part of my kinktober. now duplicate here (totally out of blue).
tw: frottage, dress-up (Gojo receiving); little obessed!Gojo.
cw: 700
Gojo is an experimentalist.
When he says he's willing to try anything, you know he's not kidding.
When he shows up in a revealing outfit, you're not surprised. Even if it's a maid's outfit that barely not covers his body. Or, rather, part of one costume he once bought for you. To be exact: a lacy, translucent apron that veils his chiseled body.
The pretty bow at his waist beckons you to pull the ribbon as he twirls around to present his current look. Playful eyes stare at you innocently from under his fluffy, deliberately obvious flapping lashes.
Wiggling his hips, Gojo heads for the kitchen, assuming he's going to make you something for breakfast, you follow him.
In fact, his cooking is frankly average. Not a walking disaster, but not a Michelin star at all. Eggs or pudding, though, he'll do it.
Whistling a suspiciously familiar tune, he makes your cheeks bloom like a Christmas tree. Deftly spinning the pot in his hand, he pulls out a whisk, his every movement falling into rhythm. The same rhythm he used to pull you to new heights just hours ago.
You watch mesmerized as he handles the kitchen appliances, Gojo only squinting at your dazed expression, murmuring softly and putting the cream on the stove with smooth but quick movements.
You blink dully for a few seconds, staring into the void until your eyes meet.
As it would seem that you've just finished, his figure overshadows yours again, looming over you with his trademark smile. relatively innocent, you don't even have time to think about the catch…
And he's already pressing you into the table. The look is almost insane, a special kind of aggression, boiling like pudding on the stove behind him, a way of expressing his feelings; Gojo is not gentle, his passion boils inside, mingles with his blood, drives him through the swollen veins in his arms. He's always like this, it's the only way he knows how.
The familiar thong peeks out from under his apron as he swings his hips around your still-clothed crotch. Your robe was half off, baring your shoulder, and opening your sensitive nipples to the cool air wafting through the apartment.
Perhaps you should teach him to close the windows.
With a low moan, Satoru nuzzled against your chest; inhaling deeply, covering his eyes in pleasure, he obediently molded himself to your outstretched hand, burying your fingers in his silky hair.
His gaze is blank, his clear eyes like cloudless skies, his scratchy lips covering your collarbones with soft but insistent kisses, until the right hand he's resting on the poor tabletop begins to clench into a fist. The wood cracks under his palm, but he ignores it-he'll buy a new one if he needs one, but right now his mind isn't even on it. On principle.
Sex as a way to forget - does that mean you're his dose? After all, he is truly addicted to this state of mind.
His empty, sweet head is now filled with one obsession: to fuck you. Completely ignoring the world around him. He doesn't want to think about anything else.
Already pulling his cock out, Satoru pulls down your perfectly clean cotton panties, gently placing his hand on your soft tummy as you spread your legs for him, taking you by the inside of your thighs under the knee.
His cock flops flat, sliding between your slick wet labia and collecting the lubrication that has accumulated there.
With a muffled, sharp sound, he finally thrusts in. Your head is already spinning - your stretched vagina responds pleasantly to his movements, and you don't follow the moans that leave your lips, already throwing your head back and whispering his name sweetly.
Hissing, whispering, murmuring, not noticing how loud the words are scream: with each of his thrusts, your voice rises a few tones as you finally realize what's rumbling in the back of your throat, you fall silent, your face already crimson from the lack of oxygen and the blood rushing there.
"Fascinating," Gojo murmurs, biting your nipple and nipping one of your mounds with his lips, pulling away with a muffled pop just a few seconds later, "how about letting me hear more?"
spoiler alert: the pudding burned. Also, very sticky because of the amount of sugar Satoru generously poured in it.
