At first it caught him off guard. The very first time he buried himself deep inside you and you let out that raw, broken moan, he actually paused, half-convinced you were faking it. But it only took a few more strokes for him to realize the truth: you weren’t acting. You were just loud. Deliciously L O U D.
And fuck, he loved it.
He loved knowing that every single person within earshot could hear exactly how good he was making you feel. Your roommates, his roommates, the neighbors on the other side of the wall; none of them were spared. Especially when he fucked you from behind, one hand fisted tight in your hair, yanking your head back so your cries spilled out even louder with every thrust.
The wet slap of skin on skin, the sound of your dripping pussy taking him, and those pretty, shameless moans pouring from your pretty lips; it all fed his ego like nothing else. He’d feel that smug, annoying pride swell in his chest every single time.
He especially loved it when there were people around.
He’d wait until the party was loud, until everyone was distracted, then pull you away with that wicked little smirk. He’d drag you into the nearest semi-private spot (a dark hallway, a locked bathroom, the balcony just out of sight) where no one could see you… but they could definitely hear you.
And you tried. You always tried to be quiet at first. Your breath would hitch, you’d bite your lip, pressing your face into his shoulder to muffle the sounds. But Gojo knew exactly how to break you. A few perfectly angled thrusts, the right grind of his hips, his fingers pressing down on your clit just how you liked it, and suddenly you couldn’t hold back anymore.
Your moans would climb higher, sweeter, louder, until they echoed through the walls, raw and needy and completely wrecked.
The best part? Everyone could hear how intensely you came for him. Even a rushed quickie had you sobbing and shaking like it was the best orgasm of your life. And it was obvious to anyone listening: most people never got fucked like that. Most people never sounded like that.
So they listened. And they envied.
And Gojo? He just grinned against your neck, cock twitching inside you at the thought of all those jealous ears, and fucked you even harder, determined to make you scream his name loud enough for the whole damn building to know exactly who owned that pretty voice.
warnings: fluffffff just a bunch of fluff, semi-edited
was listening to go go juice by sabrina carpenter again and this came to me in a vision so it's a quick lil thing (except it's 2k+ words whoops). had to get this out before i get back to the requests in my inbox :) hope ya enjoy <3
word count: 2.1k
masterlist
In retrospect, you should’ve let Athena or Hen take your phone. You were known in the group to call people when you were drunk – nothing too crazy, you just loved all the people in your life and felt an overwhelming need to let them know how much you loved them when you had a few too many drinks in your system.
But, things were different. This was the first time you’ve drank more than you should since Buck and you started–secretly–hooking up a couple of months ago. You and him were hanging out one night at his new house, his first guest over. You volunteered to help him unpack and the night had ended with you two settling on his new couch and watching the moving When Harry Met Sally.
“Do you think that’s true?” He’d asked you, frowning at Harry and Sally saying they weren’t going to be friends.
“What?” You said, mouth full.
“Girls and guys can’t be friends?” He looked over at you as you laughed lightly, wiping your mouth with your napkin before shrugging at him.
“We’re friends, aren’t we? Or are you trying to tell me that you used me to help you unpack and now you’re kicking me to the curb?”
“Shut up,” he says, no venom behind the words as he nudged you with his shoulder.
“Or are you saying you’re not attracted to me?” You joked, side-eyeing him.
“Well, that’d just be a lie,” he let out easily, almost like he didn’t even think about it before he said it. Which he didn’t. He ignored the heat in his face as his words registered for both of you. “Besides, Harry said it doesn’t matter if he’s attracted to them.”
“Woah, woah,” you said, smiling wide as he groaned and let his head fall back against the couch. “Did you just say you’re attracted to me?”
“Please, can we not do this?”
“Evan Buckley, you want to kiss me, you want to hug me, you want to love me,” you sang, quoting another movie you two had just watched a couple of days ago.
“Shut up,” he whined, his head still resting against the couch but pivoting so he was looking at you, not able to stop his smile from matching yours.
“Make me,” you teased, continuing in your sing-songing voice. And Buck took it as a challenge, lightly shoving you backwards and hovering over you. It was enough to shut you up for sure, and enough to make you feel like your whole body is on fire.
“I win,” he mumbles, his eyes briefly settling on your mouth, opened slightly from the gasp you let out when you fell backward.
You barely got out a “you win,” before his mouth was on yours and your fingers found warmth in his curls.
That was almost four months ago. You two decided not to tell anyone because you were afraid that it would disrupt the dynamic in the group. Plus, you two weren’t dating; it was just sex. Which you two agreed would be the easiest way to approach this: no strings, anyone can call it off whenever for whatever reason with no questions asked, you two would be friends afterward.
Except you hadn’t taken into account how affectionate Buck could be while being intimate.
It started with the compliments turning more loose. Then came the casual touches that you thought he wasn’t even aware he was doing–he’d reach for your hand on the couch while you hung out or place his hand on your thigh when you all went to drinks or dinner, hand on the small of your back when he was guiding you or just wanted to move you closer to him, innocently and casually tucking your hair behind your ear mid conversation. He’d conditioned you to stop trying to leave immediately after sex, tucking you back into his chest and pleading for you to just give him five minutes that turned into you just spending the night.
So, yeah. It was hard not to start falling in love with your best friend. Which was getting increasingly harder to hide, especially while under the influence. You still have the wherewithal to not call Buck so you don’t out yourselves to anyone, but your texts aren’t much better.
You: youre so prettyyyyyy
Buck’s settling in for the night when he gets your text. He’s walking out of his bathroom, fresh out of the shower when he hears the chime of his phone. He prays it isn’t anyone inviting him out at the last minute – he’s hoping you’ll be up to come spend the night with him after your girls night. He’s hoping he’ll hear from you, letting him know you got home and he’ll invite himself over under the pretense of tending to your hangover when, in reality, he just wants an excuse to be near you, sleep next to you. He hasn’t seen you in almost five days and he’s starting to feel a little antsy.
Unlike you, Buck already knew he was in love with you, long before you two started hooking up. When he’d asked you that question when you two watched Harry and Sally fall in love, he was trying to gauge where you fell. Him kissing you that night was totally by happenstance, and when you initiated more he felt like he’d crossed into heaven.
But then you proposed the whole friends with benefits thing. Buck agreed on a whim, mostly because you’d proposed it the next morning while your lips trailed from his chest back up to his mouth and he couldn't think straight, then he kept it going because at least he had some part of you. But now he was sure it was more, if the way you looked at him when he acted like a boyfriend said anything. He figured he would ease you into it. You two still hung out with friends, but now it came with more affectionate benefits. A kiss hello, cuddling with or without sex, convincing you to spend the night afterward, suggesting you leave stuff at his place out of convenience, and not because he enjoyed seeing reminders of you in his home.
Buck smiles when he sees your text, immediately opening the thread to text you back.
Buck: How do you know? You haven’t seen me
You: youre alwaysssss pretty
Buck: Always?
Buck: You must have had quite a few to drink tonight, baby
You: yes i have
You: youre still pretty
You: call me baby again
You: pls <3
Buck: Can I see you tonight, baby?
Buck drafts another text, a joke about him just wanting to come over to make sure you’re okay, a joke to play it off as casual. But then he decides maybe it’s time to be a little more honest with you, and he finds it’s much easier to admit this when he knows you probably won’t remember this interaction in the morning.
Buck: Just miss you
You: on my way to the house
You: let you know when im there :)
You: miss you too <3
Almost 40 minutes later, Buck’s ready to call Hen or Athena to make sure you’re all okay, and then there’s a knock on his door. He checks the peephole, smiling when he sees you on the other side of the door.
“Hey,” he greets you softly, accepting the hug you practically almost tackle him in. He has one arm wrapped around your waist and the other extended to grab your bag from Hen. The confusion finally catches up to him as your arms tighten around his neck. “Why’d you guys bring her here?”
“Because,” Hen says, a smirk on her face, “she kept saying she wanted us to take her to her boyfriend.”
“Yeah, took us a little bit to get her phone unlocked to find out who she was talking about,” Athena finishes, a matching, smug look on her face. Buck flushes a little at the title, liking entirely too much that you called him your boyfriend.
“Oh,” is all he gets out before you’re pulling away just enough to look at him, and he’s confused when he sees a light sheen in your eye, like you were crying or might start to.
“I just missed you, Buck,” you whine, leaning in to kiss him under his jaw, “are you mad?” He can feel your pout as you pepper more kisses on any exposed skin you can find, and it makes him tighten his arm around you.
“Course not, baby,” he mumbles, turning his head to kiss the top of yours. “Missed you, too.” He takes a step back, giving Athena and Hen a nod. “Thanks, we’ll see you tomorrow for brunch,” he promises Athena, inching further into his house as best as he can without tripping with you clung to him.
“Be ready for our interrogation, Buckley,” Hen says, shaking her head despite the wide smile on her face. "And don't think we're keeping this to ourselves. We've got a bet going." He rolls his eyes, waving them away before closing and locking his front door.
“Time for bed?” You question, your voice dropping to a whisper as the weight of exhaustion starts to settle deep in your bones. Buck smiles, bending to scoop you up in a bridal carry to take you to his bathroom to get you cleaned up before bed.
“Time for bed,” he mumbles.
The next morning you’re woken up by the smell of fresh coffee, strong. Your eyes adjust to the semi-sun soaked room, immediately knowing you’re waking up in Buck’s bed from the smell of his detergent. You stretch, letting out a soft groan as the ache in your shoulders burns a little, your brain doing a similar stretch as you try to remember how you went from hanging out with Hen and Athena to Buck’s bed.
Had he met you guys while out? Did you ask him to go get you? Did you take a car to his place instead of your own? How embarrassing, you think. Talk about clingy.
“Well, look who’s up.” You open your eyes again at the sound of Buck’s voice, sitting up a little as you watch him walk in with two cups of coffee. “Morning, baby,” he mumbles, leaning down to place a kiss on top of your head. Your brain latches onto the pet name, your stomach fluttering at the vague memory of him calling you that last night. “You feeling okay?”
“Morning, yeah,” you say, smiling up at him, moving your legs so you’re sitting cross-legged to make room for him. He sits next to you, wearing a smile that matches yours – soft, warm, familiar. You lean away from him when he leans in for a kiss, making him freeze. “Morning breath,” you explain, shaking your head.
“Don’t care about that,” he responds, a hand coming up to lightly grab your chin and bring you in for a quick peck. “What kind of boyfriend cares about that?” He teases, giving you another peck before letting you go and pulling away.
“Boyfriend?” You squeak out, watching him take a casual sip of his coffee. “When did you promote yourself?” You ask, trying to come off as light and jokey, but you’re sure the heat in your face gives you away. You pick your coffee cup out of his hands, taking a big swig to hide yourself.
“You promoted me last night, when you told Athena and Hen to drop you off at your boyfriend’s place,” he smirks, watching as you splutter a little, coughing up the coffee you just almost inhaled.
“Oh, God,” you moan, a hand coming up to cover your face. “Did I really? I’m sorry.”
“For what?” You uncover your face to see him smiling at you, no trace of teasing you there. No sense that he’s mocking you. “I gladly accept the promotion.”
“You… yeah?” You ask quietly, placing your mug on his nightstand next to you. “You want to be my boyfriend, Buckley?”
“Desperately,” he breathes out, leaning forward to tuck your hair behind your ear. “If you want me.”
“I want you,” you say almost immediately, and you don’t have time to feel embarrassed about how quickly you answered him because he’s leaning in to kiss you again, more than just a peck this time.
“How mad do you think Bobby and Athena will be if we’re late to brunch?” He mumbles against your mouth, leaning in to force you to lay down, his body caging yours.
“I think Athena and Hen will be disappointed they have to wait longer for answers,” you tease, smiling as his lips ghost over your throat.
“Hm,” he hums, gently scraping his teeth against your skin, smirking when he feels you shiver underneath him. “Worth it.”
♡ - Hands on Education (Ash & Darcy) (R21+)
♡ - For @fraternum-momentum (hope you have fun with this one mel ♡)
Warnings: torture, sexual torture, mentions of dissection, somnophillia, sexual assault, drugging, paralysis, misuse of medical equipment, etc.
You shouldn’t be awake right now.
Darcy will be the first to notice you, even before you notice you’re awake yourself, “Shit, Ash - She woke up already," He would call out to the other person in the room.
From where you laid on the unclean hospital stretcher, you can make out that the room was cramped - undeniably so. Especially with how Darcy’s almost hulking figure seems to be covering a large part of the room on your right side. To keep you steady, the larger man would reach down to keep one side of your arm pressed down onto the bed.
It was a bit of a precaution really. These two already know that you can’t possibly make a break for it at this point. Despite being awake, your head should still be throbbing with pain and your body wracked with exhaustion and not to mention - the only exit in this room is the door right in front of you, where you lie in your hospital stretcher. Blocked by an equally massive, if not taller figure.
“She’s awake?” The one blocking the exit would say, his visage obscured by the limited reach of the dim lights of the cramped room. It wasn’t until that he walks closer to the stretcher, that ‘Ash’ appearance would finally be visible to you. He was a contrast to his brother, mostly in his eyes - where his’ is a shining white-gray color whereas Darcy is a deep black color.
“Yeah, what do we now? Should we do it while she’s awake?” Darcy would ask while keeping a steady hand on you. Ash would only roll his eyes in exaggerated exasperation at his brother’s antics. “You’re so fucking vanilla, Darce. Of course not, where’s the fun in her being awake?”
Out of your sight, you wouldn’t be able to turn your head to see what Ash was reaching for. But there was some clatter of … something against a metal surface. Perhaps he was trying to get an equipment of sorts? Whatever it was, the sound was enough to sting back some clarity in your head and force to you to move.
You won’t stay alive if you keep still there.
Unfortunately, this revelation came a bit too late to you, as in a matter of seconds, Ash was already at your other side, forcing your bobbing head back onto the mattress, his face now so dangerously close to yours, you can smell the remnants of cigarettes on his breath. “Hm, well I can see there is a bit of fun in her scared little face. Gosh, you’re really fucking pathetic looking, probably would look even more so when you’re choking on one of our cocks while getting your neck sliced open.”
Your heart stills in your chest and fear descends into your gut.
“But that’s not what I want to do,” All you can tell now was that Ash’s lips were close to your face now, you don’t see where Darcy has gone as all your focus is on the scarred lips that have now pressed against the side of your face, his hand forcibly tilting your face to look the other way so he can whisper into your ear, “We’re going to have fun puppy, and we’re going to do something I always wanted to try, alright? My baby brother might want to play with you a bit more when you’re awake though, so try to not die after we play, understood?”
He would pull away, but he won’t re-position your head back to where it was resting. Instead, you will feel a sharp sting into your neck as something was injected into you.
“Shh…. You’ll be asleep for most of the time. So don’t complain about it too much, yeah?”
Unfortunately, the drug wasn’t an anesthetic but a paralysis drug. Which means you are aware of everything and anything happening to you.
In your state, you can hear the two of them speak, but there was nothing you can do.
You accept your fate.
“You know, Darce. We’ve missed on so many things together… how many years has it been, brother? Remind me again.”
“…. Five, I believe…. Perhaps even seven, if we count the two years where I’ve located you but I wasn’t able to meet with you-.”
Ash didn’t wait for Darcy to finish, already going on with his monologue. You hear a lot of shuffling in the room as the two men moved around the room. “Seven fuckin’ years, Darce. Seven. And just like that I missed out on all the things I should’ve taught you as an older brother.”
“Ash, listen - where the hell are you going about this-,” “Let me finish, baby brother.” Ash’s voice was steady and sound. It commanded everyone’s attention.
“To make it up to you, I’ve decided, why not catch up on everything now? Come here, you can be her first and while we’re at it.” There was rustling, like clothes falling to the floor and the weight of someone else climbing onto the stretcher.
It was unclear if it was Darcy and Ash at this point, but - then - you felt it, the cold hiss of a knife grazing against the skin of your pelvis as your clothes were brushed aside to expose your body to the two. “I’m going to be a good big brother and show you how to properly pleasure a woman’s body. We’ll even get a live demonstration when I cut her open and we can see how her body responds to getting raped in her sleep.”
There was a pause as the knife was repositioned on your pelvis.
Destiel fic let's gooooooooo
I actually wrote this like, a year ago, but it's not my usual style and a little bit outside my comfort zone so I was never sure about posting it but here we are! I'm still nervous 😅
Let me know what you think! But also pls be gentle with me I am just a litol guy <3
Characters: Dean, Castiel
Pairings: Dean/Castiel
Warnings: vague sex? Like, it's happening but there's not really any details and it's definitely not explicit at all. Otherwise I can't think of anything else. Please don't hesitate to let me know if I should add anything, though!
Word count: 1,324
Ao3 FFN
~ ~ ~
Castiel doesn’t understand human ‘pet names’ and ‘terms of endearment’ as well as he would like. He knows them, has heard them and parroted them and tried so hard to understand, but he just cannot grasp why.
He does not understand why he should call Dean anything other than his name, his name which means love and safety and protection and home and strength and power and all that Dean is to him and more. Why would some random word be more special, how could a word that millions of other, simple people use on their other, simple partners mean more than Dean, when that single syllable, those four little letters, are unique and singularly his own. When the sound of Dean rolling off his tongue is the sound of divinity.
But then.
Oh, but then.
Then Dean greats him in the morning as he stumbles into the bunker’s kitchen with a cup of coffee prepared just the way he likes it still warm and fresh and steaming as he wraps his fingers around it with a soft, “Good morning, sunshine,” as he places a gentle, almost reverent kiss on Castiel’s forehead.
And Castiel feels his chest go warm and soft and okay, maybe he can understand it a little better now.
Then Castiel gets hurt on a hunt and Dean is right there beside him, putting pressure on the wound and getting Castiel’s blood all over his hands and shirt but his eyes are wide, and his voice is shaky and terrified as he says, “Hey, hey, Cas, c’mon, stay with me, you gotta stay with me, babe,” and presses their foreheads together and he is begging with Castiel to hold on just a little longer because help is on the way “you just need to hold on a little longer for me, angel, you can’t go to sleep yet, just a little longer.”
And when Castiel wakes up in a hospital bed minutes or hours or days later with Dean’s voice calling him “babe” and “angel” still ringing in his ears and he cannot feel the pain of his wounds because he is filled too much with the warmth and softness and love from Dean’s words to know the feel of anything else, he thinks maybe he does get it now, maybe he is beginning to understand why when Dean says those words with such softness and love and adoration.
Then Dean is hurt and Castiel is panicking because he doesn’t have his Grace anymore, he is painfully, pitifully, uselessly human and he doesn’t know what to do but Dean is holding his hand and making their eyes meet and he is comforting and reassuring Castiel which is wrong, it is wrong because Dean is the one that is hurt and Castiel should be comforting and reassuring him, but Dean is squeezing his hand and saying, “hey, I’m alright, darlin’, it isn't much more than a scratch,” and he’s pressing a kiss to Castiel’s cheek and showing him, “look, it’s already pretty much stopped bleeding, darlin’, I've had much worse than this and come out the other side no worse for wear, yeah?” and Castiel thinks that he is burning bleeding breaking because Dean is hurt and he is bleeding but he is also right and Castiel knows this but he is still freaking out because Dean is hurt and he cannot heal him.
And later, as Castiel runs his hands along the bandage he had wrapped so carefully around Dean’s chest to cover the jagged slash across his breast and ribs that he knows will scar, as he lays there with Dean’s head tucked into the crook of his neck and their legs tangled together within the sheets and wishes wishes wishes that he still had his Grace, he remembers how even bleeding and in pain Dean had called him “darlin’,” had said that word with such gentle, loving reassurance and how just hearing that word fall from Dean’s lips had calmed his racing heart, and he knows why, now, he has to because it cannot feel better than this, cannot possibly mean more than this, here, now.
(Castiel has always spoken Dean’s name like a prayer, has always greeted him with, “Hello, Dean,” like worship, has always known their bond as something sacred and holy and sublime. Castiel is devoted to humanity and Dean is the alter at which he kneels because Dean Winchester is everything good and right and divine about humanity.)
(Castiel is a Fallen Angel of the Lord, but he did not care and he did not regret a single action he had taken nor choice he had made that got him here because he knew what it was to feel true, human love for someone and what it was to be loved truly, deeply, selflessly in return.)
(Castiel was kissing Dean, trailing his fingers along Dean’s scars, tracing constellations between the freckles scattered across Dean’s body like stardust. He was drinking in the color of Dean’s eyes, olive and emerald and gold and amber like sunlight filtering through the trees to dance along the forest floor, like light refracting through a glass of Dean’s favorite aged whiskey, like starlight casting shadows through a stained-glass window. Castiel would kiss and worship and pray and love until Dean could no longer doubt his devotion, until Castiel had wrung every last drop of self-loathing from his body and convinced Dean that he was worthy of being saved, he was worthy of being loved, he was worthy of living, until Dean believed that he did not have to earn their love.)
(Castiel would praise and worship and prostrate himself on the ground at Dean’s feet until Dean no longer thought himself expendable, no longer thought himself nothing more than another obstacle to be placed between his loved ones and anything that wished them harm, no longer thought himself something to be used up and broken down and thrown away with disgust like one might discard rancid meat.)
Then Castiel was unraveling Dean, slowly, carefully, one gorgeous, gossamer thread at a time with his hands and his mouth and Dean was writhing beneath him, rendered breathless by his steady ministrations and Dean was breathing his name like a prayer, gasping it into Castiel’s shoulder like a plea, letting it tumble from his lips like a hymn as he cries out and trembles and comes completely undone and Castiel is kissing bruises into Dean’s skin, marking his flesh and drowning in the taste of him and Castiel is lost in Dean’s ecstasy, he is flying with wings built from all of Dean’s sinful noises and loving touches and then he is nipping Dean’s ear and whispering, “my beloved, my righteous man, ol monons, ozien, obza,” slipping into Enochian, calling and claiming and consoling Dean all at the same time (my heart, mine own, my other half).
And then, oh and then, Castiel finally knew why, finally understood, as he and Dean lay tangled together, warm and full and sated, as Dean turns to him and asks what the Enochian means and Castiel explains, as Dean’s face melts like sugar on Castiel’s tongue into a soft, warm look of such utter love and adoration and tenderness that Castiel forgets how to breathe, as Dean watches him with those honey-whiskey-sage-pine irises still lit from within by an all-encompassing bliss, as Dean’s eyes crinkle at the corners as he smiles and dimples appear at the corners of his kiss-swollen lips and this, Castiel knows, is why, now he understands because it is all about the way Dean looks at him so lovingly, so trustingly, so bashfully at hearing that he is something Castiel treasures and loves and adores and Castiel will spend the rest of their lives branding that look on Dean’s face into his mind just as he burns the words into Dean’s skin with every kiss and bite and breath they ever share.
“Something is very wrong! He’s never been this agitated-!”
Optimus grunted as Godzilla flipped the boat over and he and Kong landed in the water. The Prime tried to reach out to Godzilla, but it seemed that the Titan had blocked his side of their bond.
Optimus internally sighed and got his game face back on, he had to move fast to save the passengers on this boat. To his right, he noticed Kong struggling to get free of his shackles. He swam to him and cut them off with his sword.
Optimus and Kong flipped the boat over and got back up on top of the deck. He saw Godzilla swimming near the aircraft carrier. The Prime then looked back at the Ape. Kong looked back at him. He could tell that Kong was itching to fight back.
“I know what you’re going to do. I’ll handle things here. Just..” Optimus then signed ‘Be careful.’
Kong nodded and turned away, growling, and began his trek to Godzilla.
His sex drive was relentless, almost feral, it made anything resembling a meaningful relationship feel impossible. Who could keep up with someone who stayed that fucking horny, all the time? It would scare most people off.
He was used to being in charge in bed, and he was perfectly fine with it. In his mind, his own pleasure had always come second; it started with watching you fall apart, hearing you cry out, feeling you clench and tremble until you were soaked and desperate. Only then did the real sex begin, the kind only he could give you.
So he’d lean back against the headboard, lazy smirk on his lips, and let you climb on top. He’d drink in the sight of you: flushed cheeks, heavy-lidded eyes, tits bouncing softly as you sank down onto his cock. Your moans would spill out, raw and needy, while you rocked your hips, chasing that sweet friction. He loved how you looked drunk on him, lips parted, breath hitching every time you took him deeper.
He’d let you have your fun for a while, hands resting lightly on your thighs, thumb stroking your skin like he had all the patience in the world.
But eventually… you’d start to falter. Your rhythm would grow sloppy, thighs shaking, little whimpers turning into frustrated whines because it wasn’t enough anymore. You both knew it.
And Gojo would just smile, slow and wicked, blue eyes gleaming with that dangerous hunger.
“Aw, baby… had your fun?” he’d murmur, voice low and teasing, fingers finally digging into your hips with intent. “Ready for me to take over now?”
You’d nod, already breathless, already dripping, knowing exactly what came next.
Because riding him was only the warm-up.
The real thing, the part that left you ruined and sobbing his name, only started when he decided you were ready to truly take him.
He’s always been a little embarrassed by it, this constant, gnawing hunger that never seems to let up. He’s used to being horny all the time, but ever since he met you, it’s gotten so much worse. Every time you hang out, the second he gets home he’s rushing to his room, shoving his pants down and wrapping his hand around his aching cock, stroking himself furiously while your face is still fresh in his mind.
Just the sight of your lips or those pretty eyes is enough to melt him into pure ecstasy.
Hypersexual! Gojo, who’s desperately trying to be lowkey around you. He doesn’t want to scare you off. You’re so wonderful, kind, patient, smart, and genuinely good in every way. How could someone like him, twisted and starving with lust, possibly deserve someone as perfect as you?
He used to need multiple partners just to take the edge off, never satisfied with just one person. But the moment you came into his life, he stopped seeing anyone else. The mere idea of being with you is enough now. No one else even comes close.
Hypersexual! Gojo, who’s always been the one to make the first move, now holds back. He waits for you to start things because he’s terrified of coming on too strong and ruining this. He’s used to using his dazzling looks and effortless charm to get whatever he wants, but with you he refuses to. It’s driving him insane. He wants you so badly it hurts, but this is the first time in his life he’s ever wanted something so precious, so he’s careful.
Hypersexual! Gojo who at parties and hangouts, he has to sneak away every so often, slipping into a bathroom or a dark corner just to jerk off because your mere presence turns him on unbearably. He’ll lean against the wall, biting his lip to stay quiet, pumping his cock with quick, desperate strokes while thinking about you.
So when the two of you have been going out for two weeks and you finally confront him, telling him how needy you are for his touch and demanding to know why he hasn't made a move on you, Gojo gets all flustered. His cheeks flush, those bright blue eyes widening as he realizes just how badly you want him too. He’s still unsure how to behave around you, scared of letting the full weight of his desires show.
The first time you’re together, he’s surprisingly tender and caring, almost too gentle. But you’re already frustrated from all the waiting, so you start begging him, voice breathy and desperate: “Harder… faster, please—”
That’s when he falls apart.
He tries to stay careful at first, but the moment he sees you can take him, really take him, something inside him snaps. He fucks you with raw, overwhelming passion, hips slamming into you with a need he can’t hold back anymore. He cums faster than he expected, groaning your name as pleasure crashes through him.
He’s a little embarrassed afterward, but you honestly don’t care. You just pull him closer, smiling.
Hypersexual! Gojo, who’s an absolute mess for you.
