YUTA OKKOTSU
tw: very smutty!!
The late afternoon sun slanted through the windows of the common room at Jujutsu High, casting long shadows across the worn tatami mats. Panda sat cross-legged on a couch, a bag of chips in his paw, while Yuta had his nose buried in a mission report. The giant panda had been uncharacteristically quiet despite a few sarcastic retorts, but his curiosity finally got the better of him. “Oi, Yuta,” Panda said, crunching loudly. “I’ve been meaning to ask you something.” Yuta looked up, his bangs falling over his dark eyes. “What is it?”.. “What’s your preferred type? You know, in terms of… breasts?" Panda gestured with his paws. “Size, shape, whatever.” Yuta’s cheeks flushed a deep red. He glanced around the empty room as if seeking an escape, then shrugged. “I don’t know… I guess reasonably big? Not too huge, not too small. Just… a handful, maybe a bit more. That’s what I like.”
Panda nodded sagely, as though cataloging the information for future use. “Good answer.” A month later, you arrived at Jujutsu High as a transfer student. You’d been scouted from a smaller school, and the moment you walked into the training yard, Yuta froze mid-swing with his sword. Your build, your curves. your full, bouncy chest that perfectly filled out your uniform, it was exactly what he’d described. He swallowed hard, forcing his gaze away, but his heart hammered against his ribs. The next few months became a blur of shared training sessions. Gojo assigned you as Yuta’s sparring partner, and every day you’d meet in the dojo, trading blows, locking limbs, and sweating through your clothes. The tension built slowly, insidiously. You’d catch him staring into each other’s eyes during a hold, breathing heavily, bodies pressed close. Yuta’s gaze would drop to your chest when he thought you weren’t looking, and you’d catch the way he’d bite his lip when you bent over to pick up a training weapon.
You let the tension simmer, deliberately brushing against him, wearing tops that were a little too low, letting your hair fall loose around your shoulders. He grew more flustered with each session, his stammering apologies becoming less coherent, the pauses longer. You knew he wanted you. The question was whether he’d admit it.
The mission was a rough one, a cursed womb in an abandoned factory, a Grade 2 threat that turned out to be a lot stronger than anticipated. You and Yuta fought side by side, your cursed energy flickering through the darkness, his blade singing as it cut through shikigami. By the time the sun set, you were both battered, exhausted, and splattered with blood that wasn’t entirely your own. Gojo had already driven back with the report, leaving you two to make your own way to the dormitory. The walk was silent but charged. Every step felt heavy with unspoken want. When you reached the corridor, Yuta paused at his door. “Do you… want to come in for a bit? Just to clean up?” His voice cracked. “I have a first aid kit.”
You nodded, your pulse quickening. The moment the door clicked shut behind you, the air thickened. Yuta stood with his back to you, his uniform torn, exposing the sweat-sheened skin of his shoulders. You stepped closer, close enough to feel the heat radiating off him. “Yuta,” you said, your voice low and commanding. He stiffened. “Turn around.” He obeyed, his eyes wide, vulnerable. You reached out and placed your palm flat against his chest, feeling the frantic beat of his heart under your hand. “All these months of training,” you murmured, dragging your fingers down his torso, “you’ve been staring. I know what you like, Yuta. I heard what you told Panda.” His breath hitched. “I… I didn’t think you’d—”
“I’m exactly your type, aren’t I?” You stepped into him, your chest pressing against his, the fabric of your top doing little to hide the generous swell beneath. “And“Yes,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “Yes, you are.” You pushed him backward until his knees hit the edge of his bed, and he fell onto the mattress, looking up at you with a mixture of hunger and submission. Slowly, deliberately, you undid the buttons of your uniform jacket, letting it fall open. You pulled off your undershirt, baring your breasts to him. They were full, heavy, with nipples already peaked from the anticipation.
Yuta’s mouth went dry. His hands twitched at his sides. “Please,” he breathed. “Please, I want- I want to taste them.” You smiled- a slow, dominating curl of your lips. “You’ll have to earn that, Yuta. But first, you’re going to do exactly what I say.” He nodded, his throat bobbing as he swallowed. You climbed onto the bed, straddling his hips, feeling his hard length pressing against your jeans through your pants. He groaned when you ground down deliberately, the friction making him buck up. “Not yet,” you said, placing a hand on his chest to still him. “First, I want you to tell me how long you’ve wanted this. How many nights you’ve touched yourself thinking about me.” “Every night,” he admitted, his cheeks burning. “After every training session. I’d jerk off in the shower, imagining your tits bouncing while you rode me. I’d picture you on top, taking control, making me your bitch.”
The filthy confession sent a thrill through your core. “Good boy.” You leaned down, letting your breasts dangle just above his open mouth. The tip of his tongue darted out, desperate, but you pulled back. “Not yet. Undress me.” His fingers fumbled with the button of your jeans, tugging them down along with your panties. He stared at the damp curls between your legs, his breath coming in ragged pants. “You’re so wet,” he said, awe and hunger in his voice. “That’s because of you,” you purred. “Now own it.” You guided his hand to your pussy, letting him feel the slick heat. He let out a shaky moan, Your smile was slow, predatory. “Good. Because I’m going to take you apart, piece by piece. And you’re going to take everything I give you. Understood?”
His pupils dilated, his voice breaking. “Yes.” You claimed his mouth then, a kiss that was all tongue and teeth, stealing his breath. He moaned into you, his hands instinctively moving to grip your hips, but you pulled back, pinning his wrists above his head. “Did I say you could touch me?” you asked, your tone sharp. He shook his head quickly, his cheeks burning. “No. I’m sorry.”, “That’s what I thought.” Your free hand roamed down his chest, nails dragging lightly over his skin, leaving red trails in their wake. He arched into your touch, a mess of whimpers and shallow breaths, already so wound up that every graze sent shivers through him. You palmed him through his boxers, feeling the heat and rigidity of his cock, and he bucked into your hand, desperate. “Please,” he gasped.
“Please what?” you teased, circling your thumb over the damp spot forming on the fabric, “Please… touch me. I need you.” You hummed, pretending to consider it. “You’re perfect.” You leaned down, letting your breasts brush against his chest, the contact making him groan. Your mouth found his neck, teeth scraping against his pulse point, sucking a bruise into his skin. He was putty in your hands, moaning and trembling, his hips rocking up against yours. “You’re mine tonight, Yuta,” you murmured against his ear. “And I’m going to make sure you remember every second of it.”
