourself say, the voice sounding entirely detached from your own body. "I'll have them on Principal Yaga's desk by three."
"Knew I could count on you!" He gave you a cheerful salute and vanished in a blur of limitless space, leaving you staring at the mountain of paperwork. You swallowed the sigh building in your chest, picked up your pen, and started writing.
This was simply how you survived. You made yourself a skeleton key, filing down your own edges, your own needs, and your own exhaustion until you perfectly fit the lock of whatever anyone else required. If you were useful, if you were accommodating, if you smoothed out the friction in the lives of the people around you, they would never look at you and decide you were too much trouble to keep around, that's how it should be, right?
But nowhere was this exhausting performance more prevalent than in your relationship with Megumi Fushiguro.
Megumi with his quiet nature, Megumi with his storm-clouded eyes, Megumi who shouldered so much— with Tsumiki's curse, with the expectations of having a powerful cursed technique, Megumi who you were so so so afraid of losing.
You still have a hard time believing you two are dating. The way it happened was so casual it almost felt unreal.
It wasn’t a grand confession, just a quiet surrender to everything that made you fall for him. The hallway was still buzzing with leftover energy from Yuji’s and Nobara’s laughter, but at your door, the silence felt heavy. Megumi lingered, hands shoved in his pockets, before his fingers grazed your wrist as you were about open the door. When he leaned in, it was with the soft gentleness of someone who had finally found a place to let his guard down. The kiss was brief, but you both knew exactly where you stood in each other's lives.
Yet, being his partner did not cure your affliction; it magnified it even further. You treated your relationship like fragile glass sculpture you had to constantly balance on your fingertips. You altered your entire existence to fit the mold of what you assumed was his ideal, low-maintenance partner.
You drank your tea unsweetened because he preferred bitter things, forcing the astringent liquid down your throat every morning while secretly craving sugar. You slept rigidly on the absolute edge of his mattress, your muscles cramping by dawn, just to ensure he had the lion’s share of the blankets. When he was exhausted from a mission, you swallowed your own awful, lingering trauma from the day, hiding your bruises beneath long sleeves and painting a bright, serene smile on your face so you wouldn’t add to his mental load.
And Megumi knew.
He was incredibly perceptive, and the forced perfection of your behavior was beginning to wear on him like coarse grit against his skin. He saw the way your hands shook when you agreed to take a double patrol shift. He noticed the barely perceptible flinch when he absentmindedly turned the television to a channel you secretly hated, only for you to vehemently agree that it was a great program to watch. It frustrated him.
Megumi loved you, he loved you so much it pained him, but he felt like he was dating a shadow, only moving when he did. And he did not know how to bring it up without fearing for what you would do.
─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──
The mission was supposed to be a standard Grade 2 curse eradication in an abandoned subway terminal. It was a joint assignment for the two of you, a rare opportunity to work together. But the intelligence from the auxiliary managers was flawed, as it so often was. The curse was a Grade 1, a massive, grotesque amalgamation of rusted metal and rotting flesh that moved with terrifying speed.
The battle was chaotic in the claustrophobic underground tunnels. Dust choked the air, illuminated only by the flickering, dying fluorescent lights overhead. Megumi had summoned Nue to provide aerial attacks, the electrical discharge illuminating the grim determination on his face. You were covering his blind spots, your own cursed energy manifesting in sharp and precise strikes.
It happened in a fraction of a second. The curse, recognizing Megumi as the greater threat, lunged toward him with a massive, scythe-like appendage. Megumi was mid-incantation, his hands clasped together, momentarily vulnerable.
Your body moved before your conscious mind could register the decision. The ingrained instinct to protect, to serve, to sacrifice, propelled you forward. You shoved Megumi hard, knocking him out of the trajectory of the blade.
The impact was deafening. The rusted metal sliced through the air and tore into your left side, ripping through your uniform and biting deep into the flesh of your waist. The agony was instantaneous, a blinding flare of white-hot pain that stole the oxygen from your lungs. You hit the concrete floor hard, the taste of copper flooding your mouth.
"Nue!" Megumi roared, his voice cracking with a rare, raw panic. The shikigami descended in a blinding flash of lightning, obliterating the curse in a concussive shockwave of cursed energy.
The dust settled, heavy and silent.
Megumi was beside you in an instant, his breathing ragged, his hands hovering over you as if afraid that touching you would shatter you completely. "Are you alright? Where did it hit you?" His eyes were wide, the usual cold indifference entirely stripped away, revealing the terrified boy underneath.
The pain in your side was excruciating, a throbbing, burning sensation that suggested the curse’s rusted blade had been laced with some kind of venomous energy. Blood was already soaking the fabric of your shirt, hot and sticky against your skin. You needed Shoko. You needed a stretcher.
But as you looked up into Megumi’s panic-stricken eyes, the old, familiar terror clawed at your throat. You caused this panic. You are making him worry. You ruined the mission. You are a burden.
The people pleaser within you seized the reins of your vocal cords.
You forced the agony down, burying it beneath a mountain of sheer, desperate willpower. You pushed yourself up on trembling arms, twisting your torso to hide the worst of the bleeding from his line of sight. You plastered on a smile that felt like it might crack your face in two.
"I'm fine," you lied, your voice painfully steady. "It just grazed me. I knocked the wind out of myself when I fell."
Megumi frowned, his dark brows knitting together in suspicion. He reached out to inspect your side, but you swiftly shifted away, standing up on shaking legs. The world tilted dangerously, black spots dancing in your peripheral vision, but you dug your nails into your palms to ground yourself.
"I swear, Megumi. I'm okay. Let's just report and go home. I'm exhausted." You kept your tone light, almost apologetic. "I'm sorry I got in your way. I should have been more careful."
The apology tasted vile. You had saved his life, yet you were apologizing for being in the way.
Megumi stared at you for a long, agonizing moment. The tension radiating from him was evident, his jaw clenched so tight a muscle ticked in his cheek. He knew you were hiding something. He could smell the blood. But your adamant refusal to acknowledge the danger built a wall between you that he didn't know how to breach, yet he trusted your judgment, he trusted that you would tell him if the injury was serious.
"Fine," he muttered, his voice dropping an octave, thick with frustration and repressed anxiety. He recalled his shikigami, the shadows swallowing Nue whole. "Let's go."
The car ride back to the college was nothing less than silent torture. You sat pressed against the passenger door, your arms wrapped tightly around your waist, secretly applying pressure to the wound that was continuously oozing blood. Every bump in the road sent a jolt of agony up your spine, but you bit the inside of your cheek until it bled rather than make a single sound. Ijichi drove in stony silence, his knuckles white on the steering wheel, every now and then apologising for the mistake in the mission logs, and then expressing his relief at your well-being.
By the time you reached the dormitories, you were running purely on adrenaline and the need to lock yourself in your bathroom before you collapsed.
"I'm going to take a shower!" you announced the moment you stepped into his room, your voice breathy and strained. You didn't wait for a response, practically fleeing into the adjoining bathroom and closing the door behind you.
The moment it was locked, the facade crumbled. Your knees gave out, and you slumped against the cold tile door, an agonizing gasp escaping your lips. You peeled off your ruined jacket and the blood-soaked shirt beneath it. The wound was horrific. An angry tear across your oblique, the edges blackened with residual cursed energy. It was deep, bleeding sluggishly but persistently.
Tears of pain and exhaustion finally spilled over your eyelashes, tracing hot paths down your dust-streaked cheeks. You had to clean it. You had to wrap it. You couldn't bother Shoko this late; she had been pulling all-nighters all week. You couldn't bother Megumi; he was already mad at you.
You dragged yourself to the sink, turning on the faucet. You grabbed a washcloth, soaked it in hot water, and pressed it against the wound.
A choked, pathetic sob tore from your throat. The pain was blinding, a sickening wave of nausea crashing over you. You squeezed your eyes shut, your entire body trembling violently as you tried to scrub away the blackened, infected tissue.
Click.
You froze. The sound of the lock turning from the outside. You had forgotten Megumi kept a spare key on the upper frame of the door for emergencies.
The door swung open, revealing Megumi standing in the threshold. He had changed out of his uniform, wearing only a loose t-shirt and sweatpants. He looked exhausted.
But whatever exhaustion he felt vanished the instant his eyes landed on you.
He took in the scene in a fraction of a second: your pale, shivering form hunched over the sink, the blood-soaked washcloth in your trembling hand, and the gruesome, gaping wound on your side that was currently dripping crimson onto the pristine white tiles.
The air in the bathroom seemed to drop ten degrees. The shadows in the corners of the room physically writhed, reacting to the sudden, violent spike in his cursed energy.
"What," Megumi breathed, his voice barely a whisper, yet it resonated with the force of an earthquake, "is that."
Panic, cold and sharp, flooded your veins. You scrambled to cover the wound with your arm, backing away from him like a cornered animal, your eyes wide and terrified.
"It's nothing!" you stammered, the words tumbling out of your mouth in a desperate rush. "I was just cleaning it. It looks worse than it is, Megumi, I promise. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to make a mess. I'll clean the floor, just—"
"Stop."
The command cracked through the air like a whip. Megumi stepped into the bathroom, kicking the door shut behind him. His face was a mask of cold fury, but his eyes—his deep, beautiful, stormy eyes—were wide with an emotion that looked terrifyingly like devastation.
He crossed the small space in two strides, grabbing your wrists. His grip was firm, inescapable, but agonizingly gentle as he pulled your hands away from your side. He sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth as he finally got a clear look at the injury.
"You call this a graze?" he demanded, his voice shaking with a terrifying, suppressed rage. "It's entirely infected with cursed energy. You need reverse cursed technique, immediately. Why didn't you tell me? Why didn't you say anything in the tunnel?"
Your chest heaved as you struggled to pull oxygen into your lungs. The panic was taking over, suffocating you. You were trapped. You had failed. You had made him angry. You had become the burden you fought so hard not to be.
"I—I didn't want to worry you," you choked out, fresh tears welling in your eyes. "You were already stressed about the mission being a Grade 1. I didn't want to slow us down. I'm sorry, Megumi. I'm so, so sorry. Please don't be mad. I can fix it, I'll go to Shoko right now, you don't have to deal with this—"
"Stop apologizing!" Megumi yelled.
You flinched violently, your shoulders instantly hiking up to your ears, your head bowing in an automatic posture of submission. The silence that followed his shout was deafening, broken only by your ragged, hyperventilating breaths and the steady drip, drip, drip of blood hitting the floor.
Megumi stared at your cowering form, the anger draining out of him in a rush, leaving behind a profound, hollow ache in his chest. He realized, with a horrifying clarity, that you were not flinching because of the pain of your wound. You were flinching because of him.
He dropped your wrists as if they burned him, taking a step back, his hands taking place behind his neck.
"Why do you do this?" he asked, his voice cracking, the anger replaced by a desperate, agonizing confusion. "Why do you lie to me? Why do you let yourself bleed out in a bathroom rather than ask me for help? Am I that unapproachable? Am I that terrible of a boyfriend that you think I would be annoyed by you almost dying?"
"No!" you cried, your voice breaking, the absolute terror of him thinking he was at fault tearing at your heart. "No, Megumi, you're perfect. You're the best thing that ever happened to me. It's not you, it's me. I'm just… I'm just trying to be good. I'm trying to be easy. I don't want to be difficult."
"Easy?" Megumi repeated, the word sounding foreign and ugly in his mouth. He stepped forward again, crowding you against the edge of the sink, his hands gripping the porcelain on either side of your waist, trapping you in. He didn't touch you, but his presence was demanding your full attention.
"You think I want you to be 'easy'?" he pressed, his eyes searching yours frantically, demanding an honesty you didn't know how to give. "I want you to be honest! I want you to tell me when you are hurt so I can take care of you!"
You shook your head furiously, the tears flowing freely now, hot and unrelenting. Your entire body was trembling, your heart hammering against your ribs, threatening to break. You were breaking apart, the foundation of your entire coping mechanism crumbling beneath his gaze.
"You say that now," you sobbed, the ugly, deeply buried truth finally clawing its way up your throat, bitter and raw. "You say that now, but you don't know. You already have so much on your plate, I don't want to make it worse. If I don't do it, you will hate me, I don't want you to hate me."
The confession hung in the humid air of the bathroom, heavy and devastating.
You squeezed your eyes shut, waiting for the blow. Waiting for the agreement. Waiting for him to step back, to look at you with cold realization, and walk out the door. You had finally revealed the ugly, pathetic core of your soul. You were a coward, terrified of abandonment, buying love with servitude.
But the silence stretched. And then, you felt it.
The gentle, hesitant brush of his knuckles against your tear-soaked cheek.
Your eyes flew open. Megumi was looking at you with an expression that shattered your heart into a million irreparable pieces. It wasn't pity. It wasn't disgust, but heartbreak. His eyes were glassy, his lips parted as he struggled to find words that could possibly combat the magnitude of your self-hatred.
Slowly, carefully, as if approaching a wild, frightened animal, Megumi reached out. He didn't grab your wrists this time. He slid his arms around your waist, mindful of the gaping wound on your side, and pulled you flush against his chest.
He buried his face in the crook of your neck, his breath ghosting over your skin.
"You are so stupid," he whispered, the words muffled against your skin, devoid of any malice, dripping only with a desperate, heavy sorrow. "You are an incredible person, so beautiful, so incredible, but stupid."
You stiffened, your hands hovering uselessly in the air, terrified to touch him, terrified to ruin this moment. But Megumi just held you tighter, his strong arms wrapping around you like a shield against the very demons inside your own head.
"Listen to me," he murmured, his voice trembling slightly. He pulled back just enough to force you to look him in the eye. The intensity of his gaze pinned you in place."Stop acting like your existence doesn't matter, it matters to me. You don't get to decide that you're expendable."
You let out a choked gasp, your hands finally, tentatively coming to rest against his chest, gripping the fabric of his t-shirt like your life depended on it.
"I care about you, so much," Megumi continued, his voice dropping into that serious, unwavering tone he used when making vows. "I care about protecting the people who matter to me. And you… you are at the very top of that list. If you are hurt, my world stops. If you are in pain, I am in pain. Hiding your suffering from me doesn't protect me; it destroys me."
He raised a hand, his thumb gently wiping away the steady stream of tears falling from your eyes. His touch was warm, grounding.
"You are not a burden," he said, enunciating each word with fierce, desperate clarity. "And I am begging you, please… let me take care of you. Let me be the one who carries the weight for a while. You don't have to earn your place beside me by bleeding in silence. In fact, you don't have to do anything but be here."
The dam broke.
You collapsed against him, your legs finally giving out, and he caught you effortlessly, sinking to the bathroom floor with you held securely in his arms.
You wept. You wailed. It was an ugly, guttural, heart-wrenching sound that tore from the very depths of your soul. You buried your face in his chest, clutching at him desperately, crying for the pain in your side, crying for the exhaustion in your bones, crying for the terrified little child inside you who had spent their whole life terrified of being left behind.
Megumi didn't shush you. He didn't tell you to calm down. He sat on the cold tile floor amidst the blood and the discarded bandages, holding you. He rocked you slowly, one hand gently stroking your hair, the other resting firmly against your back. He let you fall apart completely, creating a safe, impenetrable fortress within his arms where you were finally allowed to be shattered, loud, and inconvenient.
Hours seemed to pass before the sobs finally subsided into heavy, exhausted hiccups. Your throat was raw, your eyes swollen and burning. The adrenaline had completely left your system, leaving you weak and painfully aware of the throbbing agony in your side.
You shifted slightly in his lap, sniffing pathetically. Megumi immediately loosened his grip, looking down at you with a softness that made your chest ache.
"Are you done?" he asked quietly, a tiny, sad smile playing at the corners of his mouth.
You nodded numbly, wiping your nose with the back of your hand. "I ruined your shirt," you rasped, noticing the dark stains of your tears and blood on the grey fabric.
"I don't care about the shirt," Megumi said softly. He gently shifted you off his lap, standing up and reaching down to help you to your feet. You swayed dangerously, the blood loss finally catching up to you. He caught you around the waist, easily supporting your weight.
"Come on," he murmured, his voice gentle but brook-no-argument firm. "We are going to Shoko. Right now."
The instinct to protest flared up instantly. It's 3 AM. She's sleeping. I can just bandage it tight. But as you looked up at Megumi, at the deep circles under his eyes and the lingering terror in his posture, the words died in your throat.
You swallowed hard, the word feeling foreign and incredibly heavy on your tongue.
"Okay."
Megumi let out a breath he seemed to have been holding for hours. He didn't say anything, but the relief in his eyes was blinding. He practically carried you down the silent, moonlit hallways to the infirmary.
Shoko was awake, smoking a cigarette out the window when Megumi kicked the infirmary door open. She took one look at Megumi’s pale face and the blood soaking your side and immediately crushed the cigarette, immediately tending to you.
The process of healing was agonizing. Shoko’s reverse cursed technique was a miracle, but extracting the foreign cursed energy from the wound before healing the flesh was a torturous sensation. You lay on the sterile white cot, your teeth gritted, a cold sweat breaking out across your forehead.
Through it all, Megumi sat beside the bed. He held your hand in both of his, his grip tight enough to bruise, grounding you in reality while the pain threatened to pull you under. He didn't look away, even when the wound looked its most gruesome. He stayed exactly where he promised he would be.
When it was finally over, and the flesh was knit cleanly together leaving only an angry pink scar, exhaustion hit you like a physical blow. Shoko handed you a clean t-shirt and kicked you both out, muttering something about needing sleep.
The walk back to Megumi’s dorm was slow. You leaned heavily against him, your body utterly drained. You felt hollowed out, incredibly fragile, like a glass blown too thin.
When you reached his room, he didn't turn on the overhead lights. He guided you gently to the bed, pulling back the heavy comforter. You crawled in automatically, immediately scooting to the absolute edge of the mattress, curling into a tight ball. It was muscle memory at this point.
Megumi stood at the edge of the bed, watching you in the dim moonlight filtering through the blinds. He sighed, a heavy, exhausted sound. He kicked off his shoes, discarded his ruined shirt, and climbed into the bed.
But he didn't lie down on his side.
Instead, he moved to the center of the mattress. He reached out, grabbing you gently by the hips, and physically dragged you away from the edge, pulling you across the sheets until you were flush against him in the very middle of the bed.
You gasped softly in surprise, stiffening. "Megumi—"
"Stop," he murmured, his voice thick with sleep. He wrapped his arms tightly around you, burying his face in your hair. He tangled his legs with yours, pinning you to him, ensuring there was no physical way for you to retreat to the cold periphery. "You are exactly where you belong. Take up the whole bed if you want. Kick me out if you want. But stop going all the way there."
You lay rigid in his arms for a long moment, your brain struggling to process the sensation of being held so securely, of being allowed to take up space without apologizing for it. The warmth of his body seeped into your cold skin. His heartbeat thudded steadily against your back, a rhythmic, grounding lullaby.
Slowly, agonizingly slowly, you forced your muscles to uncoil. You let out a long, shaky breath, letting your weight sink fully into his embrace. You closed your eyes, his scent surrounding you, pulling you down into a deep, dreamless sleep.
The next morning, you woke to the smell of brewing coffee and the sound of birds chirping outside the window. The sunlight streaming into the room felt unnervingly bright.
You sat up slowly, testing the newly healed skin on your side. It twinged slightly, a dull ache, but the agonizing burn was gone. You looked around the room. You were alone in the bed, the covers tangled around your waist. You were dead center in the mattress.
The door to the small kitchenette opened, and Megumi stepped in, carrying two mugs. He looked rested, his dark hair a chaotic mess, his eyes softer than you had seen them in months.
He walked over to the bed and handed you a mug.
"Morning," he mumbled quietly, sitting on the edge of the mattress near your feet.
"Morning," you replied softly, your voice still gravelly from crying the night before. You wrapped both hands around the warm ceramic mug, seeking comfort in the heat. You brought it to your lips, taking a tentative sip.
You immediately paused, your brow furrowing in confusion.
It wasn't black coffee. It wasn't the bitter, acidic brew he drank every morning. It was warm milk, steeped heavily with a sweet, floral chamomile tea, and generously laced with honey. It was incredibly sweet. It was exactly what you actually liked.
You lowered the mug, staring at the golden liquid, a sudden lump forming in your throat. You looked up at Megumi. He was watching you carefully, his dark eyes analyzing your reaction.
"You didn't make coffee," you whispered, stating the obvious.
Megumi looked down at his own mug, taking a sip of the black sludge he preferred. "I know you hate it," he said simply, not meeting your eyes. A faint, barely perceptible pink dusted the tips of his ears. "I noticed a while ago. You always grimace when you take the first sip. And you always buy that sweet stuff when we go to the convenience store, but you never drink it around me."
Your breath hitched. He had noticed. He had known, and he had been waiting for you to say something.
He reached out, his long fingers gently wrapping around your ankle over the blankets.
"I'm not asking you to change everything in one day," Megumi continued, his voice quiet, steady, and infinitely patient. "I know it's a habit. I know you're terrified. But I am asking you to try. With me. Just with me."
He paused, a tiny, teasing glint momentarily breaking through his stoic demeanor. "For example. I was thinking of making eggs for breakfast. But I know you like pancakes, even though you always say eggs are fine. So. What do you want for breakfast?"
It was a test. A small, seemingly insignificant question, but between the two of you, it carried the weight of the world.
The instinct rose up instantly. Eggs are easier for him to make. He likes eggs. Tell him eggs. The familiar panic fluttered in your chest, the fear of demanding too much, of being an inconvenience.
You opened your mouth, the word 'eggs' forming on your lips.
But you stopped. You looked down at the sweet, warm tea in your hands, the tea he had made specifically for you, acknowledging your preferences, honoring your comfort. You looked at the hand resting gently on your ankle, grounding you, keeping you safe. You remembered the desperate way he had held you on the bloody bathroom floor, demanding that you exist loudly.
You closed your mouth. You took a deep breath, fighting the tremor in your voice. You forced yourself to meet his gaze directly.
"I…" you started, your voice barely above a whisper. You cleared your throat, trying again. "I would really like pancakes, Megumi. If that's okay?"
The silence in the room stretched for a single, terrifying second. You braced yourself for a sigh, a roll of the eyes, a sign of annoyance that you had requested the more difficult option.
Instead, Megumi’s face broke into a smile. It wasn't his usual smirk, or a polite curve of the lips. It was a genuine, breathtakingly soft smile that reached his eyes, illuminating his features and making your heart stutter in your chest.
He stood up, taking his mug of bitter coffee with him.
"Pancakes it is," he said softly, turning back toward the kitchen. He paused at the door, looking over his shoulder at you, his eyes filled with a certain amount of serenity that was so rare for megumi.
"And [Name]?"
You looked up, your hands gripping the mug tightly. "Yeah?"
I had just finished rereading your milf x yuta for nth time- (idk how many times man…) and dare I say, I am STILL freaking obsessed!? (It’s yuta- who wouldn’t be??-)
and on GOD I need that man in every single way possible- I absolutely love Yuta ever since the JJK 0 manga, been obsessed and loyal to that man after all these years (as someone who’s really unloyal to every fictional characters-) the only thing I hate about him is that he’s NOT REAL😭😭
Anyways that’s all! Have a great day/night!! 😊😊
Definitely didn’t read EVERY Yuta fic to exist in tumblr and definitely am not obsessing over secretly freaky perv yuta and that I definitely do not wanna choke that man and dominate him…
OMG RIGHTTT??? what a disgusting disservice this man does to the world by not existing 🙄
BUT THANK YOU FOR YOUR SUPPORT!!!! it literally makes me so happy. especially cus i kinda post whenever i have time/feel like it with uni and stuff SO SUPPORT MAKES ME FEEL SO LOVED AND MOTIVATED EEEEEE
Thinking about a doujin artist!reader whose art is a little too detailed to be entirely fictional...
It's not as if you're the only artist in the Japanese Professional Volleyball fandom, but you’re by far the most popular. Your page has everything from the most popular players like Oikawa Tooru and Ushijima Wakatoshi to the more niche ones from lower divisions like Tsukishima Kei and Shibayama Yuki. You even have works involving the Olympic team’s staff, Kuroo Tetsuro and Iwaizumi Hajime.
It seems like you have a new piece coming out every other day, and your followers aren’t sure how you have time to do anything except draw with how much content you put out a week.
user milkbreadhole commented: omg that kageyama/reader/oikawa piece yesterday? perfection. I was creaming more than tooru was in that last scene.
user bokeballs commented: msby/schweiden adlers crossover piece please! I need reader-chan to get railed from both ends by our favorite volleyboys.
user nuffnuffnice commented: all of the setters have such pretty hands. OP must have been up close and personal with them to catch all that detail.
That last one has become kind of a running joke in your fanbase. It’s true that the detail in your comics is immaculate: your portrayals of them are correct down to the most trivial things. Favorite foods are mentioned, graduation years are on point, even the relationships between the players involve interactions that mirror their real-life counterparts.
Some details are so accurate to the point of being uncanny, such as when a livestream done from Bokuto’s home revealed the trophy shelf above his bed was set up in the exact same way as the shelf drawn in your comic.
atsumuspiggy: OP is either psychic or she was in his bed last night.
That comment garnered five thousand upvotes in a single day before it was removed. Still, no one took the accusations too seriously.
Until…
It was a force of habit. That’s the statement that Sakusa Kiyoomi gives to the MSBY Black Jackal’s PR manager when she blows up at him for the second time that day.
The MSBY Black Jackals were holding a special public fundraising match against the Schweiden Adlers, and Sakusa had just scored a mean spike against Hirugami’s block. Amidst the cheers, he had lifted his shirt to wipe the sweat from his forehead.
“I usually wear a compression shirt under my uniform. I guess I forgot today, and…”
An inky tattoo of a viper curving around Sakusa’s ribs, from under his left pectoral down to just above his navel. He’s been so careful to keep it covered before, and no one, not even the most dedicated paparazzi, had caught a glimpse of it before.
At least, no one in real life. Every brushstroke was the same size and weight as the one featured on Sakusa’s body in your doujins.
Not even five minutes passed before your Twitter began to blow up. Dedicated readers crowing that they knew it, it’s all real, and others that are dumbfounded beyond belief. Before long, a website has been set up with a running tally of the players and their statuses. Some of them, like Sakusa and Atsumu, have been confirmed beyond a doubt. Others like Ushijima and Kageyama are still only plausible.
The only question that the fanbase has yet to answer is who are you, exactly?
milf!reader and yuta… someone’s 25 year old son who wants that milf cookie so bad .ᐟ mdni 18+
𝜗𝜚 milf!reader, reader has a son, divorced!reader, 7 year age gap, pussy eating, virgin!yuta, grad student!yuta, obsessed!yuta, sub!yuta, begging, he whimpers, he cums in his pants, power imbalance, professor!reader, crazy first post
grad student!yuta who would simply do anything for his favourite professor. and he's always been your best student; observant, quiet, polite and always seeking feedback. so him popping by your office or finding you after class is nothing new.
grad student!yuta who notices the stress after your divorce, the slight tiredness in your voice, the baby hairs and flyaways that frame your face after you've run your hand through your hair for the nth time. and of course your son, who stays glued to your side or occupies himself with a colouring book under your desk.
grad student!yuta who is just helping when he pops by your office to help you grade papers for one of your other classes. just helping when he sits with your son on the floor while you work late into the night. just helping when he carries your sleeping son to your car, fastening him in his car seat in the back. and of course, just helping when he gives you his personal number, insisting it's just in case you need a babysitter on short notice or more help with grading papers... because he can only imagine how much stress you're dealing with :(
you, now a single mother... though, you've been raising your year old son on your own since he was born; the divorce was just waiting to happen.
and you, who knows exactly what yuta okkotsu is getting at when he just drops by your office, or asks how you're doing after almost every class, who gave you his personal number as if that didn't come with a million implications. he's a smart guy; but you're smarter.
grad student!yuta who texts you asking if he can drop by your office for some assistance with his TA work, because why would he ask anyone else when he can ask you?
and you, who is not in the office that day... and yuta knows that.
and you know it's a bad idea when you text him back, sending him a ping of your address and telling him– 'i'm not in the office today, but come by here at 6, yeah?'
grad student!yuta who is wracked with nerves when you open your front door, hair loose, wearing denim shorts and a lace cami and nursing a glass of red wine.
grad student!yuta who is so sure he's never been this hard in his life–
and you, who asks him, "did you want a glass?" gesturing with your wine glass vaguely.
"uh–"
"wait, you're old enough, right?"
"i'm 25."
fuck, this is just a terrible idea.
grad student!yuta who can't stop staring at you when you tie your hair up and your glasses are perched on the edge of your nose as you look over his notes. and he's not listening to a damn word you're saying.
and it's innocent when you grab his shoulder, leaning over the corner of the dining table to point out a paragraph he could edit. but he's not listening. his eyes are glued to the way your tits press together as you lean over, how the strap of your cami has just slightly dropped off your shoulder, how his dick hardens more when you hook one of your legs over the other, your bare foot brushing the inside of his calf under the table.
grad student!yuta whose breath catches in his throat, fist clenching atop his thigh while you talk, tired eyes so wide with feigned innocence.
"you okay, yuta?" your lips part just slightly, stained a little red from the wine and the ultimate object of yuta's desires right now.
grad student!yuta who has a surge of courage amidst the silence; falling victim to your pretty eyes and the way you bat your lashes so innocently as if you don't know exactly what you're doing inviting him into your home.
grad student!yuta whose large hands twitch in his lap as he pushes forward, capturing your wine-bitter lips in a chaste kiss. it lasts barely a second and his cheeks and ears are blooming with red when he pulls away.
"i-i'm so sorry– shit– i-i didn't mean–"
and you attempt and fail to fight off a smile, "you got a little crush on me, yuta?"
and yuta breathes hard, "...with all due respect, ma'am, i don't know of a single student in your class who doesn't."
and you hum, amused, ego a little (very) stroked, "mm... luck you then, hm?"
grad student!yuta who holds your hips down against the dining table with shaky hands; body rampant with nerves, arousal and adrenaline. your lips are driving him crazy; open-mouthed kisses against his jaw, tongue slipping in his mouth and swallowing every whimper and whine that leaves that pretty, unmarked throat.
grad student!yuta who feels hot all over, hands pinning your hips to the table to keep you from grinding your clothed cunt against the bulge in his jeans. because if you do, he's gonna cum.
grad student!yuta who can't help but whimper when you lean back, peeling your cami off your body, exposing your pretty lacy bra that you totally didn't dig out of the bottom of your closet just in case.
your lips are on his, fingers tugging at the hair on the back of his head. your free hand drops to his at your hip, tugging on his wrist and cupping it over your soft tit.
"scared to touch me?"
"no– fuck– i'm just–" his hand moves to the clasp at your back, desperate to taste the skin your bra is hiding.
grad student!yuta who has never had the pleasure of unclasping a bra, who has to peer over your shoulder while you suck and bite at his throat.
"fuck."
you smile against his skin, "need some help there?"
grad student!yuta who nearly creams his pants at the sight of your tits, so full and round and right there–
your thighs clamp around his hips, his mouth panting and salivating before he tastes the sweat on your skin, tongue draaagging up your breast and flicking over the hardness of your nipple.
they hadn't been sensitive before you had your son. but now–
"mm– fuck, yuta–"
you press your hips into his, rolling and grinding your cunt against his cock straaaining in his jeans. your panties are almost soaked through and every nudge and griiiind of your hips rolls your throbbing clit against the slick fabric.
grad student!yuta who can't think straight as you roll yourself against his cock, heat pooling in his stomach so painfully.
grad student!yuta who whimpers at every tug of your fingers in his hair, face hot and flushed as he licks, rolls and sucks on the prettiest tits he's ever seen in his life.
grad student!yuta who tries desperately to recall anything he's learned from porn to try and impress you, to make you want to do this again.
grad student!yuta who–
"f-fuck– ngh"
–just can't stop himself from cumming in his pants from humping against your shorts and squeezing your tits in his palms. hot ropes of sticky cum pool in his jeans and he feels utterly humiliated.
"haah– i-i'm so sorry."
sweat beads down his forehead, hair sticking to his skin as he looks up at you with those adorable, tired eyes. his hands cling to your hips, holding your clothed cunt flush against his pulsing cock.
you can see the slight wet patch in the fabric, the slight twitch of his poor cock in his boxers.
"s'okay, sweetheart," you pet his hair, hand resting against his throat.
his eyes are pressed closed, his senses overwhelmed as he attempts to shake off the tingling of his high.
"why don't i get you some water, hm?"
"b-but what about you?"
you press a peck to his cheek, "s'okay, i had fun."
"i–" his tongue darts out to wet his chapped lips, "i could–"
you tilt your head slightly to the side, stroking the clumped strands of sweaty hair off his forehead.
his voice is low and his breath shudders, "i wanna eat your pussy."
it's meant to be a question but the way he asks? it's like he's begging.
"...you wanna do that?"
yuta's brows furrow, a heavy breath forced out of his lungs as he simply beeeegs– "please."
and who are you to deny a starving man?
grad student!yuta who sinks to his knees like it's the most natural thing in the world. like he's meant to be between your warm thighs with his nose nudging at your clit through your shorts and inhaling–
"smell s'good," he whines, fingers curling into your shorts and panties and tugging them down in one, albeit awkward, motion.
grad student!yuta whose mouth waters at the sight of your glistening pussy, positively dying at the thought of tasting you, of having the sweetness and musk of your slick linger on his tongue for days; dying at the thought of making you cum.
grad student!yuta who makes out with your pussy like he did with your tits, revelling in the sweet noise of pleasure you let out as he presses the flat of his tongue over your hole.
grad student!yuta who lets you guide him exactly where you need him–
"f-fuck– right, there– yes–"
grad student!yuta who rolls your clit with the tip of his tongue, forcing you further onto your back as his hands dig into your thighs, prying them further apart so he can fuck his tongue into you.
grad student!yuta whose cock twitches in his pants, painfully hard and untouched yet completely overstimulated.
grad student!yuta who wants to please you so badly. he listens to every nudge and guide of your hand and hips. attention pricking at the sound of your moans catching in your throat and the feeling of your thighs tensing under his hands.
"s'good, yuta– ngh"
grad student!yuta who is nearly frightened out of his skin by the sound of your phone vibrating on the table.
you peer over, scoff at the caller ID of your ex-husband and ignore it, fingers tensing in yuta's hair and forcing his mouth against your cunt.
your phone buzzes again... and again... and again before you finally answer.
"hello?" your teeth sink into your bottom lip.
"sato's got a fever–"
"well did you give him medicine?"
"no, i don't have any–"
you bite back a moan as yuta spreeeaads your folds apart to suck on your swollen clit.
"i always pack some in his bag– fuck."
"are you on a run right now?"
the air is forced out of your chest when yuta's tongue prods at your clenching hole–
"no– fuck me– can you do anything without having to call me– ngh"
"...are you having sex right now?!"
"no–"
yuta's fingers curl around your phone and tug it out of your grasp. his mouth is glistening with your juices, cheeks flushed pink and he has a pussywhipped look his eye.
"she'll call you back."
𝜗𝜚 a/n: hope you like!!! i'm such a choso, megumi, gojo girlie and i wrote for yutttaaa fiiiiirst??? anyway :3 likes, reblogs and comments are much appreciated!!!
