MDNI ⋆˙⟡ your pathetic boyfriend choso eats you out until he cums in his sweats :( continuation of this drabble ⋆˙⟡ m.list
choso’s favorite place to be was in between your thighs. it didn't matter the time of the day, or the time of month for that matter, he was addicted. so when you come back home from a weekend work trip, youre greeted by your shirtless boyfriend who's staring down at you with the cutest pout and glassy eyes, like such a good boy.
and before you can even unpack your luggage, choso’s got you bent over the couch, pushing your skirt up and pulling your panties to the side as he laps at your slit like a puppy who's dying of thirst.
“ch-cho’, i was only gone for— mmph— two days!” you mewl through short gasps, nails scratching the couch as you try to find something to ground you.
“mmmmmm.” he inhales deeply against your puffy folds before spreading them open, his cock already leaking pearly droplets of pre as he eyes your drooling hole.
“two days was too long without you baby, mmm— please never leave me again, please.” he whimpers in between languid licks at your clit, long wet tongue circling your swollen bud with precision.
god, the way he begs just makes your cunt drool more, saccharine juices coating his tongue and chin as his large hands spread your cheeks wider.
his blunt nails dig into the soft plush of your ass, pulling you so close you're not even sure how he's breathing.
“mmm— been such a good boy for you, promise.” he mumbles against your cunt, the vibrations adding another layer of pleasure and making your tummy tighten.
“yeah, was my pathetic little puppy a good boy all f’me?” you pant out, manicured nails digging harder against the cushions of the couch.
oh he could cum right now.
“yes, s-so good f’you, didn't touch myself— mmph — once, saved all my cum for you.”
his cock is so hard it's painful, purpley-pink tip leaking an excessive amount of pre as his swelling cock strains against the fabric of his sweats, rutting against the air like a dog.
“such a — nnngh, good boy cho', s’proud of you.” you shake your ass against his face, his groans and whimpers growing louder and louder, “makin’ me feel s-so good.”
dark bruises start to form where he's gripping your cheeks, tears welling in his honeyed eyes as he gets drunk off of your juices.
“tastes so good, missed you s-so much— jus’ wanna make you feel good, my pretty princess deserves- mmph- the best.”
he doubles his efforts, his hips still thrusting against his scratchy sweats, pre dripping down his girthy cock and staining the front of his pants.
his plump pink lips are swollen from how much pressure he's putting on your clit, his muffled moans mixing with the wet sounds of your sopping cunt and your choked gasps.
“choso— m’close, be a good boy and make me cum.”
the second those words leave your lips, choso’s done for.
unshed tears of pure desperation and want finally falling onto his flushed pale tattooed cheeks, his fingers that were leaving bruises on the fat of your ass coming to thrust in and out of your soaked pussy, his lips locked around your throbbing clit as drool drips down his chin from slobbering all of over your greedy little cunt.
now you're done for, mouth agape as moans get stuck in your throat, back arching and your silky walls spasming around his long digits as you gush around them and down his wrist.
he sucks on your sensitive clit for a few seconds longer until he can't hold back anymore, removing his fingers with a lewd squelch as he replaces them with his tongue, drool dripping down onto the floor below.
“y-yes, yes- fuck — s’good, s’fuckin’— my pretty princess-” he babbles a few incoherent sentences agaisnt your sopping hole as he fucks his ups up against the air, his throbbing cock aching as he spills an obscene amount of cum into his sweats.
globs drip down to the base, trickling down around the soft tufts of hair that lay there.
you're face is resting against the couch cushion, you're legs shaking as your body turns boneless.
after a few long minutes of choso savoring your taste, his cock finally done twitching and spurting, he gives your clit a soft kiss before removing his face from in between your bruised cheeks.
he picks up your limp body, cradling you in his arms as he sits on the couch, a quit whimper leaving your lips as you feel the sticky damp spot on his crotch.
“m’sorry baby, i couldn't help it.” he murmurs against your ear, breath ghosting against your neck as he leaves a trail of kisses and licks.
“s’okay cho’, jus’ gonna have to punish you for that later.”
his cock twitches at the thought — he really is your pathetic little puppy.
comments and reblogs appreciated! ♡
repost from my old account sytorusdoll
The angel devil watching you touch yourself, your fingers so delicate and soft. Wishing he could touch you, yearning to feel your soft skin under his finger tips. Wishing he could make you feel the pleasure you give yourself. But even a second of ur warmth was far too much of a risk. He wants to make you shiver and shake while he’s on top of you. But, he’d rather watch you and suffer with a throbbing length than take even a week of your life for his own selfish desires.
denji uses your thighs like a good boy
inspired by this twitter video and here’s a bonus
denji let out a shudder as you undid his belt and pulled everything down. his dick twitched eagerly, already fully hard for you, “s-shit..” he whined with his hips bucking, trying to feel friction—his hand gripped the sheets, looking at you with his golden eyes, filled with lust.
“please .. touch me ..” the words came out almost breathless, like a pleading whisper, with his hips still slightly bucking. just to tease him just a little bit, you dragged your finger up and down his length in playful motions—his dick throbbing under your touch making him throw his head back at the little sensations, pre-cum already forming at his tip. “a-ah—cmon .. c-cmon don’t be like that!” he whimpered, his fingers clutching the sheets even tighter than before, “so needy, ji ji.”
he couldn’t help but whine at your words, shaking his head ‘yes’, making his collar jingle, the jingle only making him more squirmy and aroused. a yelp filled your ears as you tugged his leash, making him hover over you, and putting both of your legs on his broad shoulder. his breath hitched as you pressed his dick between your thighs. the heat made his body shudder. his arms wrapped around your legs to anchor himself, fingers digging into the back of your thighs, definitely making bruises.
“shitshitshit!” rambling out words, hips jerking in the perfect, tight squeeze around him—the side of his head dropped against your calf, breathing ragged and uneven. every movement between you two made him twitch and leak even more, voice cracking into little whimpers.
you tug on this leash, giving him the go-ahead to start—denji sucked on his teeth at your firm command, his hips jerked forward in a rough, desperate thrust, the tight slick of your thighs made his vision blur. a broken ripped from his throat as he rutted against you, his rhythm already shaky and erratic. “f-fuck—! i’m s-sorry! ah!”
scrambling to get his words out as he continued to fucked your thighs, every drag of his dick against your skin sent sparks up his spine, his muscles tensing at the pleasure coiled tight in his gut.
“p-please—hngh—gonna .. gonna cum—!” he choked out a warning, hips stuttering the closer he got. a strangled whine came out as his collar tightened around him, “did i say so?” his muscles locked as he struggled not to move, still throbbing painfully in your thighs, aching and neglected. “n-ngh! f-fuck no you didn’t! i’m sorry b-baby.” pleading, he looked at you with pure desperation, his breath coming in ragged pants.
relieving pressure on his neck, you permitted him to keep going—his hips snapped forward, his dick eagerly sliding through with a slick, filthy sound. denji’s arms tighten around your legs, his rhythm rough. “t-thank you! ah—fuck! .. i love you s-so much!” he babbled between, his voice cracked with every movement, he looked at you again with those puppy eyes—looking for permission to cum.
shaking your head ‘no.’ he started to cry as the pleasure slowly started to turn into pain, as his dick ached to spill. slowing down in his thrusts, more deliberate, each drag of his length made his stomach clench tighter. barely thinking straight, hot tears dripped from his face to your legs, his mind hazed with desperation.
his tip became more red and bruised as the seconds ticked on, begging to leak. “i-i can’t anymore .. p-please baby.” he whimpered like a wet dog, looking at you with glossy eyes from unshed tears. shoving your fingers in his mouth to shut him up, his tongue wasting no time to lap and suck them—twitching pathetically. whining around your fingers, coating them in his spit, pulling back just to speak, he muffled something incoherent with glistening lips, “mmf—hah—”
his eyes fluttered shut as a nasty noise escaped him—sucking your fingers deeper as he fucked with rough, uneven strokes. nuzzling into your calf, he bit down into your skin as he felt his release boiling up in his stomach again. “n-ngh.. n-no n-no!"
denji’s movements escalated into frantic thrusts, the wet sounds from your thigh becoming louder—with a choked cry, his voice filled the room as he nuts, spraying all over your boobs and stomach. “am i a good puppy?”
tamaki lets out a shaky whimper as his mouth collides with yours, his body pushes against yours, leaving no room for air. one of his hands grips yours hips as the other one cradles the side of your face.
he kissed you like he was starving, his lips mouth desperately against yours with his tongue exploring the wetness of your mouth—seeking more of you. still kissing you—within quick movements, he sits you up and finds comfortability straddling your lap. his hips jerked forward against you, pressing his growing arousal against you, fingers fumbling with your tank straps on your shoulders.
kissing more messy, and less coordinated—his hot tongue sliding with yours, with the mix of shallow breaths. another broken whimper vibrates against your mouth as you tugged on his hair, “f-fuck—please—don’t stop—” he whined with a cracked voice, hips rolling against you in helpless thrust.
as his head fell to your shoulders, your lips moved along his neck, leaving hot, wet kisses behind—with every kiss, the noises only grew louder. continuing to work on his neck, he guides your hand down to his achingly hard cock, leaking out pre-cum out of his cargo pants.
“please-” he whined with his voice cracking mid-sentence, “i-i’ll be good—so good.” he inhaled sharply at the sudden lack of pressure on him as you pull his pants down, exposing him just enough for his dick to spring out.
smearing his pre-cum down his length, you begin torturing his sensitive, swollen tip—his body immediately reacting to you swirling around your thumb around. a strangled cry ripped from his throat as his hips bucked into your hand wildly—his hands flew to your wrist, thinking that would stop you. “ah—! n-no—haah!—” tears already forming in the corner of his eyes as his chest heaved, “i-i can’t—please!”
the poor boy's legs trembled violently, a choked sob escaped as he continued to rut into your hand, his hands still gripped presently on your wrist. “i’m—i’m gonna—” he warned, his words came out in a broken whimper with his face buried into your neck. a keening cry tore from him as he spilled all over your fingers, his body pulsating in your grip as he went into the aftershocks.
when he finally stilled, he was a boneless, gasping mess—forehead pressed to your shoulder with tears streaming down his cheeks. “i-im.. hic!.. s-sorry.”
you frowned at your fingers, disappointed that he came so fast, “i.. i can keep g-going.” he cried out a strangled gasp as you started playing with his tip again, “o-oh god, please—please..” he panted, his voice high and breathy—still clinging onto you desperately as he rocked his hips into your touch.
just like moments before, his body trembled violently, his breath coming in ragged, desperate gasps as your fingers continued to bully him. “hic!—p-please..”
a broken sob filled your ear as he came into your hand again—you frown again as he slumped against you with his boneless body, “again, seriously?” a whine slipped out as he noticed your disappointment, “i-i know, i know i’m sorry .. it's too much.” to make it up to you, he released his shaky hands from your wrist, pulling your hand up to his mouth—began licking your fingers clean from his seed with needy little sounds.
the second your fingers were cleaned, he placed your thumb back on his tip, “i c-can take it this time, i promise.” another cry crawled out as he guided your thumb against him, he shook in overstimulation, his lips slipping out, begs and pleas. “haah—hngh—ah.. i-i can take it.”
tamaki's entire body jolts violently as your fingers wrap around his entire length, a high-pitched whine tearing from his throat. His hips stutter in tiny, desperate circles against your palm, his body oversensitivity. squeezing his eyes shut—so sensitive that it hurts.
his back arched off the couch as you started picking up the pace, “nnngh—t-too much—!” he sobs with tears continuing to fall down his face. pulling him down back to your shoulder, you whispered, “that’s a good boy, take it.” his body jolts at your comment, making him more desperate, “f-fuck! fuck! d-don’t talk like that..!” with his voice cracking into a scream, his legs shaking, and his toes curling at the couch cushions.
spilling his hot white all over your fingers again, his mouth hung open, mouthing meaningless apologies.
summary — you find bobby’s diary and you read it because you’re a nosy ass bitch (same). the first few pages start off sweet.. then it turns into him detailing his deepest fantasies and kinks. being an amazing girlfriend that you are, you decide to make his wet dreams come to life.
warnings — 18+, p in v, longing, romance, power play, bondage (you tie him up), he calls you ma’am, sub! bobby, face sitting, he cries, because of orgasm denial, praise kink, edging, unprotected sex, cursing, whimpering, aftercare ofc, breach of privacy ig but bobby doesn’t mind </3, HE’S A LIL DYSLEXIC BUT THAT’S OKAY
a/n — this man is so adorable nd i will not stop saying that.
You weren’t trying to snoop.
But Bobby was at practice and the late afternoon light was spilling into his room like honey. You came to his house a bit earlier than expected and his mom let you in. You were mostly on your phone in his bed, waiting for him and rolling your eyes at the way he never properly organized his drawers. The drink in your hand managed to somehow slip a bit out of your grasp, ending up in your shirt being soaked and a quiet “Fuck.” from you.
You decide to take one of his shirts and that’s how you find it, tucked under a stack of old shirts, navy blue cover, slightly frayed on the corners. A small, unassuming notebook, nothing labeled, nothing flashy. If it weren’t for the way it had clearly been shoved deep into the drawer, you might not have given it a second thought.
But it was his and Bobby wasn’t a notebook guy. He barely remembered to take notes in class. The boy lived in the moment, by instinct, sunshine and impulse.
So you paused. Sat down on the edge of the bed with it in your hands. Thumbed through the edge of the pages. You almost decided to respect his privacy but you were pretty curious.. And you opened it.
Page one.
Small, slanted writing. You recognized it immediately. His lowercase i’s dotted with soft little circles. The first sentence made your heart stutter:
“She’s so pretty I think my chest hurts sometimes.”
You blinked.
The page creaked as you turned it slowly.
Page two.
“Today we made pancakes and I forgot the butter but she kissed my cheek anyway. I think she likes the way I say her name. I hope she never stops saying mine. She told me I smell like summer. I almost said 'I love you' right then. I almost said it. what if she knew. what if she knows already."
Your fingers tightened slightly on the edges of the paper. You could hear his voice in your head, saying these things softly into the air, never brave enough to tell you aloud.
Page four.
There were doodles here. Little hearts. A sketch of your initials and his, inside a lopsided heart.
Page ten.
This one was more chaotic. Scratched-out words, half-sentences, like he’d been writing in a rush, mid-feelings.
“She wore that dress again. I coudnt stop stareing. I hope thats okay. I wanna tell her how much I think about her but— idk. What if its too much?? What if Im too much. I just... I think about her so much. Its probbly weird. GOD. Im so dumb.
That last one made your chest ache. You could see him writing it; brow furrowed, lip caught between his teeth, pen trembling slightly in his hand. You flip through the pages, staring at the messy scribbles. At all the pieces of him you hadn’t seen, his quiet wonder, his soft obsession, his boyish insecurities tucked behind every lovestruck line.
You should’ve put it down. Should’ve respected his privacy. Left it tucked under his shirts where he thought it was hidden.
But it’s Bobby.
Your sunshine-soft, broad-shouldered golden retriever of a boyfriend. The boy who looks like he got lost on his way to football practice and stumbled into your life instead—blinking, blushing, and absolutely at your mercy.
And he writes about you like he’s never loved anyone before. You flip ahead. Later entries. The pages are more worn there, messier. Like he couldn’t write fast enough.
“She wore those little shorts today. I couldn’t think straight for the rest of the afternoon.”
“She streched stretched and her shirt rode up. I almost moand moaned (I’m writing this fast, okay?) . What is wrong with me.”
“She sat in my lap and kissed me like she knew what it does to me. (She knows. She definitely knows.)”
You do. Of course you do.
You felt the way he tensed when your thighs brushed his. You heard the way his breath caught when your fingers slid into his hair. The little gasp when you tugged.
You flip again. This one’s messier with little hearts scrawled in the corner, your name in the margins like a chant.
“Last night we… god. I can’t even write it. I came so fast. She didn’t laugh. She just smiled. Like she liked it.”
“She said I sounded pretty when I whimper. I’ve been thinking about it all day.”
“She called me a good boy today and I got all flustured—flusttered?? flustered. That looks wrong. whatever. She made me dumb."
Another page. You’re in too deep to stop now.
“She sat on my face. I thought I was gonna die. (Best way to go.)”
“She said I was good. Said I made her feel amazing. I’ve never been prouder.”
“She tilted my face up and told me to look at her. I almost cried.”
You bite your lip. Hard.
Because God, this boy. This sweet, overstimmed, desperate-to-please jock who writes about you like you’re his religion.
He still hasn’t come into the room.
You can hear him come home though, footsteps in the kitchen, the soft clink of a glass, probably drinking straight from the jug like always. You’ve got seconds. Maybe a minute. And that diary? Still open, still bold, still begging to be read.
So you turn one more page.
It’s the last one.
No date. Just a smear of ink at the top where he must’ve pressed too hard with the pen. Like he sat there for a while, hesitating. Like he didn’t know how to start. Like the words felt too heavy to say out loud but not too heavy to bleed onto paper.
Eventually, he starts.
"Idk why Im writing this. maybe bc I cant say it. not yet. sometimes I think abt her tieing my wrists. I dont think she knows how bad I want it. I want her to pin me down. not like—rough, just… like, on purpose. the way she looks when she’s serious. fuck. I like when she tells me what to do. when she touches me like I’m hers. like I belong to her. I wanna beg. I think I’d be good at it. is that fucked up? I just— idk. I wanna be good for her. I’d do anything if she just told me to."
The same boy who blushes when you call him pretty, who can’t stop kissing your neck when he’s flustered and here he is, writing about being ruined with that same gentle reverence. Your fingers drift down the page, following the curve of his scrawl like a lover’s touch.
Then, another line, ink heavier here. Like he stopped, then came back, needing to get this next part just right.
“I think I want to call her ma’am. Just once. See what she does.”
You pause. Then grin. At the bottom, scrawled like he ran out of nerve halfway through:
“I hope she NEVER!!! reads this.”
Too late, sweetheart. But it doesn’t feel like crossing a line. It feels like entering a home you already lived in.
Because this isn’t snooping. This is knowing. And now you know it all; the want, the fear, the desperate little pieces of him he was too shy to say out loud.
And the best part?
He doesn’t know you want it, too.
Not yet.
You glance toward the door. Still no Bobby. Still distracted.
Good.
You reach for his pen, flip to the back page, and write in neat, steady script:
“You’re already mine. But if you call me ‘ma’am’ again, I’ll make sure every page you wrote turns into a memory you beg to relive. Sound fair?”
You place the book exactly where you found it and lie back on the bed like nothing happened. When Bobby walks in a minute later, hair tousled, cheeks flushed, hoodie clinging to his broad shoulders, unknowing.
A day later you’re in your apartment. It’s barely noon when you hear the knock. Soft. Hesitant. Like he considered backing out halfway through and only knocked because momentum carried him.
You open the door and there he is.
Hoodie sleeves pulled over his hands, cap low on his forehead, cheeks burning red. He’s not even looking at you properly, just staring somewhere near your collarbone like it’s safer.
“Hey,” he mumbles. Voice thick, like it got caught in his throat on the way out. “Uh… hi.”
You lean against the doorframe, arms crossed, lips curled in something far too close to a smirk. “Hi, baby.”
That makes him flinch adorably.
He shifts his weight, sneakers squeaking faintly on your floor, and then lifts his hand to scratch the back of his neck. “I, um…” He swallows hard. “So. About the—the thing.”
You blink slowly. “The thing?”
His face goes redder.
“The… diary. I know you read it.” He glances up at you, then away again just as quickly. “The.. thing you wrote in it—I can’t stop thinking about it and I—uh. I just wanted to say—”
You tilt your head, pretending not to notice the way he’s squirming. “Wanted to say what, sweetheart?”
He whines. Not loud. Not on purpose. But it slips out.
“I wanted to say I didn’t mean for you to read all of it but I’m also glad you did and I’ve never been this embarrassed in my life and also you looked really good when I came in and then when you left I went to write something about it and then I saw it and I kind of haven’t stopped thinking about it since.”
It all spills out in a rush.
You watch him. Calm. Patient. Hungry, maybe, in that slow-burning kind of way.
Then you step aside.
“You wanna come in, baby?”
He nods. Fast. Practically trips over his own feet doing it.
You close the door behind him. Then lean close, breath warm at his ear.
“I liked reading it, Bobby. You write about me so pretty.” You brush your fingers along his jaw, feel the way he tenses. “Next time, don’t hide it in a notebook. Just tell me.”
He makes a sound. Something between a whimper and a sigh. His hands twitch like he doesn’t know whether to pull you close or bury his face in them and disappear entirely.
You take his hand instead. Lead him to the couch.
“Let’s talk, golden boy,” you murmur, tugging him down beside you. “Starting with that little ‘ma’am’ fantasy…”
And just like that, Bobby folds again; soft, sweet, and utterly yours.
The couch isn’t even that comfortable, but Bobby doesn’t seem to notice. He’s too busy looking at your mouth like it’s the answer to a question he hasn’t dared to ask out loud.
You’re straddling his lap now. Your fingers trace up under his hoodie, skating along the warm skin of his sides, and the way he shivers? Delicious.
“You sure you’re ready to talk, baby?” you murmur, voice low. “You came all this way blushing like I’d eaten you alive in your sleep.”
His breath hitches. “I—yeah. I just. You said—”
“I know what I said.”
You reach behind you, grab something from the little drawer by the couch. A soft length of black fabric. The moment he sees it, his eyes widen.
“Color?” you ask gently.
He nods. “Green.”
You take his wrists, bring them up above his head, and tie them. Not tight, not mean.. just enough. Enough to make his breath catch and his shoulders roll against the cushions like he’s already overwhelmed. He’s blushing so hard it reaches his ears.
“You think you’re good at begging, huh?” you tease, leaning down until your nose brushes his. “Wanna show me?”
But he can’t answer. Because the second your mouth touches his, everything else disappears.
It starts soft, just lips brushing lips, slow and lazy. But you deepen it fast, pulling a little whimper from his throat as you kiss him harder, as your tongue licks into his mouth like you own it.
His hands are twitching in the restraint, hips shifting beneath you, needy and trembling and utterly lost in the way you’re kissing him like you’ve been starving for this.
You pull back just a breath, barely enough to speak.
“You know what I read in that diary, Bobby?”
He nods, pretty green eyes glassy.
You press a kiss to his jaw. “I know everything you want now.”
Another to his throat. “And I plan to give it to you.”
Then you drag your teeth lightly against his neck, and he gasps; head falling back, wrists straining just a little, mouth parted like he’s waiting for more.
God, he’s beautiful like this. Tied up and melting for you.
Bobby’s wrists are still tied above his head, fabric snug but not cruel. He could pull away if he really wanted to. But he doesn’t. Not even close.
He’s flushed completely. Neck, ears, chest under that hoodie. You’re slowly grinding in his lap, one hand braced on his chest, the other cradling his jaw, keeping him right where you want him.
You murmur against his lips, “Such a good boy… letting me kiss you like this.”
He whimpers, tries to kiss back harder, but you pull away just enough to keep control.
“Ah, ah,” you whisper, pressing your thumb under his jaw to tilt his face up. “Let me lead, baby. That’s what you like, isn’t it?”
His eyes flutter, and he nods, whispering, “Y-Yeah.”
You kiss down his neck, slow and wet, just to hear the sounds he makes when you drag your teeth across his pulse point.
“You’re always so eager,” you murmur against his throat. “So soft for me. You wrote about it like it’s your biggest secret—but it’s written all over you, sweetheart.”
He lets out a shaky breath, tied hands flexing above his head. “I—I didn’t know you’d ever actually…”
“Oh, but I am.” Your voice drops, lips ghosting up to his ear. “And I want to hear you say it. That word you like. Come on, Bobby.”
He freezes. Swallows. Whines.
You kiss the corner of his mouth again, sweet and slow. “Say it, baby. Be good.”
His breath hitches. Then, barely above a whisper:
“…Ma’am.”
You melt.
“Good boy.” You crush your mouth to his again—hotter this time, rougher, your tongue licking deep and slow, like a reward.
He moans into you, every muscle under you trembling. You kiss him until he’s breathless, until all he can do is squirm and gasp against your mouth like he’s about to cum just from the way you’re talking to him.
And when you pull back, finally, you let your thumb trace his spit-slick bottom lip and say softly—
“Next time you say that, I want it with confidence. Understood?”
He nods fast, panting, wide-eyed, completely undone.
“Yes, ma’am.”
Bobby’s wrists are still snug in the soft restraint above his head, and when you guide him down so he’s laying on the couch, you do it slow like you’re tucking something precious into bed. Because you are.
He watches you with wide eyes, breathing ragged, lips kiss-swollen and still trembling from your last command. His chest rises and falls in quick, eager little stutters, and there’s this look on his face like awe.
You kneel over him, hands braced at either side of his head, letting your weight settle onto his stomach first. Testing. Teasing.
“Still with me?” you murmur, leaning in close.
He nods, quick. “Yes. Yes, ma’am.”
Oh, he’s learning.
You smile and kiss the tip of his nose. “Good boy.”
Then you shift. Just enough for him to get the idea.
And when his breath catches, when he finally realizes what’s happening, when his lashes flutter and he tilts his head back like he’s ready to *devour* whatever you give him?
You take your time.
You hover just above his face at first, one hand reaching back to stroke through his hair, the other resting on your own thigh for balance. His hands are still tied. His eyes? Blown wide. Pleading. Desperate.
“You wanna be good for me?” you ask, hips rolling slow and deliberate as you sink down just a little closer.
He gasps. “I do. I—please.”
You hum. “You know what to do.”
You give him what he’s been begging for, lowering yourself onto him until his lips touch your folds.
He moans into you, like he’s overwhelmed just by the taste of you, by your weight on him and the way your thighs frame his face. You keep your grip gentle in his hair, your voice a soothing rhythm of praise between every twitch and cry he lets out.
“Aah.. fuck— That’s it, baby,” you whisper. “So good. So eager. You were made for this, weren’t you?”
He nods into you and you smile. He’s eating you out like it’s his last meal; eyes closed, head tilted slightly back, his hands forming fists and his hips bucking up ever so slightly.
His mouth is a mess against you, so needy, like he’s trying to make up for every second he hasn’t been here. You’re calm. In control. Sitting pretty right over his mouth while your hand reaches down, trailing over his stomach until your hand goes into his boxers and your fingers wrap around his cock.
He moans against you at the first touch. The sound vibrates through you.
“Mm,” you murmur, voice smug. “You like multitasking, huh?”
His hips twitch up and you laugh softly, stroking him once from his base to his tip, slow.
“You’re doing so well down there,” you whisper, thumb teasing at the tip. “But don’t get greedy.”
He whines. You feel it in the way his mouth falters, like he can’t decide where to put all that desperation. It’s thick in his breath, in the tremble of his thighs, in the way his hips roll up into your touch like he needs more.
You stroke him again and again, just enough to push him to the edge and then let go.
He moans, frustrated, panting against you.
“Aww,” you coo, grinding your hips gently back down onto his mouth, “that close already?”
His reply is muffled, frantic. You can feel his tongue working harder, more desperate now, trying to stay useful even while you toy with him like he’s your favorite thing to play with.
“You know you’re not allowed to finish yet,” you say softly, reaching down again, stroking just enough to make him tremble. “You’ll wait. You’ll take care of me first.”
Another edge. Another release. His body arches, breath ragged, and still he keeps going, broken open beneath you with his wrists tied and his pride forgotten.
“Such a good boy,” you whisper, voice like velvet against the haze in his head. “You’ll keep going, won’t you? Even if I make you wait all night.”
And from beneath you, voice wrecked and whiny and so sweet:
“Yes, ma’am.”
You shift off of him slowly, lifting your hips with deliberate care. His lips are slick, his cheeks flushed, eyes wide and already glassy. Bobby’s a wreck beneath you, chest heaving like he’s been sprinting, not worshipping you for the last however many minutes.
You trail your hand along his jaw, tilting his face up so he can look at you.
“You did good,” you murmur, letting just a hint of sweetness slip into your voice. “Really good.”
He tries to say something; thanks, a plea, your name maybe.. but it comes out breathless and broken. He’s too far gone. Perfect.
You drag your hand down his chest, over his stomach, until your fingers wrap around him again, just a teasing stroke now, but even that makes him jolt. He’s right there. You know it. You’ve kept him teetering on the edge for so long, the tension wound tight in his body like a live wire.
And that’s exactly how you want him.
You rise up over him, straddling his hips and guiding him between your thighs as you sink down on him so he feels every second of it. His mouth falls open, a choked gasp slipping out as his head tips back against the couch pillow.
“Mm-mm,” you warn, your hands pressing gently to his hips to still him, “don’t you dare finish.”
He nods desperately, but you know better than to trust him now. He’s too wound up, too lost in you.
So you lean in, lips brushing his ear as you whisper:
“You don’t cum inside me. Understood?”
He shudders. Whines. Nods again, frantic.
“I mean it,” you murmur, rocking your hips just enough to feel him repeatedly twitch inside you. “You lose control, and we won’t continue. Understood?”
You sit up again, spine straight, thighs tightening around him as you start to move; measured, controlled, every motion designed to ruin him. His eyes roll back, his mouth drops open, and he’s already trembling like he’s going to break.
You know he won’t last long. You’ve got him wound tight, every roll of your hips hitting just right, every soft command dropping like lightning in that overheated head of his. And Bobby? He’s gone.
He’s moaning loud, not even trying to hold back anymore, gasping your name with that helpless, shaky edge. He knows he’s not allowed to finish and can’t do a damn thing about it.
“Please,” he whimpers, eyes glassy, blinking fast, “please, ma’am, I—I can’t, I’m—” His words dissolve into another moan as you move just right, and that’s it.
He’s crying.
Soft, desperate tears slip down his cheeks, frustration and need twisting through every line of his body. He’s still trying so hard to be good for you—tied up, trembling, flushed pink all over—but he’s breaking.
And something melts in you. You lean in, one hand brushing his damp hair back, the other resting over his chest to feel the way it rises like he’s just run a marathon.
“Hey, hey, look at me, baby” you whisper, voice gentling. “You’re doing so good. So damn good.”
His lashes flutter. His breath hitches.
You kiss his cheek, your thumb swiping away a tear as your hips keep moving but slower now, more intimate. “You wanna come, baby?”
He nods hard, almost frantic. “Yes, ma’am—please, I c-can’t hold it—”
You smile against his skin.
“Okay, sweetheart,” you breathe, lips brushing his ear. “You can come. Go ahead. Let go for me.”
The sound he makes isn’t even a moan, it’s a sob punched out of him as he finally, finally tips over the edge. His whole body arches beneath you, hands pulling against the restraints just for something to hold, and he shatters with your name on his tongue.
You ride him through it, tender now, holding him through every twitch and gasp, whispering praises into his ear.
“Good boy… That’s it. You did so good for me. So pretty when you cry, baby…”
He’s still shaking. Not from fear, not from pain but from the way you unraveled him. From how hard he came. From how deep you had him.
You’re already moving gently, even as his chest rises and falls in stuttering waves. You untie his wrists with careful fingers, not saying a word yet, just pressing soft kisses to the skin once it’s free. You bring his hands to your mouth and kiss each one, like you’re thanking them for holding on.
He blinks up at you, eyes still glassy. There’s tear tracks drying on his cheeks and the sweetest kind of vulnerability in the way he’s looking at you, like you’re the sun and he’s not sure if he deserves to be this warm.
“You okay, baby?” you whisper, brushing his hair back from his damp forehead.
He nods. Then hesitates.
“Yeah,” he whispers, voice hoarse. “Just… holy shit.”
You smile, leaning down to kiss the tip of his nose. “Holy shit good?”
A soft laugh bubbles out of him, exhausted and wrecked and full of adoration. “Yeah. So good. I—I think I blacked out a little.”
You laugh too, pressing a longer kiss to his lips this time, slow and soft and full of promise.
You help him sit up, wipe him down gently, every touch a quiet reassurance. And when he starts to shiver, whether from the crash or the vulnerability, you don’t ask. You just wrap him in your arms and pull the blanket around both of you.
He clings. Melts into your chest like he always does, like your body is home and safety and everything good all at once. One of his hands finds your waist. The other tucks under your arm.
You rub slow circles into his back, nuzzling into his hair.
“You did amazing,” you murmur. “Took everything I gave you. So proud of you.”
He buries his face into your neck. “I just wanted to be good.”
“You were,” you say. “You are. Always.”
A beat of silence. Then, quieter:
“I cried.”
You smile into his hair. “I know.”
“You didn’t make fun of me.”
“Why would I?” you murmur. “It just means you trusted me enough to fall apart. That’s everything, Bobby.”
And for a while, you just hold him.
No teasing. No tension. Just skin and warmth and safety wrapped in the sheets between you… Of course, that didn’t last long.
He’s half-asleep when you say it and you’re playing with his hair, light little twirls between your fingers, when you lean down and whisper against his ear:
“So… gonna write about this one in your diary?”
Bobby stiffens. Just slightly.
Then he groans.
You feel it vibrate against your chest. “Oh my God” he mumbles, dragging a hand over his face. “Can we not talk about the diary right now?”
You smirk. “What? I’m just wondering if tonight’s going to get its own page. Maybe two. Little hearts in the corner again?”
“I knew you saw those,” he mutters, face burying deeper into your neck.
You laugh, absolutely delighted. “Bobby, you drew my name in the margins. With a crown on top.”
“I was feeling inspired,” he says defensively, voice muffled by your skin.
“Aww,” you coo, grinning. “You gonna write “she made me cry and then held me like a princess’ orrr…?”
He groans again, but you feel the smile he’s trying to hide against your collarbone. He’s blushing so hard it practically radiates heat.
“You’re evil,” he mutters.
You kiss the top of his head. “Yup. But you love it.”
choso kamo is the kind of boy people notice without realizing they’re staring. he’s not loud, never one to demand a room’s attention, but something about him pulls you in, the lazy grace of someone who’s always just a little bit stoned and completely at peace with himself.
he throws the best parties on campus, the kind that aren’t just about getting drunk or high, but about the vibe. incense burning in the corner, led lights set to red or purple, trap playing softly over speakers. and yet, you’re the only one who really knows him.
you, the sweet girl who never misses a single one of his parties. the one always curled up next to him on the couch with a red solo cup of something you can barely taste, your legs draped over his lap, your cheek pressed to his shoulder. it’s always been like this. ever since freshman year, when you met him during that stupid icebreaker event on campus that neither of you wanted to go to.
somehow, you’d ended up next to him. not even talking at first. just being. and then he’d pulled one earbud out and offered it to you without saying anything, and you’d heard frank ocean’s “ivy” playing soft and crackly from his phone. you’d smiled at him, and he’d smiled back. just a little.
after that, it was like something clicked. you didn’t have to try with choso. you just existed in each other’s space like you were meant to.
you’re sweet, outgoing, a little flirty, always the first one to compliment someone’s outfit or remember their birthday. people love you for your light, your laughter, the way you make everyone feel seen.
but when it comes to closeness, to real comfort? that’s reserved for choso.
it’s a mystery to most people. you, the glittering, glowing party girl, and choso, the stoner boy who doesn’t even have social media. but it makes perfect sense to anyone who’s seen the two of you together.
you show up to his parties before anyone else does. you help him string the lights, pick the playlist, bring snacks no one asked for but everyone eats. you’re the one sitting on the counter while he rolls, sipping from a straw and babbling about your week while he nods, smiling faintly, muttering things like “that’s wild, ma,” or “yo, you’re too nice for them.”
and during the parties, you’re never far. you gravitate toward each other like magnets, slipping into place the way you always do. choso’s usually on the couch, arms stretched over the backrest, and you’re tucked under his arm without even thinking. you lean into him when you laugh. he rests his chin on your shoulder. he passes you drinks and you take tiny sips before handing them back to him with a wrinkle of your nose.
and it’s so easy. dangerously easy.
choso’s never been one to push. he’s got feelings, real ones, deeper than he’ll ever admit out loud, but he keeps them buried. not because he doesn’t want you. he wants you in a way that scares him sometimes. in quiet moments, when he’s too high and you’re asleep on his chest, he thinks about what it would feel like to kiss you. to be yours for real. but he’s content, at least for now. content to have you like this.
you give choso a kind of peace he didn’t know he was missing. before you, things were kind of blurry. background noise. but with you, it’s all color. you laugh and the whole room tilts toward you. you touch his hand and it’s like static electricity under his skin. he pretends he doesn’t notice. he jokes, he teases, he lets it pass.
because he thinks he’d rather have you like this, close and real and warm, than risk losing you completely.
and you? you love him. maybe too much.
you’ve never said it out loud, not even to maki or shoko, but you know it. you feel it every time you see him laugh at something you said, every time he lifts your chin to tuck your hair behind your ear, every time he waits for you outside class just because he felt like it. choso is yours, in a way no one else is. and you don’t know what to do with that.
maybe you’re scared to ruin it too.
it’s not just the friendship, it’s the rhythm. the quiet glances, the shared playlists, the way you always, always end up in his bed after parties, clothes still on, hearts too full.
you’ll lay there in the dark, both of you wide awake, and you’ll wonder if he feels it too. if he notices the way your breath hitches when his fingers brush your waist. if he hears the way your voice gets softer when you say his name.
but neither of you ever says anything. not really. not yet.
there’s something unsaid between you, always has been, something glowing and soft and maybe a little fragile. like the chords of “ivy” hanging in the air, too tender to touch. it’s in the way he looks at you when you’re not watching. in the way you linger at his door after a party, lip gloss smudged and heart aching. in the way he lets his hand rest on the small of your back just a little too long.
it’s a love that’s still blooming. hesitant. deep-rooted. and for now, maybe that’s enough.
maybe not forever.
~
the party’s already full by the time you get there, but you know exactly where to find him.
bass thumps through the floor like a second pulse, red lights spilling down the hallway, laughter echoing from the kitchen where someone’s poured jungle juice into a mixing bowl. bodies press close in the living room, the air thick with smoke, perfume, sweat, but none of it touches you. not really. not when you know where you’re going.
you slip past people who call your name, who compliment your outfit, who try to keep you still, but you’re already moving, already smiling like you’ve got a secret. because you do.
he’s on the couch. he always is.
slouched like he was poured there, long legs spread, a blunt pinched between his fingers. there’s a few people around him, suguru’s sitting on the floor, half-asleep against his knee, gojo’s perched on the armrest talking to some girl, but he doesn’t really look at anyone. just stares at the smoke curling above him, the red light making shadows under his eyes.
until he sees you.
choso’s head tilts slightly. his gaze sharpens, just barely. his mouth softens, corners curling up into something small, lazy, private.
“yo,” he says, voice low and smooth like honeyed smoke. “there you are.”
and just like that, you’re home.
you drop down next to him without a word, tucking your legs up on the couch, leaning into his side like you were made to fit there. his arm lifts automatically to rest behind you, and your bare shoulder brushes against his chest, skin to skin. he smells like weed and citrus and something warm, like sunbaked cotton. familiar. dangerous.
“i brought you chips,” you say, holding up a bag. “because you never remember to feed people when you throw these things.”
he laughs, soft and breathy, and takes the bag, tossing it onto the table without looking.
“you’re the only one who eats at my parties,” he murmurs, dragging the blunt to his lips. “they’re lucky you show up.”
he inhales, slow and deep. lets it sit in his chest for a moment. then he turns his head toward you and exhales, deliberately, slow, a trail of smoke that ghosts over your collarbone. it’s not on purpose, but it is. everything choso does is like that. unbothered. intimate. effortless.
your heart stutters.
“you look good,” he adds, like it just occurred to him. his eyes dip, trace your legs, the cut of your dress, the gloss on your lips. “real good.”
you smile, sweet and slow, like you’re soaking it in.
“you’re stoned.”
he shrugs. “yeah. still true, though.”
you nudge his thigh with your knee, and he smirks that lazy, barely-there grin that never quite reaches his eyes unless it’s you.
the party swells around you. bodies dance in the center of the room, the music gets louder, someone’s yelling in the kitchen about the beer pong table. but in your little corner of the couch, everything is slowed down. hazy. sacred.
he keeps passing the blunt, and you keep refusing with that little scrunch of your nose he always teases you about.
“don’t know how you come to my house every week and still don’t smoke,” he says, flicking ash into a red solo cup.
“don’t know how you survive without eating dinner like an adult,” you shoot back.
he chuckles, tipping his head back. his throat stretches long, his hoodie slipping off one shoulder to reveal the black ink of a tattoo just under his collarbone. you don’t even pretend not to look. choso doesn’t pretend not to notice.
“you missed me?” he asks after a beat, quieter now. the smoke’s made him slow, softer around the edges. more honest.
you glance up at him, lips parted. “i was here last weekend.”
“yeah, and then the whole week happened.” he shrugs, lazily. “i got bored.”
you nudge your way closer. your knee slides between his. “you say that like you don’t have other friends.”
he hums. “don’t hit the same.”
you’re both quiet for a second. it’s a thick, heady silence, not awkward, not tense. just full. full of everything that’s been building since freshman year. everything you don’t say. everything you both feel in moments like this, when you’re a little too close and he’s looking at your mouth and his hand is resting just a little too low on your waist.
you want to kiss him. god, you do. but not yet. not here.
so instead you lean forward, just enough to rest your head on his shoulder. you feel him go still for a second, then relax, melting back into you.
you stay like that. for a long time
later, when the house gets louder and hotter and someone pulls you up to dance, you feel his eyes on you.
you’re not a wild dancer, you move like you’re in your own little world, fluid and soft and smiling. some guy tries to grind up behind you and you immediately peel away, laughing as you shake your head. but when you look over, just once, you see choso watching from the couch.
his eyes are darker now. still lazy, still half-lidded, but focused. pinned on you like he’s memorizing the way your dress moves, the way your hair sticks to the sweat on your collarbone. one hand resting on his knee. the blunt long gone.
you move back to him eventually, of course you do, and he opens the space beside him again like he knew you would.
“have fun out there, superstar?” he asks, gaze flicking over you.
you shrug, settling back into him. “missed my favorite dance partner.”
he raises a brow. “you don’t dance with me.”
you grin. “exactly.”
he snorts, shaking his head. you rest your hand on his thigh, fingers splayed over ripped denim, and he doesn’t flinch. doesn’t move. just lets you stay there. touching him. like you always do.
like you always will.
when the party starts dying down and the lights dim even lower, when suguru’s asleep and gojo’s disappeared and the couch is just the two of you again, you curl into him like you belong there.
he yawns, one arm around your shoulders, hand playing lazily with the strap of your dress.
“you crashing here?” he asks, already knowing the answer.
you nod, cheek pressed to his chest. “if that’s cool.”
he makes a soft sound, something between a hum and a laugh, and dips his chin to brush his mouth against your temple. not a kiss, exactly. just a press. warm, soft. barely there.
“always.”
you smile, closing your eyes for a second. his hand is still resting on your waist, fingers tracing absent little shapes into your skin like he’s not even thinking about it.
you could fall asleep like this. you’ve done it before.
but he shifts a little, murmurs, “come on, ma. let’s get off this fuckin’ couch. my back’s killin’ me.”
you whine quietly as he moves, and he laughs again, a lazy rumble in his chest and slides an arm around your waist to help you up.
“drama queen,” he says, tugging you to your feet with effortless strength.
he doesn’t let go.
you move through the sea of red cups and leftover smoke, past the people half-passed out in the hallway, with his hand still slung around your waist. like it’s normal. like it’s instinct. your arm hooks around his middle, and you lean into his side as you walk, slow and steady, like you’ve done this a hundred times. because you have.
choso’s room is down the hall. it’s the only one with a broken doorknob and a blacklight taped above the bed, buzzing faintly. it smells like weed and clean laundry and him.
you kick off your shoes the second you walk in and collapse face-first into the unmade bed, limbs spread.
he laughs, low and indulgent, then flops down beside you.
“yo, scoot over,” he mumbles, nudgin your hip with his.
“you scoot,” you shoot back, voice muffled by the blanket.
he doesn’t argue. just lets his body melt sideways until your shoulders touch again. you shift your head onto his chest without thinking, cheek to the soft fabric of his hoodie.
and there it is again. home.
“this party was kinda ass,” you say.
“nah,” he says softly. “you were here.”
your stomach flips.
but you don’t say anything. don’t need to. you just lie there, breathing in sync, your hands curled in the hem of his hoodie while his fingers play with your hair, slow, lazy twirls that make your eyelids flutter.
“remember the first one?” you ask, voice hushed now. “the freshman-year party where we met?”
choso smiles at the ceiling. “fuck yeah. you were wearing that little white dress and yellin’ at some guy who spilled beer on your shoes.”
“he ruined them,” you murmur indignantly.
“and i was just sittin’ on the porch, watchin’ the whole thing,” he grins. “high as shit. thought you were hot as hell.”
you lift your head to look at him, one brow raised. “you still say you don’t remember how we ended up talking.”
“i don’t. swear to god.” he shrugs. “one second i’m finishing a blunt, next thing i know you’re sitting next to me like you’d been there forever.”
“i probably just decided you looked safe,” you say, settling back down. “and hot. but, like, quiet hot.”
he chuckles, slow and low. “quiet hot?”
you nod. “like… hot in a way that doesn’t try. like you didn’t even know it.”
“damn,” he mutters. “flirting with me now?”
“always.”
his hand slides down from your hair to your shoulder, warm and broad and steady.
“that’s why i fuck with you,” he says after a moment. “you’re real.”
you blink.
“like, people show up to my parties for the vibes or whatever. you show up to make sure i eat dinner.”
you laugh. “well someone has to.”
“nah, but for real,” he says. “you’ve been showin’ up since day one. always got my back. always know what i need before i even do. shit’s crazy.”
your throat goes tight. but he doesn’t sound emotional. he sounds calm. sure. like it’s just a fact of life, gravity, weed, you.
he doesn’t say it like it’s a confession.
he says it like it’s just the truth.
“you do the same for me,” you murmur, voice small.
his thumb strokes your arm, slow.
“yeah,” he says. “i know.”
the room hums with silence after that. not heavy. not awkward. just real.
he lets you lie there on his chest, the beat of his heart under your ear, the rise and fall of his breathing making you feel safe in a way nothing else does.
you shift after a few minutes, and his hand moves automatically , tugs the blanket up over you both, settles you closer, fingers smoothing over your arm like it’s second nature.
he doesn’t flirt with anyone the way he does with you. doesn’t touch anyone like this. people know you’re close, but they don’t get it.
they don’t know how choso listens to you rant for hours about your classes even when he’s half-asleep. how he always keeps snacks in his room he doesn’t like, just because you do. how he’s seen you cry at 3am and didn’t say a word, just pulled you onto his chest and played with your hair until you calmed down.
how you’ve cleaned up after every party. how you always know when he needs water. how you never smoke but you always light his blunts for him.
they don’t know that you’ve been doing this, just like this, since freshman year.
you’re not together.
but this? this is something else.
“you good?” he mumbles, his voice starting to get gravelly with sleep.
you nod, curled into his side.
“you?”
“mhmm.” he exhales through his nose, deep and slow. “don’t leave before i wake up.”
“i never do.”
he hums, already drifting.
you close your eyes.
"night, cho."
"night, babe."
and in the dark, in his bed, wrapped in the quiet warmth of choso’s heartbeat and the hush of something unspoken between you, you fall asleep.
right where you’re supposed to be.
~
the sun’s too fucking bright.
choso’s got his hood pulled low, hands stuffed in the front pocket of his faded sweatshirt, hoodie sleeves bunched at his wrists like armor against the cold. his airpods are in, but he’s not playing anything. just using them to avoid eye contact. to avoid people.
his chem lecture starts in twelve minutes. he’s not rushing.
he’s never rushing.
the quad’s half-full with undergrads moving in packs, laughing too loud for this hour. he weaves through them like a shadow, dark-eyed and slow-moving, sleep still clinging to his bones.
he hasn’t showered. hasn’t brushed his hair. smells faintly like weed and sleep and your lotion, the floral kind you always keep in your bag.
he’s halfway across the quad when he hears it.
“yo.”
he looks up.
toji.
posted up on a low wall near the main staircase, nursing a large iced coffee and wearing the same zip-up he’s worn every morning since choso met him. he looks good, like he always does, jaw sharp, eyes tired, posture loose in that older-guy way that makes people think twice about messing with him.
choso pulls out one airpod. “yo.”
“you look like shit,” toji says, amused.
choso shrugs. “feel fine.”
“late night?”
“always.”
toji grins. “bet.”
choso wanders over, boots crunching gravel, and leans against the wall next to him. toji’s got that lazy menace vibe, like he could break someone’s nose or fall asleep in the sun, it could go either way. choso respects it.
they’re not close, but they’re good.
“you throw last night?” toji asks.
“yeah. packed out.”
“heard. saw some dude getting dragged out by the neck around one.”
choso huffs a little. “sukuna. again.”
“no shit?” toji laughs. “that guy’s a walking lawsuit.”
“got blood on my stairs,” choso mutters. “ruined the rug.”
“tragic.”
they’re quiet for a second. choso watches a squirrel dart across the walkway. toji sips his coffee.
“how much you make off the door?”
“couple hundred. enough for groceries. gas. weed.”
toji nods like that’s the natural order of things. “you ever think about pledging?”
choso snorts. “nah.”
“you’d run that shit,” toji says. “turn those little rich boys inside out.”
“i’m not good with rules.”
“fuck rules.”
choso grins a little. “you sound like yuki.”
“i taught yuki,” toji says, deadpan.
that gets a real laugh out of choso, low and amused, breath curling in the cold air.
“you got chem?” toji asks after a moment.
“yeah. lab.”
“tough.”
“i'm so fucking hungover.”
toji smirks. “so. last night. you go home alone?”
choso shrugs. “nah. crashed with her.”
toji looks at him. not surprised. not shocked. just curious.
“y/n?”
“yeah.”
a beat.
“you guys together now or what?”
choso looks up, brows drawn. “nah.”
toji raises an eyebrow. “huh. figured that would’ve happened by now.”
“why?”
“you’re always with her.”
“yeah.”
“you sleep in the same bed?”
choso shrugs again, easy and lowkey like it doesn’t mean anything. like it’s normal. “all the time.”
toji whistles under his breath, grinning. “you’re a better man than me.”
“not like that,” choso mutters, looking away.
“right,” toji says, smirking. “not like that.”
choso stays quiet. doesn’t explain. doesn’t elaborate. he just lets it sit in the air between them like secondhand smoke, warm, familiar, a little dangerous.
because it isn’t like that.
not yet.
but toji doesn’t push. just nods, takes another slow sip of his coffee, and claps choso on the shoulder with a rough hand.
“you’re cool,” he says. “but if you ever fuck that up, someone else won’t be.”
choso just exhales through his nose. shrugs.
he knows.
he knows.
~
choso slouches in his stool at station 4B, safety goggles pushed up into his messy hair, long fingers lazily rotating a test tube over the bunsen flame. he’s supposed to be running a titration, but he’s running on three hours of sleep and an edible that hasn’t stopped hitting since breakfast.
there’s a small chemical fire happening at the next table over. he doesn’t care.
his partner, some girl from his gen chem section who only speaks in whispers and perfume, scribbles answers onto their worksheet like her life depends on it. she’s never once asked him to help. choso’s fine with that.
his phone buzzes in his hoodie pocket. he pulls it out without looking, thumb unlocking the screen by feel. it’s instinct. the way he always knows when it’s you.
[10:37am] you: what class r u in rn
[10:38am] choso: chem
[10:38am] you: ew
[10:38am] choso: yea
[10:39am] you: wanna meet up after?? i’m bored
[10:39am] choso: wya
the response comes fast.
[10:40am] you: bleachers behind the field. bring snacks or i’ll cry.
choso smiles.
it’s the kind of smile he never shows anyone but you. lazy. lowkey. like a secret he doesn’t need to say out loud.
he texts back a thumbs up emoji. tucks his phone away. watches the blue flame flicker under the test tube like it’s trying to tell him something.
~
the bleachers behind the athletic field are barely standing. rusted metal, cracked paint, half the steps warped from years of cleat-stomped abuse. it’s one of the only spots on campus that still feels untouched, still feels yours. people don’t hang out here. it’s too open, too weird, too quiet.
perfect.
you’re already there when he shows up, sprawled across the middle row like it’s a chaise lounge, sunglasses perched low on your nose and a bag of kettle chips open in your lap.
you perk up when you see him. smile wide and lazy. “you brought me snacks?”
he lifts a 7/11 bag in greeting.
“you’re an angel,” you say, and you sound like you mean it. choso climbs up beside you, drops the bag between you, and sits with a long sigh like the weight of the whole morning finally got the memo that it can fuck off.
he lets himself lean back on his elbows, head tipped toward the sky. hoodie sleeves pushed up to the elbow. hands ringed in silver, knuckles faintly bruised from last night. jaw sharp, neck tattoo peeking just above his collar.
you glance over at him, bottom lip tucked between your teeth for a second too long.
he doesn’t notice.
or maybe he does.
but he doesn’t say anything.
“what happened in chem?” you ask, voice slow with sunlight.
“almost set the bench on fire,” he says. “again."
you laugh, and it’s the good kind, low and warm and familiar, like something soft you wrap yourself in. “you’re gonna fail.”
“nah,” he murmurs. “i got you. you’ll cry to shoko for me.”
you shrug. “probably.”
he grins.
you eat chips together for a while in comfortable silence. people jog past on the track below, but it’s like the two of you exist in another timeline, quieter, slower, deeper. every time your shoulders bump, he doesn’t move away. every time your fingers brush in the snack bag, he lets it linger.
you pull out a cherry lollipop from your tote. unwrap it with delicate, distracted fingers. stick it between your lips and suck thoughtfully.
choso looks over. blinks once.
his throat bobs. “you eat candy like you’re in a music video.”
“duh,” you say. “gotta stay on brand.”
“your brand is slutty candy princess?”
you flash him a wink. “you know it.”
he groans into his hands. “you’re gonna kill me.”
“you’d like it.”
“maybe.”
you both laugh.
but underneath it, there’s a tension you don’t touch. not yet. not today. not when the sun is this warm and the wind is this soft and the space between you feels like a bubble no one else can pop.
“so what’d you tell toji?” you ask suddenly, pulling your legs up under you. “he asked about us, right?”
choso blinks. shifts.
“how’d you know that?”
“i just saw him talking to you this morning and you rushed of before i could catch up.”
he sighs. rubs a hand over his face. “just asked about some dumb shit, was surprised we aren't fucking.”
“oh yeah?”
“yeah.”
you hum. “what’d you say?”
he shrugs. “told him we’re just friends.”
you nod.
but your fingers are tight around your lollipop stick. “did he buy it?”
choso looks over at you. eyes half-lidded, lazy. “dunno. didn’t really care.”
you don’t speak for a second.
then—
“you know,” you say lightly, “if we were dating, people wouldn’t question it.”
he raises a brow. “you wanna date me?”
you laugh like it’s a joke. like the idea’s crazy. “obviously not. i’d ruin your whole vibe.”
“nah,” he says, quiet and cool. “you are my vibe.”
it knocks the air out of you a little.
you don’t reply.
he doesn’t push.
instead, he pulls a lighter from his pocket. a faded red bic with a sticker of a cartoon frog on the side.
“you mind?” he asks.
you shake your head. “go for it.”
he lights the joint behind the bleachers, careful to block the wind, and takes a slow hit like he’s been doing it his whole life. like breathing.
you watch the way his lips part. the way the smoke curls from his mouth. the way he blinks up at the sky, exhaling slow, like there’s nothing in the world that could ruin this moment.
he passes it to you.
you hold it between two fingers. bring it to your lips, but don’t inhale. you just like the closeness. the ritual. the rhythm of it.
“you always smell like weed and coconuts,” you say absently.
“you always smell like sleep and candy.”
“that a compliment?”
“you know it is.”
you smile.
and then, like always, you shift until your head is in his lap, knees bent, lollipop back between your lips.
he threads his fingers into your hair like it’s automatic. like muscle memory.
you don’t say anything.
you don’t have to.
“there’s a party saturday,” choso says, like it’s just a passing thought. his voice is mellow, dragged slow with smoke and sun.
you squint up at him from his lap, one leg kicking idly off the edge of the bleachers. “yours?”
he shakes his head, dragging another pull from the joint before it sizzles low. “nah. kappa’s.”
“toji’s place?”
“mhm. sukuna’s throwin’ it.”
you make a face. “ew.”
he laughs, lazy and low. “yeah, i know.”
“what kinda party is it?”
he shrugs, flicking ash off to the side. “dunno. probly loud. messy. overrun with freshmen.”
“my favorite,” you say sarcastically.
“come anyway.”
you raise a brow. “you want me to go?”
he nods, eyes still soft from the joint. “yeah. all our people are gonna be there. gojo’s bringing that speaker he stole from the rec center. suguru’s bringing weed from the plug that scares everyone but him. shoko said she’s pre-gaming at yours.”
“she didn’t tell me that,” you mutter, amused.
“she said quote, ‘i’m getting blackout on your floor so you better have mixers.’”
“classic.”
“maki’s going too,” he adds. “and yuuji. megumi. nobara. y’all can take over the kitchen or whatever.”
you snort. “we always end up doing that. turning some random frat kitchen into our private lounge.”
“better lighting.”
“less vomit.”
he taps his knuckle to your forehead. “so?”
you blink at him. “so what?”
“you comin’?”
you stretch your arms over your head, lollipop tucked in your cheek like a secret. “mmm, depends. who’s walking me home if i black out?”
he gives you a look. “me."
“who’s holding my hair if i puke?”
“me.”
“who’s dancing with me when they put on early 2000s throwbacks?”
he smirks. “you already know.”
you grin and nuzzle into his thigh dramatically. “ugh, fine. i guess i’ll go.”
“what an honor.”
“you’re welcome.”
he flicks the roach away and leans back again, hood falling down to rest at the nape of his neck. you stare up at him for a second, at the sharp angle of his jaw, the lashes curled against his cheeks, the faint bruises of exhaustion under his eyes.
there’s something warm in your chest.
like always.
“what time’s it at?” you ask.
“late.”
“when are we getting there?”
“later.”
you smile. “as always.”
“as always,” he echoes.
you reach over, fingers brushing the side of his hoodie pocket where his lighter peeks out, red and fading, sticker peeling at the edges.
he doesn’t notice.
but you do.
you always do.
~
the sun has long since set when you’re back in your dorm.
shoko’s stuff is already half-scattered across your bed, a tote bag overflowing with lip gloss and tequila, her ripped denim skirt folded beside your pillow like it lives here. your bluetooth speaker is charging in the corner. your fairy lights are glowing dim, and the whole room smells like something between vanilla lotion and sharpie markers.
because you’re painting.
your desk is a mess of scattered brushes, scratched acrylics, and an empty matcha can you’ve been using as a water cup. right in the center sits the new bic lighter you picked up after social, jet black, perfectly smooth, untouched.
you’re painting red spider lilies across the front, his favourite.
the petals curl across the plastic like veins, wet with gloss and attention. you’re careful with the details. you’ve looked up references. you’ve done this before.
but this time’s different.
this one’s for him.
you don’t know why, exactly. maybe it’s because his old one’s going dead.
maybe it’s because you love him.
not like that.
not yet.
but in the way you know exactly how he likes his ramen. in the way he texts you “home?” when it’s late and doesn’t sleep until you answer. in the way he rolls his blunts left-handed and always lights yours first. in the way he remembers your mom’s birthday even though he’s never met her.
in the way he makes you feel safe in a room full of noise.
in the way he never tries to make you anything other than yourself.
you lean over the lighter, the brush held steady between your fingers, and add the final line of gold detailing around the petals. your breath fogs the surface. you wait for it to dry.
outside, someone blasts a bad edm remix. the party’s already pulsing down the block.
you aren’t ready yet.
but you will be.
because he asked.
because you always go when he asks.
by the time you and shoko step into the kappa house, it’s already hell in there.
there’s music vibrating the walls, some mashup of jersey club and distorted britney spears, smoke curling from doorways, the reek of beer and weed and something you hope is a vape cloud drifting from the stairs. someone’s already swinging a half-finished bottle of patrón in the foyer, and a guy in a spiked collar is passed out half-naked on the pool table. red LEDs paint the room like a warning.
“jesus,” shoko mutters, pushing through a knot of people. “it’s worse than last time.”
“that’s saying a lot,” you reply, laughing.
you pass a makeshift tattoo station set up in the kitchen, a foldable table, three guys with gloves and prison-grade guns, girls taking shots with their shirts off, someone yelling about cross-contamination. someone else is already screaming into a paper towel, gripping their friend’s thigh as ink bleeds into skin.
“how much you wanna bet that guy’s not even licensed?” shoko asks, pointing with her cup.
a few feet away, a couple is practically devouring each other on the couch, hands in places that definitely shouldn’t be public, their moans barely muffled over the bassline. you and shoko share a glance.
“ten bucks says they’ll be upstairs in five,” she says.
“two,” you shoot back.
you find the rest of your girls near the island, maki’s drinking straight from a bottle of dark rum, nobara’s yelling at some guy for calling her “sweetheart,” and miwa looks like she’s trying to spiritually leave her body.
“there you bitches are,” nobara says, throwing an arm over your shoulders. “i was gonna beat some freshman’s ass for trying to say you weren’t on the guest list.”
“i just got here!” you laugh, letting shoko pull you in tighter. “i haven’t even taken my jacket off!"
“well hurry up,” nobara insists, pouring something violently pink into a solo cup and handing it to you. “this night’s cursed already.”
you take a cautious sip, bubblegum and battery acid. “what the hell is this?”
“it’s called the thong dropper,” shoko says helpfully.
“girl.”
you let the chaos swirl around you for a bit, settling into the rhythm of things, catching up on nonsense, swapping wild stories, dodging spilled drinks and clumsy hands. nobara starts talking about some guy she hooked up with last week, rolling her eyes and groaning dramatically.
“his stroke game was so weak,” she says, slamming her cup down. “he kept asking me ‘is that good?’ like—cmon. do you not hear me faking it?”
maki snorts. “you faked it?”
“of course i did. i had to get it over with.”
shoko leans in. “rookie mistake. just tell ‘em straight up.”
“i can’t crush a man’s ego like that,” nobara defends.
“they’ll live,” maki says.
you giggle into your drink, letting the warmth buzz up your spine.
“what about you?” shoko nudges. “you getting any lately?”
you shrug, trying to hide your smirk. “define ‘getting.’”
they all ooh at that, but you wave them off.
“nah,” you add quickly. “just been… chillin’.”
nobara raises a brow. “chillin’ with who?”
you don’t answer.
you don’t have to.
because you just spotted him.
across the room, slouched low on the ratty couch like a king on a broken throne, hoodie slipping off one shoulder, blunt glowing between his fingers, is choso.
he’s got his head tipped back, laughing at something gojo just said, eyes heavy-lidded and hazy, lips pink and glossy from smoke. his legs are spread wide, rings catching the LED lights, and there’s a plastic crown crooked on his head like someone dared him to wear it and he just went along with it.
you hand your cup to shoko. “back in a sec.”
you beeline straight to him.
he sees you coming, of course. always does.
“yo,” he says, voice syrup-thick, laced in that lazy drawl you know too well. “there she is.”
you plop onto the couch next to him, thigh pressed to his instantly, as natural as breathing.
“hey, babe.”
he pulls the blunt from his lips and passes it to gojo. “you look hot,” he murmurs, eyes scanning over you. “like… stupid hot.”
you grin. “you’re high.”
“and you’re hot.”
“so high.”
gojo chuckles. “he’s been saying that about everyone for the last twenty minutes. told sukuna his chains looked ‘shiny as fuck’ and that he was proud of him.”
“and i meant it,” choso says, nodding solemnly.
“sukunas a menace,” you laugh.
“a sweet menace,” choso adds.
gojo tosses the blunt into an ashtray and stretches. “aight. i’m gonna go find the aux before someone puts on country again.”
“godspeed,” you tell him.
choso watches him disappear into the crowd before turning back to you. “you good?”
you nod. “girls are wild tonight.”
“when aren’t they?”
you smile. “party’s kinda gross, though.”
he grins. “yeah. it’s ass.”
“i missed your parties.”
he hums, dragging a slow breath through his nose. “next week. tuesday.”
“a tuesday party?”
“hell yeah.”
you laugh softly, eyes dropping to the front pocket of his hoodie. his lighter’s there again, the red one. the same one from earlier, edges worn down like it’s been used a thousand times.
without saying anything, you reach into your jacket pocket.
he watches you curiously as you pull out the lighter you painted, black and glossy, the spider lilies blooming across the surface in blood-red ink and gold veins.
you hand it to him wordlessly.
his fingers brush yours as he takes it, and something in his face shifts, softens, quiets.
he turns it over slowly in his palm, eyes scanning every detail like he’s memorizing it.
“you painted this?”
you nod.
“ma…” he says under his breath, almost like it’s too much. “yo. this is… this is fucking beautiful.”
“your other one’s dying,” you say, a little shy now. “figured you needed a new one.”
he’s quiet for a second, blinking slowly.
then—
“you’re such a fuckin’ angel.”
you laugh. “it’s literally just a lighter.”
he doesn’t let his gaze leave it. “nah. it’s you.”
you blink.
he says it so casually. so high. so him.
like it’s just a fact.
you don’t say anything, and neither does he. the music swells. the lights flicker. people scream and laugh and break things somewhere in the background.
but right now, it’s just the two of you, and a lighter between your palms.
“you’re gonna make me cry,” you joke, even though the way he keeps looking at the lighter makes your chest feel a little too full.
choso doesn’t answer, just keeps running his thumb over the curves of it like it’s some delicate artifact, black with the glossy gleam of fresh paint, those red lilies blooming across the surface like blood in water.
he flicks it once. flame bursts up.
“perfect,” he mumbles.
“it works?”
“better than my soul, babe.”
you laugh, leaning your head against his shoulder, and for a few seconds everything around you falls away, just the throb of the music, the warm press of him, and the soft flicker of that tiny orange flame between his fingers.
you sit like that for a little while, talking about nothing. him complaining about a group project he hasn’t started. you teasing him for skipping chem lab again. him promising you some “next-level weed” for tuesday’s party that “tastes like peaches and existential dread.”
his voice is slow, syrup-thick, a little slurred at the ends. he’s stoned, clearly, but you’re used to this. used to the way he leans into you when he’s like this, heavy and unguarded, every thought coming out a little slower and more unfiltered. it’s a version of him that doesn’t get tired of looking at you.
he tugs at the hem of your jacket playfully. “you gonna stay with me tonight?”
you raise a brow. “didn’t plan on going anywhere else.”
he grins, that sleepy smile that makes your heart tick funny.
then your name cuts through the room, pitched over the music.
“oh shit,” you say, glancing over your shoulder. “they’re calling me.”
choso hums, not looking away. “tell ‘em i said hi.”
you hesitate for a second, not wanting to leave the warm bubble you’ve curled into. but shoko’s waving you over, and maki’s already halfway across the room with a bottle in her hand and trouble in her eyes.
“i’ll be back,” you say, giving his knee a squeeze as you get up.
he watches you go, eyes dragging over your silhouette, that sway in your hips, the flash of your smile as nobara yells something at you that makes you laugh and flip her off in the same breath.
then he’s alone.
not really, the house is packed, pulsing with bodies and music and smoke, but alone in the way that matters.
the lighter’s still in his hand.
and it won’t stop looking like you.
'she fuckin’ made this.'
that thought loops through his head in lazy spirals. he stares down at it like he’s still not fully processing that it’s his now, the way it fits so perfect in his palm, like you painted it with him in mind, like you know his hands that well.
(which you do.)
'what an angel', he thinks again, your face still ghosted in his mind.
he’s high. so high. his body feels like a heartbeat, slow and deep and pulsing warm. and the lighter, it keeps dragging him back to that moment on the couch, your thigh against his, your fingers brushing his, your quiet little smile when he lit it up for the first time.
'she always does shit like this. just makes stuff better. without even tryin’.'
it hits him all at once, sudden and full-body.
he needs to mark this. this moment. this feeling.
he’s already pulling out his phone before the thought’s even fully formed, scrolling through the camera roll he swore he didn’t care about but secretly checks too often. blurry candids, selfies with you curled against his chest, that pic from two weeks ago when you were looking up at him from the floor of his room with a red gummy in your mouth and sleep in your eyes.
he pauses there.
your eyes in that picture. big, soft, glassy, sexy.
his thumb hovers over the screen.
“yo,” a familiar voice calls, sauntering through the haze. “you look fried.”
sukuna.
choso glances up. “am fried.”
sukuna grins. “figured. that couch is cursed, by the way. guy got a blowie on it last week during pong night.”
choso shrugs. “adds flavor.”
they lean on the wall together, easy silence for a second.
“you see the tat guys?” sukuna asks, chin-jerking toward the kitchen. “someone just got a fucking worm on their calf. like a literal earthworm. said it was ‘symbolic.’”
choso laughs, low and thick. “symbolic of what?”
“dunno. being dirt, i guess.”
he doesn’t respond. just looks back at his phone.
sukuna raises a brow. “you good, dude?”
“yeah.”
“you look like you just had a vision.”
choso finally meets his eye.
“yo,” he says slowly. “you ever just feel something and know you gotta do somethin’ about it right now or you’ll bitch out?”
sukuna squints. “uh. like what?”
choso doesn’t answer.
instead, he pushes off the wall, hoodie slipping off one shoulder again, lighter still clutched in one hand, phone in the other, and starts walking.
sukuna watches him go, a little amused. “damn. alright.”
the air is thick with smoke and bass as he weaves through the crowd, bumping shoulders, dodging a girl dancing with her heels off and her hair in her face.
he reaches the makeshift tattoo stand.
it smells like rubbing alcohol and regret.
“yo,” he says, voice smooth as silk and twice as slow.
the guy behind the table, ink sleeves up to the neck, black gloves, sunglasses indoors, glances up.
“what’s up, man?”
choso leans down slightly, eyes low-lidded and unreadable, body loose and stoned and sexy in that careless way he always carries.
he holds out his phone.
“can you do this,” he asks, “on my arm?”
the artist blinks, then looks at the screen.
it’s a close-up of a girl’s eyes, wide, seductive, yet still glowing with laughter. looking up at the camera like whoever took the photo was the only thing in the world.
looking up at him.
choso taps the screen once. “those are hers.”
the guy raises a brow. “like… your girl?”
choso shrugs one shoulder. his eyes never leave the photo.
the buzz of the needle starts soft, a low, persistent hum, and choso doesn’t even flinch. he just leans back, one arm draped lazily across the armrest, hoodie shoved halfway up his bicep where the artist wiped him down with alcohol. his eyes are half-lidded, bloodshot from whatever gojo rolled earlier, but locked on the phone he’s holding out in his opposite hand.
the picture’s still up. her eyes, warm and wide, lashes curled, looking up at him like she trusts him with her whole heart.
“pretty,” the tattoo guy mutters, angling a small light to get a better look as he sketches the stencil. “yours?”
choso’s mouth curves slow. doesn’t answer right away. just flicks his lighter open and closed, click, click, click, the red spider lilies catching the light each time.
then finally:
“nah.”
the guy hums. “girlfriend?”
he huffs a little, amused. “not that either.”
he sets the lighter down on the table beside him, keeps his eyes on the screen.
“she’s just,” he pauses, then shrugs, soft and slow, “her. y’know?”
the artist side-eyes him. “deep.”
choso smiles again, eyes unfocused. “nah, i’m just fuckin’ high.” the guy presses the warm stencil into choso’s arm, smooths it into place.
“you sure you wanna do this while you’re, uh,” he glances at choso’s glassy expression, the faint grin still tugging at his mouth, “clearly not sober?”
“i’m not wasted,” choso says lazily. “and i’m not dumb. it’s not a mistake.” the artist nods once, respects it. “alright, man.” he flips on the machine again, lines it up.
“you done this before?” choso grunts a laugh. “y’think i got these in my sleep?” he gestures vaguely at the black ink already crawling across both arms, jagged, abstract lines, constellations and waves, some faded with age. some done in basements like this one. “first time sober was the weirdest one.”
the guy snorts. “fair.”
the needle hits skin.
choso exhales slow. doesn’t flinch, doesn’t shift, doesn’t even blink hard. just stares at the wall across the room, jaw slack, hoodie sliding off his shoulder, the buzz settling into the meat of his arm like a low hum of intention. “you ever tattoo someone like this before?” he murmurs after a beat.
“like what?”
he shrugs again. “someone who’s… y’know.” the guy doesn’t answer right away.
choso elaborates, voice softer this time. “she’s not mine. i don’t want her to be. not right now. it’s not like that. it’s just…” he trails off, brows furrowing a little, tongue tucked against the inside of his cheek.
“she just means somethin’. don’t got a word for it.”
the artist doesn’t look up from his work, but his tone’s gentler when he speaks again. “yeah. i’ve seen that before.” choso sinks deeper into the chair, breathing even. the pain’s dull and constant, but it grounds him. keeps his thoughts from spiraling too far out, keeps his high in this exact moment.
“you think she’d be mad?” he asks, voice airy. “if she saw it?”
“dunno,” the guy says. “you gonna tell her?” he blinks slow, head rolling back against the headrest.
“nah.”
another pause.
“not now. it’s just for me.” the tattooer gives a small nod. “that’s real.”
a silence settles between them, the steady hum of the needle, the sound of someone vomiting into a bush outside the window, a muffled scream from the beer pong table two rooms over.
“looks good,” the artist murmurs, wiping excess ink from the forming lines of the eyes. “she’s got crazy lashes.”
choso huffs out a small laugh. “she’d fuckin’ love that you noticed that.”
“yeah?”
he smiles again, softer now. “talked about lash serum for like a week. gave me a whole presentation.”
the guy chuckles under his breath. “sounds like she talks a lot.”
choso closes his eyes.
“she talks just enough.” the buzz continues. the lines take shape. her eyes, right there, etched into his skin. not to claim. not to confess. just to remember.
just for him.
~
the buzz dies down gradually, tapering into a low hum before the artist finally flicks the switch and pulls back. the sudden quiet settles like a heavy blanket over the both of them, just the soft thud of bass from the next room and the subtle scrape of latex gloves against skin.
“alright, man,” the artist says, leaning back with a stretch. “done.”
choso blinks slow, still slouched deep in the chair like he’s been there for hours, like the cushion molded around his bones. he lifts his head, eyes hazy but laser-locked on the strip of bandage being pressed to his upper arm.
“yo, hold up, lemme see it before you cover it,” he says, voice low and hoarse from either weed or reverence, maybe both.
the guy lifts a brow, but obliges. carefully wipes the skin one last time, blood and excess ink coming away in soft red-black smears. the room’s fluorescent lights hit the raw lines at an angle, shining off the freshly tattooed skin like it’s something holy.
and fuck.
there it is.
your eyes.
wide and soft and open, curved lashes sweeping upward in a way no stencil should’ve captured but somehow did. that quiet way you look at him, like he hung the stars, like he’s yours even if the two of you never say it out loud. inked permanent on the soft part of his bicep, nestled between a set of waves and the jagged edge of a half-finished constellation.
for a second, he doesn’t speak. doesn’t move.
he just stares.
it hits him slow, like a good edible, starts behind his eyes, low and warm in his chest, then spreads.
yo.
he’s obsessed.
like fully, all the way, brain-meltingly obsessed.
he turns his arm slightly under the light, eyes tracing the lines, the slight curve of your upper lid, the detail around the corners like you're mid-laugh or mid-thought or both. it looks exactly like you, his favorite version of you. the version that looks up at him like nothing else exists in the room.
god.
you look good on him. not in the possessive way. not even close. it’s not that.
it’s something else. something way quieter. something he can’t even name when he’s sober, and definitely not now, baked out of his skull with his arm still tingling and his hoodie falling half off.
but still, he’s wearing you now. and it feels like something that’s always been true, just waiting for the ink to make it real.
“you good?” the artist asks, half amused, already reaching for the plastic wrap again. “yeah,” choso says, slow, mouth crooked into a lazy grin. “looks fuckin’ sick, dude.” the guy chuckles under his breath. “kinda figured you’d say that.”
“you killed it,” choso adds, finally dragging his eyes off the tattoo. “like, actually.”
the artist nods, pleased. “appreciate it. was fun as hell to do, honestly. you sure you don’t want her name or somethin’? under it?” choso snorts. “nah. that’d make it weird.”
“fair.”
he watches the guy gently press a clean dressing over the fresh ink, tape it up. the sensation’s a dull sting under his skin, not quite pain, just awareness. a reminder that it’s real now. that it’s his, for good.
she doesn’t know. you might never know. and that’s kinda the whole point. he’s not gonna flash it at you mid-party or say anything slick when you sit beside him later like you always do, throwing your legs over his lap and stealing his drink.
nah.
this one’s just for him. a secret under his sleeve, tucked into the curve of his body like a memory.
“you gonna keep it under wraps?” the guy asks, like he can read choso’s whole plan off his face.
“yeah,” choso mutters, grabbing his hoodie and tugging the sleeve back down with a practiced flick. “at least for now. don’t need her freakin’ out or nothing.”
“bet,” the guy says with a short laugh. “i get it.”
choso stands slow, body still heavy from sitting too long and smoking too much. he sways a bit but rights himself, shaking out his arms like he’s just come up from underwater. the whole basement smells like blood and rubbing alcohol and resin, but it’s warm, and the energy buzzes low and steady around him.
he digs in his pocket for a few bills, slaps them into the artist’s open palm.
“appreciate you, man.”
“anytime, bro. take care of that, don’t go dunkin’ it in a keg or anything.” choso grins. “no promises.”
he walks out with his hoodie draped low, sleeve tugged all the way to his wrist despite the heat and the crowd and the chaotic press of bodies funneling in from the hallway. music floods back in slow, a pulse of bass syncing up with his own heartbeat.
but he can’t stop thinking about it. every step he takes, every time the sleeve brushes against the fresh ink, it reminds him.
not of what they are.
but of what you mean.
upu didn’t need to give him that lighter. you didn’t have to think about him in that little quiet way you always did, like he’s more than just a weed plug or the guy you party with every weekend. that little moment, just you in your dorm, painting red spider lilies on a bic you knew he’d never throw away? that shit went straight to his chest. and now you're on his skin. maybe you'd freak out if you saw it. maybe you'd cry. maybe you'd laugh.
maybe you'd get real quiet and never say anything again. or maybe you'd look at him the way you did in that photo. maybe you'd look at him like you knew.
but all that’s for later. for now, he’s just stoned as hell, arm warm and throbbing, and so unbelievably content that it’s almost embarrassing.
he spots gojo again across the room, already perched on the arm of someone else’s couch with a red solo cup and a grin like he owns the house. choso veers toward him, slips back into the noise like he never left.
sleeve tugged down.
lighter in his pocket.
eyes on his arm, just for him.
~
later that night you navigate yourself back to choso after your banter with the girls.
you spot him sunk deep into the cushions, hood half up, curls falling into his face, a bottle of water in one hand and his eyes half-lidded and sleepy with that lazy high he wears better than anyone. he’s surrounded, gojo splayed on one armrest like he owns the place, sukuna lounged sideways with his feet on the table, and suguru perched on the edge, nursing a half-finished blunt.
“yo, look who it is,” gojo grins as you walk up, already clocking the way you move like you’re headed home, not just to a guy. “princess finally found her prince.”
you don’t say anything, just slide right into the little space at choso’s side like it was made for you. his arm shifts automatically, pulling you in like it’s instinct, and you tuck your face into his shoulder, letting out the softest exhale. you can feel the thrum of his voice in your cheek when he speaks.
“hey, ma.”
his hand’s warm against your hip, steady, grounding. he smells like weed and cedar and the faintest trace of paint from the lighter you gave him. it’s in his pocket now, safe like something sacred.
“so anyway,” suguru picks back up like you didn’t just crash-land in choso’s lap, “i’m telling you, the guy had no idea what he was doing. tried to roll with a swisher, no guts, just dumped the weed in and twisted the end like a fuckin’ lollipop.”
“god, not the lollipop roll,” sukuna groans, dragging a hand over his face. “freshman?”
“of course it was a freshman,” gojo says, grinning. “those little guys think watching one youtube tutorial makes them bob marley.”
“yo, remember that one dude at the delta party?” choso says, head tilting back slightly. “rolled a joint with a bible page.”
“amen,” sukuna snorts.
“nah, for real,” choso laughs, hand tightening just slightly where it rests on your side. “he said it made the high holier.” you huff against his hoodie, and his fingers flex like he felt it, like it was the best sound he’d heard all night.
they keep going, weed stories, party war stories, the dumbest shit they’ve ever seen in a frat house at 3am. it’s relentless, loud, chaotic, but you stay quiet, tucked against choso’s side like he’s the only still thing in the room. his thumb runs in slow circles against your waist through the fabric of your top, and you feel the way he laughs before you hear it.
“yo,” gojo says, leaning across suguru to point at choso. “what’s the craziest thing you’ve ever done at a party?”
“besides adopt a girlfriend he doesn’t kiss?” sukuna adds. choso blinks slow. doesn’t rise to the bait, doesn’t even twitch.
“probably that time at theta when i fell asleep in the bathtub and woke up with a raccoon in my lap.” suguru chokes. “you serious?”
“deadass.”
“was it… alive?”
“bro. it was chillin’. just vibin’ with me.”
“you probably hotboxed the tub,” gojo says, wiping tears of laughter from his eyes. “raccoon was just tryna get high.”
choso grins, soft and slow, and you nudge your nose into his hoodie like you’re hiding your own smile. “what about women?” sukuna says suddenly, eyes glinting like he’s fishing. “y’all ever hook up at your own party?”
“you’re disgusting, that's against reg” gojo tells him cheerfully.
“don’t lie,” sukuna drawls. “you know you have.”
“alright, once,” gojo admits. “but i kicked her out after because she tried to name my bongs.” “you’re heartless,” suguru says, deadpan.
“you don’t name the bongs,” gojo insists. “they earn names. it’s sacred.”
“what about you, choso?” sukuna’s gaze cuts sideways. “you got bodies stacked in your stoner dungeon?” choso hums, slow and easy. you feel the low sound in his chest, pressed flush to your cheek.
“nah,” he says. “i don’t hook up with girls who don’t know how to roll.” the boys howl, gojo nearly falling off the couch.
“that’s so on brand,” suguru laughs. “you need standards,” choso mumbles, amused, and leans his cheek briefly against the top of your head.
the lighter’s still in his pocket. his arm’s still over your shoulders. and beneath the sleeve of his hoodie, hidden from the world, your eyes are inked into his skin.
you shift a little, just enough to tuck your legs under yourself, settling more fully into him, and he adjusts without thinking — arm around you tighter now, palm spread warm across your ribs, thumb grazing your side through the fabric. he’s careful. doesn’t let the hoodie ride up. doesn’t let anyone see. the tattoo’s still fresh, still tender, and it’s just for him.
“yo, you good?” suguru asks, nodding at him. choso blinks slow. “yeah man’.”
“that weed hit hard,” gojo says. “i feel like i’m seein’ sounds.”
“you tryna kill someone?” suguru laughs. “every time i hit one, i feel like my soul’s leaving my body.”
“shit’s a rite of passage,” sukuna shrugs.
“nah, a rite of passage is hosting a rager with a cop at your door and acting like you live there,” gojo grins. “have you?” choso asks, amused.
“bro, i’ve answered the door in a bathrobe before,” gojo says proudly. they all crack up again. you don’t say anything, but your smile’s pressed right into choso’s chest, and he dips his head for a second to nuzzle his nose into your hair.
“she’s real quiet tonight,” suguru says, noticing. “nah, she’s just comfy,” choso says easily. “she don’t need to talk when she’s like this.”
you don’t. not when you’ve got his warmth, his arm around you, his voice rumbling low in your ear with every lazy joke. it’s always like this, like no one else in the room really matters, like you could fall asleep right here and he’d keep the world spinning while you did.
“that’s love,” gojo says mock-serious.
“shut up,” choso mutters. but he doesn’t stop smiling. and the lighter’s still warm in his pocket.
and your eyes are still inked into his arm, safe and secret beneath layers of cotton and smoke.
~
the house is still going when you two finally get up. it’s past 2am, maybe closer to 3, but the music hasn’t let up and there’s still people on the floor, drinks in hand, voices loud and slurred over each other. someone’s passed out with a sharpie mustache, another guy’s making out with a pillow. classic kappa chaos.
choso’s the one who moves first. you feel it in the way his arm shifts, in the soft brush of his thumb against your side like a nudge. he leans in close, voice barely above a murmur.
“you good to dip?”
you nod into his hoodie, eyes half-lidded, heart heavy with warmth and weed.
he helps you up slow, palm steady at your back. when you stand, the cold air from the open back door hits your legs and you shiver a little, instinctively leaning back into his side. he shrugs his hoodie higher and throws an arm around your shoulders like he already knew it’d happen.
“yo,” choso calls out over the couch, voice scratchy and low. “we out.”
gojo perks up from where he’s still posted with a half-spilled drink, eyes bright. “tell your girlfriend goodnight for us.”
you don’t say anything, just press your face into choso’s shoulder again, and he laughs under his breath.
“night, man,” suguru says with a nod, already halfway into rolling another blunt.
sukuna lifts a hand lazily. “text if you end up in a ditch.”
“if i do, i’m takin’ you with me,” choso mutters.
they all laugh again, and it follows you both out the front door, the porch light buzzing weak and yellow above you. the night’s cooler now, quiet in a way that makes everything feel soft around the edges. your heels click against the pavement as you walk, but only for a second, choso notices and without a word, crouches down in front of you, glancing back over his shoulder.
“get on.”
you blink, amused. “seriously?”
“c’mon, ma,” he mumbles, tugging at your wrist. “your feet hurt.”
you climb onto his back with a little laugh, arms wrapped loose around his shoulders, and he stands like it’s nothing, steady under your weight. his steps are slow and sure down the sidewalk, the frat house lights shrinking behind you, the sounds of the party fading with every step.
“you always take care of me,” you mumble against his neck.
he hums low. “’course i do. you're my.. best friend.”
you walk like that for a while, his hoodie soft against your cheek, his hair brushing your face every time the wind shifts. he doesn’t say much, just hums sometimes or comments on dumb shit you pass, a traffic cone in a bush, a raccoon on the curb that freezes when it sees you, like it knows choso somehow.
he sets you down once you’re close, only when his own building’s steps are in sight. his hand stays in yours as he leads you inside, up the stairs, past the other bedrooms where people are either passed out or definitely not sleeping. his door clicks shut behind you with a soft thud, and everything goes quiet.
his room’s the same as always, warm, dim, the faint smell of weed and whatever incense he burned earlier in the week still lingering in the corners. one sock on the floor, a hoodie thrown over the back of his chair. you’ve been here a hundred times, maybe more.
but tonight feels different. softer. warmer.
he pulls his hoodie off slow, careful of the sleeve, and tosses it toward the desk chair. the bandage underneath catches the light for a second, but he turns before you see too much.
you toe your shoes off and crawl onto the bed without thinking. he follows, slower, body still heavy with high and heat and something else he can’t name.
you’re both under the blanket when he finally speaks.
“hey.”
you look over, curled on your side facing him.
his eyes are half-lidded, soft. one arm tucked behind his head, the other stretched toward you, palm open on the comforter like he’s offering it.
“i really fuckin’ love that lighter.”
your heart stutters a little. “yeah?”
he nods, slow. “like… a lot. been using it all night. even switched pockets for it, kept checking to make sure it didn’t fall out or get swiped.”
you smile, something small and full blooming in your chest. “good. it’s supposed to be yours.”
“feels like it.”
he looks at you for a long second. the space between you shrinks until his arm slides around your waist and pulls you in close.
you go easy, always do, settling into him like he’s your own bed, your own pillow, the place you always end up no matter how far you drift.
he breathes in slow, his nose brushing your hair.
“the flowers… why’d you paint those?”
you press your face into his chest.
“they reminded me of you,” you say quietly. “red spider lilies. they’re kind of… complicated. people think they’re about death or goodbye, but they also mean memory. rebirth. starting over. they grow in all the places nothing else does.”
choso’s quiet for a second.
then, soft, “you think i’m like that?”
you shrug against him, voice even softer. “i think you’re the kind of person who sticks. who stays even when shit gets hard. and you don’t always say how you feel but… you’re steady. like those flowers. like fire.”
he exhales slow.
“fuck, ma.”
“what?”
“you’re gonna make me cry or some shit.”
you laugh, a quiet huff against his chest. he wraps both arms around you now, tucking you into the space beneath his chin, his hand sliding up into your hair.
his fingers stroke slow, gentle. again and again.
“you can cry,” you mumble. “i won’t tell.”
he chuckles low, the sound vibrating through you.
“nah, i’m good. just… i dunno. not used to someone thinkin’ about me like that.”
you don’t say anything. just curl closer, your fingers fisting lightly in the fabric of his shirt.
the room settles into silence. soft and slow. your breaths even out together.
his hand keeps stroking through your hair, steady and grounding. like he could do it forever. like maybe he will.
his voice comes again, quieter this time.
“gonna keep that lighter forever.”
you smile, eyes fluttering shut. “good.”
“not even gonna let gojo touch it."
“definitely good.”
his lips brush your hair, a ghost of a kiss.
you feel it all, the warmth, the safety, the way his body curls slightly to fit around yours like a shield, like a home.
his heartbeat’s slow against your cheek.
“night, ma,” he whispers, already half-asleep.
you murmur it back, voice slurred with sleep, breath syncing with his.
his fingers keep moving, slow circles through your hair.
and in the soft dark, beneath the blanket, beneath the silence, his arm curls around you just enough to press the fresh ink on his bicep to your side, a quiet secret. a permanent truth.
just for him.
just for tonight.
just for you.
~
~
it’s been a chill afternoon, sun’s out, classes dragging, brain fried. choso’s walking out of the lab building with his earbuds in, hoodie half-zipped, replaying your last message in his head. a pic of your shoes kicked off under a library table, captioned come save me, three broken hearts. made him smile. still does.
he’s almost past the quad when a shadow cuts across the sidewalk.
“yo, choso.”
doesn’t need to look up to know who it is.
that voice, too smooth. familiar in the kind of way that feels like smoke curling up your back.
he pulls one earbud out and slows.
toji’s leaned against the trunk of an oak tree like he’s been waiting. sunglasses on, black tee snug across his chest, arms crossed like he’s got all day. his smirk’s already half-there.
“what’s up?” choso mutters.
“you got a sec?”
choso gives him a long look. he knows toji. knows the kind of calm that means something’s coming.
“…yeah,” he says anyway.
they walk.
they’ve done this before, that time a few weeks ago before his lab, once or twice after parties, when everyone else was loud and drunk and messy. toji’s always been different. sharper. like he watches the room just to see where it bleeds.
“how’s life at delta mu?” toji asks after a few steps. casual. fake.
“same shit.”
“yeah?” he smirks. “you still throwing those weed parties with your little mascot?”
choso’s jaw ticks. “you mean y/n?”
toji chuckles. “yeah. her.”
he tosses a glance sideways. too casual.
“she’s got some energy, huh? always bouncing around, arms all over you. she like that with everybody or just you?”
choso doesn’t answer. toji doesn’t need one.
“nah, i’ve seen it,” he continues. “always tucked up next to you. on your lap. wrapped around your arm. clinging to your hoodie like it’s the last blunt in the world.”
he laughs under his breath. “kinda cute.”
choso’s fists go deep in his pockets.
“she’s just like that,” he says flatly.
toji hums. “you sure?”
choso looks over.
“what’s your point?”
“just wondering,” toji shrugs, still smiling like it’s harmless. “you’ve told me before, you two aren’t dating.”
“we’re not.”
“but you hang out every day.”
“yeah.”
“sleep in the same bed sometimes, right?”
choso’s mouth tightens.
toji grins like he caught something.
“so she’s single?”
choso stares straight ahead.
“…yeah.”
“good to know.”
silence.
the wind brushes through the quad. students chatter behind them. someone’s playing music from a bluetooth speaker in the grass, something smooth, almost romantic. it doesn’t help.
“she’s just real… open, you know?” toji says. “like, warm. sweet as hell. makes you feel like you’ve known her forever.” choso stays quiet.
“i ran into her the other day,” toji adds like it’s nothing. “outside the gym. we talked for a sec.” his tone is lighter now. teasing. like he’s digging.
“she remembered my name. smiled real nice, too. said she was headed to meet you.”
no surprise there. you always say where you're going. always talking about choso like he’s the center of your world. and maybe that’s why this stings. and toji knows it.
“you ever wonder if she does that for you?” he asks. “tells other guys she’s headed to see you. uses your name like a shield.”
he doesn’t wait for a reply.
“or maybe it’s just habit. maybe she’s comfortable. you ever think about that?”
“don’t do this.”
choso’s voice is low now. warning. toji just smirks.
“look, man. i’m not trying to piss you off. just… trying to understand. ‘cause you act like you’re her boyfriend, but then you say you’re not.”
he tilts his head.
“so which is it?”
choso breathes slow through his nose.
“we’re close. we’ve always been close. that’s it.” toji nods. like he buys it.
but he doesn’t.
“damn,” he says. “you got more patience than me.”
“what’s that mean?”
“means if a girl like that was pressed up on me every night, i wouldn’t be wasting time calling her my friend.” he says it with a grin, but there’s something sharp underneath.
“you really never tried?” toji asks. “never kissed her? not once?” choso doesn’t respond. he can’t. he kisses you all the time, on the head, bebe ron the lips.
because the truth’s stuck in his throat, the way you fall asleep in his arms, the way you hold his lighter like it means something, the way you always come back to him like he’s home. and he’s the dumbass who never claimed you.
“so she’s single, then?” toji repeats.
“yeah,” choso says, barely above a whisper.
toji gives him one last nod.
“cool,” he says. “just wanted to be sure.” and then he walks away. choso doesn’t move. not for a long time.
just stands there, fists clenched, teeth gritted, watching toji’s silhouette disappear down the path like it’s a threat, because it is. he knew.
he knew before he asked.
and now he’s coming.
because choso left the door wide open.
and you?
you’re free to walk through it.
~
choso’s room, late afternoon
your legs are curled under you on choso’s bed, hoodie three sizes too big hanging off your shoulder, his, of course. the windows are cracked open, letting in the soft hum of birds and the echo of some guys yelling down at the basketball court. his room smells like incense, sage and something deeper, something him, warm, sleepy. you’ve been here a hundred times like this. maybe more.
his hoodie sleeves keep sliding past your wrists as you text, thumbs quick, quiet smile pulling at your lips. he’s across the room, digging through a drawer for his rolling tray. you can feel his presence without even looking. always do.
“yo, did you move my grinder?” he calls, glancing over his shoulder.
“nope,” you answer, distracted, fingers still flying over your screen. your phone lights again.
toji [3:04pm]: you looked cute at that mixer last night.
you bite your lip. thumbs hover.
then you type:
you [3:07pm]: oh you're stalking me noww?
you don’t see choso pause. you don’t see how long his eyes linger on your phone. you don’t realize he saw the name, until he speaks.
“who you texting?”
you blink up, tone of his voice unfamiliar.
“hm? oh—” you shift your phone in your hand, instinctive. “just… someone.”
he tilts his head.
“someone, huh.”
you laugh a little. “why do you sound like that?”
he doesn’t answer. he crosses the room instead, slow steps. plants himself at the edge of the bed, arms folded. you look up at him and that warm energy’s gone. replaced with something colder. sharp.
“that toji?”
your breath stalls.
“…yeah.”
choso stares at you. unreadable.
“why?”
“what do you mean why?” you ask, eyebrows tugging. “he messaged me. we were just talking.”
he hums. low. not buying it.
“just talking,” he echoes. “what about?” you sit up straighter. “what’s going on?”
“what’d he say?”
“choso—”
“lemme see.”
he gestures at your phone. you clutch it instinctively. like muscle memory. like guilt? “are you serious right now?” he doesn’t answer. jaw’s tight. eyes dark.
“what’d he say?” he asks again. your fingers squeeze your phone. you feel a flush crawl up your neck. not from embarrassment, but shock.
“you’re not serious,” you say again, this time quieter. he just looks at you. so you speak.
“he said i was cute when i was bored. and i said maybe. that’s it.”
his jaw ticks.
“you flirting with him?”
“what?”
“you heard me.”
you scoff. “no. i wasn’t. it wasn’t even- i didn’t mean it like that.” choso steps back, runs a hand through his hair. pacing now.
“you texting him while you’re in my bed?”
“what does that matter?”
“it matters.”
his voice is sharper now. rough around the edges. not loud, but tight, like it’s fighting to stay inside his chest. “you know how i feel about that guy.”
“choso, he’s been nothing but nice lately—”
“he’s not nice. he’s not interested in being friends. he’s waiting. he’s circling. you don’t see it?” you blink.
“so what, you’re mad ‘cause i texted him back?” he looks at you like you just spit on the floor. “i’m mad ‘cause you’re in my fucking hoodie, in my bed, telling some other guy he’s got a shot.”
you freeze.
the silence that falls is loud.
so loud.
your eyes widen. you stare at him, lips parted. unsure if you heard that right. unsure if he meant to say it.
“a shot?” you echo. he looks away. exhales hard.
“never mind.”
“no,” you say, voice firm now. “say it again.”
he doesn’t. but you both feel the truth echoing off the walls.
you look down. suddenly too warm. like the hoodie’s burning your skin. “…i didn’t know you’d care,” you say, almost to yourself.
choso swallows. “i do.” you glance back up.
“why?”
he doesn’t answer. but you already know. and now the air is thick with it. the unspoken thing. and for the first time, it’s not sweet. not warm. it hurts.
because it means everything he’s never said, everything he’s been, came with conditions you never agreed to. came with borders he never drew, but expected you not to cross.
you breathe slow. he watches you. you speak first.
“if you wanted to be the only one texting me like that, you should’ve said something.” choso’s face shifts. his mouth opens like he’s going to say something, defend himself, maybe, argue the way he always stays quiet because he doesn’t want to lose you,but nothing comes out.
instead, his brows knit together, lips pressed in a tight line. his fingers curl at his sides.
“you really think i don’t wanna be that?” he says, voice rough. “you think this shit’s been casual for me?” you blink at him. your breath catches.
“you’ve never said it was anything else, choso. what was i supposed to think?”
“fuck,” he growls, pacing again. “you were supposed to know. i thought you knew.”
his voice rises, not yelling, but loud with frustration. he’s unraveling in real time, and it’s shaking something loose in you, too. “how was i supposed to know?” you shoot back. “you flirt but you never say anything. you touch me like i’m yours but act like i’m just your best friend—”
“you are mine.” your voice dies in your throat.
he stares at you. and when he speaks again, it’s quieter, but no less intense.
“you’re mine,” he says again, like a confession. like a curse. “always been mine.” your stomach flips.
“then why—” your voice cracks — “why didn’t you ever tell me?”
choso runs a hand through his hair again, like he’s trying to physically hold himself together. like it hurts.
“’cause i was scared,” he snaps. “scared that if i said it out loud, it’d fuck everything up. that you’d look at me different. that you’d leave.” you stare.
“so you’d rather let someone else have me?”
he stiffens. you rise onto your knees on the bed, fire lighting behind your ribs now. “you’d rather let toji of all people try it?”
his jaw clenches. “he’s not gonna have you.” your heartbeat skids.
he moves in fast, faster than he ever has, and grabs your wrist, firm but not rough, like he can’t bear to let the distance exist any longer.
“i’m not letting him have you,” he mutters.
you’re still frozen, looking up at him. something between fear and thrill curling in your gut.
“choso,” you whisper. he doesn’t stop. he pushes you back gently onto the bed, one hand catching your waist, the other bracing against the mattress. he hovers over you, breath heavy, eyes searching your face like he’s begging you to see it, really see it this time.
“i’m fucking in love with you.”
your heart punches into your throat. his forehead dips, pressing against yours, voice hoarse.
“i’ve been in love with you since you showed up to my first party and we listened to that dumb song together.”
you let out a shaky laugh, but your eyes are wet his thumb brushes your cheek.
“i never said it ‘cause i thought this was enough. thought just having you close was better than risking it all. but i can’t—” he pulls in a breath, voice shaking now too — “i can’t sit quiet while other people try to take you from me.”
you’re blinking fast now. breath catching. every inch of your skin feels like it’s on fire beneath his touch.
“you’re my girl,” he says again, softer this time. “you’ve always been mine.”
you don’t answer right away. your chest rises and falls beneath his, shallow and unsteady. your palm is still on his cheek, but your eyes have shifted, staring past him now. unfocused. wet.
“you’re only saying that,” you murmur, “because someone else finally had the balls to go after me.”
his breath catches. your voice is quieter, but sharp now, like you’re trying to convince yourself. like you want to believe it, but the cracks are there, and they’re splitting open.
“you didn’t say anything until he got involved. until he started asking about me. texting me. seeing me.” your hand falls away from his face. “and now suddenly, i’m yours?”
his eyes widen. “no—”
“you had so long to tell me, choso. so many chances.”
“y/n, it’s not like that—”
“then what is it like?” you breathe. “’cause i don’t get to be the girl you only want when someone else does.”
choso stares at you, heart hammering. like you just ripped something raw and bloody straight out of his chest.
he swallows.
and then, slowly, he pushes back, just far enough to sit up on his knees beside you. the mattress dips with the weight shift. his hands fumble for the hem of his hoodie.
he pulls it up and over his head in one quick move. your breath stutters.
there, inked into the inside of his upper arm, where he’d hidden it every time you curled up against him, is a tattoo.
of your eyes.
staring straight back at you.
your real breath, the one stuck in your throat, finally punches out of you.
choso watches your expression shift, eyes flicking from the ink to his face and back. he swallows once, hard, and says:
“got it the night of the party. when you gave me the lighter.” you blink.
“you were curled up on me. whole time i was talking with the boys, i couldn’t stop thinking about you. how close you were. how you looked at me like that was your home.” he swipes a thumb under his nose, like he doesn’t know what else to do with his hands. “so i got up, high as fuck, to the guy tatting people in the corner. told him to ink your eyes on me.”
your lips part, but nothing comes out. his voice softens.
“i didn’t say anything ‘cause i thought it was enough. just having you near. but it’s not. not anymore.”
your heart pounds so hard you feel it in your ears.
he looks at you like you’re the only thing in the room. like he needs you to believe it. really believe it.
“this isn’t about toji. it’s never been about him. i wanted you long before he ever said your name.”
you’re still staring at the tattoo.
he moves closer again. his hand brushes your knee, gentle.
“you think i’d get your fucking eyes on me just ‘cause i’m jealous?” you blink fast.
his hand finds your face again. tender. grounding “you’re it for me.”
his voice is low, raspy. not just from the emotion, but from how hard he’s holding it in, like if he lets go, everything he’s ever felt for you will come spilling out and drown him.
but he lets it go anyway.
“you’re all i think about,” choso says, brushing his thumb over your cheek again. “when i’m high, when i’m sober, when you’re across the room and laughing at someone’s stupid joke, when you’re asleep in my bed, wearing my shirt, you’re in my head all the time, ma.”your breath catches.
“every song reminds me of you. every little thing you do drives me crazy. you don’t even know how much of me you’ve got.”
he leans closer, forehead nearly touching yours.
“you gave me that lighter and i wanted to kiss you right there in the middle of the street. when you paint your nails i stare at your hands for hours. when you fall asleep on me at parties, i sit still like a statue so you don’t move. i’m always lookin’ at you like i already lost you. and it kills me.”
his hand finds your jaw, warm and steady, fingers curling behind your ear. your breath hitches, and he’s close enough to feel it.
“you’ve had my heart since freshman year. and i didn’t say anything ‘cause i thought maybe you didn’t want it. or maybe you already had it and didn’t need to hear it out loud.”
you swallow, shaky. lips parted. cheeks flushed.
and choso looks down at them, your lips, like he’s been holding himself back from kissing you for a lifetime.
and then he doesn’t anymore.
he crashes into you like he’s starving.
the kind of kiss that drags a sound out of your throat before you even realize it, all heat and pressure and ache, all the months and years and everything he’s shoved down, poured out into the way his lips mold against yours. he kisses you like he’s afraid you’ll pull away, and like he knows you won’t.
your hands claw at his shoulders, winding into the mess of his hair, tugging him in even closer. and choso groans, deep in his throat, pressing you down into the bed, slotting his hips against yours.
his mouth moves fast, desperate, lips, tongue, teeth, like he can’t get enough. like the taste of you is something he needs in his lungs.
“fuck,” he breathes against your mouth, dragging his lips down your jaw, “you don’t get it, do you?”
your back arches, lips parting when he sucks lightly under your ear.
“how bad i’ve wanted this. you.”
his hands roam, over your waist, under your shirt, up your sides like he’s trying to memorize all of you at once. and every place he touches leaves a trail of fire.
you moan his name, soft and shaky, and he loses it a little more, bites your bottom lip as he grinds his hips down into yours, heavy and hot and so there.
“say it again,” he mutters, eyes half-lidded, forehead pressed to yours. “say my name.”
“choso.”
he shudders.
“again.”
“cho!.”
he kisses you so deep it knocks the breath out of your lungs. kisses you like he owns you, like you’ve always belonged to him, and like he’s finally letting himself claim what’s already his.
and fuck, you let him.
you’ve wanted this just as long. needed him just as bad.
and now, with your limbs tangled, your body burning under his, your heart thudding like a war drum in your chest, there’s no more pretending.
you’re his. he’s yours. and it’s written all over his face.
choso looks at you like you’re the only thing he’s ever wanted, like he’s starved for you, but still savoring the moment. his eyes are dark, heavy-lidded, but soft. reverent. he cups your cheek with a hand that’s just slightly trembling, brushing his thumb along your skin like he can’t believe you’re real.
he kisses your forehead, slow and grounding, like a promise. then your nose. then your lips, and that one lingers. warm, aching, deep enough that it steals the air from your lungs. it’s not just desire. it’s everything he’s never said until now.
“please let me see you, ma." he whispers, voice hoarse, like he’s been holding back forever.
you nod, lips parted, eyes locked with his. your breath stutters as his fingers ghost over the hem of your shirt, lifting it inch by inch like he’s unwrapping something precious. he tosses it aside, only to pull you in again. his palms spread wide across your ribs, thumbs brushing just beneath your chest.
“fuck,” he breathes, low and to himself. “so fucking beautiful.”
he leans in, mouth dragging hot and open along your neck, kissing and breathing you in, his lips trembling against your pulse like he’s drunk off you. he murmurs something there, a soft, almost desperate, “mine,” before he undoes your bra with one practiced flick.
and when it falls away, he doesn’t touch you right away. he just stares, like the sight of you has knocked the wind out of him.
his hands come up slow, palms warm as they cup you like he’s afraid to break something delicate. “been dreaming about this,” he says. “about you. here. like this. in my bed. lookin’ up at me like you already know i’d give you everything.”
you shiver under the weight of it all, his voice, his gaze, his touch. and then his mouth is on your chest, lips sealing around your nipple, tongue flicking before he sucks — slow, deep, just enough to make you arch into him with a needy whimper.
“choso…”
he groans, hand sliding lower, fingers hooking into the waistband of your shorts. he pulls them down with your panties in one motion, dragging his palms down your thighs on the way. and when he sits back, just to take you in, bare, breathless, flushed, his eyes go wide, like he’s trying to commit you to memory. “look at you,” he murmurs, chest rising with each ragged breath. “you don’t even know what you do to me, do you?”
you reach for him, tugging his shirt up and over his head, palms skating down the strong lines of his chest, stopping only when your fingers find his arm. your breath catches.
your eyes. inked in black and red over his skin, etched like a confession. you won't ever get sick of seeing it.
he watches you take it in, sees the exact moment you understand, and he doesn’t say anything. not at first. he just leans in, takes your hand in his, and presses it over his heart.
“see?” he whispers. “been yours. always.”
your eyes brim, chest tight with something that has no name. and then he kisses you again, slow and deep, tongue stroking yours, hand sliding between your thighs. he groans into your mouth when he feels you, warm, wet, already trembling.
“so wet for me,” he mutters, lips brushing yours. “all this for me, huh?”
his fingers dip into you, one at first, then two, slow and deep, curling just right. your back arches, mouth falling open with a gasp as he starts to move them, watching every twitch and shiver you give him like he’s memorizing the way you come apart. “fuck, baby,” he breathes. “you feel so good, been wantin’ this for so long. just wanted to take care of you. make you feel good.”
his lips trail back down, mouth closing around your nipple again as his fingers keep working you open, the room echoing with your broken gasps and soft moans. he kisses your sternum, your ribs, every inch of you he can reach like he’s trying to make up for every second he didn’t have you.
and when your legs start to tremble, when your thighs squeeze around his hand and you whimper his name into the crook of his neck, he groans, low and sexy, and pulls back just enough to strip the last of his clothes.
his cock is flushed, hard, already leaking, and still, he pauses.
he leans in, pressing his forehead to yours, breathing hard. “you sure you wanna do this hun?”
“i want you,” you whisper, voice cracking. “i want all of you.”
and when he slides in, slow, deliberate, it’s overwhelming. your nails dig into his shoulders, mouth open in a silent gasp, and he just groans, long and low, burying his face in your neck.
“fuck, baby… you feel so fuckin’ good, made for me, huh?”
his hips rock into you, slow and deep, dragging along every sensitive inch inside you until you’re trembling again, mouth parted in helpless moans. he kisses you through it, messy and uncoordinated, full of teeth and tongue and need.
he doesn’t hold back anymore. not his body, not his voice. he’s everywhere, his hands, his mouth, his words, and every thrust is rougher, deeper, hotter than the last.
“been yours since the day i met you,” he breathes against your skin. “you’re mine, baby. mine. no one else gets to have you like this. no one else even fuckin’ compares.”
you believe him. how could you not, when he’s saying it like he’s been waiting years to let it out?
you fall apart first, clenching around him with a strangled moan, whole body trembling as your orgasm crashes through you, and choso follows, grinding into you with a low growl, holding you close as he spills into you.
he doesn’t let go. not even after. he stays buried deep, forehead to yours, one hand cradling your jaw like it’s fragile.
“not lettin’ you go,” he whispers. “not now. not ever.”
~
the party’s already in full swing when you two walk in. the bass thrums under your feet, bodies packed tight in the kappa house. familiar faces flash by in strobes of color and sound, solo cups raised, someone laughing too loud, gojo shouting across the room with a bottle in each hand.
and then you and choso step into the chaos like it’s nothing. except tonight, it’s not nothing. it’s everything. your hand is in his. his thumb strokes over your knuckles like it’s second nature, and you’re tucked into his side like you’ve always belonged there. he’s wearing that hoodie you love, and you’ve got it slung off your shoulder like it’s yours now. he hasn’t let go of you since you walked through the door, and he doesn’t plan to. people notice.
gojo sees first. his mouth falls open around the mouth of a beer can, and he drops it on the counter with a dramatic gasp. “oh my god.” choso raises an eyebrow, smirking. “no fuckin way,” sukuna mutters, eyes narrowing. “this for real?” you don’t say anything. just smile, nuzzling into choso’s chest. and choso, god, he melts. his arm tightens around you like instinct, like he’s not even thinking about it. “you’re kidding,” maki blurts from across the room. she’s half-drunk and squinting, pointing her beer bottle at you two like she’s trying to make sense of a mirage. “you finally fucked?”
“maki,” shoko hisses, slapping her arm, but she’s already grinning. “i knew it. i knew it.” suguru lifts his drink with a slow, knowing smile. “took you long enough.” gojo, meanwhile, is spinning in a circle like he just witnessed a miracle. “wait wait wait,” he says, pointing between the two of you. “you’re telling me this entire time, we’ve been watching you two eye-fuck each other across every frat house on campus, and now you’re just casually showing up like this?”
“what can i say,” choso murmurs, pulling you even closer, “i figured it was time.” “look at his hand placement,” shoko says, leaning into maki. “that’s not friends. that’s boyfriend hand placement.”
“yeah and look at her,” maki laughs. “she looks like she just got dicked down and praised like a goddess.” you duck your head a little, embarrassed, but choso leans in and kisses your cheek, then your temple. it’s so soft, so easy, and when he pulls back, he looks straight at toji who’s staring wide eyed, steady, calm, but with a flicker of challenge in his eyes.
“don’t look at her like that,” he says, voice low. “not tonight. not ever.” toji scoffs, raising his hands in mock surrender, but his grin is sharp. “damn. someone’s possessive now.”
“been possessive,” choso mutters, like it’s not even up for debate. he turns his attention back to you instantly, brushing your hair behind your ear.
“you okay?” you nod. “i’m perfect.” and then he kisses you. not a peck. not for show. it’s slow, unhurried, with his hand cupping your jaw and his lips moving with the kind of tenderness that makes your knees weak. the room could be burning down and he wouldn’t stop. you don’t even hear gojo’s dramatic screech until you break apart.
“yo this is crazy,” he says, spinning around and yelling to no one in particular. “choso is off the market. choso kamo, resident stoner-lover of no one but his weed and his hoodie collection, is now cuffed.”
“what’s it feel like,” suguru asks with a smirk, raising an eyebrow at choso, “to be someone’s boyfriend?”
“feels like i shoulda done it years ago,” choso says. you blink up at him, heart catching in your throat. “yo,” yuuji calls from the other side of the room. “does this mean we’re finally allowed to say you two have been in love since freshman year?” “i always said it,” nobara yells, shoving through the crowd with a drink. “don’t act like y’all didn’t see them cuddled up at every party like an old married couple.”
“wait does this mean she’s moving into his room?” gojo asks, visibly spiraling. “what’s gonna happen to the guest bed? who’s gonna roll for me when choso’s too busy being in love?”
“die mad,” choso says flatly, and everyone laughs. but even through all the noise and teasing and attention, his focus never strays from you. his hand stays on your waist. his eyes keep dropping to your mouth like he’s remembering exactly what it feels like.
“you good?” he murmurs again, like he just wants to hear you say it.
you press your nose to his chest and nod, smiling. “more than good.”
he kisses you again, slower this time, like it’s just for you. like no one else is in the room. like he’s exactly where he’s always wanted to be.
and the thing is — he is.
he’s yours. fully, finally, publicly.
more choso for you >~< 'sticky situation'
awe wasn't that sweet 👩❤️💋👨 masterlist !!
guys look at this beautiful art @ryololart did inspired by this fic i love her go like it rn omg this is the perfect visual.
he tries to play it cool—laughs, scratches the back of his neck, murmurs something about how "we don’t gotta rush, if you're nervous or whatever." but the pink flush crawling up his cheeks betrays him completely. he's sitting on the edge of the bed in just his boxers, legs slightly spread, trying to act casual while his cock visibly twitches through the thin fabric.
you’re kneeling between his thighs, equally bare, cheeks burning hot, your heartbeat so loud it’s all you can hear. neither of you have done this before. he’s a hero in the streets, but in here? his breaths stutter when your hands touch his knees. his gaze drops to your chest and shoots away again like he’s scared he’ll combust just from looking too long.
“c-can i kiss you?” he asks, almost a whisper.
you nod. he leans forward, lips brushing yours, soft and shaky and clumsy—but sweet. his mouth is warm. gentle. when his tongue nervously licks into yours, he moans—like he didn’t expect how good it would feel. his hands come up, hesitating before cupping your face. he kisses you deeper, needier, trying to pour all the feeling he doesn’t know how to say into it.
“are you sure?” he pants against your mouth, chest rising fast. “like—really sure? i don’t wanna hurt you or mess it up.”
you nod again. “i want it with you, yuji.”
that’s all it takes. he pulls back just far enough to slip his boxers down, his cock springing free, flushed dark pink at the tip, already leaking. it’s not huge, but it’s thick, twitching, the head glistening as he stares at your bare pussy like it’s something sacred.
“oh, fuck,” he whispers. “you’re really… wet...”
you giggle, nervous but soft. “yeah. that’s from you.”
he shudders. his hand goes to his cock, stroking it slowly as he kneels between your legs, lining himself up with shaking fingers. “okay… okay… just tell me if it’s too much, okay?”
he pushes forward. the first inch has both of you gasping—tight and hot, your walls squeezing him instinctively, and he immediately groans, head dropping to your shoulder.
“oh my god,” he pants. “you’re so warm. it’s—fuck—it’s so good…”
he slides in slowly, painfully slow, stopping every few seconds to ask if you're okay, to kiss your neck, your cheek, your lips. his cock stretches you, not brutally, but with that virgin awkwardness—neither of you knowing the perfect rhythm, just fumbling through the heat and slick and shaking hands.
you gasp when he bottoms out, hips pressed flush to yours, both of you panting, overwhelmed. he’s whimpering—yuji itadori, the boy with the world on his shoulders, whimpering because your pussy feels too good to be real.
he holds still, forehead pressed to yours. “i—i can’t believe i’m inside you…”
you smile, cupping his face. “move, baby. please.”
he pulls out a little and pushes back in, slow, careful—but each thrust makes you both cry out louder, the slick squelch of your pussy getting wetter with every inch. his cock drags against your walls, not perfectly, not expertly, but with such raw need, it’s too good to stop.
he picks up pace. still hesitant, but the feeling overwhelms him—his hips start stuttering, thrusts getting sloppier, deeper.
“oh my god—baby—feels so good—i’m gonna—fuck—!”
yuji's whole body shudders as he bottoms out—and then he freezes, his breath hitching sharply, eyes blown wide.
“ah—fuck, wait—!”
his voice cracks, and before you can even say anything, his hips jerk once, twice—and he cums. hard. too hard. a hot rush of it spills inside you as his cock pulses, twitching helplessly. his face twists in a mixture of bliss and horror, cheeks flaming red, mouth slack with a moan he tries to bite back but can’t. his arms nearly give out as he collapses forward, forehead resting against your shoulder.
“…shit,” he breathes, voice trembling. “i—i came.”
you feel it inside you, hot and thick and way too fast—barely a handful of strokes and he couldn’t hold it. he’s still inside you, still twitching, still buried to the hilt, his whole body pulsing with the aftershocks. his breath is hot and erratic on your neck, and he sounds wrecked—more than just embarrassed, he sounds dazed, like the orgasm short-circuited his brain.
he groans, low and ashamed. “i… fuck, i didn’t mean to—it just felt so good, i couldn’t stop—”
you giggle softly, brushing sweat-damp hair off his forehead. “you really couldn’t last a minute, huh?”
his whole face goes red. “d-don’t say it like that,” he whines, muffled against your skin. “i’m serious, i wasn’t expecting it to feel like—like fucking heaven.”
he pulls back a little, looking at you with big, glassy eyes. “your pussy’s insane,” he blurts. “it’s not fair.”
you laugh again, and he groans, covering his face. “i’ll do better next time. i swear. i’ll make you cum so hard you won’t even remember this happened.”
he’s still hardening again inside you. still twitching. still breathless.
and from the way he’s looking at you now—blown pupils, lips parted, body tense like he’s about to start all over—“next time” might be happening in about thirty seconds.
rrr the yummiest threesome with phinks and shalnark <3 head so fuzzy about big cock phinks pulling your little white panties to the side for easy access to that plush little cunt, and having no remorse despite your little cries of how big he is and how it hurts. and shalnark <3 he’s so baby and yes .. he does feel bad for you in the slightest so he helps to satiate the pain by suckling at that pretty little clit and jerking himself off. he can’t have a pretty lady in even more stress than phinks has bestowed upon you …
ʚ♡ɞ
“stop squirmin’ around…” phinks grunts, readjusting your leg previously propped up onto his shoulder. he tugs at your hips, nudging himself impossibly deeper against your plush walls. “p—phinks!” you mewl, chewing down at your bottom lip to halt your cries. your nails drag down against his bicep, eliciting a hiss.
“fuck,” phinks sighs, peering down at the sight of your swollen cunt swallowing him whole. “t—this is the shit.” the brute grunts, thumbing at your folds and tugging the sticky fabric further to the side.
“no kidding.” the blonde man besides you grins, meeting your teary eyes with a soft hum. “so good for us, girl. mhm.” shalnark hums, pressing down harshly at your clit. “s—shal..” you drag out a whine, a subconscious beg for mercy. “s’—s’mean..”
“mm, it’ll be okay.” he assures with a hum and a soft peck to the tip of your nose. “doing so good for us already. hold out a little, yeah?” he presses a gentle kiss across your eyelids, blocking your view off from the perverted sight of his right hand reaching into his pants. your eyes flutter open anyway — especially when you hear a soft groan fall from the plush lips of the man.
“hnn !” you’re caught off guard by a harsh thrust to your cunt,
“little thing, you best not forget who’s fucking you here just ‘cause shal’s sweetmouthin’ you.”
“s—sorry!” you whine damn sweetly, making phinks scoff.
you’re damn pretty. phinks wouldn’t admit it out loud — shalnark would though — but your pretty little body, the back pliant against the snow sheets, the front against the two men, a gorgeous gleam of sweat painting your soft skin — you’re a perfect little thing. he’s sure shalnark’s thinking the same thing.
he continues his mean strokes to your cunt, humping sloppily against your plush thighs with load groans. you reciprocate with soft whines and hiccups, mewling loudly when you feel warm, sticky balls slap against the fat of your ass.
“fuck, wan’ taste.” shal groans from besides you — removing his thumb from your clit and wasting no time before replacing it with his plush lips. your back arches almost painfully, a shrill squeak elicited from your lips when he suckles meanly at the bundle of nerves, humming against the sensitive flesh. you don’t miss the way the mattress recoils gently from shalnark’s mean pumps to his heavy cock — lewd swipes across the dewy slit of his cock head to soothe the ache. “so shweet,” shalnark whines, “like sap or hh..honey..”
“y’rarely c—cuss, shal. pussy’s got ya in a chokehold?” phinks hisses, not missing the new angle he’s fucking you at after your sudden arch. with another brutal thrust, you feel phinks’ pudgy tip browse across your cervix, causing a loud yelp. “p—phinks h.. hurts!”
“my bad, pretty lady. i can’t say s’all my fault though, y’r asking for it with a damn pretty body like this.” phinks hums, hips stuttering and growing sloppy as his pace quickens. shal’s losing himself too — moaning endlessly around your abused clit — accidently swiping his tongue over where you too connect. “s—shal, damn pervert.” phinks growls, and shalnark only whines in response.
you feel your pussy flutter around the man, stomach aching and yearning for release. “p—phinks, shal.. gon’ cum, gon’ cum, please!” you hiccup, pretty manicure etched into his forearm. “phi—phinks, help me..”
“you got it pretty lady.” the man huffs, pressing his shaft wholly deep into you with no remorse. shal does his job effectively as well — softly nibbling at your clit and that does it.
your pussy clenches endlessly around phinks’ aching cock, slathering the shaft in warm white cream — the two returning the favor. “fuckin’ choking him,” phinks grunts as he cums his thick, viscous spent into your worn cunt, so much that it drools from the sides when he pulls away even in the slightest.
you whimper at the loss from inside, and even shalnark’s detachment from your clit. you turn your head slightly to meet the boy’s cerulean eyes, met with lidded eyes and blushed cheeks. you peer down and don’t miss the viscous nut that coats his hands and dirtied the cloth of his pants —
☆ sum. perhaps screwing your ex-husband while the kids are out trick-or-treating wasn’t the best idea. but with him, the only treat he wants to trick is not in a basket—it’s right between your legs.. boo!
at the gojo’s, you mentally smack yourself as your feet step onto the scream-themed door mat that reads ‘step if you dare.’ part of you wished no one would answer the doorbell, but part of you solely wished he didn’t answer. it was about seven thirty at night, and with it being saturday, you had the kids for a few days. after that, you’d switch with satoru—your jeering hot-headed ex-husband. you decided since you got off early you’d take them trick-or-treating for a bit. but it’s to your utmost ‘surprise’ that satoru opens the door.
“oh! and who are you supposed to be pretty lady?” he’d hum, digging his hands into his pockets. satoru purposely tilts his head down, getting a good look at you while raising a brow. of course, he always went out for his costumes. this year, he’s wearing some sort of green flak jacket, a mask, and a long-sleeved shirt underneath with dark blue pants.
with a grump, you tuck your arms underneath your pits with your purse clinging onto your shoulder. “myself,” and your eyes flicker toward his messy frosted hair that’s spikier than usual. satoru’s wide headband partially droops below his left eye before you finish mumbling, “who are you even supposed to be.”
“uh, kakashi hatake. the man, the myth, the legend,” and satoru leans back against the front door, pulling out a fake kunai. a hand runs through his hair before he snickers at your unamused expression. tough crowd. “aw, you must be here for the kids, yeah? well, they’re out with nanami ‘n suguru trick-or-treatin’. just some blocks down,” and satoru stepped a few feet back once you trod your way inside, mutely cursing yourself that you’d probably have to wait until they got back. as long as they were with nanami and suguru—you didn’t have a problem. satoru shuts the timber wooden-made door behind him before speaking smugly. “oh. sure.. sure, just make yourself right at home, wifey.”
“don’t call me that.”
“just did.”
oh, brother.
the moment you stepped foot into your old spacey luxurious townhome satoru had built personally for you and your kids—the memories all came crawling back. the two of you didn’t end off on a bad note—divorces happen, and you both maintained a healthy relationship with the kids. you each agreed to co-parent, you’d get the week and he’d get the weekend - sometimes switching and vice versa.
“excuse the mess,” satoru hums, grabbing your coat. he tosses it over his shoulder before giving you another up-down glance. “if i knew you were comin’ over around this hour i’d clean a bit,” and he watches you struggle to keep eye contact. “hey. sweetheart, you’re lookin’ down again.”
with a scoff, you meet his gaze again. and fuck, does he look like he’s gotten even more handsome.
satoru gojo was always attractive—there was no doubt about it.
he was in his mid-thirties now, the two of you had settled down after college before having two kids of your own.
again, there wasn’t a reason for your divorce that was relatively a bad thing. you two just both decided to part ways - but of course, it was lots of unprovoked tension.
the costume that he wore was apparently based on some character named ‘kakashi’ whatever, and like always, he dressed the part. every year once the end of october would come around, satoru would wear an outfit just ‘cause. he stood tall, with serrated white hair that was jagged from all angles with the headband hanging off a side of his eye. in the middle part, the symbol was some kind of swirl that was never-ending.
satoru rambled to you that it was something . . something, a hidden leaf—honestly, you tuned out.
he wore the mask part too, covering up a good portion of his face from the nose down, and even had the red slanting scar that kakashi had near the left side of his eye that was probably makeup.
“i don’t wanna fight, gojo.”
“hmph. so it’s ‘gojo’ now,” he rolls his eyes, hanging your coat up near the rack. you take a quick peer around the room, seeing a plethora of toys and multicolored legos everywhere. it nearly makes you smile, remembering when satoru stepped on one of his youngest daughter’s legos. satoru leans against the glassy kitchen island, watching you take a seat near the crimson-red stool before humming. “and i don’t wanna fight either. in fact, i jus’ wanna talk.”
“so . . talk then,” you murmur, shifting your weight in your feet.
a brief smile creases against both sides of his lips before he grins. “soooo,” and it’s an awkward pause. you eye your ex-husband and he’s got somewhat of a bashful expression. rimy eyes of his dart toward your hand—your fingers specifically before he slyly coos. “i see you’re still wearin’ your wedding ring.”
shit.
he had a point.
after all this time, you still had your ring on. satoru did too—he also kept his ring on all the time, happily flashing it in front of countless numbers of women who’d try to hit on him.
you honestly don’t know why you still held on to it, let alone wear it, and to your surprise—you thought he’d stop wearing his those long seven months ago when the two of you officially split.
you bit the inside of your cheek before letting off a snarky, “shut up.”
satoru nearly snickers before he leans up close to you, only a few inches away. he’s so close that you get a loud wafting whiff of his citrusy cologne.
you remember the exact brand too, and it wasn’t exactly cheap either. he’d buy at least a dozen whenever the two of you went out shopping together - well, used to.
there’s so much tension between you both that you could cut it with a knife - the tension was thick, and the awkward dull pauses only made it even more intense.
there’s an annoying voice in your brain that’s screaming at you to just screw it - screw him, make up for lost time, and just . . . kiss him.
you did want to kiss satoru, and your eyes found themselves glancing toward his pearly pink lips that were almost always naturally glossed.
satoru’s eyes intently lock against yours for a few seconds before he casually brings a thumb up to the corner of your mouth, wiping away a bit of your lip gloss before cooing huskily. he expects you to pull away, but you don’t— in fact, you lean into his touch. once he notices, the only thing he replies with is a playful curt utter of,
“make me.”
so you do, but . . not in the way he expected.
not that satoru gojo was ever a man to complain though, especially with you.
and that’s when he found himself in quite a lewd predicament. satoru’s laid back against his cushiony padded mattress with you straddling his perfectly sculptured chin. a gloved hand of his grip near your right hip before he strums a thumb down your sopping wet entrance.
glossy - it’s prettier like he’s never seen it, and he can’t help but lick his lips like an animal preparing to feast the second you start to smear yourself against his chin.
“y’knowww baby, when you told me to shut up i didn’t think you meant sitting on my f—mmph,” and you cut him off mid-sentence by softly planting your cunt back on his mouth.
satoru grunts, bringing his free hand to wrap around the other unoccupied corner of your waist. he grunts, dipping his tongue inside before the familiar taste comes crawling back to his spiraling tastebuds. your taste, he missed your sweetness . . almost as much as he missed you.
as you sweetly moan within each dragging second, you glance down at him with hazed-blown pupils. shifting your wobbly weight and knees against his face, you start to feel his stubble rub on your skin. it almost tickles - but oh, you weren’t laughing.
his tongue had you doing quite the opposite.
“f- fuck,” you huff out, already starting to feel the plunging heaves of your stomach commence. sure, this was probably a bad idea, and sure, you and him probably needed to have an actual conversation at some point but now - you didn’t care about words.
you didn’t care about anything, and part of you kind of missed him.
perhaps his tongue was a majority reason for that part, and each time he rummages inside the deep secluded parts of your pussy, you let off cute individual mewling whimpers. satoru’s always been skilled, and he knew just how to please you.
his tongue always knew how to remind you of how much it’s missed its favorite meal.
curl after fucking curl, he’s leisurely spelling out letters and shapes and symbols with his tongue, taking every few seconds to swallow. satoru groans against your slobbering cunt, feeling you briefly thrust up against his nose and he can’t help but smell your tangy glacé coated sex.
it’s pleasantly sweet, and for a moment, scintillating blue eyes meet back up toward you. “h- heh, ‘s this why you came over? to shut me up ‘n use my fuckin’ mouth, sweetheart?”
“god, you talk t.. too much,” you moan, grabbing a fistful of his hair. in a way - that was true.
satoru was the definition of a blabbermouth.
he’d just talk and talk and talk . . yapping your ear off until you shut him right up in the best (and his personal favorite) way possible - sitting on his pretty face.
a pompous grin stretches across each corner of his lips whilst his jaw’s already dripping due to your slick that paints near the outer crevices of his thin lips. slow, it starts to slowly trickle down his chin at a snail-like pace, creating a shimmery coat of gloss that dribbles underneath his slack mandible.
satoru lays his long pointed tongue flat - savoring every single drop before he’s starting to suck against your clit.
“oh! fuck, right there ‘toru, riiiight there,” and he’s just sloppy. the mask part of his costume was pulled down to his neck as he was using his upper and bottom lip to munch against your sobbing pussy at irregularly paced intervals. your legs failed to stay still and you could already feel the carnal slope of your back starting to form an obtuse-like arch. “fuck, fuckin’ spit on it, ‘toru. pleasepleaseee.”
cute.
you’re calling him ‘toru again, and it makes him cockily grin knowing it was his tongue’s doing.
“wifey’s still as nasty as ever,” satoru whispers against your leaky folds, sliding a thin middle finger near your wet entrance. with a loud ‘psh’ you end up gushing out a bit abruptly and you whine loudly. your thighs rapidly snap together as you blink thrice, feeling his swollen lips glue against your pussy. “mmh, still a wet girl too. my wet girl.” you peek down at satoru who’s the literal epitome of the word smug.
he’s smearing his entire face against your teary slabbering cunt, spitting on it before lapping it right back up again.
you missed his nasty mouth - badly, and it makes your eyes shamelessly roll backward as you start to frailly rut your rickety hips into his mouth.
satoru brings two willowy fingers toward your slit before sliding the icy jewel rock of his wedding ring against your dribbling cunt.
wet, you were soaked and you let off shivering labored breaths once he started to toy with your saturated slick entrance.
with widened doe eyes, you meet his esurient-filled gaze and he hums at you. “listen to how damn wet she is,” he huffs, and you moan at the ridiculously drenching sounds of your pussy. he’s playing with you from between your thighs, chin still dripping with insane amounts of your syrupy juices. “mhm, i know, i know,” and you feel the feeble weight of your thighs quiver the second he’s focusing his attention primarily on your cunt now and not you.
all six eyes were fixated between your legs—
satoru strums the pad of his thumb down your drooling slit before gradually rolling his tongue from top-to-fucking-bottom.
he’s nasty, slithering the tip of his tongue everywhere until your toes curl and you’re letting off the cutest shrilling sounds. satoru even starts to spell out ‘m-a-r-r-y m-e’ and as lewd as it was, he’s proposing to your pussy. he needed you, and satoru knew the both of you divorcing was nearly inevitable, but he missed you.
he especially missed the way you tasted - so sweet, he could eat you out for hours even with his jaw sore ‘n locked. satoru’s a pussy pleaser, making you draw out sweet cries of more as he slurps you clean, his tongue occasionally sliding toward your puckering hole.
“satoru… ngh,” you whimper, the grip of your hand against his hair getting stronger. you’re fucking his face, grinding your slick against his mouth while watching his pretty frosty lashes flap. you’re squelching profusely, and each sloshing slosh of your pussy makes his dick twitch in his pants. “goddd, ‘m gonna cum. make me cum, fuck.”
“let’s see what she thinks,” he purrs, lustrous polished lips flushing into a pearly coat of clear once he licks them. satoru’s entirely pussy drunk, and you shudder once he slowly inserts a lanky middle finger. with a loud ‘pop!’ sound, it dexterously slides itself in, rummaging past the tight ring of your entrance.
fuck, he had such long fingers.
you almost forgot - satoru always joked with you how being ‘the strongest’ came with having six-inch fingers and he wasn’t fucking kidding . .
“hm, should my baby cum? does she deserve it?” and your lips curl up into a pout. he’s serious, having an entire conversation with your pussy. you moaned, maintaining a stiff grip on his hair before satoru started to smear circles against your cunt.
again, you’re just wet. your slickness amused him and satoru can’t help but playfully pat your pretty soddened pussy with the center of his palm once he doesn’t get a reply. the only reply he does get is the cute sloshing sounds that repeatedly gush between your poor quivery thighs.
you’re slowing yourself against his mouth as you straddle him, whimpering at the feeling of his thin digit piercing its way inside of you. you’re close, and you can feel yourself glitching and spasming the second the tip of his finger grazes past your g-spot.
already, he’s located it like ‘x’ marks the spot. your jaw was dropped, and you were on the verge of euphoric death.
satoru stretched your cunt out perfectly with just one finger, and sure . . you’ve had your fair share of intimacy with your ex-husband, but fuck did it always feel like the first time.
you couldn’t help but start to drool a bit, weakly rutting your hips against his face as you’re leisurely getting closer to the brink of your edge.
it’s carnal, you’re stupidly crisscrossed with your eyes flickering back and forth like turning signals before satoru starts to playfully nibble against your cunt again. this time though, he’s adding in another finger and the spongy pressure that’s being played with inside of you earns out a sweet honeyed gasp that sounds like a breathy shriek!
“toru, sato—fuck, ‘m cumming, ‘m gonna cum,” and your words repeated themselves over and over. you’re like a broken recurrent record on a looping vinyl. your cunt continues to sloppily rest against his perfect crooked lips the entire time as you’re blissfully coming undone.
satoru’s staring at you the entire time, practically undressing you with his eyes. he grunts, spotting how your perked nipples noticeably prodded through your silvery blouse. “ugh, fuuuck.” and it hits you like a crashing wave that slams its way into shore.
satoru’s still heartily pumping two slender digits in and out of your splashing cunt whilst you gush right on him, weak defeated hips losing their stability.
you were whimpering, tasting your candied orgasm on your tongue—it felt that good to where it’s like you could taste every nerve against your salivated tastebuds.
only satoru could make you cum on his tongue like this. you were speechless - frantically panting as you released your hand from his ghostly white strands. he’s still leaking your juices from the crannies of his lips before he exhales deeply.
“yeaaah, atta girl. lay it on me,” and you moan as he’s still sliding his long tongue in between the sopping folds of your sensitive cunt, gradually pulling out his lengthy digit pillars of fingers. “fuck, y’r so hot when you try ‘ta put me in my place, sweetheart.”
“stop talking,” you pant, getting off of him. satoru raises a pallid brow, and he grows amused once you suddenly push him to lie flat against his back. with a raspy ‘ugh’ he lands back against the velvet-colored pillows, a sly smirk marinating against his complacent features.
like a slut - he merrily manspreads just for you, long legs spread wide apart with a huge bulge sticking out of his pants.
he’s still got the shinobi headband on, part of it slumping down his left eye. “oh, what’s this?” he lowly gruffs, eyeing you from head to toe again.
this time though, it’s more sensual. satoru’s taking in every piece of fabric that’s protecting your skin, watching as you slowly undress yourself.
he could feel his boner excruciatingly rubbing against his pants the more he watched. he’s taking in your appetizing presented curves . . so pretty. especially after having two kids - his kids.
“gonna ride me, yeah?” he jibes, continuing once you were now left in nothing but a matching set of panties and bra.
coincidentally - the colors matched his exact eye color, and satoru always had a thing for you wearing clothes that matched his eyes. but like always, he just kept on talking. he was too cocky for his good, and maybe one more fuck was just what you needed. what you both needed.
just . . one . . more,
right?
well, that’s what you told yourself.
but all that went out the window the second you’re aligning yourself on his cock. satoru takes a sharp three-second breath, ogling at your every move. it’s like a game of chess. he’s waiting for you - for your cunt to make its move against his throbbing mushroomy tip.
two big hands of his wrap around your waist and he grunts lowly. feeling your slick cunt maneuver itself against his angry reddened tip makes his head slightly toss back in feral rapture.
his tip—it’s got a coral blush, and you let off a moan at feeling his hooked fat plump crownhead try to plummet its way in.
it’s rude, not caring to introduce itself to your cunt but slam its way in instead, asking if your insides remember him.
and it does - it definitely does.
“ohhh fuck,” you sob out a needy moan, your hips eagerly making two solid taut bucks against him.
satoru groans against your ear, swollen sack peeling back as you’re still straddling him. your body, it was in his arms again and he couldn’t help but feel you everywhere.
starting at your hips, he holds them tight, tracing the callused scarred tips of fingers all around the curvature of your body before trailing down toward the juncture of your rear. “god, don’t know how much i missed you ‘n your smart mouth,” and as you let off a surprised gasp, satoru grabs a nice chunk of your ass. “missed this ass just as much.”
“bet you did,” you puff, full lungs already on the verge of collapsing. he’s huge - and barely the tip was in and you could already feel your pussy starting to throw a fit of tantrums. satoru’s girth made him stretch more, and for a second you let off another sweet moan before meeting his gaze.
he’s got a delicious curve to him that always makes your insides twist and churn. it’s a feeling you’ll probably never get used to.
“what’s with the smirk? somethin’ funny?”
“you, baby,” satoru titters, giving you a haughty head nod. you feel your cunt throb as you’re trying to continue to lower yourself down on his cock but the stretch - fuck, pretty soon your poor cunt was about to be met with max fucking capacity.
satoru’s sparkly heavy-lidded eyes linger on you before he cups your chin, swiping a thumb across your wet quavering lips. “all that talk ‘n you still can’t take me. thought i trained my wife’s pussy good,” and with a teasing pout, he shrugs. “guessss not!”
“fuck you.” you moan, mentally groaning the second you felt yourself getting more soaked, just from his words alone.
pathetic - and yet, you wanted more.
satoru clicks his tongue, and with a blink of an eye, he now has you flipped over. you gasp, landing flat on your chest as he’s got your wrists restrained against your back.
satoru rolls his eyes, sprawling out your weak-kneed legs all the way apart to get a good glimpse of your sopping pussy from the back.
god, in his mind - it should have been a crime to be this wet. your sopping, pearly translucent molasses of your slick stream down your pulsing entrance and he grunts.
“fuck you,” he repeats, although he says it cheekily. even though you weren’t even facing him anymore you could almost visibly see the annoying shit-eating grin plastering on his face.
from ear to ear with each of his dimples piercing each wry crevice of his mouth, he's so smug--bastard.
your back arches and you moan the second he starts to smack his rotund tip against your pussy. “myyy, what a fuckin’ mess,” and you suck your teeth, feeling satoru’s loud spanks hit louder. each time his fat cockhead thumps itself against your wet outer folds, the vibrations make you shiver from the waist down.
the tingly tenderness makes your toes immediately curl up once more and your canorous-like moans start to become muffled once you dig your teeth into the edge of a nearby pillow. “still wet after alllll this time like a good messy girl,” he grits. with another smack of his tip, your leg twitches in response. “ooh, she likes that,” and satoru softly spreads your saturated cunt lips apart with two fingers just to see your pulse throb in full filthy action. “fuuck, she’s achin’ for it. look at that pretty ‘lil throb. so cute.”
“are you gonna fuck me or n—”
“listen, honey,” and you moan at the sudden husky drop of his voice. satoru softly wraps a few fingers around your throat, pressing his slim body right against your own. he drops your wrist, watching you sink into the mattress as limp-like. he’s so close that you could feel the outline of his abs prods against his shirt.
inching his lips near the shell of your earlobe, he starts to pant. heavy, sinister breath that ends up making you throb ten times harder. “i’m gonna fuck you,” he grunts, feeling your ass cutely try to jerk its way against him. the costume part of his pants was lazily pulled down, reaching the low area of his ankles. with a husky sigh, satoru brings his tip near the dripping entrance of your sloppy doused cunt. “might as well fuck that bratitude out of ya too while ‘m at it,” and you moan once he’s slowly starting to sink his way in.
satoru grabs ahold of your torso, lifting you slightly to a certain degree. your ass was raised just a few meters with your face smushed against the satiny made bedsheets.
his eyes dart down your body for another time and now, he’s just openly gawking at your exposed skin - your gorgeous physique.
satoru could stare at you all day if he could. “f- fuh—fuck,” you croak, plump lips forming into a hoop-like ‘o’ the moment he’s easing his way inside. there goes his ridiculous girth again, there goes his fat length that never fails to rearrange your clingy needy insides.
your tummy dips from each inch that’s gradually disappearing inside of you like a never-before-seen magic trick until he’s starting to gruffly groan. satoru’s already breaking a frigidly cold sweat.
it was just him feeling your covetous wet cunt voluntarily swallow him up - squeezing him tightly like a vice until you wring him dry. your pussy’s holding him hostage, and with the tight firm grasp you had against him, you never wanted to let go. “ ‘toruuu, ‘s fuckin’ big.”
“allll for you,” he drags out his words through raspy breathy sentences. chalky white brows of his compress together as he’s starting to feel the brief twinge of pleasure that courses through his beefy clenched thighs. with hooded cunt-drunk eyes, satoru already heard your gargling pussy trying to get more bratty words in. “all. for. you,”
and he punctuated his words just like he punctuated his merciless, sloppy thrusts.
the first thrust was rigid, the second thrust was sensual, and the third was damn near powerful. .
you moan loudly, feeling him caress tender circles near the exposed nape of your neck with his thumb as he tries to start up a sufficient pace. it took him a moment before he was fully in, making sure you felt and remembered every single inch.
satoru expands through your cunt like a domain.. the more carnal lewd way though.
it makes you shiver, and with his weight pressing into your ass that was your last fucking straw.
satoru’s got you in prone bone - a position like doggy but better, and he’s got his chiseled hips just barely hovering over your ass. with pounds and pounds of skin against skin—each smack against flesh had your mind going for a whirl ride.
you were already surrounded by his sweltering warmth from the inside and the feeling alone was enough to make your mouth water.
heavy airy pants drew out from your full lungs like you were some sort of animal, then again—it’s satoru gojo, and his dick was just one of a fuckin’ kind..
his cock was heavy, driving through your cunt like it’s been ages, and it kinda has.
with a hypnotic pivot of his askew hips, satoru makes you arch just a bit further. it’s a pretty arch, and he skips a few fingers down your curling spine. he watches you trying to wriggle away but with a cocky, “ah ah. where ya goin'?” he reels you right back into him. he’s so thick, and he only imagined how pretty you looked with your eyes lulling toward the back of your skull. “aw, don’t get shy on me now, sweetheart,” he purrs lowly, and you moan once he gives your ass a rude spank. “wanna hear my wife’s pretty voice. y’r sloppy pussy’s nice but i wanna—ngh, hear you.”
“ex-wife,” you correct him again, and you know he’s just addressing you as that just to tease you. you start to whimper as his rhythm starts to pick up, ploddingly dragging his keen hips further and further into you. “hnghh. stupid-,” you blurb out another weak squalling whimper, gluey lips starting to stick together.
you almost forgot how mean his dick game was, and satoru knew how to fuck.
he had the type of dick where it’d make you question your life choices—so good, each curve of his hips had you getting more and more stupid.
you’re pronounced cock drunk within milliseconds, and it doesn’t even take you long before your eyes were as wide as saucers, tongue lolled, and your back arches to its very limit.
and his stamina . . oh,
it never changed once he aged—he had the stamina of a fucking stallion, and his hips proved the horsepower to back it up.
“whaaat’s that?” satoru chirps, adding a bit more pressure around your throat. it’s safe - but you let off a tiny crooning moan once his strokes become deeper. you feel him reach at unimaginable angles, and your eyes start to roll back again.
satoru’s got you right where he wants, in his bed, the bed that used to be shared between you both.
he’s amping up his delirious pace, striking his feral hips into you quicker before groaning against your ear. in a hoarse tone, he licks a stripe down your neck. “such a brat, bet you don’t slut this pretty pussy out for anyone else, huh?”
you moan, feeling him breathe down your neck. cloudy hot puffs of air aerate against your skin before satoru starts to suck against your shoulder. “mmh. maybe i do. ‘s none of your business.”
“oh girl, please,” satoru replies, and his sass was enough to make your thighs quake.
you still couldn’t get used to his size - the fat fucking size of his cock that nearly makes both of your thighs clamp shut.
the shirt part of his costume snags against your skin as he’s still fucking you raw, buried balls fuckin’ deep before satoru starts to slow down.
with a wet ‘plop!’ he grunts, feeling his dick slip right out of you. “fuuck,” and he takes a moment to stare at the sight underneath him.
you, his pretty ex-wife all arched and hunched over.
your pussy’s pitifully drooling for more - sniveling wetly from the sheeny flaps as you clench around the air for a few seconds.
as a soft needy moan leaves you, you whine out an inaudible noise that sounds almost like you’re saying ‘what happened?’
“so . . fuckin’ hot,” satoru groans, re-aligning himself back against your slick-flooded entrance.
he heard your melodic ‘oooh’ leave from your lips as he was back inside, a content sigh departing from his chest. satoru can’t help but lean himself against you, bringing his hands toward your bouncy tits. “ah, can’t forget about my favorite girls,” and you let off a plethora of whiney whimpers, feeling him drag his thumbs over your sensitive nipples. satoru’s hips start to get sloppy and his cock’s just lazily swerving its way through every filthy orifice. “so pretty ‘n plump. . all mine.”
satoru continues to fondle your breasts as he’s ruthlessly pounding into you, swinish hands desperate to feel every part of your round soft tits. he’s moaning against your ear right with you, and satoru’s starting to feel himself steadily reach toward his vulgar demise.
his cock’s rude, repeatedly hitting itself against your precious beloved g-spot. it’s smothering it with a multitude of sloppy kisses with his tip, making sure it savors every wet smooch. “fuck, fuck me,” you moan, lying in a puddle of your drool that starts to dampen the pillow that rests underneath your chin.
“greedy ‘lil thing,” satoru huffs, and as he’s still playing with your tits, his pumps start to slow down. satoru’s massaging your walls so good that it’s like he’s putting a wicked spell on your pussy.
you could barely even sit up anymore, and he’s holding your hips firmly. “mmhhh, gettin’ me all soaked, baby. should make you lick me right up.”
“how about you stop talking-”
“how about i edge you ‘n let you finish this sloppy pussy yourself, huh?”
radio silence.
you moaned in response and satoru shook his head with another smarmy sneer squeezing across both corners of his pink lips.
“uh huh. ‘s what i thought,” and satoru groans the moment he feels himself starting to shrink up from the inside.
his testes were nothing but wrung out, plump, and swollen underneath you, pap papping against your ass - preparing to be milked full.
the lewd imagery alone makes him grunt, feeling a vein prod down his shaft. satoru’s abs flex through his shirt before he sighs, bringing a kiss near the back of your neck. “hah, tell me where sweetheart. where do you want it, tell me.”
“fuck,” you moan, losing count of each time his pointed tip thrashes itself against the gummy barrier of your cervix.
satoru lowly chortles, panting heavily before making you lie straight down against the bed. “heh, fuck? that’s not an answer, silly.”
“inside, fuckin’ finish inside, ‘toru,” you blurt out, hearing your voice start to strain.
you’ve been moaning your head off, and your chords were starting to sound like they’ve had just about enough.
“nuh uh, manners sweetheart. don’t act brand new,” he teases, tracing a palm over the curved shape of your perked ass. he was in so deep, you felt the pressure press down on your tummy and it gave birth to an entire school of butterflies. you slip out another moan once satoru’s slowing his impactful thrusts down, still filling you to the brim before bringing his hips to a sudden halt. he’s back up against your ear before he whispers hoarsely, “ ‘pretty pleaseee’, c’mon baby. talk to me nice.”
with a guttural whine desperately trying to rip out the back of your throat, you grumble out a bratty, “fuck you.”
“hah, you’re a trip, y’know that?” and you gasp, feeling satoru snake a hand in between your thighs.
as he drags it down to where it stops near your stuffed pussy, he starts to rub his open palm against you. you moan, arching ever further as your ass presses into him. “it’s ‘fuck me’ ‘n yet you’re bent over for me, wet for me, sloppy for fuckin’ me,” and you felt yourself starting to throb quicker the more he spoke.
within each filthy sentence, his words drip with more erotic bass in his voice—
it’s sexy, and satoru’s feeling you trying to weakly grind your ass back against him so he could finish. it’s cute, the way how you’re so impatient but such a brat.
the woman he always knew - his wife.
“sato—satoruuu,” you mewl out, another whimper flying past your spit-slick lips. the gradual sounds of skin slapping resound against the walls of the spacious bedroom before it echoes. you moan once his cock stills itself inside - waiting for you, and with a defeated moan, you huff, “fine, pretty please.”
“pretty please what, sweetheart?”
he’s annoying, and yet here you were shamefully pulsating for him, arched over for him, and babbling his name over and over again like it’s some repetitive sacred mantra.
with a pouty scoff, you grumble out a subtle, “pretty please . . cum inside, ‘toru. please.”
“atta girl, use those words,” he purrs, and you moan once he gently grabs both of your unsteady hips. satoru braces your body underneath him and he grunts once he focuses back on his release. “god, this tummy,” he rasps, and you whimper once you feel his bare hands creep underneath your warm flat body.
satoru’s body remains on top of you - pounding you ruthlessly, and that’s when he softly presses a hand against your stomach. right there, he feels a tiny bulge of himself and it makes him grunt.
you were squeezing around his cock tight, slathering the entirety of his fat cock with your slimy slick before he groans. “mhm, you’d look so pretty plump ‘n round again for me, baby,” and satoru’s starting to feel it. his body - it shakes, damn near erupting as his high’s approaching at a hasty speed. “prettiest fuckin’ mommy. fuck, ‘m gonna give you so much.”
white lashes of his snap shut as he whines into your shoulder, still pumping thick inches into you from behind—skin slapping meanly and resounding off the walls of the room before he groans out a growling, “fuck!” you’re moaning right with him, his heat radiating against your skin. satoru’s strokes were hypnotic, his hips jerk against your ass as you’re barely keeping up. your insides felt churned all the way out as he still had a hand lying on the center of your tummy, drooling at the thought of filling you up again.
when it arrives, it’s quick - it takes him only a few long drawn-out seconds before he finally lets go. white brows of his twist together as he’s slowly pumping you full of ribbons ‘n ribbons of cum.
pearly slimy globs shoot into you, and you moan out a content sigh of your own as the muscles in your shoulders relax. “fuuuck,” you breathe, hearing satoru’s groans overshadow your noises. he’s always been far louder than you, especially whenever he was finishing.
he sounded pretty, angelic almost. satoru’s eyes flicker down toward the mess that’s being made, hearing the sloppy sounds of your pussy gargle and all.
bubbles of ivory-colored seed coat the outer folds of your entrance and you feel his warmth.
gristly silky ropes dribble into you all at once, creating a milky white ring that starts to form around his base. he’s missed filling you up like this - so so bad.
satoru nearly slips out a whine as he’s dumping his all into you—casually filling you to the brim, and that’s when his hips start to get even sloppier.
he was a mess, and you’ve milked him dry. he watches as your pretty pussy’s all filled and glossed - oozing with such amounts of cum.
a bit of stringy strands started to stick and glue against your thighs like adhesive, and he couldn’t help but pull out. it’s a squishy lewd ‘pop’ that sounds the second he drags his weighty cock out from between your creamy flaps. “god, look at how pretty she is after a good fillin’,” he huffs, and you’re still catching your breath once satoru flips you over. you’re lying on your back, meeting his gaze.
you’ve never seen him more in love - oh, he was whipped.
he didn’t even have to tell you those known words because his eyes already spoke for him. satoru rubs his leaky white-coated tip against your cunt, smearing his cum all over your entrance before sighing. after he does that, satoru licks his lips and that’s when you watch his head starting to disappear, going lower.
“can’t . . let it go to waste,” he grumbles, and you moan the second you feel the tip of his tongue starting to create a slope up your right thigh.
slowly, he’s lapping up the remnants of his cum that’s spilling down your skin. you almost forgot just how filthy he was. satoru had no shame, and he even moaned once the taste of his mess met against his tastebuds. “mmh.”
“s- satoru,” you heave, a hand finding its way through his strands again. his lips were soft, and he then started to create sloppy kisses. you moan, writhing against the stained sheets before gingerly bringing his head back up.
with a sleazy grin, his eyebrows raised before you finish your sentence, tangled fingers still fishing through his snowy unkempt tresses. “kiss me.”
“heh, that’s my girl,” he hoarsely, gradually closing the distance between you both. he’s been longing to kiss you, to plant his lips against yours. satoru groans in your mouth, feeling your arms wrap around his slim waist.
he starts grinding his hips against yours, his angered reddened tip blushing the more cold air sets against it. you’ve never felt more hot, and you could feel a smirk carve against satoru’s lips as he’s making out with you.
it’s intense - his tongue explores throughout your mouth, demanding entry as you moan.
satoru’s sweating pinballs, and he presses his forehead against yours. “fuckin’ woman,” he whispers, his voice getting more and more raspy.
you could taste himself on his tongue and so could he.
it was lewd - and yet, he only wanted more. more of you and so much of it..
satoru leans into your touch, sucking on your tongue as pairs of teeth occasionally clash and smash together before that’s when you abruptly pull away.
“h..hey,” he huffs, and he’s entirely flustered. satoru’s got heart eyes in his pupils, and he’s very much whipped. of course, though, he tries not to show it by keeping up his smug, arrogant façade. “what’s— ah.”
like earlier, you switch positions and push him lightly to where he lands on his back. pretty soon, you were sure trick-or-treating was gonna be over soon for the kids—satoru mentioned earlier how they were staying out for about maybe two hours.
as you straddle his lap again, finally listening to that annoying voice in your head, you made up your mind.
fuck it.
fuck him - literally.
“lie back,” you murmur, and you watch as satoru grows sheepish. you’re getting under his skin, and your sudden change in demeanor makes him hard for what was probably the umpteenth time of the night.
like a dog – he’s obedient, going manspread again before a groan escapes out of him. as your drenched flooded cunt hovers over his tip again, you lean in to pepper chaste kisses near his neck.
“oh, finally gonna ride me now, yeah?” satoru raises a brow, though you could tell how his cockiness was fading. he was sensitive - very.
it was almost painful, and now you were just teasingly grinding the entrance of your cock back ‘n forth against his flaccid length that rests against his tummy. “shit,” he swallows, idly bringing a hand toward your waist. he sees the look in your eyes before dryly chuckling. “f- fine. but this means . . you’ll give me another chance?”
you deadpan, playfully flicking his chest back before humming. “we’ll see.”
“i’ll take it,” satoru pants, trying to flash a smile but he ends up moaning the second you’re starting to align himself against his throbbing tip.
he’s still leaking gleaming white droplets from the sides of his dick, his veiny shaft being decorated with globs and globs of pre. with a guttural groan, satoru’s abs flex through his costume before he grabs your ass, giving your left rear cheek its nth spank.
“do your worst fuckin’ then,” satoru stares up at you, a whine desperately trying to leave his slick-spit lips before he squeezes your ass. as you moan, watching his swollen tip gradually disappear between your sappy folds, gojo sighs.
as your unstable hips try to steady themselves against him, you feel satoru rub the front jeweled part of his wedding ring on your sopping cunt one more time right as you prepare to ride him.
◟sub!tsukishima, dom!reader - or at least top!reader, petnames/nicknames (baby, tsukki), praise, orgasm denial (that’s heia’s fault), persistent moody tsukishima lands himself in a spider’s web (metaphorically), riding, reader is shorter than tsukishima, not proofread.
◟ anastasia's footnote : my first repost from my old writing blog… ｡ﾟ(ﾟ´ω`ﾟ)ﾟ｡
the tallest guy in your class just happened to be the most persistent, stubborn asshole ever - you wonder if that’s where his height comes from, it’s just keeping all of that attitude contained to some glasses-wearing beanstalk. seriously, he should shrink a little. unfortunately for TSUKISHIMA, you just happened to be the doe-eyed sweetheart of the class everyone fawns over and as much as he was sick of hearing yamaguchi go on about you, he was falling under your spell too.
rain isn’t unusual around this time of year in miyagi, especially on days where you just so happened to forget your umbrella. tsukishima finds you with a light scowl on your face, staring out at the downpour. that persistent attitude comes out as he stands beside you, refusing to look down at you as he uncharacteristically offers — no, he states, that he’ll walk you home, “just get under my umbrella, dumbass. maybe if you spent less time daydreaming, you’d remember yours.”
no matter how much you refuse, waving him off, the blond is stubborn, maybe too stubborn. you can’t see his eyes behind the reflection of his glasses but if you could, you’d see the way his gaze trails down to your skirt and those knee high socks, edging at the absolute territory between them where your bare skin shows. he thinks he has you wrapped around his finger easily when you finally agree, shuffling awkwardly under the umbrella. tsukishima uses his height at an advantage as he holds the umbrella over the pair of you.
it’s awkward, silent for almost the entire way to your house. you curse under your breath at the waver of the precious shelter above you, the strong winds breaking it mere seconds later. ah. you couldn’t have wished for more things to do home when the downpour soaks you to the core, sending your blouse transparent and suddenly tsukishima can see that lacey bra underneath, a lump in his throat as you pick up the pace back to your place.
suddenly, you’re the persistent one, a sharp change from the angel of the classroom tsukishima was used to everyone doting on. your smile is innocent, coaxing him as you usher softly while the hot water fills into the small bathtub, “we’ll get sick if not, i’ll put your uniform in the dryer too.” tsukishima doesn’t forget how insistent you are to share the bath, ‘saving water’ in your words.
it’s more than difficult for him when he agrees, relaxing momentarily in the hug of hot water before you’re straddling his lap and it becomes a lot hotter. his glasses are discarded elsewhere in the small bathroom, his vision momentarily blurry but you’re close enough that he can make you out. tsukishima isn’t sure where to place his hands, faltering as he lets out an exhale and finally settles for lowering his hands beneath the surface and sitting them on your hips.
the scenario is unexpected and intimate, the way you rest your head on his shoulder as if you’re sleepy - you’re actually listening to the way his heart can’t stop racing. your chest pressed up against his, your sweet cunt barely a few inches away from his cock that keeps stirring ever-so-slightly at the circumstwnces. the water laps at your bodies, trickling down from your soaked hair into the folds and crevices of your flesh.
you’re not a fool, tsukishima can call you stupid all he likes but he knows you’re not actually an idiot - unlike kageyama or hinata. he knows you’re aware of his ongoing problem, the way he’s twitching and brushing against your inner thigh. he wishes he could read your mind when your hand reaches between your bodies, guiding his cock into your tight heat and eliciting a sharp hiss from his lips, his head thrown back against the edge of the bath.
tsukishima’s fingertips dig into your plush flesh, carving half moons from his nails as he exhales very shakily. the way your walls squeeze him, sinking down along his shaft is exactly how he imagined it during all those nights of pumping his fist up and down in desperate attempts to picture you above him, taking away all the stress of volleyball practice.
“be as loud as you want,” you coo into his ear, hot breath fanning over his skin as he tries to swallow. he’s blinking long eyelashes up at you, the way they frame his eyes hypnotising, “nobody else is home.”
his eyesight is too blurry to catch the ever so smug look on your face, breathy moans escaping against his neck as you rock your hips back and forth, back and forth. he falls apart so quick - this is much better than his fist, it’s luring him further and further under the water like a siren’s call. his whimpers drown out the sloshing of water against the side of the bathtub, panting for breath while you nip and suck at the pale skin of his neck, littering him in your own personal art.
“good boy, you’re being such a good boy,” you sigh, unable to stop a moan as he bucks his hips up to meet yours, choking on your noises momentarily. your nails dig into his shoulder for stability, raising your head to witness the flushed face of the proud middle blocker, his cheeks hot to the touch, “someone’s eager… you’re doing so well.”
tsukishima takes the praise and runs with it — good boy, you called him a good boy. god, he needs that committed to memory, he needs to hear you say it again as he swallows the lump in his throat and whines out, “please- please don’t stop- feels so good—”
who are you to deny as you circle your hips, huffing out a curse that tsukishima doesn’t miss above his strangled moans? his pretty lips are parted and you just can’t help yourself, cupping his jaw and pressing your thumb to his lower lip. tsukishima has always given you the vibe of a brat, unable to hide his attitude from the rest of the class that he sneers down on but the second he’s presented with your thumb, he’s sucking it into the wet cavern of his mouth and swirling his tongue around it.
now his moans are muffled but you’re staring contently into hazy eyes that are staring right back, regardless of how well he can see you. tsukishima knows damn well that you look so fucking beautiful right now, just like how he’s always imagined you above him. he prays that he gets another chance at this, one where he’s able to wear his glasses and see you in all your glory as you bounce on his cock, quiet mewls escaping your lips.
“do you want to finish, baby?” you mumble, tilting your head as he nods a little on your digit, eager and desperate to chase that high, the one he’s daydreamed about when he’s sneakily watched you in class, his pants insufferably tight. he thinks he was sneaky, at least but the way you’re rocking and sliding wet breasts against his chest, he’s starting to think you saw through him the whole time.
suddenly, just as his balls tighten and he’s gripping you tighter - an orchestrated symphony of muffled moans erupting from his chest, you’re pulling your hips off him, his high torn from him as he finally pulls off your thumb to pant, crying out.
you smile wickedly, your drool coated thumb tracing down from his lips to his jaw to one of those sensitive perked nipples to draw out another pathetic whine, “you’ll get your chance, tsukki. good boys get rewards… i don’t want to waste a drop in the water.”
synopsis ━━ you were in need of a roommate, and aki hayakawa needed a place that wouldn't ask any questions. you went to work during the day, while aki worked late nights. you basically had the apartment to yourself. it was honestly a match made in heaven. but then, you just had to come home one day and catch your roommate in a precarious situation. (aki x f!reader.)
content warnings ━━ voyeurism (just a wee bit), sex-deprived aki 🫶, but also possessive + jealous aki, masturbation, dirty thoughts + wet dreams, fingering, praise, multiple orgasms, classic missionary, unprotected sex, creampie, mutual pining/confession, kinda au (we're not mentioning the gun devil arc), aki has lived to see 26 + reader being a similar age, some religious imagery. nsfw (minors + ageless blogs dni).
word count ━━ 5.1k
song inspiration ━━ dealer, lana del rey / friends, chase atlantic / double fantasy, the weeknd
author's note ━━ hi.....hello.........so this idea has been in my head for a little bit, and I realize roommate aus like this are simply not that original, but god dammit I just needed to get this out of my head. anyway, I lurrrrrv sex deprived aki. shout out to my friend hollis for screaming about this with me hehe 💓
The most words you had ever said to your roommate were on the day you interviewed him before he moved in. You immediately noticed that he was strange, but also shy and seemingly harmless. When you had asked why he needed to move in so quickly, he had said something along the lines of a “toxic environment” with his previous roommates: “Denji and Power are just too noisy and reckless. They’re four years younger than me. I need a place less chaotic.” You had been interested in getting to know more – you were curious, after all, about your potential roomie – but once he mentioned that you’d probably never see him because he worked nights, you were sold.
Aki Hayakawa was your new roommate.
He had never been more excited to finally get away from Denji and Power and the tumultuous mess they had turned his apartment into. He was older now; he needed something for himself, even if it was with a roommate. Being a Public Safety Devil Hunter, he needed a place that didn’t think twice about him, a roommate who didn’t ask questions. That’s what he liked about you: your place was on the right side of the city, and you looked at him like he was normal. The Fox Devil said you weren’t going to be good for him, but Aki tended to ignore them anyway.
You had helped him move into your second bedroom just a week later and he hardly said a word, except to ask you who had formerly occupied this space. You were hesitant to talk about it at first, but you cracked soon enough: “My old best friend lived in here. We had rented this place together, but we … aren’t exactly speaking anymore,” you admitted, setting a box down at his feet. “I came home from work one evening and found my boyfriend cheating on me with her. It had been going on for months, right under my nose.” You looked away when you felt your eyes start to sting with tears, sniffling them away. “Friends come and go, I guess. But I’m thankful you, at least, worked out to rent this space.”
“Well,” he sighed, opening up the box as you turned back to him. He smirked. “I promise I won’t sleep with your boyfriend.”
You had laughed, and what a pretty sound it was. After move-in day, Aki was true to his word that you almost never saw him. You worked a normal 9 to 5, while Aki … well, you had no idea what Aki did. You assumed he was a security guard or something with the hours he worked and how he was always wearing a suit and tie. He was working all the time, even weekends. Sometimes, you would catch him coming home as you were leaving for work, or on Sunday morning as you ate breakfast in the kitchen. He would be too tired to talk, simply waving at you before retiring to his room.
It was almost like living alone … except for notes he’d sometimes leave you on the stove or the bathroom. Or the weekend mornings, when he’d get you a coffee and leave it out for you before going to his room. Or the once-in-a-blue-moon nights when you’d stumble in the early hours of the morning after drinking in the city with some friends, standing out on the deck with Aki as he smoked a cigarette. Nights like those, you could’ve sworn Fate was trying to get you two to see each other, because you would be arriving home at just the right hour and Aki would be getting off work early. And you would find him on the deck in his suit and tie, cigarette hanging from his lips, hair pulled up in his classic topknot. He would find you leaning against the railing in nothing but a short dress, the glitter on your lids making your eyes sparkle even more, and – god, you were just so pretty.
After that night, he started dreaming about you. He dreamed about how your lips would feel against his, what it would be like to have you sleep next to him and rest your head on his chest. He was consumed by thoughts of you under him, how you tasted, the way you’d tremble if he kissed that sensitive part of your neck you told him about one late night on the deck. His need for you was insatiable. In his line of work, there wasn’t much time for dating, let alone sex. He hadn’t been thinking about it that much, especially when he’d been housing Denji and Power, but now … he couldn’t stop thinking about you. Naked. Underneath him. On top. God dammit, he’d have you any way you wanted.
It made him wish he had acted on his instincts that night on the deck: pushing you against the sliding door, his lips crashing onto yours, hiking your skirt up that just barely covered your thighs and using his non-dominant hand (the one that didn’t shake) to feel how wet you were. But alas, Aki Hayakawa was a gentleman.
You two had been living together for a year. He hardly knew you, but also knew you like nobody else did. He knew how you took your coffee – black with two sugars. He knew the brand of toilet paper you liked. He knew that you liked to hang your coats in the closet on the right side. He knew you drooled in your sleep, and what TV shows made you laugh, and how much your water bill was each month.
He was acting out in ways that were unlike him. If he came home from work and saw you had a guy over, he made his presence known. When you were at the office, sometimes he would go to your room just to smell your perfume, and other times he would steal your panties. (He always gave them back, feeling too shameful. But he did keep one underneath his pillow.) Some nights, he would pretend to leave for work early and you would retire to your room for the night, and then he would hear the familiar sound of your vibrator and – fuck, he had to go to work hard. Again.
You were taking up too much space in his head. He was becoming distracted at work, thinking about what you were doing during these late hours. Maybe the Fox Devil was right: you weren’t good for him.
But he wasn’t moving out any time soon.
It was a Thursday after work and you were completely exhausted. After attending endless meetings and having to argue with coworkers all day, you left work early and were grateful to have a night alone with some leftovers from the night before. You had completely forgotten Aki telling you earlier in the week that he had this Thursday and Friday off, your mind preoccupied with work responsibilities. Sighing as soon as you walked through the door, you set your bag down and shuffled out of your shoes. You shut the door softly, at peace with the silence. You didn’t even have the energy to get out of your work clothes; you simply padded your feet to the fridge, plucking your leftovers out. It was only when you reached up to the microwave that you noticed the apartment wasn’t as silent as you assumed.
Sounds emanated from another room.
You got on your tip-toes, not wanting to make much noise if there was an intruder, and felt for the pocket knife you always kept on your person. Passing by your bedroom first, you popped your head inside. Empty. Hadn’t been touched since you left this morning. The bathroom was next, and you held your breath as the sounds got even more noticeable. You peeked into the bathroom and … clear. Linen closet: clear. Coat closet: clear. But the sounds only became more clear as you got closer to the end of the hall, Aki’s room, and –
You stopped in front of Aki’s bedroom, the door cracked just enough that you didn’t need to pop your head in to see what was happening. Aki was home, for once, and you … you were watching him through the crack in the door. But how could you not? You knew where the sounds were coming from now, because Aki was the one making them.
His dark hair swept in front of his eyes as he sat back against his pillows. He wore a white t-shirt, while his boxers bagged around his ankles. Grunts slipped from his mouth – that pretty, pretty mouth you'd seen wrapped around a cigarette. And his hand … his hand wrapped around his cock, pumping furiously – desperately – with a pair of your panties enveloping the head. The same red lace panties you thought you’d lost months ago.
You almost considered walking away, making noise in the kitchen so he would know you were home, but then –
Then, your name left his mouth in a whimper.
He was stroking himself even faster, muttering your name into the silent room with your panties wrapped so nicely around his cock. He was thinking about you, wanting so desperately cum in your panties, wondering if you thought about him when you used your vibrator. You were frozen in place, completely fixated on him as he leaned back against his headboard, his face finally exposed so you could see the way his jaw went slack, the way he moaned out your name. And – oh my god, you should leave –
But you couldn’t. And deep down, you knew there was a dirty part of you that always wanted to see this. Ever since that night on the deck, when you were wearing your favorite dress and all that glitter, and you noticed that he was looking at you in a way a platonic roommate definitely shouldn’t. You had started to think about him late nights when you were alone with your toy. You brought home dates, wanting him to see, giggling when you recognized his jealous expression. You tried to wake up earlier, just to see him when he stumbled through the door. Once, you even did his laundry to smell the nicotine on his jacket.
The two of you simply couldn’t help yourselves.
And when you watched him finally reach his peak, spilling into your forgotten red lace panties, you realized just how wet the ones you were wearing had become. You watched him grunt as he came, breathing heavily and wiping the sweat off his brow. And when he muttered under his breath a soft, “Fuck,” you couldn’t help the short gasp that left your lips.
Aki stalled. Oh, shit. You hadn’t been quiet enough. He sat up more in his bed, pulling his boxers up, and you whipped your back against the wall. You cupped your hand over your mouth, praying he wouldn’t come out and see. But he was whispering, “Who’s there?” And you only had enough time to move ten feet down the hall before you heard the creak of his soles on the old floorboards.
“Fuck,” he muttered, louder this time.
Your back went straight, and after what felt like an eternity, you slowly turned to face him. “Aki,” you put your hands up in surrender, “I didn’t see anything –”
“Oh, what the fuck,” he shook his head at himself, quickly walking back into his bedroom. You were stunned, not knowing what to do, as he continued talking to himself in the room: “Stupid fucking idiot not closing the fucking door. What the fuck? What the fuck? My worst fucking nightmare. Fuck, why do these pants always get caught around my ankles? I need to get out of here. Stay at Denji’s for the night. Fuck, fuck, fuck –”
He emerged from his bedroom, now wearing jeans, his favorite Converse, and a leather jacket. He tried to pass you without looking, whispering obscenities under his breath, but then you were tugging on his jacket, lips pressed together.
Aki paused, cheeks red with both embarrassment and anger at himself, but you didn’t let go of his sleeve. He noticed the redness of your face as well, the black of your pupils almost covering your entire eye, and were you … were you aroused?
Swallowing hard, your voice was but a mere whisper when you asked, “How long have you had those?”
He knew what you were referring to. It didn’t take an idiot. Your stares were locked, and despite his shame, he wouldn’t turn away. “A while,” he mumbled.
“How long is ‘a while?’”
“Months, okay?” His eyes narrowed and his voice took on a new tone. “Now, can you let go of my jacket so I can leave and save us both the embarrassment –”
“Months,” you repeated, licking the corners of your lips. His eyes were made of blue fire as he stared down at you, and even with your office attire on, you felt utterly naked beneath his gaze. “I’ve … I’ve been thinking about you for months too.”
Aki took a moment to process your words, and your grip hesitantly released on his sleeve. But he wasn’t – he couldn’t – let you get away so easily. His breath was shaky as he placed both of his hands on the wall behind you, pinning you to it. So many times had you two passed each other in this hallway, so many words left unsaid. And now, he was pressing you against it.
“You’ve been thinking about me … for months,” he thought out loud, leaning in a little and nosing your hair. Your scent was intoxicating. That perfume … he could cum in his pants just from smelling it. “For months, you’ve been bringing guys to the apartment to … to what? Make me jealous?” He chuckled under his breath. It took him so long to put it together. “For months, you’ve been touching yourself right before I leave so I go to work fucking hard.” His nose traveled down to your neck, grazing that spot you told him about, and you shuddered. “You’ve been putting me through the wringer and I didn’t even have a clue.”
“You’re … you’re not so innocent.” You tried to keep yourself together, but it was difficult with him pinning you to the wall and – oh, he was already hard in his pants, pressing into you. “You’ve been stealing my panties so you can masturbate with them.”
Aki hummed quietly, pressing his lips so delicately to your neck, as if his cock wasn’t completely strained in his jeans. “I supposed I have,” he whispered against your skin, “for months.”
“Since that night on the deck,” you croaked out, hands balling into fists as he licked a stripe up your neck. If he didn’t stop, you’d surely moan. “But I didn’t say anything – didn’t think about saying anything – because … because we’re roommates.”
“We are roommates,” he said, lifting his head from your neck, his lips hovering so close to yours. “And if we’re just stating facts here, I’ve needed to kiss you since that night.”
You didn’t wait for him. Immediately leaning in, your lips pressed onto his in a hungry kiss. His mouth molded to yours, and he tasted exactly like you thought: like black coffee, cigarettes, those raspberry pastries he always kept in the kitchen. His tongue, slipping into your mouth, tangled with yours in a way that you had only dreamed about. Your hands released from their fists, instead reaching up to twist in his t-shirt, bringing him even closer to you. He’d hardly touched you and you were completely, utterly soaked.
As if hearing your thoughts, his lips broke from yours for just a moment to beg, “I need to touch you.”
“Please,” you whispered back, and his mouth was back on yours.
He dragged one hand down from the wall (his shaky hand, believe it or not), still pressing you against it, and worked on unzipping your trousers. You nuzzled your nose against his as he kissed you deeply, slipping his hand in your pants, past the waistband of your panties and – you were exactly as he dreamed you’d be. Absolutely wet. Just as needy for him as he was for you. “Fuck,” he muttered into the kiss, spreading your soaked folds with two long fingers.
Your lips tore away from his, a trail of spit following, because you simply had to release the moan you’d been holding in for so long. Despite loving the way your mouth fitted against his, he was glad for it, wanting to see your face when he started rubbing your sensitive clit. And fuck, was it the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. Your fists on his t-shirt went loose as your body felt like it was made of liquid, angling into his. Your lips pursed, soft whimpers filtering out as he rubbed you in those tight circles.
“So fucking wet f’me,” he mumbled, grazing his lips over yours. “Dreamed about this for months. Fuck, I’ve gotten hard just thinking about this pussy.”
He finally dipped a single finger inside you, and your hips immediately jerked against his hand. Aki let out a shuddering breath when he felt how much you were squeezing just one finger, pumping it in and out of you slowly. “Please,” you whispered, despite his thoughts, “I can take more. I promise.”
You didn’t need to ask him twice. He shoved two fingers inside you, curling them against that spot that had your hips instantly bucking. “Fuck, Aki,” you whined as he plunged those fingers in and out of you, using his thumb to rub your clit.
“Yeah?” He breathed.
“Kiss me.”
Aki moaned from your words alone, kissing you hard while fucking you with his long fingers. He was practically drunk on you: your scent wrapped around him, you tasted like citrus, and the way bucked into his hand … god, he needed to fuck you. So bad. And if you didn’t want that, then he needed to jerk himself off immediately or else he was going to explode in his pants. The last thing he needed was another embarrassing moment tonight.
It only took seconds to have you sighing into the kiss, squeezing his fingers like a vice as you came. His thumb on your clit was relentless, taking you over that lovely peak, as you mewled and cried into his mouth. It was almost religious, the way you moaned, and Aki had never felt closer to God than in this moment.
When the adrenaline subsided, he slowly removed his fingers from you and broke the kiss. You watched him intensely as he brought the fingers covered in your slick to his mouth, tasting you. Your lips fell open slightly, eyes going wide while his own closed, savoring the taste. What the actual fuck, you thought to yourself. How the fuck have we been living under the same roof and it took this long for me to see that?
Without missing a beat, you pushed yourself off the wall, winding your arms around his neck and latching your legs to his waist. He lifted you as if you were made of air, kissing you so that you could taste yourself. Before you could even perceive how much time had passed, you were on his bed, blouse disheveled and trousers undone. Even your hair hadn’t left the updo you put it in every weekday. Your eyes flickered to the right and you giggled to yourself. He had finally shut the door.
His eyes remained on you as he shrugged off his jacket, and then his pants. He was back in the same outfit you saw him in earlier, when your panties had been wrapped around his cock like a birthday present. He hesitated before finally pulling off his shirt, and you saw the scars lining parts of his chest. Definitely not a security guard, you thought to yourself but decided not to ask about it now. You reached up as he stood between your legs, brushing your fingers over the scars, and then dragged them down his abdomen. His frame was thin, but he was more built than you believed, always hiding himself under those oversized button-ups.
He wrapped his hand around your wrist as you touched him so gracefully. “Do you want to …?” His voice was so soft, the question hanging off the edge of his tongue.
And then, you smiled up at him, looking like an angel. “Yes, Aki,” you whispered.
He felt like a kid in a candy store. The only thing – the one person – he’d been dreaming about and looked at him as if he weren’t a machine, or a gun with the trigger pulled, was lying before him and liked him. For months, they’d both said. His dominant hand was shaking as he started unbuttoning your blouse, and when you noticed (though you had observed this the day he moved in), you grabbed his hand and placed it on your cheek. With his left hand and your right, you worked together to undo the buttons until your chest was exposed for him.
Moonlight streamed through his bedroom, the only light source in a seemingly dark area. City lights reflected on you as you pulled your hair free from the updo, those pretty strands fanning on his sheets. His sheets. Because you were in his bed. The blinking lights from corporate buildings outside your little apartment created a halo around your head and – fuck, you really were something religious. For so long, Aki thought only hell existed. I mean, all the Devils were here, contracted to them. But seeing you splayed out so heavenly for him on his bed, he knew then that Angels had to exist too.
He took his time taking your pants off, watching the way you bit your lip when the cold air of his room hit your soaked panties. Your eyes glanced up to his boxers, seeing the indent of his long, thick cock, and your mouth went dry. His fingers hooked on the waistband of your panties, slowly dragging down and throwing them off to the side, hoping you’d forget about them so he could pocket another pair. With you exposed and bare on his bed, he really took a moment to admire you: the way your cheeks flushed, how the halo around your head flickered, the way your arousal seeped out of your pretty pussy and your nipples peaked. He just had to touch you; it would kill him if he didn’t. Leaning down, he began peppering kisses on your neck, your collarbone, before finally latching his lips around one of those sensitive nipples. Your breath stuttered at the sensation, and he used his left hand to palm your other breast, twisting the nipple between two fingers. You writhed under him, and he couldn’t help but grind his clothed cock against you, groaning and swirling his tongue around your nipple in tandem. Locking your legs around his waist, you held him to you so he was forced to keep grinding against you. It felt too good, and he wasn’t even inside you yet.
He tugged on your nipple and released it, breathing heavily as his eyes met yours. “If you don’t let me go, I’m definitely going to cum before I’m even inside you.”
“Poor Aki,” you giggled, letting your legs fall back on the bed. “Would that really be so bad?”
His eyes were burning into yours, serious as a heart attack. “I’ve been fucking my hand to the thought of you for what feels like forever,” he whispered, pressing a light kiss to the valley between your breasts. “I don’t want to ruin this moment.”
Aki moved up so that his lips were hovering over yours again, and he could really see the sparkle of your irises in the moonlight. You reached in between your bodies and gingerly massaged his bulge, feeling how much he’d already soaked his boxers with precum. “You couldn’t ruin anything even if you tried,” you replied, your voice light and airy. “I’m on the pill. I’m ready when you are.”
“Shit,” he groaned at your mention of being on the pill, trembling as you massaged him. This had to be another one of his dreams. Just the thought of being inside you without the barrier of a condom … he was so close to completely exploding. He didn’t deserve this, didn’t deserve you, after all the hell he’d witnessed and brought forth into this world. But he couldn’t help himself. He needed to have you, roommates be damned.
He stood up, needing to get away from your gentle hand. You sat up a little to help him tug down his boxers, careful of that shaky hand of his, and his cock sprang free, dripping precum on the floor. Aki, ever the gentleman, laid you back down on his bed with ease, holding your stare as he spread your legs wide for him. He breathed, praying to whatever god placed you in front of him that he wouldn’t cum prematurely. He couldn't remember the last time he had sex, but he was so desperate for you that all he cared about was not tainting this moment, this dream.
Aki grasped his cock, giving it a few hard pumps and grunting, before positioning himself at your entrance. You both seemed to hold your breath as he finally slid in, just an inch at first, and the two of you seemed to release that shaky, nervous breath. “Oh, fuck,” he groaned, burying himself further in your tight warmth, bracing his elbows beside your head.
“Keep going,” you begged. “It’ll fit, Aki. Promise.”
You were going to kill him, he was sure of it. Aki had felt the way you squeezed his fingers, but it was nothing compared to pleasure of being inside you, feeling how tight you really were. So much better than his hand. Once he was fully seated inside you, he opened his eyes just to look into yours. Your lips pursed, legs wrapping around his waist once again, and you slowly nodded for him to continue. His cock twitched.
“You’re going to be the death of me,” he muttered, sliding out of you before slamming back in. You cried out, carding your fingers in his hair, and he molded his face in the crook of your neck to muffle his own whimpers. You just felt so, so good – so good that he could cry. To think that his bed had once been so cold, so lonely, but now you were occupying the space, trembling underneath him as his cock slipped in and out of you.
Your moans were like gospel. For so long, Aki had been used to loud noise: to Denji’s complaints, to Power’s shouting, to the Devils’ in his ear. But now, it was just you two on the altar of your apartment, silent except for your heavy breaths mingling and the sound of car horns outside. You were wet and slick like holy water, taking him so nicely despite his size, and god – it was like you were made for him and he was made for you.
You tugged on his hair, needing him so badly even though he was already yours to begin with. He really would have you any way you wanted. All you had to do was ask.
Aki was already so close to release, but he needed you to cum with him. As he fucked into you harder, deeper, his cock curving against that spot that made your eyes roll back, he reached in between you two and found that swollen bundle of nerves in the apex of your thighs. “Aki,” you whined, tears pricking at your eyes as he rubbed your clit. He could die happily now that he heard your voice like that in his ear, knowing it was him that made it happen.
“Yes?” He said, breathless, placing sloppy kisses on your jaw. You clung to him, melting into him like ice cream on a hot summer’s day. “I’m so close. Are you close, angel?”
You whimpered at the nickname. “Almost.”
“Almost?” He fingers went a little faster. “Let’s get you there.”
As his two fingers rubbed tight, small circles on your clit, he angled his cock inside of you so that he could brush your G-spot with every thrust. You were now clutching onto him with all the strength you had left, entwining your body with his and feeling his muscles flex against your stomach. He was so deep now and you were so close and oh my god, Aki Hayakawa had you like putty in his hands.
And it was like he knew it without you even saying it. Because as your walls started to clench around him, he whispered into your ear. “Cum for me, angel. Please, please, need to cum with you.”
Your body convulsed, going tight around his cock as you came. Tears streamed down your cheeks and you called out his name, spurring him to fuck into you faster, reaching his own peak in the middle of yours. He groaned deep into your neck, hips stuttering as he spilled himself inside of you. You kept your legs around his waist, not wanting to miss a drop, and arched yourself against him, coming down from the high of your intense orgasm. Aki was still rubbing your clit slowly, whispering praises into your skin like, “Did so good me … So pretty … Could listen to you cum for hours.”
You two laid like that for a while, feeling his cock soften inside you, panting heavily against each other. Once he finally pulled out of you, your combined releases dripping down your thighs, you laid beside each other on his bed and stared at the ceiling. The silence was comforting, until he whispered, “Please, tell me that wasn’t all a dream.”
Turning your head, you smiled at him. “Do you feel this?” You pinched his arm.
Hi, I really liked your account <3. Could you make a hc of Daisuke with the reader being Swansea's daughter? But I understand if you don't want to :>
(sorry if the writing is bad, English is not my first language and I used the translator ಥ_ಥ)
YES YES I WILL HAPPILY WRITE THAT (your english is better than mine and english is my first language lmfao.)! this is such a cool idea though and i never even thought of it. this is my first req ever im so excited tysm!!
✎ "but daddy i love him!" (i'm havin' his baby, NO IM NOT but you should see your faces ;)) -taylor swift
warnings! - SMUT HCS + SFW!, vibrator, pegging, reader being swanseas daughter and getting w daisuke, MY FIRST REQ GUYS BE SO PROUD, evelyn is freaky 😼
SFW!!
oh jesus this is certainly a concept
you're there for almost the same reason daisuke is, for in internship.
however... daisuke is there since his parents are rich asf and paid for him to go, you're there because you've been rejected from your dream job and went into a depression due to it.
swansea knew he wouldn't let his daughter suffer, so he asked if you could been an intern on the ship for Anya.
the Pony Express executives were hesitant at first, but caved when Swansea offered for them to renew his contract for longer.
your first day aboard, you make fast friends with Anya and faster friends with Daisuke.
you ended up having to share a room with daisuke, in bunk beds.
a flirty/silly argument about who got top bunk, ending with daisuke going “what if we just share?”
he knew damn well
taking advantage of your stunned face and mind, he jumped up on the top bunk and stuck his tongue out at you.
”i was just joking, mini mechanic.”
100% calls you mini mechanic for the rest of the time on the ship even though technically HES the mini mechanic but wtv let him have his fun
is actually so glad you’re relatively the same age as him, and was really excited to be able to talk w you about younger and occasionally inappropriate stuff
UNTILL he found out you’re his boss’s daughter..!
tries to keep the dirty jokes to a minimum, but fails miserably
it was always pretty obvious that he had a thing for you, even before yall got together
would be asking swansea abt you 24-7 and your hobbies and favorite things only to be met with “stay away from my daughter, juarez.”
is now 10x more scared
and you’re also 10x more attractive to him since he knows he can’t have you
intentionally gets his finger jammed in something while helping your dad so he can go to medbay and see you
once you’re about a month into the trip, you two have regular staying up late and YAPPING sessions in your room
he’ll occasionally come down from his bunk and sit on the floor next to your bed if the topic is deeper, until you notice he looks uncomfortable on the metal floor and tell him to come sit on the bed
anddd thats how babies are made folks! the end!
nah jk anyways you two talk until the early hours of the artificial ‘morning’ on the ship
when yall finally run out of things to talk about, you realize he’s laying next to you and you’re laying on his arm
oh nooo how did that happen (fuck already damn)
“comfy there?”
”shut up.”
”make me, mini mechanic.”
”now is not the time to bring up my father, dai.”
you playing w his hair and growing to understand how much he loves when you do that
eventually falling asleep in each others arms
you cannot tell me this mf isn’t SO comfy to sleep on be so fr
waking up to YOUR DAD 🤗 banging on the door demanding that daisuke get up and come help him fix smth in the storage
getting jump scared and shaking dai awake bc bro is knocked out and snoring
him opening the door and yall having to act like you weren’t wrapped in each others arms, entirely consumed in the other
holy shit that was fuckin poetic
awkwardly waving bye to him, both of you having a knowing smile tugging at your lips
he eventually asks you out, VERY awkwardly and in the middle of one of the routine late night talks
you accept happily (no shit)
doing basically everything together
always bringing dai along when you’re in front of your dad js for funsies and to piss him off a little
even while swansea doesn’t seem like he approves of the relationship, he secretly loves how sweet and gentle daisuke is to you
+ his parents are rich so you’re set!!
always telling Anya you need to go ask your dad something when really you js wanna see your pretty boyfriend
you both love each other so fucking much it’s insane. and getting your dad to approve is next level
NSFW….!! (watch out 😛😼 ‘ya girl evelyn is a wee bit freaky)
if you’re a little bolder, you definitely jerk dai off under the workbench where both he AND YOUR FATHER are working (this hc isn’t mine i saw it somewhere else on tumblr btw i js love it sm)
ok listen. dai is a sub at heart, but a bratty sub.
tries to talk back to you? his ass is getting bent over the nearest surface and fucked stupid by your strap (it’s always close by 😼)
also jacking him off while another crew mate is nearby, one i think would be good is curly’s bday celebration. jacking dai off as he’s trying so hard to focus on making the cake while all you can focus on is his slutty noises spilling uncontrollably from his mouth.
going down on him while he’s talking abt his usual unluckiness when trying to find a girl to truly love him, and now js his money. slowly unzipping his jeans while he keeps ranting, breath slightly jagged now.
“they alway-.. (y/n)? uh- what are y- mhmmm. never mind. feels good.”
he says as you gently tug his pants down, letting him fall around his ankles as you look up at him w those fucking eyes. shit. he’s a goner.
leaning back against whatever wall you undoubtedly have him pushed against, head thrown back as his trimmed nails run through you hair, egging you on.
you’re totally in swansea’s office change my fucking mind and he’s sitting on your dad’s desk 😋
“don’t mess up any papers, pretty. don’t want my father finding out you were gettin’ all ruined by his daughter on his desk, now do you?”
“n-no.. don’t mm- don’t want that.”
“then keep quiet and be good.”
he’s so fuckin freaky he’s defo an exhibitionist
you’re a girl- so you obviously brought a vibrator be SO fr w me rn
you definitely press it against his tip while slowly licking up the base
he is SO vocal that you have to tie his hawaiian shirt around his mouth so that he won’t YELL
gets cum on an important paper and yall have to throw it away lmfao
swansea being confused as shit abt where the document went and has been searching the Tulpar and asking all the crewmates if they’ve seen it
𐙚 you're so nice to everyone and he wants you to be nice to HIM! :(
𐙚 in all seriousness he loves how sweet you are to him and to everyone, he sees it as a contrast to everything else in his world
𐙚 he does hate how kind you are to ANYONE though, especially tsukasa
𐙚 when you first met tsukasa, you didn't even take into account all the violence, you just introduced yourself!
"hi!! you're tsukasa right! i'm (your name) it's so amazing to meet you i love meeting new people... or ghosts!"
𐙚 you're so chipper all the time it's not hard to keep up with you, he can see your positive aura from miles away!
TSUKASA YUGI
𐙚 he loves it... only when it's to him!
𐙚 i mean how can you blame him! you're HIS partner you shouldn't be nice to anyone but him!:(
𐙚 anytime you're being a little too nice (in his eyes) to anyone that's not him, he either wraps his whole body around you or takes you away immediately
𐙚 and of course you don't get upset about it! you love him too much to be mad at him
𐙚 no matter what, if you're talking to someone, whether it be kou or sakura, he WILL make himself known
𐙚 everyone has to know that your kindness doesn't mean affection! your affection is for him only
KOU MINAMOTO
𐙚 he absolutely adores it!
𐙚 he loves how kind you are to everyone and it adds a perfect balance to your relationship
𐙚 he's always freaking out about something, and you always being so nice to him helps him calm down and think a bit clearer
𐙚 he does get a bit jealous when you're giving others the same friendliness you give him but when you go on to give him a kiss and a praise about how amazing he is!
𐙚 on that note, everytime you give him a compliment, he goes crazy! and it happens a lot since you love doing it :3
𐙚 he doesn't like when you're kind to the apparitions and the wonders because he's worried that it'll cause more harm than good to you, he just loves you so much he would die if anything bad happened to you especially at the expensive of something he exposed you to :(
YASHIRO NENE
𐙚 she absolutely adores it!
𐙚 unlike the others she doesn't see any way your kindness could hurt you
𐙚 your friendliness is the reason she fell in love with you at the start!
𐙚 she loves when you get along with hanako, mitsuba and the other apparitions
𐙚 she is genuinely so attracted to your kindness and it's no secret either! anytime you say anything nice to anyone she just admires you and fangirls to herself :3
𐙚 she gets so flustered anytime you compliment her she's the embodiment of >w<
𐙚 knowing that you care for her more than anyone, she clings onto you a lot, and she adores that you don't even push her away or anything you just hold onto her closely
𐙚 you and her are the cutest and kindest couple out there! you and her are just two balls of sunshine :3
i've never written for tbhk i hope you guys like it 😓
an: i saw this guy who looked EXACTLY like daisuke and he had tattoos and i IMMEDIATELY knew i had to get to writing
FILL UP MY INBOX W REQUESTS THIRSTS OR ANYTHING :3
𐙚 tattoo artist! daisuke who always gives you free tattoos and excuses it by saying he's practicing, but he's really just giving you a "i like you" discount :3
𐙚 tattoo artist! daisuke who gives you tattoos similar to his in the same spots as his when you ask him to surprise you! he totally doesn't just wanna have matching tattoos ;3
𐙚 tattoo artist! daisuke who got insanely flustered the first time you asked for a back tattoo because you had to take off your shirt (he took extra long to finish because his hands kept shaking)
𐙚 tattoo artist! daisuke who visits you so he can "see how the tattoo is healing" but really he just wants to see you
𐙚 tattoo artist! daisuke who has an instagram page dedicated to his work, but you happen to be the star of every post! what a coincidence!!
𐙚 tattoo artist! daisuke who offers to take you out after every session :3
𐙚 tattoo artist! daisuke who convinces you to get matching tattoos of something silly like cats with him
𐙚 tattoo artist! daisuke who thinks about how he touches your body at night when he's by himself ;3
𐙚 tattoo artist! daisuke who clears his appointments just to be able to take you whenever you need him to :33
im gonna touch anyone who makes mouthwashing ships. Like wth dude its the most unshippable group of characters.
daisuke is Litteraly 19 while everyone else is at least in their 30s (except swansea whose in his 50s which is worse+ they have a father son relationship)+ shipping him w jimmy is weird as hell, anya looks like a complete lesbian + its weird to ship her with curly since he dismissed her when she tried to tell him about jimmy, you cant ship her with jimmy because..i dont even need to explain it, shipping her with daisuke is weird because hes like a decade younger than her and they have a sibling bond, and who tf ship her with swansea, and curly and jimmy..im extremely confused about them since yes, theyre cute but uuuh..jimmy Litteraly abused physically and mentally of curly bruh, its just toxic yaoi ngl.
Like yall need to get that not every fucking pieces of medias needs ships or just romantic relationships in everything, ships arent nessecarry, just enjoy the game/movie/show lmao. Like damn bruh..wth 😭
Anyway, i know im gonna piss off people but please if you dont agree w me just block me.
THISSS. LIKE ANYA IS A LESBIAN, AND IF YOU DISAGREE W THAT THEN YOU CAN AT LEAST TAKE INTO ACCOUNT HER AND CURLY HAD NO SORT OF EMOTIONAL CONNECTION. HE WAS THE CAPTAIN OF THE SHIP AND LIKE THEY SAID HE DISREGARDED HER UNTIL IT WAS TOO LATE. JIMMY HIMSELF IS JUST HORRIBLE AND DAISUKE IS WAY TOO YOUNG FOR ANYONE ON THE SHIP. SWANSEA LITERALLY HAD A WIFE AND KIDS
