⋆˚꩜｡ choso’s never mean, but he makes you cry anyway — 18+
Choso is physically incapable of being cruel. That’s one of a myriad of reasons he can be so frustrating.
That frustration flares the hottest in bed.
When he has you pinned, nose nudging at your neck like a cat seeking affection, words soft and pleading even as he holds all the cards— even as he edges you maddeningly.
You hiccup a sob and claw at his thick, vein ribbed forearm, cheeks wet with tears. He’s so close, and he knows it. If he crooked his fingers just a little more…
But he won’t. Not for a good while yet.
You arch under him, hips bucking with a gasp. He makes this soft, wounded sound, smoothing a thumb over your hipbone. His ministrations never falter, a wide thumb wedged right between your petal-soft lips, rubbing insistent circles against your clit.
“Not yet,” he whines, all drawn out and plaintive— like you have a choice in this. “Too pretty like this. Wanna -ngh, fuck- wanna keep you like this.”
And so he does it again. And again. He draws you right to the edge, until your breathing pauses and your stomach tenses. And then he removes his hand completely, licking his fingers clean with a weak moan— as if this makes him throb just as much as it does you.
By the fifth edging, you’re crying earnestly. Your cheeks are wet, your chest shuddering with every inhale. Choso’s muttering softly, his face nestled against your neck as he begs for ‘just one more, sweet girl.’
The sixth is always your downfall. Choso knows it. He watches in real time as your eyes glaze over, those kiss bitten lips parted around a ragged breath as you turn, chin jutting out when you search for him through half lidded eyes.
You’re still crying, but it’s more subdued now. You try to curl into him and he coos softly, a wide palm pressing right beneath your belly button to trap you against the mattress.
“Cho-” you fuss, arms curling around the hard sinew of his bicep.
“I know.” He smears a kiss along your jaw placatingly. “Soon, angel.”
Your brow crinkles as you shake your head, nose digging against the inside of his arm. “Hurts. Wanna-wanna cum.”
He barely has to move at all when he finally decides to give it to you. He lowers himself until you’re chest to chest; he’s all hard muscle and warmth and familiarity, and that, combined with the way he readjusts the angle of his fingers just so, has you going taut like a bowstring within seconds.
You go still. His fingers are insistent against that spot that makes your eyes roll back, and that tension snaps all at once. That first wave of pleasure steals your breath. You soak through two towels and the top sheet of the mattress, legs kicking weakly, cunt still sucking his fingers further in like a vise, sweet and sticky.
He’s just as wrecked as you are, cock leaking, purpling with every second he remains untouched, grinding against the seam of your thigh. His nose scrunches, chest shuddering as his arms give way and he presses himself above you, trapping you as you jerk with the aftershocks.
“So pretty,” he babbles. “So good f’me - hah - gonna cum.”
You feel the way he spasms and then goes still, the rivulets that run over the curve of your hip. You turn into it as he smears his cum over your bare skin like a brand.
You couldn’t speak if you wanted to, blinking slowly as he shudders and moans and pets your head with sticky fingers, glistening fingerprints smudging over your sweat slicked brow.
This is his favourite game. It always has been.
He murmurs nonsense against the corner of your mouth, nose pressing to your cheek. You’re already settling, letting him gather you up and press open mouthed kisses to every inch of bare skin he can reach.
You mumble something entirely unintelligible and tuck yourself into his arms. He mouths at your neck affectionately.
You’ve got ten minutes before his cock kicks back up and he wants to go another round.
I need dilf gojo smut 🙏🏻🙏🏻 discovered ur acc this morning and it's such a blessing
⋆˚꩜｡ dilf!satoru proves to you that older men do it better 18+
Satoru Gojo has always been strictly off limits.
Too old for you— far, far too old.
The aging suits him. The way he’s filled out, a soft layer settling over the rigid muscle underneath. The smile lines, his eyes crinkling more and more with every cocky smile.
You’re not exactly sure how it happened. Maybe it was too much of that cheap rosé you guzzle like water, too much of the whiskey he nurses sitting at the bar, pointedly pretending to not watch you.
All you know is one minute you’re watching him over the rim of your wine glass, and the next you’re bent in half in the backseat of his car, ankles by his ears.
“Is that perfume on your ankles, baby? That’s— fuck — that’s a nice touch. You wanted this to happen, didn’t you?” He grinds down into you, slow and filthy, his nose nudging your ankle bone. “Attagirl. You can take more than that.”
The second he bends at the waist, your fingers are curling into that crisp white shirt, indenting the pristine fabric.
“Toru-” you gasp, breathless. “Too-too much.”
He only laughs, a lithe hand slipping out of sight, between the heat of your bodies and part your pussy lips with a gentleness that contradicts the way he’s fucking you.
“You can take it,” he murmurs, low and filthy, voice like velvet wrapped granite. And when he finally settles inside you completely, pubic bone flush with your cunt, it takes a minute before you can breathe again.
You should have guessed that Satoru Gojo has a ridiculously big cock.
He crowds you against the leather seats, fingers wrapping over the nape of your neck to drag you up for a messy kiss. It’s all teeth and tongue and desperation— like maybe he’s been aching for this just as much as you have.
You go soft and pliant like putty. He slides an arm down and under your back, lifting your chest flush to his as his hips start rocking again. The filthy praise never lets up, a low muttering against the shell of your ear that has you tilting into him like a flower towards sunlight.
“There’s a good girl. Fuck, that’s my pretty girl,” he rasps. “Go on, now. Make those pretty noises f’me.”
Your cunt throbs. Your eyes roll back.
He coaxes you through three orgasms before he lets you breathe. You feel the exact moment he goes boneless himself, his own orgasm torturously dragged out as his hips stutter and he moans into your ear.
And Christ, you think you might die if you never hear that sound again.
He gathers you up, smears a kiss that is far too intimate for a one night stand across the corner of your mouth, and sends you back towards the bar with a pat on the ass and a phone number lazily scrawled on the inside of your thigh for you to decipher later.
You’ll be calling that fucking number.
ᢉ𐭩 a/n; babe you actually fucking ate with this, I need him biblically…
it’s huge, first of all. fat and heavy, fills out his boxers with little room to spare, balls heavy and coated in thick, dark curls.
and secondly…it gives him hell for everything.
you smile at him too brightly, all cute and crooked the way that makes his heart flutter? boner. you wave shyly at him from across the room? boner. you ask him to help you with something, anything?
you guessed it. boner.
you only lean across him to grab something from the table. it’s innocent— domestic, even.
choso scrambles for a cushion as soon as you pull back. heat creeps along his cheeks, a lovely hue of pink smearing across soft freckles. you only peer up at him with those soft, worried eyes, and he’s biting back a moan.
“honey, are you okay?”
he nods, but it’s stilted. too robotic. you try not to laugh.
smoothing a gentle hand over his temple, you push up onto your knees, lips pushed out into a pout.
fuck, why do you have to give him blowjob eyes?
“choso, are you hard right now?”
he mumbles something mostly unintelligible, and your brow pinches in that adorable little frown. you only pull back an inch, and he’s grabbing for you like a man starved.
“yes, i-“ he whines, scrubbing a hand over his eyes. “i’m hard.”
you grin like christmas has come early. “do you want me to help you?”
his eyes gloss over, wet and wide and wanting— hungry in a way you’ve never seen before.
you inch your hand lower, testing the waters. his hips stutter, already reaching, already wanting more contact. “relax,” you huff softly. “i’ve got you, honey.”
choso tips his head back and whines.
you slip your hand just beneath the waistband of his shorts. he pouts up at you with the wettest eyes you’ve ever seen as you graze the base of his cock with manicured fingers. you wrap a hand around the base and your fingers barely touch around the width of him.
choso’s already bucking his hips frantically.
“oh, f-fuck-“
leaning close, you press a kiss to the corner of his mouth. he can smell the mint on your breath from that gum you’re always chewing, the vanilla body lotion that clings to your skin, and something vaguely smoky. you stroke the length of him once, twice.
a guttural moan rips from his chest. beads of sweat are forming at the crown of his skull, and you coo softly, smoothing them away. he juts his chin out, searching for a kiss. you indulge him.
the second his tongue swipes the inside of your mouth, you feel it.
his balls draw up tight, and you feel thick, seemingly endless ropes of cum coat your hand, soaking through his shorts, soaking through everything.
you hum softly into his mouth as he shudders, turning his face against the hollow of your throat.
“you get wet like a girl, baby.”
his mouth opens, but no words form. eyes rolled back, pretty pink lips parted in absolute, fucked out bliss. he’s already half-hard again.
“shut up,” he breathes, but he’s dragging you closer for another wet kiss.
