𝗐𝗂𝗇𝗍𝖾𝗋 ❆

certified goon writer | 18, sagg, sweetaholic with the occasional craving for my jjk!husbands

[wintertreeflower]

https://www.tumblr.com/wintertreeflower/814637096220459008/%F0%9D%99%92%F0%9D%99%9D%F0%9D%99%9A%F0%9D%99%A7%F0%9D%99%9A%F0%9D%99%A8-%F0%9D%99%A9%F0%9D%99%9D%F0%9D%99%9A-%F0%9D%99%9B%F0%9D%99%A4%F0%9D%99%AA%F0%9D%99%A7%F0%9D%99%A9%F0%9D%99%9D-synopsis-youre-a-biomedical?source=share

I like it a lot! Your writing style is so good and interesting to read. Will it have a continuation?

hi! I’m so glad you like it and thanks for reading :) i have a couple ideas for another chapter but it might take some time (finals is currently kicking my butt 😭)

[wintertreeflower]

𝙒𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙚'𝙨 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙛𝙤𝙪𝙧𝙩𝙝?

synopsis: You’re a biomedical engineer student who’s joined an elite interdisciplinary research program under Dr. Yaga. It’s the day before your first meeting with the renowned mentor researcher. You were told it was four other students apart of the research group. Yet you've only met three of them.

wc: 4,137

a/n: this is completely different from what i usually write but i thought of it and couldn't not write it. let me know what you guys think!

┊ ┊ ┊ ┊┊ ┊ ┊ ┊

The house didn’t look like a dorm but it didn’t quite look like a home either. 

It sat looming darkly on freshly cut grass. Tall arched windows. Cracked brick overtaken by luscious ivy, a stark contrast to the rest of the clean and modern campus. 

A small golden plague was on the prestigious dark wood door. A name of some doctor you couldn’t recognize. Probably the one that was funding the upkeep of the historical campus house. 

“Is your keycard not working, honey?” 

You glance away from the suffocating energy of the building to look at your mom who’s placing the last cardboard box of all your belongings. 

Which isn’t really much. You were a minimalist at heart. Or that's what you told people instead of telling them you were too broke for your own good graduate student. 

You hadn’t even attempted using your keycard, the little white plastic you’d picked up as the official IHSI scholar. 

“Just thinking of what I'm gonna say, I guess,” you mutter, trying not to sound as nervous as you feel. 

But your mom can see right through you. She smiles warmly, placing a comforting hand on your tense shoulder. 

“They’re not gonna bite you, y/n.” 

They might. You were the new fellow, only now entering into the Interdisciplinary Human Systems Initiative program because—just as your luck would have it—the last student dropped out. 

You weren’t only walking into a research group that had already been established for four months prior but into the incredibly dense, incredibly complex experimental study according to the near novel size of your welcome packet. 

You weren’t really nervous about meeting the other fellows. But you were a bit intimated that you had a lot of catching up to do on all of the discoveries and progress they’d already made without you. 

“I know,” you say as you pick up one of your moving boxes and make your way to the black etched scanner by the front door. 

I’ll be fine, you reassure yourself. 

"Of course you’ll be fine, honey.” Or apparently you reassured me out loud. “I birthed a prodigy. Look at where that smart mind of yours took you.” 

You breathe out, a smile small tugging at your lips. Your mom really was your number one supporter. Your best friend. 

“You’re the reason my ego is so big,” you joke, scanning your ID card against the black plastic. It flashes green in an instant, confirming the thing you really thought was all just a dream until now. 

A fellow of the most selective research initiative under the mentorship of Doctor Masamichi Yaga. It was any graduate student's dream really to learn under his wisdom. 

Your mom is right beside you as you enter the house proper, voicing lowering as she whispers, “You get that from your father.” 

A soft laugh escapes you, the only sound in the quiet, still house. 

Don’t let everyone greet me, you think. 

“Uthaime,” a voice wanders from up the grand staircase. “I think the new girl is here.” 

Lips thinning at the name, you’re swift as you haul in the rest of your belongings—just four sad medium sized boxes stacked by the bottom of the stairs. 

Footsteps sound against the hardwood floor as two of the research fellows make their way down the stairs. 

“Hi,” you greet them, probably sounding more cheerful than what’s matching their energy. 

The girl with short brown hair is the only one smiling, if you can call it a smile. And the other one with hair set into two holds just looks at you like you're a case to be handled cautiously. 

“Hey there,” comes the semi-smiling fellow. Her eyes are the color of honey, kind against her pale face. 

She waves as the two of them reach the bottom of the staircase. 

“I’m Shoko. You must be the new student joining our research.” 

“Yeah,” you respond, “I’m y/n. I’ll be a computational biomedical engineering student.” 

“I know,” Shoko says. Oh? “You’ll be incredibly helpful in the groups Doctor Yaga assigned.” 

“I wasn’t aware there were assigned groups,” you admit bashfully. Though you suppose it made sense to divide the minds into multi-domains for practical reasons. 

The girl standing unusually close to Shoko pipes up. “You’re not actually assigned to one.” 

Were you crazy or did that sound rude? 

Shoko laughs as if knowing the way it came off to you. 

“What Utahime means is that you’ll actually be working with both the study groups. Geto and Gojo run the Theoretical Systems Division. And we work on the more human application of it all.” 

Gojo and Geto. The other two fellows that were nowhere in sight. 

“Thanks for letting me know.” 

Shoko shrugs, the fabric of her blue tanktop bunching at the shoulders. 

“Yaga likely won't tell you this. He’ll expect you to do just about everything when we have our report meeting tomorrow.” 

You could already imagine the long night you were about to have, studying the welcome packet like you were a worshiper analyzing the bible. You were determined that you would be prepared tomorrow, if anything to not stick out like a sore thumb in front of your new mentor. 

“That’s a whole lot of nonsense I'm hearing,” your mom pipes up beside you. “You kids are so dense in your language.” 

Shoko laughs again. You do too. 

Utahime, as reserved as you’re just beginning to realize, explains, “It’s a complex area. Our research.” 

“My baby has got one hell of a complex mind,” she smiles, tapping your head. 

Blood pools to your checks. “Mom,” you whisper embarrassed. 

“Shush now. It’s the truth.” 

Her forehead wrinkles as she begins searching the house animatedly. Likely for any signs of the other two fellows.

Suddenly, the house rumbles as a heavy door slams. From where you're standing in the entrance you can just hardly make out that there's another entrance, one that leads where you assume the backyard is. 

A smooth, even voice filters in at the newcomer. 

“The wasps are back again,” the newcomer grumbles. “Uthaime where’s the—” 

“Suguru,” Shoko calls out, entirely too loud that your brows raise up. “Come to the front door.” 

Footsteps sound, a figure emerging from the dark hallway. He’s dressed white button down, casual jeans, hair up in a bun. 

“You must be y/n,” Suguru greets. Finally! Someone knows your name. 

“Nice to meet you.” You smile as you grasp his extended hand in a polite handshake. 

“The pleasure is mine,” he comments politely. “We’ve been struggling in translating our theories into the stimulation system. So your presence was something we all looked forward to too.” 

It’s probably the nicest thing anyone has ever said to you and you don't dwell on how that's kinda sad. 

“Happy to help where I can.” 

As a biomedical engineer, you understood the foundational principles behind the research group’s goal: the restoration and reconstruction of human function across biological and cognitive systems. In theory, it sounded clean—mapping how neural pathways degrade after trauma, modeling how tissue regeneration could be accelerated, or simulating how certain interventions might restore lost motor function. But those were only frameworks, abstractions built from data and equations.

The medical side of it, though, was not your domain in the same way. You weren’t the one interpreting patient histories or making clinical judgments at the bedside. Your focus leaned toward computational and practical application—building systems that could take something like a damaged neural network and simulate its possible recovery pathways, or testing how different variables might affect organ resilience under stress conditions. 

You could model how a spinal injury might respond to different regenerative inputs, but you weren’t the one deciding what those inputs meant for an actual patient in a hospital setting.

It made sense why Yaga had placed you in both theoretical and application. Essentially, you’d be the buffer that linked their findings together. 

“Might you be her sister,” Geto asks, extending his hand to your mom who’s smiling like a Cheshire cat. 

“I’m her mother,” she replies, proud and flattered. “I was aware that two males live here?” 

You can already feel where this is going, praying your mother doesn’t say something that’s gonna make you run into oncoming traffic. 

Geto nods and you're silent as he explains, “Gojo doesn’t exactly live here full time. Just pass by when we have meetings held here.” 

“Ah.” Don’t do it, mom. “I don’t suppose you have a girlfriend, Geto.” 

Shoko snorts. Suguru blinks as if not expecting the question. Even Utahime is hiding her amusement behind her hands. 

Oh my god. 

In a voice that sounds more patient than you’re currently feeling, you whisper slowly to your mother, “You can’t ask him that.” 

Geto is rubbing his neck to which you throw him an apologetic glance.

“What,” she defends, throwing her hands. “I just wanna make sure no funny business happens here.” 

“Mom.” 

“You all are young and attractive—” 

“Mom! I think you’re going to miss your uber to the airport.” 

As if oblivious to the embarrassment written all over your face, blind to the sudden hint that she should kindly exit herself out of the situation, she frowns. 

“My flight is at 7.” 

But you’ve already got your hand on the door, letting in the very much needed breeze that cools your skin gratefully. 

Hollering out to the group of three as you hackle your mom onto the front steps, “Gonna drive her instead. Lovely to meet you all.” 

The door slams, hiding three curious and amused stares. 

You narrow your eyes at the smirk tugging at your mothers lips. 

“You totally did that on purpose.” 

Her laugh is sharp, fingers pinching your checks in the way you hate but endure because she’s been doing that ever since you could remember. 

“Now they know you have a mother that stands in business for you.” 

You’re grumbling despite the chuckle that escapes you. 

“God, I don't know how dad puts up with your immaturity.” 

The sun wraps around you warmly as you walk besides her through the lively campus. 

Plenty of people have blankets laid down on the plush grass, enjoying the weather. Butterflies follow each other, dancing around the stem of a sunflower. The chirping sound of a jay perched on the roof of the Arts building. Everyone and everything is enjoying the last bits of summer before autumn comes right around the corner. 

“He quietly enjoys it. Especially—” 

You stop her immediately. “Please do not say another inappropriate thing. I think my ear may bleed if you mention your sex life right now.” 

“I was going to say during book club.” But there's a sparkle in her eyes, the same color of yours, that lets you know your gut was right. 

The two of you walk to where your beaten car is parked in the campus garage. Talking about first day jitters for tomorrow. How your father would have come if the business hadn’t needed him back home. 

There’s the familiar paint of your car when you click your keys and pop the trunk to receive your mothers suitcase. 

“Tell him not to work too hard,” you say about your father. 

Eyes rolling, “He doesn’t listen when I say it. You know how stubborn he is.” 

Yeah you do. 

There’s a sharp ache in your chest all of a sudden as your mom leaves the handle of the suitcase. 

Goodbyes are hard. Probably the one thing you hate about attending the country’s most elite university. The distance between here and home. 

A lodge of emotions gets stuck in your throat when you say, “I’ll try to come down for thanksgiving. But…” 

Your mother waves a hand like she knows the words that complete this sentence. 

With your research program, the grueling life of being a graduate student, finding the time to come home is going to be much tougher than it ever had been. 

“I’ll see you when I can, baby girl. You just stay focused on why you’re here. Becoming Doctor y/n.” 

There’s unshed tears in your eyes as you pull her into a hug, arms wrapped tight. 

“I’m gonna miss you,” you whisper into her hair that smells of her perfume, of security and comfort, of home. 

Despite the easy exterior she carries, seriousness bleeds into her tone. “Me too.” 

When you pull away, there’s a stream of tears falling down her cheeks. 

“You said you wouldn’t cry this time.” 

“Spare me. I’ll cry each time until I guilt trip you to come home.” 

The parking garage echoes with the laughter coming from you too. 

“So,” you say, feeling much lighter, “you sure you don’t want me to drive you to the airport. I still can.” 

At the risk of losing hours from reviewing the welcome packets but this was your mother you were talking about. The woman who had you at eighteen and sacrificed more in her life to give you a life she couldn't have for herself. 

She shakes her head, grey hairs catching in the light. 

“Your father already scheduled it.” 

“Can’t he let me enjoy my little time with his wife,” you grumble. 

“What can I say? I married a greedy man.” 

The elevator takes the two of you to the base floor where there’s already a parked car with its hazards flashing on. 

“Update me on tomorrow, okay? I want to hear everything.” 

You nod, making that promise as you share a final hug. 

“Bye, baby girl!” 

“Safe flight!” 

By the time the car pulls around the corner and it fades into the distance, the sun is setting lower, time ticking down to study all that there is about tomorrow. 

…

You had come back to the house to find that your boxes had been moved to the front of your bedroom door. 

You weren’t exactly sure who was responsible since everyone had disappeared to wherever but nonetheless you were still grateful. 

Sheets sprawled all over your uncomfortable bed. Neck aching with how long you’ve had it craned down in your study session. The sun has long since set by the time there’s a knock on your door. 

You blink, not moving, too focused on understanding the restoration section on neural and biological system function when it comes again. 

The long hours you spent curled up on the mattress that was closer to a bed of rocks rendered your joints stiff. 

You were entirely ungraceful as you scrambled, body stiff before plummeting to the ground. 

“Ouch.” 

“y/n?” 

It’s Geto. You confirm it when you fling the door open, trying to appear as put together as you can manage.

He can clearly see that you're not. Hair sticking in an odd direction in the ponytail you didn’t bother in perfecting. Eyes sagging with the strain of too many equations, too many theories, not enough understanding. 

“I wanted to let you know that we’re going to Grove.” 

The name of the bar registers in your nearly fried mind. 

“Oh. Have fun.” 

Suguru chuckles softly. What was funny? 

“You're coming too,” he explains and, yeah, you flush at the fact that you even needed that explained to you. “I think it’ll be a nice way to get familiar with everyone.” 

“Of course,” you respond a bit too quickly. Maybe you shouldn’t have locked yourself in your room for five hours. “I mean yeah,” you say slower. “Let me get dressed.” 

“Take your time. You’ll meet Satoru as well.” 

“Cool.” 

How you managed to lose your ability to be normal is beyond you. 

Suguru just smiles, heading down the hall for the stairs. “We’ll wait for you by the door,” he calls before you shut the door. 

You let your head fall back against the wood, sighing at the stress that seems to be permanently cemented in your shoulders. 

By the time you resemble a sane person, fixing your hair, changing out of your sweat set, and putting on the barest bit of makeup, you feel more ready to be social. 

“...real TBI cases, it’s not a clean cascade; it’s diffuse axonal injury with uneven network disruption and very inconsistent symptom outcomes.” 

Shoko leans against the wall, arms crossed over her black sweater. 

“You’re assuming neural activity maps cleanly onto cognition, but that’s not guaranteed. It might just be a convenient description, not how the system actually is.” 

His hair is down, piercing shining under the entrance light, eyes set on his phone as he continues. 

“That’s just an assumption about how you’re measuring it, not proof that’s how it actually works.” 

Utahime is the one to acknowledge your presence. 

“Why don’t we ask y/n?” 

You freeze, obviously in the middle of whatever conversation they were having about the research subject. 

“Me?” 

“Yeah. They’re bickering over whether brain damage is actually a cascading network failure,” Utahime says, catching you up. 

“Or,” Geto adds, pocketing his phone, “if that’s just the way it’s been described.” 

“Depdens on if the system is even fully simultable yet. You’d have to take into account factors like neural noise and metabolic constraints." 

Shoko blinks like perhaps she hadn’t expected you to be up to speed this early. 

Suguru seems like he’s factoring in what you just said to the theories he’s already concocted in his mind, forehead scrunched in deep thought. 

“We can talk more about it after a drink,” you shrug, taking the final step off the staircase. 

Utahime grins, though it’s more to herself. Shoko and Suguru are the first to leave, Utahime right beside you. 

“Thank you,” she says. 

“For?”

Her voice is low, thumb darting to where the two are already making their way on the sidewalk. “For shutting them up.” 

You laugh, a bit surprised. 

“I should warn you. Gojo is so much worse.” 

“How so?” 

Her lips are thinned, like perhaps she doesn’t even like saying the fellows name. “You’ll see.” 

…

You don't in fact find out because Gojo doesn’t show. Something about getting held up at an event his parents were hosting. 

Geto doesn’t reveal anything else. 

It’s a shame since you were intent on getting to know everyone before tomorrow but you don’t dwell on it too long. 

The alcohol in you doesn’t either. 

The bar is casually filled with people from summer semester. Joking and conversing a bit louder than the music that’s playing. A group particularly hoots by the pool table where someone has just won a match.

“Utahime screamed so loud our principal heard it from two floors above. Called us in to see if someone was losing a fight.” 

You can’t help but chuckle at the story of how Shoko and Utahime met, apparently all the way back to high school. 

Utahime’s face is flat, as if she doesn’t like when her friend recalls the story in that way. Shoko just grins into her beer as she swings a sip. 

“And where were you in all of this,” you point your seltzer at the raven haired man who nurses his drink calmly. 

“Probably with his nose stuffed in a book written by some chronic thinker,” Utahime grumbles. 

Geto’s eyes shine with mirth. “Are you mocking my literacy skills because you have none?” 

You bite your lip at the frustration that flushes all over the brown eyed girl. Who knew she got so riled up when she drank. 

“I’m mocking you because you were a loser. Who practically were conjoined to Gojo’s hip and always pulling your insufferable pranks.” 

“Our pranks,” Geto says, leaning in the bar stool, “we’re legendary.” 

“Not how I remember it,” Shoko mutters. 

Suguru narrowed his eyes like that and personally offended him. 

“Care to explain,” he told the MD/PHD student. 

Shoko shrugs. “Only that you disappeared for a month junior year. You and Satoru. Couldn’t have been a coincidence." 

Utahime points, laughing. “Oh you totally were suspended, weren't you?” 

The answer comes out very, very slowly. “Maybe.” 

“Your guilt is all over your face,” you grin. “Wouldn’t have taken a Philosophy major to be a deviant.” 

Geto rubs at his neck, long hair shifting with the movement. 

“In my defense Satoru was the one who got us caught.” 

You hum into your drink, letting the strawberry flavor seltzer dance on your tongue.

“What about you,” Suguru questions. “Where did you come from?” 

Suddenly there's three pairs of eyes on you. You're caught off guard by the direction placed on you, your throat moving slowly as you swallow your drink.

“I’m from a very small town in the country. Um. I grew up on a farm so I never really had any plan to get my PhD when I was in high school.” 

“Where in the country,” Shoko asks. “I volunteered all over the state in underprivileged regions.”

You’re doubtful but you tell them anyway. 

“Yeah, I've never heard of it.” 

You shrug, chuckling. 

“Just because you interned for a summer doesn’t mean you’re well traveled, Shoko,” Suguru points out. 

“Huh. You’re just saying that because they didn’t accept you.” 

“No…”

Utahime groans, arms flung on the oak bar top. “You’re annoying when you lie, Geto. And you’re boring me half to death.” 

“I’m hurt, Utahime,” he deadpans. 

“I’m going to throw my drink in your face.” 

“So why aren’t you?” 

The Public Health major has her martini glass poised for Suguru’s face when Shoko grabs her by the shoulders, halting the drink until it just spills on the filthy ground. 

“Okay,” she draws out, “and now we’re going.” 

“Whyyy,” Utahime slurs. 

“You’re drunk.” 

“Am not.” 

“Yeah,” Shoko responds, slapping a couple bills of cash for the bartender to pick up, “you are. You’re trying to inflict violence on Suguru again.” 

Geto leans in, palm over his mouth as he whispers, “She’s an aggressive drunk. I’d be cautious.” 

Your smile is filled with mirth. You’re not entirely drunk yourself, just the perfect level of tipsy where everything feels funnier, lighter. 

“Noted.” 

The bartender is there in an instant to receive the credit card that Suguru hands him. Shoko and Uthaime are already long gone. 

He eyes where you’re still sitting. 

“Planning on staying?” 

“Yeah,” you reply, “just for another drink.” And maybe it's the liquid courage in you but you admit it before the words could be held back, "I'm a bit nervous about what to expect with Yaga.” 

Suguru stands, arms crossed as he leans against the bar top. 

“You seem prepared. I would say you have nothing to be nervous about.” 

You bite your lip, the doubt still settled in your mind. 

With how sudden the committee had sent you that unexpected email about your acceptance into the program, it wasn’t any surprise that you felt underprepared. 

“Thanks,” you reply softly. 

Suguru smiles. “Text me if you need a ride back.” 

“I—uh don’t have your number.” 

“Sorry,” he responds, smiling now apologetic. “You can write in my contacts.” 

He hands you the phone, messages app pulled up for you to type in your number. 

And you try not to read the text message that pops at the top, you really try to advertise your eyes and not snoop. 

But you catch on to the mention of your name and your fingers freeze. 

Satoru: So how incompetent is y/n???

“Thank you,” Suguru says to the bartender who’s just returned with his card. He’s oblivious to the sour mood that washes over your face as you set his phone by the receipt he’s signing. 

“Now you can text me if you need anything,” he says lightly. 

You nod not really meeting his gaze when he waves goodbye. 

Your response is lost in your throat. 

The inkling of doubt you’d had before turns into an ugly monster that was spewing nothing but the worst of yourself. 

Unprepared. 

Newcomer. 

Incompetent. 

“Another seltzer miss,” asks the bartender, drying a clean shot glass. 

“Actually I’ll have a shot of tequila.” 

He pours it wordlessly. You chug smoothly. And request another. 

That night you make more than just the messy and stupid decision of drinking approximately half the liquor bottle. 

Because the next morning your alarm is blaring in your ear. The sun is shining too bright. Your makeup is crusted on your face. 

When you wake up you’re not at all in the bedroom you just moved in. 

Instead, you're lying naked in grey silk sheets, definitely not alone. 

Your other stupid decision is beside you, still asleep, morning light bouncing off his naked back and his pure white hair.

[wintertreeflower]

𝙝𝙤𝙬'𝙨 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙥𝙞𝙚? 𝙨𝙤 𝙜𝙤𝙤𝙙.

*.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.*

sukuna has a sweet tooth that only you can satisfy. 

wc: 2,804

*.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.*

the smell of sugar and spice was a recipe that filled the air of the bakery. 

there was flour powdered all over your hands, somehow stuck to the apples of your cheeks. little tendrils of your hair falling from the cute bun you’d quickly styled before coming in at 5 am to open your store. 

you weren’t alone in the back of the bakery, ovens firing the multiple trays of cakes and muffins and pastries that you needed to fill the display case with. 

your employee was frosting a fresh batch of lemon cakes when you hear the ring of the door bell. your first customer of the day. 

you let her know to take over the dough when she was done frosting, wiping your hands on your little cherry apron so you looked somewhat presentable for whoever’s just walked in. 

it’s a guy with pink hair dressed smartly in a leather jacket. you can just faintly see the tattoos that start on his hands, the one flipping through the dessert category book, before disappearing up his sleeve. 

“good morning,” you greet cheerfully, a sweet smile stretched across your face. 

it’s hardly morning. the rising sun having just made it over the horizon, splashing the bakery in tart orange and sour lemon. it filters through the french windows, mixing with the green and pink color scheme of the bakery. 

your customer looks up. strong brows that sit atop red dark eyes. you’re momentarily in awe at the color. at the way it pairs with a lazy smirk that flashes white when he speaks. 

“morning,” he says, voice rough like stone. 

you lean your palms on the counter by the register. dangling earrings that brush your shoulders, hitting the light beneath your tank top as your chest presses against your apron. there’s flour still dusted on the sliver of skin just above the fabric.

“what can i get for you this early?” 

the customer roams his gaze from your upper body, a nearly heated trail until he meets your face. 

“i’m looking for something sweet.” 

brows high, a bit surprised, you can’t help but tease. 

“you don’t strike me as a sweet tooth.” and definitely not this early. 

he laughs, the sound gruff but somehow it makes you feel like you’d been tickled by a feather. 

“i may have it worse than what’s normal,” he replies. the sound of the catalog book shuts. his attention is purely on you now. 

“i want whatever the sweetest thing you sell here. not particularly picky on flavor either.” 

your throat makes a little hum, delicate hands motioning to the display case. 

“our cream puffs are pretty sugary,” you explain expertly. “stuffed with strawberry and dashed with powdered sugar.” 

“i’ll try one,” he confirms and you hand him the little treat with the pink paper wrap. 

his jaw clenches as he chews. muscled neck flexing with the movement of his swallow. 

you’re used to customers trying your desserts in front of you, often giving out samples of season flavors to gauge how they would sell. 

but his stare is set on you as he tries it and you can’t tell if the flush coming from your cheeks is from that or from the fact you’ve been by the ovens all morning. 

he drags his tongue over his lips after he’s swallowed. and when he brings up his thumb to suck off the bit of powdered sugar frosting it you confirm that it’s definitely him that’s making you feel all too warm. 

“good,” he praises lowly, cocks his head at you. “but not really satisfying me.” 

“so sweeter,” you think outloud, bringing your gaze away from his piercing one and assessing the display. 

“i’d suggest our glazed donuts then. it’s filled with custard and i put honey as part of the recipe.” 

shit. “the secret recipe,” you whisper. 

“i won’t tell,” he grins. then he’s pulling out a black leather wallet, flashing his credit card as he places it on the counter. 

“i’ll try one of everything. test which one indulges me best.” 

your eyes widened, joy filling you to the brim. 

“of course! you can have a seat and i’ll plate them up for you.” 

the table your customer, potentially your best customer yet, picks is by the corner. in front of the red translucent writing of the bakery name that’s frosted on the glass. when the light hits just right it basks him in a pomegranate glazed glow. 

“so,” you say, picking up the plate that picked clean save for some crumbs. “how was toffee rolls?” 

he nods. “delicious.” 

he wipes at the side of his mouth neatly with the napkin cloth and you can already hear it in his voice. the same tone he’s been having the past ten dishes he said just weren’t hitting the spot. 

“but not the one,” you assess, free hand placed on the curve of your hip. 

there’s almost an apologetic crease in his brows but he looks up at you with eyes that shouldn’t look so kind when they’re stained dark red. 

“i’m hard to satisfy, i’m afraid.” 

you sigh but it’s only teasing. he’s already went through all the desserts in the display case and you can’t stand the thought of him leaving without a satisfied belly. 

he’s a challenge but you’d crack him. 

“i might have just the thing,” you reply, voice determined. “but you would have to wait. i’d have to make it from scratch, if that’s alright?” 

he nods again, leans back in the chair, getting comfortable. 

“take your time, doll.” 

doll. 

it replays in your mind as you whisk flour and eggs, dashing salt and overloading the batter with condensed milk and honey syrups. 

you move swiftly in the kitchen, your happy place, the place you feel most at home with its dim lightning and yummy scent. 

pouring the mixture that borderlines on overly sweet into a pie tray before popping it in the oven to fire. 

there’s a flush on your cheeks as you emerge from the back, untying your apron as you make eye contact with the customer patiently waiting for your special request. 

you feel the stare of it lingering on you as you help a couple out who’s standing by the front register. a wedding cake, they tell you and you smile because those are your favorites. 

at the heart of it, you’re a romantic. a girl who’s always believed in the type of love that comes from fairytales and hoping one day it'll bleed from the books and just attack you in your real life. 

“thank you for your help,” one of them calls as they walk out, hand in hand. 

you’re smiling, voice bleeding with it as you say, “of course! see you in a couple days.” 

the tasks of wiping tables, fixing chairs, ensuring your store is in tip top shape keeps you busy. eventually you make it to the table in the corner. 

“it shouldn’t be much longer now,” you assure, rag thrown over your shoulder, hand resting on your wait. “can i get you anything? some water?” 

you’re silently grateful for how patient he is. trying to focus on that and not the way his head tips up at you, hair dancing with the movement, broad shoulders shifting. 

he’s discarded his leather jacket. now in a tight black t-shirt that perfectly accentuates his built chest, strong biceps that pop through the sleeves. 

how could it be that someone with a sweet tooth could be so fit? 

as if noticing the way you nearly ogle him, his voice is riddled with something cocky, nearly flirty. 

“you can give me your name,” he says. 

you smile as you give it to him. a tingle crawling up your spine when he tries it out on his tongue. 

“it’s sweet,” he responds, gaze flickering up and down your body. “almost as sweet as you are.” 

now you’re really blushing. shy smile stretched across your cheeks. 

you thank him and tell yourself you’re only curious as to what his name is because you want to keep building connections with your customers. no other reason. 

“sukuna,” you repeat, leaning against the doorframe as the sounds of the ovens firing and the soft jazz music plays from the speakers. 

“hmm.” 

it’s a deep sound in his throat, rumbling in the air. 

“thanks for being so patient.” 

there’s no hint of doubt when he says, “know it’ll be worth it.” 

you don’t know what to say. the praise flaring your ego, altering the chemicals in your brain. 

luckily you don’t have to as the timer bell rings and snaps whatever heated moment you two were having. 

“it’s ready.” but your voice is all wrong, breathy and somehow lodging in your tight throat like stuck butter cream. 

“good.” 

your legs are quick in taking you to the back. hands working expertly as you cool the pie on the tray, slicing a piece. 

something in you just wants it to look perfect so you garish the plate with extra butterscotch sauce, perfectly assembling a dob of whip cream, and finishing it all with a sprinkle of caramel shards. 

it smells delectable. a complete sugar bomb you would sure could send a diabetic into a treat induced coma. 

some how you’re nervous when you serve the final product. fingers stressing against one another. lip pulled between your teeth waiting for sukuna’s reaction. 

he stabs the fork into the pie and in what feels like time slowed down bring it to his tempting mouth for a taste. 

“how,” your lost in the way he chews gracefully, eyes never leaving yours, groan rumbling in the back of his throat. 

you clear you throat when it gets too raspy, liking that pleasured sound more than you would care to admit. 

“how’s the pie?” 

he’s still tasting it but he’s got his lips pulled in a smirk. 

“so good,” he finally answers. 

you pop your lips from your teeth to smile, relieved. 

“i’m glad!” 

he stabs another scoop of the pie and you don’t expect him to hold out the fork in your direction. 

“think the little baker should give her work a try.” 

dangerous, you think, brain stuttering. 

the way he says it, voice thick, words heavy, makes him sound dangerous. 

you’re bending at the waist now, lips wrapped around the place his just were. he hones in at the conjoined place, where your pink mouth is wrapped around the metal he’s feeding you. 

it shouldn’t feel intimate. but it is. 

especially when you make that pleasurable noise, soft and high, and he just stares as you like he’s thinking about all the ways he can pull that sound out from you again. 

“you weren’t lying,” you say, straightening, licking a bit of the filling that stuck to the corner of your mouth. 

“no reason to lie about talent.” 

there goes your heart doing that thing. maybe you have a praise kink you hadn’t realized until now. 

you shake your head at the thought. he’s your customer!

“i’ll box up the rest for you then. keep that tooth satisfied,” you joke.” 

he chuckles, a flash of his sharp canines poking through. 

the rest of the pie is all tied up in the shopping bag you have lying between him and you at the front counter. 

you’re handing him his credit card hard, smiling bright as the sun when you say, “come back anytime! i’ll be sure to whip up something special for you next.” 

he slides the card in his wallet. 

“you always make specials for your customer?” 

“only my favrite ones,” you flirt with a wink. 

the words get his eyes to bright, large hands wrapped around the handle of the bag as he leaves with a knowing grin. 

…

the setting sun is your only companion as you close up the shop alone. rag wiping over the display case, music off as you replay the events of the day. your favorite customer. 

it was definitely bold of you but you just couldn't deny whatever tension was between you and sukuna. 

the image of him, lips seductively wrapped around your sweets. the sound of his deep groan. it plagues your indulgent mind before shattering at the sound of the bell ringing against the door. 

“we’re closed,” you call out, not looking away from your cleaning tasks. 

“shame,” a familiar voice says, making your head snap to the door. “thought i could get special treatment.” 

his leather jacket shines dangerously. built frame somehow making the empty store feel incredibly small. amusement drifts with each step that he saunters into the shop with a predator’’s level of casualness. 

“there’s no way you already finished all the pie.” 

sukuna chuckles. “i didn’t,” he reassures, arms crossed over his chest, tattoos stretched across his rough skin. 

“had another slice and realized that wasn’t what i was craving today.” 

you perk a brow. oh. 

“what were you craving,” you ask innocently, curiously. 

he swipes a strand of your hair, fingers brushing over the tops of your shoulders as he does so. 

there it is again. that stare. the unexplainable heat that seems to tie like a knot between you and him. 

“let me show you.” 

…

“oh my god,” you cry out. 

the glass is cold against your flushed skin. one hand smacked against it as the other comes to thread in sukuna’s pink hair. 

you’ve got a leg wrapped around the back of his neck, the other one shaking like a leaf as it barely supports you on the ground. 

you hadn't expected his show to include him getting on his knees right in front of you. right in the middle of the damn store. 

you weren’t exactly complaining as his long tongue traced all around your clit, pushing in and out at your dripping hole. 

“fuck,” you whine, pushing your hips up into his greedy mouth. 

“so sweet,” he grumbles out, strong hands digging into the flesh of your ass pulling you impossible close to his lips. 

he pushes a thick finger inside, mouth never leaving your pussy even as he says, “been craving this all day.” 

you moan, shuddering when he curls two fingers against the spot that’s making you see stars pop. 

you can’t help but grip him hard. but sukuna doesn’t mind the pain. in fact he grins against your cunt like it’s turning him on. 

“please,” you gasp out, head rolling back, his fingers hitting in deep. “don’t stop.” 

he sucks your clit, pops off it for just a second. 

“not until you cum on my tongue.” 

shit. he sounds entirely different. darker. more menacing. like if he doesn’t get what he wants he’ll fuck you dumb until he gets it. 

you clench at the thought of that. his cock piercing you. harsh voice calling you his little baker. 

it’s messy the way he eats you like you’re the best dessert served here. 

slick glosses against his nose, his chin. shining every time he pulls his fingers out from your greedy pussy and shoves back in. 

you can feel your orgasm coming, filling your blood with molten lava. 

“sukuna,” you groan, warning, eyes rolling back into your skull. 

he likes the way you say his name, thrusting into you faster, harder. 

“my little baker gonna cum on my face huh?” 

you’re nodding dumbly. gaze meeting his starved one as he ravishes you. 

pain blooms from where he’s gripping your ass hard enough to leave bruises. but you don’t mind. the perfect recipe of pain and pleasure that has you coming all too suddenly. 

sukuna’s teeth graze you against your sensitive flesh, tongue soothing over the ache you didn’t know you had until now. 

“oh,” you gasp when it hits you. “don’t stop. don’t stop.” 

your pleas only urge him on, groan vibrating against your cunt. 

he doesn’t stop curling inside you. doesn’t stop drinking from you like you’re the most divine thing he’s tasted all day. 

your legs still tremble after it all. fingers softening in his hair so he can pull his head back enough from your overstimulated cunt. 

your chest is heaving, heart pounding a mile a minute, breasts nearly spilling from your tank top. 

his tongue swipes at the glisten stuck on his bottom lip as he stands, easing your legs down,  towering over you. 

chest pressed to yours, hands possessive on your waist, you crane your head to face him. 

“satisfied,” you breathe out in question. 

something predatory lurks in his sharp smile. wicked. dangerous. 

“not quiet, pet.” 

you’re spun in an instant, hands clutching the glass display, ass pressed against where he’s rock hard against you. 

you bite your lip, fear mixing with your excitement as the promise that’s wedged against you. 

your favorite customer really was hard to satisfy. 

*.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.*

[wintertreeflower]

𝙬𝙝𝙖𝙩'𝙨 𝙬𝙧𝙤𝙣𝙜? 𝙣𝙚𝙚𝙙 𝙖 𝙝𝙖𝙣𝙙?

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

in which satoru gojo is your brother's best friend and catches you red handed. he's willing to help out but only if you stay quiet

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

you we’re always shy around him. cute little blush on your cheeks whenever he glanced your way. 

sometimes you’d glance away as if you weren’t supposed to be looking at satoru gojo, your brother’s best friend. and you really weren’t. not when you had the biggest crush on him. 

it started when your brother had brought him to the house for the first time, ten years ago. 

you’d been ten with stars in your eyes and he was surprisingly tall and long limbed for a fourteen year old. 

your brother thought he was the funniest person and you did too. giggling at whatever silly joke he cracked. or when he’d let you wear his black round frames that always sat too big on your face. 

ten years you thought he was the coolest. watching as he became the strongest. even the hottest guy you knew. 

why was it that guys your age couldn’t look like him? 

with the most prettiest eyes and that lazy smile that was always plastered on his face. 

sometimes you thought about that very smirk when you shouldnt be. 

like now. blankets pulled down. bedroom door locked. safe in the recess of your mind and in the dark that surrounded you. 

it’d been a hard day to say the least. 

long hours working at the internship you scored during winter break. dealing with snappy patients and your rude boss. 

back in your childhood home for break also meant seeing your family every day for weeks. and sometimes they could be too much. you’d gotten so used to being away for college, you just weren’t used to it anymore. 

you were just taking the edge off, just for tonight. hand cupping your breast. fingers circling your clit. and your teeth sinking into your bottom lip to stay quiet. 

you were alone, everyone else at a birthday dinner you didn’t feel like going. save for your brother who’s room was down stairs and far enough to hear anyways. 

there was that fantasy of the white haired boy you hadn’t seen in two years since you left for college. it was a shame really. having to leave things the way they ended.

your jaw is slack, mouth let loose in silent gasps as the stimulation on your clit just eases the stress from your body. 

then your door is cracking open. you’d been so lost in the pleasure, in the fantasy of it all you hadn’t heard the footsteps right outside your room. 

you snatch your hand from under your sleeping shorts, clutching the blankets tight over your chest as…

it can’t be. 

“satoru!” 

“hey there bean,” he grins, half his body still in the hall so just his head is poking into your room. 

“what are you doing here?” you pray your voice doesn’t sound as breathy to him as it does to you. fuck and why wasn’t the door locked?

“what did i say about knocking!” 

the white haired boy— who doesn’t really look like a boy anymore since his frame is broader, stronger than you last remember—chuckles loosely. 

“can’t just say that you miss me?” 

your face is hot, heart pounding, hoping he won’t come inside and see the guilt written all over you. 

“your brother said you were home for break,” he says, widening the door so the hallway light filters more into the room. he leans, arrogant as ever, on the frame. 

“i’m hurt you didn’t say anything, bean.” 

bean was the nickname he’d given you when you two were kids, claiming you were as small as one. he never shook off the habit even when you’d gotten taller, figure rounding out from puberty. 

“i—i’ve been busy,” you weakly say, still clutching the blankets like it could hide what you’d been doing before he barged in. 

those blue eyes narrow on you. 

“are you okay? you look flushed.” 

he takes a step and you blurt out, “‘m fine. surprised to see you is all.” 

“hmm.” 

he shuffles to your bed, glancing at the night stand where your work badge is thrown and your phone is plugged to the charger. 

“what were you doing,” he prods. 

“sleeping, you idiot.” 

his eyes flash bright. 

“don’t look tired.” 

“trying to then,” you bite out. 

his hand, warm and large, comes on top of your shoulder. fingers massaging. 

“you’re tense.” 

your neck is craned to look up at him but your eyes dart away when the eye contact gets too much. too heated. too intimate. 

“l—long day.” 

satoru’s free hand grips your blankets, tugging down until your chest is rising and falling fast. 

“wha—what are you doing, toru?” 

“easing you up. i hate seeing you so tense, little bean.” 

his hands are still massaging, rubbing at the tension in your shoulders that he was currently responsible for. 

“don’t.” 

but it’s too late. satoru spots the wet spot leaking through your thin cotton panties. 

your body is on fire, panic racing through you as you snatch the blankets but his hold is stronger than yours as he just lets the air rush over your exposed body. 

“i see what’s wrong now. you really are stressed if you're fingering yourself in your childhood bed.” 

“satoru,” you groan out, embarrassed.

he grins but it’s not really meeting his eyes. his jaw is clenched and his chest is moving just a little bit harder. 

“nothing wrong with a little self-care, bean.” 

you're in flames now. 

 “oh my god. shut up.” 

satoru chuckles, though the sound is dark, rough, vibrating in the narrow space between your body and his. 

“need a hand?” 

your gaze whips to his eyes searching for the humor in his words. 

did you accidentally fall asleep to your fantasy and this was it? 

but there’s no usual mirth in his eyes. nor in his lazy grin, the flash of white from his teeth just looks menacing. like a dark promise of a predator’s bite. 

you glance away again to where the door is cracked slightly, the sounds of your brother gaming barley drifting up the stairs. 

“he—he’s home, satoru.” 

he just leans down close enough that you can see the blue of his eyes in the dark, the curve of his lips as he says lowly, “then you better stay quiet.” 

the bed dips and satoru climbs on top of you, lowering, lowering until he’s face level with your panties. 

long fingers brush against the wetness staining your light blue panties. you know he likes blue. 

then he pushes aside the fabric, delving into your dripping cunt.

“sounds like she missed me.” the squelches coming from your wet pussy fill the room and you shut your eyes so tight youre not sure if youre seeing stars pop because of it or his fingers rubbing you good. 

“tell me. you still think about that night.” 

your breath catches and you open your eyes to see the nearly pained, vulnerable, expression on his face. 

that night. the night before you left home two years ago. the night when you’d confessed your silly little crush to satoru gojo not expecting anything from it but just needing to get the words out before they haunted you all the way to college. 

“i do,” you admit, breathless. 

his face lowers so his mouth is right over your clothed pussy, breath teasing your sensitive clit. 

“dream about it all the time, princess. how you kissed me so sweet. how you took me so well.” 

“shit,” you whine when he drags a strong finger down the seam of your panties. “satoru,” you breathe quickly. “no one’s ever…” 

his eyes darken, blue turning into lightning storms.

“your brother never found out i took his little sister’s sweet virginity did he? or else i wouldn’t be here in your room about to repeat it.” 

you swallow dryly. 

“it was probably the best night of my life,” he says. “but i always regretted one thing: that i never got to taste your precious cunt.” 

his fingers are tugging your waistband down now. then the next his mouth is on you. 

you moan in surprise at how good it feels, the sensation entirely foreign. It’s warm and soft against your sensitive flesh. tongue stroking over the bundle of nerves.

“oh my god,” you whine and you can’t help the way your hips buck and your clit twitches. 

satoru notices, ego flaring, heart completely full. 

“wrong name, princess. who’s fucking this pussy?” 

his fingers dig into the flesh of your thighs, widening you open in a way that should be impossible. his broad shoulders keep you from clenching them close, legs wrapped around the back of his neck. 

you’re cautious.

“you are, toru,” you whisper,  biting your lip so you’re not too loud. 

he kisses your clit, soft, gentle, unexpected, before wrapping his lips around the bud and sucking. 

the moan just comes out, high, needy, desperate and all too loud. 

“quiet, bean,” he taunts, hand drifting up to squeeze your tits through your little sleep tee. 

“but it’s so good.” 

satoru groans against your pussy, loving the sound of you ruined under him. you notice the way his hips dig into your bed, grinding. notice the way his fingers squeeze you hard, tongue sucking faster. 

you can hardly keep quiet when your orgasm builds so quick, deep in your gut, sparking against your spine. 

it’s instinct to just grab the hand that’s atop your breast, fingers lacing, touches mingling. 

satoru doesn’t look away from your pretty face, brows pinched together, mouth devastatingly open. his eyes are half hooded, white brows shadowing over his face. 

he looks so focused, so determined, to make this feel good for you. and its does, despite it being the first, it really does. 

“i’m—fuck, i’m gonna come, toru.” 

he sounds needy despite his voice thick like honey. 

“come on my tongue. need to taste you. been dying everytime i dream of you, princess.” 

he’s sloppy now, your slick running down his chin, coating his lips in a glossy shine. open mouthed kisses that leave the filthiest sounds between him and you in this moment. 

then you’re clutching his fingers, thighs locking around his head, pussy clenching on nothing as you come. 

“yeah. fuck yeah, baby.” 

heart pounding a mile a minute, you glance at the door, ears straining for any signs of your brother’s footsteps. nothing. 

you’re still biting your lip when satoru pushes up, glides his body against your front until he’s hovering over you. 

“you think he heard?” 

“nah your brother goes deaf when he’s gaming. probably raging at a six year old right now.” 

the air fills with your giggle before it’s lost in satoru’s mouth as he kisses you deep. 

his palms are bracketing your checks, his lips so familiar, so right against yours. 

when he pulls away, leaving you dazed, you fight not to reach for him again.

“so,” you say and now out of all the filthy moments of tonight you blush, “what else have you dreamt of doing?” 

satoru’s cocky grin is back, strength flipping you over in an instant. 

you yelp, elbows digging into your pillows, ass pressed against his throbbing cock. 

“let me show you.” 

•°. *࿐

[wintertreeflower]

Professor!Higuruma x Lawstudent!reader

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·.

Professor!Higuruma who teaches your college ethics class. Veiny hands moving during his lectures. Broad shoulders under his tweed coat. Tired eyes that are rimmed dark. Who pushes a set of thin framed glasses every time it slides off his crooked nose. 

Professor!Higuruma who’s sexy in a stressed out, probably just needs to fuck, kinda way. You think so and so does every girl in lecture who just stares instead of taking notes. 

Professor!Higuruma who announces class is dismissed and you guys have a four page paper due tonight on one of the standards listed in the college code of conduct. The class groans at that and you do too. 

Lawstudent!reader who walks down the bright hall of the justice education department. Textbooks clutched to your chest, silently going over the assignment you’re gonna have to stay up all night writing. Your friends regret signing up for his class but it wasn’t like you didn’t know how notoriously difficult the ethics professor was. 

Lawstudent!reader who grumbles to your friends as you pass by a cracked door. “He’s always so stressed and somehow he’s the cause of mine.” 

Professor!Higuruma who can hear your pretty voice filtering through the crack of his office as you wait for the elevator to reach the fourth floor. Who strains his ears, hands paused over his keyboard, glasses shining under fluorescent lightning. 

“If you ask me, I think Professor could benefit from a good lay. Maybe then he wouldn't be so tense in class.” 

Lawstudent!reader who gets an email in your student inbox as your friends laugh at your comment. An email from Professor!Higuruma to meet him in his office to go over which standard you’ll write about for the paper due tonight. 

Lawstudent!reader who, two hours after telling your friends you’d meet them later, shuts the office door. Face flushed, hair messy. Button up wrinkled and skirt stained. Your thighs sticky with the cum dripping from you. Legs weak as you try to inconspicuously leave Professor!Higuruma’s office, like you didn't just break more than one of the rules in the student code of conduct.

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·.

[wintertreeflower]

older neighbour toji fucks the brat out of you when you don't listen

wc: 2140

•°. *࿐

you were throwing a party. loud bass music turned high, uncaring for the house right next to yours. 

a rager it seemed with the way toji’s walls were literally vibrating with the loud music. 

you’d told him earlier that morning. dressed in your short skirt that was entirely too inappropriate to be talking to your much older, much hotter neighbour. 

you wore a smile. eyes bright. youthful and reckless. 

toji knew the look from his days in college. knew what it was like when someone had a free house on a saturday night. 

your parents were out of town it seemed. he’d noticed their car missing from the driveway. 

“don’t tell them, please,” you pleaded but you were smirking almost like you knew he wouldn’t. 

“i’ll keep it down. it’s nothing big but for the inconvenience i can bring over something sweet.” 

it was clear you were flirting with the way you had your arms crossed over your indecent top. tits pushed up enough that toji could notice every time you took a breath. 

he’d grunted, stony face, trying to keep a respectable distance between him and you. 

“just don’t let it drag on for too long.” 

“got it! i know older guys have an early bedtime.” 

you winked and left and toji didn’t shut the door immediately, your tease right there for him to see. 

you were always waving when he was coming back from work, tired and drained, and you cheerful as a sun’s ray coming back from your college classes. 

teasing remarks that landed between the space of your guy’s driveways. 

after a long day somehow you were always there to greet him after work. 

shame you’re so tense. you’d look better with a smile. 

need help with those groceries? wouldn’t want you pulling your back. 

“whatever you’re doing to relieve stress isn’t working”. you said after a particularly hard day of dealing with messy clients. 

he grunted. “don’t concern yourself with business that isn’t yours, girl.”

 “stress ages you, you know?” 

toji always kept his distance when it was clear you were flirting with him. he wasn’t about to get involved with someone half his age. someone who was very off limits. 

so he was harsh in his responses but you were either blind to his tone or really fucking dedicated. 

“just looking out for my geriatric neighbour.” 

that had made him laugh but only when he was inside the house, far away from your flirty eyes and tempting smirk. 

fucking, tease. 

it was two am and there was no signs that the party was ending anytime soon. music still blaring from where toji was lounging on the couch. someone screamed followed by a splash and it only fueled his irritation. 

he was in front of your red painted door the next moment, large hand pounding hard on the wood. 

you opened it immediately, hair crazy, eyes wide. smiling. 

“it’s 2 am.” 

“oh is it? doesn’t feel like it.” 

“yeah.” he crossed his strong arms over his chest, gaze hard as they narrowed at you. 

“shut it off now.” 

you rolled your eyes, shoulders deflating. “fine. you’re no fun.” 

then you shut the door right in his face and toji composed his frustration enough to not knock again and talk some sense into you. 

2:11

2:25

2 fucking 40.

you still didn’t end it. 

this time when he knocked you didn’t answer right away. he counted each time he pounded the door. keeping track for later. 

finally, after the tenth one, you opened. 

“someone doesn’t look happy,” you commented at his irritated face. 

“i told you to shut it down forty minutes ago.” 

you cocked your head, hair brushing, side leaning on the door frame in the perfect image of casualness. 

“and when do you give me orders?” 

“maybe you’ll listen to the ones the police will give, huh?” 

“by all means. call them.” 

you little brat. 

“your parents gonna take the news fine when i tell them?” 

that gets you to straighten. good. 

“you promised not to.” your gloss shines when you pout. a little crease between your brows that shows your upset. 

“and you said it wouldn’t drag,” he grunted. “guess we both lied.” 

there’s a moment where all you do is stare at him. testing him. trying to see if he’ll break. 

toji stands his ground. 

fine, he could do it himself. 

he pushes through the door, wrinkling his nose at the disgusting stench of sweet liquor. 

“party’s over,” he shouts. 

collective whines go through the crowd of people dancing and drinking. 

“get out before i call the cops.” 

that gets people going, filtering pass him as you hold the door open, voice still cheerful as you thank people for coming. 

a guy with white hair and black frames is one of the last to leave. he pauses by the entrance. 

“you her dad,” he questions with a cocky tone. 

you laugh. “my dad’s not nearly as uptight as he is, satoru.” 

toji narrows his eyes at you. little shit. 

“text me for the next party,” the boy, satoru apparently, says as he winks at you. 

“you know it.”

then everyones properly gone. just you by the door and him in your foyer. 

“not gonna be a next time, doll,” he says gruffly. 

“leave it to you to ruin the fun,” you scoff, eyes bright with something that looks dangerous. “we’re you born a grumpy gramps or something?” 

“we’re you born without the ability to listen?” 

the air is chilly, evident in the way you’re rubbing your hands up and down you soft arms. evident in the way your nipples poke through that fucking see through top. 

your voice is low, somehow still soft. 

“i can listen,” you say, brushing past toji and glancing over your shoulder. “sometimes i just need a little reminder.” 

…

“shut up. the neighbours are gonna hear.” 

your face is smashed into the couch. a hand gripping behind your neck to force your head down and your ass up. 

“to-toji!” 

he’s just bottomed out, cock stretching you wider than you’ve ever felt. is he hitting your cervix? 

pleasure and pain shoots up your spine and you yelp when a slap lands on your ass. 

“you just don’t listen, huh?” 

another slap, skin rippling, pain blossoming red on your skin. 

he draws back and rears his hips so hard you almost slide off the couch. his hands are there to hold you down, keeping you nice and spread for him to fuck. to discipline. 

fingers, clutching the cushions, chest pressed to your back, you hear his words right in your ear when he lowly says, “ ‘m gonna fix that doll.” 

your thighs are trembling around the strong legs that prevents you from closing them. 

he fucks you hard and slow, dragging it out so you can feel every inch in your gut, feel every bump of his tip against your cervix. 

it hurts. hurts when he rubs against that sensitive spot inside you. hurts when he keeps spanking you—ten total for each knock you made him wait outside. 

but it feels so good. 

it mixes with the pleasure lightning up your spine, forming goosebumps across your skin until you feel like you’re on fire. 

“fucking tease.” 

slap. 

“been waiting for me to fuck this dripping cunt for a while, huh?” 

slap. 

“getting wet and bratty for your older neighbor just so he can fill you.” 

slap. 

“such a little slut.” 

you’re crying, shaking, moaning, enduring everything he gives you. 

then his hand on your neck moves until it’s gripping you by the scalp. pulls up with a strength you don’t possess just so toji can look at your ruined, fucked out face. 

“where’d that mouth go, doll?” 

his breath fans over your lips, hot and heavy. his thrust is brutal, pounding and oh so deep that your jaw goes slack and your moan is soundless. 

he holds himself there feeling the way you clench around him, hips flushed against your thighs, balls pressed against your swollen clit. 

“just had to get dicked down to shut that bratty brain of yours.” 

“toji!” your hand flails back, slapping against his hard thighs. “you’re so deep.” 

he pulls out of you completely and you gasp at the loss before he’s manhandling you. flipping you on your back, pressing your thighs against your chest. 

you’re still in your slutty top. party skirt pushed up to your stomach. neither of you took off your clothes, only the necessary bits that could get toji’s hard cock in your needy pussy. 

“nah,” he chuckles, harsh and rough. “not yet, girl.” 

when he lines himself, sinking into you again in this new angle you actually see stars. 

your ankles dangle loosely from where they rest on his shoulders. his large palms hold at the underside of your knees, pushing them back until you’re folded in half. 

“oh my god,” you cry out. 

toji laughs, dark and mocking. 

“still not listening. told you to be quiet.” 

he shoves his fingers into your parted mouth. presses down on your tongue until you’re drooling all over him.

you tighten around him when you feel him in your gut. when he reaches so far back in your mouth that he hits your throat and you gag. 

“fuck,” he grunts, dark hair falling over his crazed eyes. he’s staring at the bulge that’s pressed against your stomach and you whimper when you realize his cock is in that deep. 

your voice is hoarse, raspy. words muffled with his fingers still in your mouth but you speak around them anyways. 

“want you to come in me.” 

toji glances up to your face, lip snarling, nose flaring like you just broke the delicate restraint in him. 

“you want me to creampie this pussy?” 

you nod weakly, small hands wrapped around his wrist. like the tease you are you suck on his fingers, eyes wide, shining with the tears caught on your lashes. 

“i’ll fill you up nice and good, doll,” he says, pressing more of his weight on you until you’re legs push back by the force of it. 

his free hand comes down on your twitching clit and you let out a moan through his fingers when he begins to circle it. 

“gonna have this cunt sucking me dry. gonna have it coming on my cock when i fill it.” 

there’s sweat lining toji’s forehead, black hair sticking to his skin. his eyes are zeroed in at where you two are conjoined.

 mesmerized at how much you’re taking. at the white mess that’s glossing his legs and forming filthy rings around the base of his dick. 

he can feel you about to come, tightening like a god damn vice. 

your breath shudders when he circles your clit fast and you’re arching your back against his weight as you come hard. 

his hips don’t stop slapping loudly against you. doesn’t stop riding you, fucking you through your orgasm. 

still doesn’t stop when you tremble beneath him, overstimulated. nor when you whine that it's all too much. 

“shh, it’s okay,” he mockingly whispers. “slutty brats have to get stuffed.” 

he’s throbbing inside you, cock dragging, thrusts hard and fast now. close. 

toji loves the way your brows push together, jaw hanging loosely, your moans are soft gasps when he places a palm on your belly bulge and presses down. 

you don’t expect to come so soon but he’s hitting you so deep, so good, that you can’t help but tense and tighten all around him. 

“shit,” he groans. “just like that, doll. fucking taking it so well.” 

mascara leaks down your flushed checks. your gloss is smeared all over your mouth. eyes glassy and half lidded.

you look so ruined. so perfect. so fucked out that toji comes at the sight of your face. 

he holds himself deep, shooting against your cervix, painting your insides all warm. 

you moan at the feel, pussy swallowing him, restricting against his wide girth. 

you’re so dazed that you hardly register the soft kiss on the inside of your knee but it’s there, toji’s lips pressed against your skin. 

neither of you moves for a long second. breathes hot and heavy. skin flushed. sweat dripping. 

when toji pulls out, it’s slow and dragging. you feel every vein, every inch, every ridge of him against your sensitive cunt. 

his cum drips from your stretched hole, mixing with your release, leaking down your ass and onto the couch. 

his finger dips into the pearly thick liquid, eyes wicked when he spears it all over your bred pussy. 

“i—” your voice comes out breathy, weak. “should throw more parties. only time you’re any fun.” 

toji laughs, hands rubbing your skin. you’ve still got your legs on his shoulders. 

“i’ll fuck you after each one you throw.” 

that familiar teasing smile is back. “you promise?”

•°. *࿐

[wintertreeflower]

of!choso x of!femreader

in which choso is your innocent roommate. and potentially the sexy guy you're falling for on your nsfw site..

°:. *₊ ° . ° .•

wanted to organize the chaps for you lovlies!

side note: literally all of the choso smut i've written is considered part of the series. did i know when i was writing it? no. are they sneak peeks into the future? yes ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

part 1

part 2

part 3

part 4...

[wintertreeflower]

in which there's a bet that involves you...

a/n: for the sake of this fic we're just gonna pretend that toji isn’t megumi’s father. well, biologically #papagojo. really pushing the boundaries of au here 

totally don’t have my third draft for my research project due tonight. i totally didn’t write choso fluff instead. 

anyways here’s (official) part 3! 4,154 words for ya <3

｡･:*˚:✧｡｡･:*˚:✧｡｡･:*˚:✧｡

Previously

MidknightScene (direct message sent at 11:50 pm): my mom loved photography you can say i got it from her

ThroughHerLenz (direct message sent at 11:50 pm): hmm. caught the last half of your stream. hot show ;) 

MidknightScene (direct message sent at 12:00 pm): always a pleasure to deliver, Lens

…

You were taking a break from posting, from answering messages, because midterm season was upon you and you desperately needed to lock in to ace these exams. 

It’d been a couple days since you last messaged Knight. His text having severed any connection between your suspicion that your roommate was a secret sex streamer. 

It was just a silly coincidence that the two loved photography. Had offered to share tips and tricks with you. 

But they weren’t related. Not when Choso had told you he’d discovered his passion in elementary school and Knight shared he’d gotten it from his mother. 

The thing with the nipple piercings…

Well the stats were right there to prove your assumptions ridiculous. You weren’t Nancy Drew after all. You just hadn’t expected it to be more common than you thought. 

Another lead gone. 

Ultimately you came to the conclusion your mind was just playing tricks on you. 

When you thought about it deeper the whole thing really didn’t make sense. 

How could Choso, who’d blushed when he realized he was shirtless in front of you, ever be as scandalous and filthy as Knight was on the site? 

The answer, lingering in your mind despite yourself, was a big fat, he couldn't. 

It was weird this swirling feeling in your gut that almost weighed you down. It felt strangely similar to disappointment. 

…

Choso couldn’t stop staring at you as you sat on the floor, books splayed on the coffee table. Black rimmed blue light glasses perched on your nose as it scrunched in concentration at whatever it was you were studying. 

He was usually well restrained in glancing at you for too long. Never wanting to make you uncomfortable. Never wanting to make it feel awkward in the apartment. 

But you were distracted and he couldn’t shake the feeling that you might be hiding something too. The reminders of your and Lens’s matching questions being brought up on the same day.

It’d only grown when he found your bra, black and lacy and oh so familiar, stuck in the dryer and wrapped in his clothes. 

You’d blushed when he handed it to you, muttering your thanks as you stuffed it in your laundry basket. 

He had just finished his stream, fingers dancing on his message portal when they pressed curiously on the profile he was searching for. 

ThroughHerLenz: cheeky photos you’d find through your internet girlfriend’s lens. 

On temporary break. 

It’d been the reason Lens hadn’t replied to his last message, sent about three days ago. 

But he wasn’t really focused on that right now because he scrolled, determined to see where he’d seen that black lacy bra before. 

Sure enough there it was. From a post that dated a month ago. 

He’d remembered it because he’d been the one to answer her question on low exposure images. 

Trying for a more sexy feel, Lens had explained. 

Attempt successful. The background was dim, only showing flashes of a white wall and the barest hints of a headboard. 

The focus was really on her. Forearms digging into the soft grey sheets as she arched her back and perched her ass that’d resulted in the post to blow up. 

In nothing but a matching black lingerie set. 

Choso tried not to think about it too hard. Knew that plenty of girls on the site wore black lace. A popular attire so to speak. 

He picked up on all the other little signs he hadn't noticed before but was only realizing now that you were distracted. 

Skin the same soft shade. Lips shaped similarly. Your hair was up in a messy bun, the way it always was when you studied. But he’d seen it down enough times to know that too was familiar. 

It occurred to him he could just be really desperate to make the link between the roommate he was crushing hard on and the internet friend he flirted with. 

 It wasn’t like he was just going to ask you if you got naked for work. He wasn’t out of his mind. And there certainly wasn’t enough evidence to make his suspicions concrete.  

So he dropped it. At least for that night. 

…

The campus library was packed today. Not unusual for midterm season. 

Luckily you’d snagged a private room, one that had a small projector that was currently displaying a photo. 

You stared at the image. 

A still of a person in the center of the frame, no face, no clear descriptions of their clothes, only a solid silhouette. The sky is painted in colors of orange and gold, the photo taken during the time where the sun is setting. The ground and all the surrounding details are swallowed by shadows. 

Choso’s sitting across the room from you, lights turned off,  waiting for your answer. 

You aren’t really sure when you say, more like a question, “The photo is skewed right?” 

 “I can see why you’d think that,” he says. 

He stands by the board, careful to not get in front of the projection but some of the color bleeds on the side of his face, basking him in sunset orange and yellow. 

His hands move from where the colors are the brightest, at the top of the screen. Thick fingers that are lined with strength as you watch him drag them all around where the darkness bleeds. 

“Althought we get a lot of brightness here, most of the frame is dark,” he explains, voice confident, something you don’t hear often. “Histograms represent the overall distribution of tone. So because we have all these shadows that outweigh the brighter areas…” 

It clicks for you then. “The image would be skewed left.” 

“Exactly,” he smiles. 

Something like pride blooms in your chest. 

“I think you should be the one teaching our class, Cho,” you tease. 

His hair, pulled back in their usual two holds, shakes with the movement of his chuckle. He does that more around you now and you like it. Some of his familiar blush bleeds across his face. 

“I’m serious,” you push, leaning back lazily in your chair. “You explain way better than our professor.” 

He shrugs, glancing away. “I don’t think I'm patient enough to teach like that.” 

You cross your arms, grinning at the thought of Choso becoming a professor. You’re sure he’d have positive reviews all over on RateMyProfessor. 

“You’re being patient with me,” you point out. 

“You’re different.” 

“Oh?” 

Choso snaps his head, either at your surprised tone or what he let slip out. 

“You're my friend,” he explains all too quickly. “Of course I wouldn't rush you.” 

There’s a knock that prevents you from teasing him further, if anything than to hear him rambling about you. 

You’re entirely surprised to see Yuji standing on the partition glass with his hands pressed against it and the biggest smile stretched on his face. 

You laugh at how he has his face squished against the glass. 

“What are you doing in the library,” you ask as he opens the study door and leans against the frame. 

“It’s midterm season,” he says like it's obvious. 

“I know that but clearly you’re not studying.” 

The pink-haired boy gasps mockingly. “I study!” 

Choso grumbles behind you. “No you don't." 

“Hey! You're my brother, you should be taking my side.” 

You glance between the two of them, really trying to see the similarities but it's just not there. 

You blink and suddenly they're staring at you like they're expecting you to say something. 

“Sorry, what?” 

“I said,” Yuji draws out, “Gojo’s hosting tonight. A party to bring good luck on exams to all that come. You totally should.” 

You don’t point out that spending the night partying instead of studying would definitely do the opposite of bring good test scores on your exam. 

“Choso’s coming,” Yuji pipes again. Your ears do perk at that. 

Apparently so do Choso’s. 

“Yuji,” he grumbles again.

He waves a dismissive hand, “Hush hush. You’re my brother. It’s final.” 

You giggle at the frown on Choso’s face, at how ridiculous Yuji can be sometimes. 

“Okay,” you respond. “I’ll go but only if Choso does.” 

“Yes!” Yuji pumps his fist in the air. Little moron. 

Choso, however, has his lips thinned at the idea of going to the frats. 

Admittedly, you're not the biggest fan of frat parties. But, and you drag it out in your mind, it would definitely be fun to see Choso let loose. Hell, you could use a night of fun as well. 

You decide it's perfect roommate bonding. 

“I’ll text you the details,” Yuji says, pulling his phone out. Choso is still staring at you. Not entirely angry but not exactly ecstatic either. It’d be fine once you’d convince him it would be worth it. 

Then a gruff voice leaks into the room. 

“Itadori.” 

It’s Megumi. 

His presence is like a grey cloud against Yugi’s sunny countenance. He frowns, Yuji smiles. His dark features contrast starkly to Yuji’s lighter ones. 

“Stop wondering off. You’ve got an ethics paper due in five hours that you haven't even started.” 

“I think you mean we have an ethics paper due in five hou—Hey! Why’d you hit me?” 

Yuji rubs at the side of his head, where Megumi just slapped him. You bite your lip from cackling out. 

“Someone has to knock some sense into you,” the raven hair grumbles. “Come on. Stop bothering these two.” Then he leaves before Yuji can argue. 

“Have fun with your paper,” you call after him. 

“And your concussion,” Choso follows. 

Yuji speed walks backwards after his best friend, shouting through the glass, “See you tonight.” 

The door shuts softly, the room back to its peaceful quietness. You narrow your eyes as Choso sits down calmly. 

“Why aren't you resisting going to the party?” 

He arches a questioning brow. “Do you want me to?” 

“No,” you shake your head. “I just thought you’d fight me more on this.” 

Choso shrugs his broad shoulders, bunching the fabrics of his sweater. 

“I know the guys from Yuji’s frat. They’re not all terrible.” 

You laugh. Now Choso is being more Choso. 

“We can finish up Chapter 6. Try to squeeze in 7 and 8 before we head out?” 

The image on the projector switches from the pretty sunset. The room is filled with hues of red and blue, some still taken near a midnight bar in the city. 

“Okay, Professor Kamo.” 

You don’t miss the way his lips twitch, the barest signs of a smirk. 

…

Choso would have never, ever, agreed to come to this frat party if you weren’t going with him. Or arriving with him since that sounds less like you're his girlfriend he’s bringing to the party. 

In fact, he kinda swore off parties in general since the last time he’d gone to one he got hammered off his face and woke up with swollen, freshly pierced nipples. 

He’d have never done it if Toji wasn’t there with his shit eating grinning, egging him to drink more, live more, risk more. 

The guy was a gambling addict to his core. Scared lip stretched wide the next day when Choso had called him about what the hell happened that night. 

I won, was all he replied back and Choso had found out through Suguru that there had been a bet to get Choso to do something out of character. 

That was a year ago and while he could have taken the piercing out, once the annoyance of the situation cooled down he actually didn’t mind them. 

His phone buzzes. Speak of the devil. 

Toji: we’re placing another bet on you tn.

Choso: no to whatever is it

Toji: nah 

Your voice sparks in the living room, Choso’s fingers paused over his keyboard as he glances up. 

“Sorry I'm making us late,” you say, hands rummaging in your purse, entirely distracted by the fact that Choso’s jaw is slack. 

You look really good that he momentarily just goes speechless. 

Jean skirt hugging your hips. Dark maroon top that compliments your hair perfectly. You’ve done your make up all nice but that's not what renders Choso speechless.

It's the fact you’re wearing the black lace bra he pulled from his clothes, the fabric peeking though the low cut of your top. 

His fingers twitch. Why had he even given you that back? Why did he have to be nice enough to put his own selfish desire aside? 

Pervert. Stopping thinking like that about your roommate. 

“You ready,” you breathe, shouldering your bag and fluffing your hair like it's not already perfect.

When Choso finds his voice it comes out all wrong, strained, low, rough. “Yeah.” 

Officially, you guys are an hour late but the party is thriving, loud and raging when Choso opens the front door for you. 

He doesn’t have any plan to leave your side really so you end up guiding him to the kitchen where you’re handing him a cup of whatever concoction you just poured. 

He takes a sip, forces the disgusting pairing of rum and vodka down his throat like it’s juice. 

“You like,” you shout over the music, making yourself the same drink. 

“It’s good,” he lies because there’s no point in hurting your feelings when you flash him a bright smile. 

“Gotta loosen up my professor,” you wink. Choso nearly drops his cup. 

“If it isn’t the guy who swore off my parties.” 

Choso doesn’t need to turn to know where that cocky voice is coming from. 

Gojo drapes a lazy arm around his neck, breath scented with the stench of beer, round black glasses flashing atop his smirk. His eyes darted to you.

“And who did you bring? A good luck charm?” 

You’re chuckling at what the white haired idiot is saying and Choso doesn’t blame you. 

“She’s my roommate,” Choso explains before introducing the two of you. 

“We met in our photography class,” you pipe in. 

Choso can see the way Gojo’s eyes are assessing you behind his frames. He doesn’t like whatever ugly feeling drips down his spine at the sight. 

“Photography, huh. Gotta admit Choso really has an eye for capturing the beauty in a subject. Though I'm sure he wouldn’t have to try too hard with you.” 

Leave it to Gojo to flirt with whoever identified as female and had a beating pulse. 

Someone shouts your name before you can respond, hair whipping as you spot your friends and wave. 

“Gonna go say hi,” you direct to him. Then with a polite smile to the white haired boy, “Cool party.” 

When you’re gone, Choso frowns beside him. 

“What was that?” 

“Toji isn’t the only one participating in the bet this year.” 

“What bet?” 

Gojo just smirks, teeth flashing. “You’ll see.” 

In his usual sporadic energy, he withdraws his arm, glancing around the room. 

“Gonna find Suguru. Don’t let your girl out of your sight.” 

“She’s not my girl,” Choso says weakly. But Gojo’s gone and he lets himself sit with the idea for a moment. 

My girl. 

…

You're laughing with your friends, already half a drink in, when you catch Choso’s stare for the third time since you’ve left. 

He’s on the couch with a couple people he’s conversing with, you faintly remember one of the girl’s names to be Shoko but that's all you can gauge. 

Maybe it's the alcohol but you can feel his eyes burning against your skin even when you’re not looking. 

“I wonder who that girl Suguru can’t take his eyes off,” one of your friends comments, huddled close for gossip. 

You glance to Suguru who’s standing on the other side of the room and follow his line of direction to a girl perched on a guy’s lap. Black skirt drifting. Grungy tanktop flattering. 

“She’s dating one of the band members,” someone else chimes. 

“She’s pretty,” you comment because you really don't know anything about the situation they’re talking about. 

“I think so too,” comes a deep voice beside you. You glance at a man with dark hair and a scarred lip. 

“Hey, you wanna come play beer pong,” your friends are already heading for the living room where the table is set up for the drinking game. 

The newcomer pipes up, “Nah she’s good.” 

Now you’re really weirded out, turning your attention from your leaving friends to this newcomer.

“Do we know each other,” you ask and theres an attitude laced in your tone because who the fuck was this guy. 

Your friends are off but now you're focused on assessing the situation, contemplating whether you were gonna have to splash your drink in his face. 

“I’m a friend of Choso’s,” he grunts. “Name’s Toji.” 

Okay…

“That girl you were staring at,” he says, coming in close behind you so he can point to where Suguru is still standing. “Suguru has it out for her. But he’d probably chop my dick off if I made a move.” 

Huh. 

“It clearly looks like she has a boyfriend,” you point out to the guy who’s lap she’s sitting on. 

But Toji just shrugs, unbothered. “I’d be more cautious about crossing that line with Geto than anything.” 

You’re about to leave when he places a hand on your shoulder, mouth close to your ear now. You side eye him, ready to elbow him in his fucking gut for putting his hands on you. 

Then he’s taunting, “Choso thinks you're beautiful too.” 

You freeze, eyes hesitantly striking back to your roommate who has his attention fixed on whatever Shoko is telling him. You don’t miss the way his jaw is clenched hard, straight sharp. 

“Did he tell you that,” you question curiously now. 

A grunt that’s probably his barbaric language for yeah. You momentarily wonder how Choso, who was originally reserved, who evidently didn’t really like frat parties, was related to his guy. 

Clearly they were friends. So why did he have his arm wrapped around you like he didn’t just say his friend thought you were beautiful? 

“Cho has a hard time taking what he wants. Been telling him he should throw his shot at you.” 

His eyes flashes mischievously. “A girl like yourself doesn’t stay single on the market for long.”

Something fills your chest, that flutters alive under the guise of your liquid courage. 

It has nothing to do with what this weirdo is saying and everything to do with the fact that your underlying feelings for Choso aren’t so underlying now. 

It’s like the reveal of the sand and shells under a pulling wave. Glinting at you like a new discovery. 

“Toji. You’re breaking the rules.” 

You recognize the tattooed man that comes up beside you on the other side as Sukuna. One of the bandmates who works with Suguru. 

“Fuck the rules,” he responds. 

Sukuna laughs, sharp teeth catching the strobe lights, eyes flashing to you.

“So you’re the girl who stole Kamo’s heart.” 

Jesus, were all his friends just gonna air out his business? 

“We’re roommates,” you respond but the words come off weak like you don’t really believe them anymore. 

“And?” 

“And—”

“What are you three talking about?’ 

You nearly startle as Choso stands right in front of you, dark eyes narrowed at the two guys behind you. His jaw somehow clenched tighter. 

“The weather,” Toji grins, his lie obvious. 

Chose sets his gaze on yours, briefly softening his face. 

“You feel like getting out of here?” 

It’s like he’s read your mind. You nod, wordlessly. 

“Leaving so soon,” Sukuna pouts. 

“There’s a reason I don't come to these things,” Choso says. “You two are always causing trouble where it doesn't concern you.” 

“You’ll thank you,” Toji smirks. 

But Choso’s already grabbing your hand, leading you through the throng of people dancing and drinking, until you guys finally make it out. 

The late autumn air holds a slight chill when you finally step out. It cools your heated skin the entire short walk to his car. 

It’s silent the entire ride to the penthouse. When you two are in the elevator, Choso

is the one to break the stillness in the air. 

“What’d they say to you?” 

You’re not sure if it's the alcohol in you or him that makes the words sound loaded. Weighing heavy in the air, voice a bit raspy. 

You contemplate sharing what the two told you and ultimately you voice your confession, voice soft in the elevator cart. 

“They said you thought I was pretty.” 

He doesn’t seem surprised at all by what you said. His eyes are moving across your face, as if assessing your reaction instead of the other way around. 

“They do this every time I show up to one of their parties. Make bets on the most daring thing I'll do.” 

Unconsciously, your hand is gripping the strap of your purse, eyes locked on each other. 

Why does this elevator ride feel like it’s taking forever? 

“What was the bet,” you breathe but you almost already know. It had to do with you. 

Choso’s eyes fall down to your mouth, hold there for a second before flicking back up. 

“Probably that I'd kiss you,” he says, soft and rough all at once. Like he was angry they’d pulled that stunt but also…like he wasn’t going to deny that they were right. 

Heart skittering, pulse pounding, you lean your head against the elevator wall, gaze never leaving as you say, “So are you?” 

Choso moves, slow steps, laced with uncertainty and restraint. 

He’s standing right in front of you, kind eyes peering down as you look up, gentle hands coming up to brush a piece of your hair from the corner of your face. 

“Do you want me to,” he whispers. 

There's a furrow between his brows like he desperately doesn’t want you to say no. 

Neither do you. 

You tilt your head, lids flutter, the offer right there. 

“Yes.” 

His hand sinks further into your hair, delicate just like the way he kisses you. 

…

Your lips are more perfect than Choso could have imagined. 

His heart is beating wildly in his chest, breathing coming out sharp through his nose, heat skirting along his skin. 

Sweet. You taste so sweet. 

And he doesn’t want to pull back, doesn’t want to deprive himself of the divine pleasure of touching you, tasting you, kissing you. 

But the elevator is dinging, signaling you guys have finally reached your floor. 

He’s the one to pull away even though his body is screaming at him to do the opposite. 

When you guys make it into the apartment, the lights are out basking the space in darkness save for the glittering of the city skyline through the windows. 

Choso shuts the door. 

Watches you bite your lip as you still stand by the entrance right in front of him. 

This time you’re the one to kiss him, fingers digging into his scalp. 

This time it’s hungry and all consuming. 

This time he doesn’t break away and neither do you. 

…

Having Choso pressed against the door, you on your tip toes with your fingers gripping his hair, just feels right. 

The way his tongue lines the seam of your lips, gently asking, pleading that you open your mouth feels right. 

His hands that hold you by your hips. 

The taste of him on your lips. 

You’re kissing him harder or maybe that’s him. A battle of teeth and tongues, pushing and devouring. 

You had no idea he’d be like this. Equally demanding. 

Naturally you pull apart, breaths mingling into one. 

“You’re full of surprises aren't you,” you say, teething sinking in the flesh of your swollen lip. 

There’s that blush you like so much. 

You settle back on your feet, not quite pulling away since he still has your hips in his palms. 

“You could say that,” he says and his eyes are glassy and he’s blinking like he can’t believe you just did that.

“I have to go to bed,” you whisper. “Exam tomorrow.” 

He’s rubbing his hands across the sliver of exposed midriff, touch feather like, gaze falling to where your breasts are nearly heaving out of your little black bra and top. 

“Okay.” He sounds mesmerized. 

You breathe a giggle, taking a heated step back so he’s not crowded against the door. 

You’re heading in the direction of your room, touching the lingering feel of his kiss on you, when you turn over your shoulder. 

“I think you’re pretty too,” you admit. 

There’s a glimmer in his eyes that you catch before you’re making it into your room. 

And when you shut the door, he doesn’t stop lingering elsewhere. 

｡･:*˚:✧｡｡･:*˚:✧｡｡･:*˚:✧｡

sneak peek 4 next update: 

MidknightScene (direct message sent at 1:26 am): you mind if i get your advice on something? 

MidknightScene (direct message sent at 1:27 am): there’s this girl im crazy about. it’s completely new. and i haven’t told her what i do for work yet…

MidknightScene (direct message sent at 1:27 am): so i guess im asking how i should tell her

｡･:*˚:✧｡｡･:*˚:✧｡｡･:*˚:✧｡

girl math says that because i wrote double identities there’s double the first kiss scenes

ahh a bit of fluff. a bit of slowburn. i think we all know what next update means

[wintertreeflower]

stalker!sukuna who's been obsessed with you since you walked in his bookstore

inspired by the show you. and yes i giggled at my self insert. enjoy <3

wc: 1677

•°. *࿐•°. *࿐

sukuna knew the moment you walked in the store, bracelets jangling, smile blazing, and teasing nipples poking through your little blouse, that you were the one. 

maybe you didn’t know it yet. or maybe you did. 

you’d come up to him, eyes sparkling like you were trying to flirt with your fluttering lashes. 

and when you spoke, in that soft, breathy voice, he nearly wanted to hoist you up until your legs wrapped around his waist and you two just went at it right against the stacks. 

“do you work here,” you’d ask and you’re still smiling like having your pink lips stretched wide isn’t something you just show often to any other book clerk. 

he grins, voice thick, a low rumble when he says, “guilty.” 

“i’m looking for an author,” you’d said, hair brushing over your shoulders, drifting down to where your hands clenched the strap of your bag. “goes by the name wintertreeflower.” 

you surprised him. taken aback when you looked so innocent.

it’s clear in the way you dressed with your flowy blouse, tight but not too tight jeans, fresh pedicure peeping through your strappy sandals, that you were a romantic. 

dangling earrings that shined with precious gems. a pendant you wore with a silver encrusted heart. he’d get to your actual heart, don’t you worry. 

he shows you down another isle, books stacked high, the space so narrow he can smell the waft of your perfume right in his nose. you smell good, he thinks, so good. 

“ah thank you,” you breathed. “i’d checked by authors under w. couldn’t find it there.” 

“she’s under new authors for the time being." he chuckled when you raised a brow. “you’re not expected to know that.” 

“noted,” you said and then you’re reaching on your tip toes, blouse pulling taunt so your hard nipples are practically pushed against the flimsy fabric like a sweet treat for him to see. 

your hands are soft, well kept like you moisturize them every night showing that you take care of yourself. so are your nails, painted in the prettiest shade of pink against your skin. 

“you don’t strike me as the type to read her works,” sukuna said. 

then you laughed and he would have repeated the line just so he could hear the noise come out from you again. 

“consider me a woman of surprises,” you joked and you were already so playful with him as though you’d known him your entire life to be this comfortable in talking about smutty books. 

“hey. anyone work here,” came the voice of an annoying customer. sukuna composed himself enough not to tell the fucker to fuck the fuck off. 

“i’ll be right with you,” he replied evenly. 

the customer visibly rolls his eyes, grumbling under his breath. 

“dick,” you whispered to him, sharing a secret, bonding over his disdain that he’d have to help another customer that wasn’t you. the curse comes out of your tongue, mismatched against the innocent look sukuna thought he’d read you well in.

“woah,” he grinned. woman of surprises, huh. 

he helped the asshole find Life of the Superior Man and you were right, this guy really was a dick. searching for the answers in how to be “an alpha male” according to the text plastered on the front cover. 

but because he had to maintain a good appearance, had to make sure his customer service skills kept people walking through the door, he checked out the loser without a comment. 

“have a good day,” he’d muttered with a fake smile. 

then his attention was on you again as you walked up to the counter and placed your books down. 

“i think you’re gonna like this one,” he said, scanning the bar code and wrapping your purchase. technically mr.mooney said he was suppose to do that for only the customers who requested them as gifts specifically. but you’re special and he wouldn’t want your next read to get ruined on your way back home. 

“oh,” your eyes were bright, the faintest tinges of red staining your cheeks. he made you blush. 

“i feel weirdly validated.” 

“only mean that it’s one of her best.” 

“i’ll hold you to it,” you flirted, reaching in your bag and pulling your leather wallet. 

“come back anytime and let me know that i was right.” 

you grinned, clearly liking the confidence that oozed from his voice. 

sukuna took your credit card, eyes immediately zeroing in on your name. 

“it’s pretty,” he commented, swiping it through. 

but you rolled your eyes, scoffing, “my parents were assholes about the whole naming thing.” then you told him to call you by your nickname. 

sukuna already had a special one in mind. though you’d need some time to hear it without getting startled. 

“and you’re…” 

“sukuna,” he answered. it’s on his name tag but you already knew that, just wanted him to properly introduce himself it seemed. 

“sukuna.” the name rolled off your tongue like a prayer, like a summoning. god, he wanted to hear you say his name again. wanted you screaming it when he took you, body rolling, cock pounding you until it was the only thing you could chant in your fucked out mind. 

you arched a brow. “aren’t you going to tell me to have a nice day?” 

he didn't want to. didn’t want those to be the last words he spoke to you that day. didn’t want you to even leave the store if he could help it. 

still, he finds it in himself to utter the words, a cool promise laced in the sentence. 

“you have a nice day.” 

he handed the shopping bag with your purchase and because you knew, knew that he was going to make you his, brushed your fingers against him before grabbing hold of it properly. 

“you have one yourself, sukuna.” 

then you left. hips swaying. bracelets clinked together in the sound of a final good bye. 

…

the new york air is cool with the promise of autumn around the corner. 

sukuna watches you through the windows of your greenwich village apartment. curtain-less. bare and clear for him to see you pacing the apartment in nothing but a loose top and a pair of cheeky panties. 

he follows you. walking in step with each one that you take. you’re on the phone, distracted, completely unaware that he’s stalking you. 

you fall on the couch, pressed against a green pillow as you’re smiling at whoever's talking over the phone. 

you shouldn’t be smiling like that with anyone but him, he thinks. he should be the one you’re calling late at night to hear you explain all the troubles of your day. 

he pauses near a couple of bushes, standing across the street as he stares at you hanging up the call and huffing soundlessly against the pillows. 

he doesn’t take his eyes off you. hair loose and scattered all around you. the living room lamp casting golden glows all across your smooth skin. he couldn’t look away even if he tried. 

then you’re adjusting against the cushions. persistently adjusting until you get so restless that you grip the green pillow and place it between your hips. 

his heart beats faster. cock filling with blood at the thought that you’re gonna…

your soft thighs are pressed against the velvet fabric, chest arched up, nipples pebbled hard. 

you jaw is slack. mouth open in a way that sukuna knows you’re moaning out loud. 

“fuck.” 

he can’t help himself. he unbuttons his jeans just enough to reach a fist around his aching cock, the ache that you put there. 

he can clearly see the furrow between your brows. the shine of sweat atop your forehead. the way your throat moves with how you're gasping and moaning just by humping that damn green pillow. 

it should be him. should be him. should—

a fantasy plays out in his mind as he watches you ride yourself to orgasm. 

creamy legs pushed up to your chest. ankles dangingly on the tops of his shoulders as he thrusts his hard fucking cock into your tight pussy. 

you’d have your nails digging into his biceps, crying out that he was going so deep, too deep. 

he’d smirk wickedly that you could handle it. and you really could. those needy hips pushing back to meet his thrusts. you want this as much as he does. 

then you’ll say the words he’s been dying to hear you say. the words that has him leaking profusely from his angry red tip, fist clenched so fucking hard and strokes pulling so fast. he’s close to coming. 

want you to fill me up, kuna. give my pussy a creampie. 

as if the stars were perfectly aligned, sukuna watches you shudder, legs trembling, chest heaving hard as the picture perfect image of bliss washes over your face. 

he comes instantly. at that look. at the words ringing in his head. 

he’s already shoving his hand out from his pants, ragged breaths leaving his mouth. 

disappointment washes over him as you get up from the couch and pick up your phone to your ear. another call. 

who was fucking call yo—

sukuna feels the vibrations of his phone ringing in his pocket. pulls it out and answers without taking his eyes off of you. 

“you gonna stop stalking me now and come inside,” you ask, voice breathy from your orgasm, the sound so sweet in sukuna’s ears. 

you’re leaning against the windows now, hips pressed against the beam, an arm crossed over your breasts as you stare at him from across the street. 

you’ve known he was staring this entire time. 

“quite a show, wife,” he grumbles but you can see he’s smirking. 

three years into your marriage, five since the first time you walked in his bookstore, and you two still had the kink that needed to get cracked once in a while. you the little exhibitionist and him the voyeur. 

“hmm,” you’re humming sweetly. “come home, husband. you still have a creampie you owe me.” 

you were in fact still a woman of surprises. surprises that sukuna had no probably in taming. 

•°. *࿐•°. *࿐

tagged fluff you just have to really squint hehe

[wintertreeflower]

Will there be a second post to the Choso x reader OF creators fic??

posted it love!

[wintertreeflower]

nerdcho by day nswf streamer by night...

a/n: this is technically, technically, part four of the out of order choso fic i’m thinking to write. TRUST ITS ALL CONNECTED. tagged those who wanted the update! now lets pick up where we left off…

wc: 3,069

. ܁₊ ⊹ . ܁ ⟡ ܁ . ⊹ ₊ ܁.

According to google about 20% of men had nipple piercings. 

That meant one in five and in your student body—based on the report you pulled up from the official college site—there was something like 13,500 total men enrolled. 

Your Intermediate Photography professor was just a slight ambience as he went over last semester's final project results. 

You should totally be paying attention to the projector and not the sheet of paper you were currently attempting to do math on. 

Numbers scribbled everywhere, eyes glancing back to the internet to make sure your math was correct. You could give yourself some grace since mathematics wasn’t really a part of the Journalism major curriculum.

Murmurs go around you, the Professor has just asked the class a question. 

You’re still not paying attention as you glance at the final result. 

If you did the math right then nearly 2,700 men had their nipples pierced in your 

entire campus. 

“I’d increase the shutter speed,” comes the sound of Choso’s voice and you whip your head up to see where he sits in the back of the class on the opposite side of the room. 

Professor nods, grey hair shimmering as he stands in front of the projected image of a still taken in bright daylight. 

“Explain why, Choso.” 

“The photo’s too bright so we’d need to adjust the amount of light hitting the sensor. F/2.8 means we can maintain the background so there's no need to alter the shallow depth of field. And if ISO is already that low then the best option is to use a fast shutter speed.” 

You should probably be taking notes because what he’s just said makes no sense to you. But even if the professor has moved on, switching the projection to one of blue and purple hues, you can’t take your eyes off your roommate. 

The odds that Choso Kamo had his nipples pierced…

Well, you’d have thought it was 0%. 

But after this morning, when you ogled him shirtless and debunked that statistic, a new question popped in your mind. 

What are the odds that Choso Kamo is not only a OnlyForTheFans creator but the one you were beginning to develop feelings for? 

…

Class ended a while ago and you’d left with the two other friends you’d made in that class. Not before flashing a smile to Choso, eyes burning on him as he returned the gesture and walked off in the opposite direction you were going. 

You couldn’t stop thinking about it all day. 

Walking through campus to get to your 2 pm: Media Law? Choso.

Grabbing lunch with Yuji? Choso. 

Hitting the gym because thinking got a bit overwhelming? Choso Kamo and MidknightScene. 

You were exhausted by the time you got to the lobby of your apartment. 

Waving at the friendly doorman, you brought out your phone, logging into your work site as you made your way to the mail room. 

Choso had texted if you could pick up a package for him since he’d be at an event a bit late tonight. 

got it! You replied when you retrieved the belittle brown cardboard box. 

Then you went to your other messages, the one for your work and saw that Knight had left you with three new messages. 

In the elevator, pressing the floor you and Choso lived on, you briefly read through them. Not at all trying to find hints of Choso’s tone in there or anything. 

MidknightScene (direct message sent at 11:32 am ): hearted your message.

MidknightScene (direct message sent at 11:33 am): just saw the new posts, photos look stunning! 

MidknightScene (direct message sent at 11:34 am): streaming tn in case you want to join the fun ;) 

You can't help as you smile at the compliment. You’d uploaded the rest of the soapy shower photos for the rest of your subscribers to see and while you could admit the lightning and editing made them look aesthetically appealing, you didn’t think they looked stunning 

You’re entering the apartment, the lingering smell of smoke attacking your senses as you respond back. 

.ThroughHerLenz (direct message sent at 9:58 pm): thanks to your help!!

ThroughHerLenz (direct message sent at 9:58 pm): sounds intriguing…but i have to hit the books tonight. have a midterm tmr. boo :(

Dropping your bag onto the hooks by the door, you eye the empty spot on the kitchen island where tonight there are no yummy sweets Choso left behind.

You get the idea to cook, make something for him whenever he gets back from his event as a way of saying thanks for saving the apartment from burning down and sorry i was the one who almost did. 

Truthfully, you’re not exactly ready to give the stove another go. At least not tonight. So you place an order for the sushi you know Choso likes and two black bean mochi. 

You’re still holding Choso’s package, heading to his side of the apartment where you place it just before his shut door. 

The sneaky thought comes to you. To see what his room looks like, see if you can gauge any similarities between their background in Knight’s stream and Choso’s room. 

“Pervert,” you whisper to yourself as you shake your head. You were not going to stoop so low you’d invade your roommate’s privacy. Especially when he was so good. 

The shower is soothing as it beats the water down your back. Lavender shampoo filled the steam with a calming scent. 

No content tonight since you really do have a Media Law exam to study for. 

You’re cross legged on the floor of the living room, heavy book and bright computer on the coffee table, study lofi playing in your earbuds when you feel, rather than hear, the vibrations of the front door shutting. 

A glance up confirms your roommate is back. Hair pinned up in two holds. Familiar blush high on his cheek bones. And he’s carrying a takeout bag as he enters the kitchen. 

“This was by the front door,” he says in that usual soft voice. 

Pulling your earbuds out and shutting the laptop that was beginning to form a headache behind your eyes, you jump to your feet, belly starved. 

“Got us sushi and mochi,” you reply cheerfully, hands already ripping the bag like you couldn't wait long enough to just untie it open. 

“Thank you.” 

You glance up, sushi roll in your mouth as you notice the blush on his face just a little brighter. 

Nodding, you jerk your head to the right, down the hall. 

“I left your package by your door.” You resist the urge to ask him what he ordered. 

Then you get a good look of him, kitchen lights basking his skin in a warm glow, brown eyes shining. 

You swallow your food, asking before he can respond, “How was your event?” 

He blinks like he’s processing the question you just asked him. 

“It was fun. My brother was a part of the basketball charity tournament so I went to support.” 

Now it's your turn to blink, remembering the frat sports charity that Yuji was yapping about today at lunch. 

“Who’s your brother?” 

Woah with the questions girl. You sound like you’re investigating him. 

Choso smiles though like he’s not minding. 

“Yuji Itadori.” 

You pause your sushi roll right before your mouth, chop sticks stuck in the air as surprise hits you. 

“Yuji’s your brother,” you gape at him. 

“Yeah,” Choso laughs softly.

 You tilt your head, assessing. “You guys look nothing alike.” 

He smiles, opening his portion of sushi. “Well half technically. It’s kinda complicated.” 

“Next time there’s an event we should go together,” you suggest. 

“That’s be nice.” Choso hums after his first bite. “How was your day?” 

You lean your back against the barstool. “Uneventful truthfully. You were good in class today though. I don’t think I've ever seen our professor that impressed with an answer.” 

Choso’s eyes seem to light up with that. 

“Thanks. I’ve known everything about camera settings since i was a kid really.” He shrugs a bit bashfully. “It comes naturally now when I see an image.” 

Your next question is loaded, though it doesn’t sound like it. 

“Where’d you learn photography,” you ask casually. 

Choso leans, head tipped back so his bands brush against his forehead. He looks cute when he’s thinking, brows bunched together, soft lips pulled. 

You quickly glance away like the thought will disappear when you're not staring at his face. He’s your roommate, your final project partner, and now apparently your best friend's brother. You didn’t want to make anything awkward by looking too deeply into things. 

“I think I was probably five when I got my first polaroid. No, actually, I think I stole it from my arts teacher. Had just wanted to capture a photo of the lake the elementary school was by and I guess I liked it too much to properly return it.” 

You smile. “Wouldn’t have taken you for a thief, Cho.” 

He sees the amusement in your eyes, some of it brightening his own. 

“Truthfully I was a bit mischievous as a boy

The sound of your laughter fills the room, arms hugged over your sleeping tank top. 

“Definitely wouldn't have thought. You’re so sweet.”

Choso’s brows raise but he doesn't look offended. In fact, he grins, a sort of sly smile you’ve never seen him wear before. 

“Haven’t completely changed since I was a kid, you know.”

Was—Was that Choso Kamo flirting? 

No it couldn't be…

Well, actually maybe. Sure he’d been shy when you first met him, gaze never settled on yours for too long, stumbling over his words in a stutter. 

You two have been living together for almost two months. Have been in the same class for nearly three of them. It’s safe to say he was more comfortable around you. 

More playful. 

There's a heated stare he’s giving you and you to him. 

Your lips are pulled into a little smirk, voice light when you tease, "Wouldn't mind seeing Mischievous Choso then.” 

You get up, finished with your dinner, still locking eyes with him as he laughs softly. Normally. The usual breathy chuckle you’ve grown accustomed to with him. 

“I’m gonna go to bed,” you say, brushing past him where he’s still standing over his sushi. “I’ll leave the mochi in the freezer in case you want some.” 

You do just that, catch sight of the grateful smile on his lips. 

“Thanks again. You’re the best.” 

He blushes again as if he hadn’t meant to say the last part but you're smiling anyways because that means a lot. 

Packing up your books and laptop, you give him a final glance.

“Night, Cho,” you call down the hall. 

His goodnight follows you like a sweet trail all the way into your room. 

…

 His tip is leaking all over his hand. Pre rolling down and lubing his hot cock. 

Choso can see himself in the monitor, eyes scanning the way it looks for the viewers. Always assessing the exposure quality, the angles, the lightning. 

The chat flies all to fast for him to properly read but fuck if he didn’t need this. Hand wrapped around his needy cock. Groans and grunts let loose. 

You just looked so good in that tanktop of your, white mesh a bit see through and little bows that bring out the color in your eyes. 

And that smile. He loves when you smile at him. Perfect lips pulled, teeth shining. 

He’s thinking about what it feels like to have them on his own, to have your teeth sink into his skin as you taunt whatever usual comment to him. 

“Fuck.” 

He knows he shouldn’t think about his roommate. His perfectly good roommate who remembers his favorite sushi. Who fills the apartment with a warm presence he always senses. He couldn't even smell the lingering of smoke from earlier today because all he could focus on is that shampoo of yours. Lavender. 

No, he definitely shouldn't think about the roommate who’s a hallway down, completely obvious to the fact he’s about to come to the thought of you. 

Knowing how close he is, how soon he’ll end the stream, he pinches his flushed tip. Edging him on.

“My little sluts are awfully quiet,” he says, voice heavy and low. He doesn’t stop twisting around his cock, veins bulging on his hand. Slow strokes like he’s not just edging himself but the 300k viewers in the live stream tonight. 

“Have your hands occupied with something?”

Choso knows that his viewers aren’t just watching him specifically to jerk his shit since they could be finding that anywhere. They watch because over the years he’s learned exactly what to say that keeps them engaged. They like the way he talks when he’s reduced to a needy mess like tonight. 

He reads the comments, not exactly performing tonight since you made him so hard with nothing but your smile.

Bbyyru: if you could hear me you’d know im not being quiet rn

Thebigo: knight always knows what to say to get my hands busy

Gwn23hit: i’d say i have both hands on the phone but i’d be lying…

Yoursweett: fuck i really just want to see you cum

Faintly, he wonders what your reaction would be in seeing him like this. In watching his live stream. 

“Yeah? You wanna see me cum,” he teases, voice harsh. “You’re gonna have to earn it.” 

He cocks his head, soft brown hair hitting his broad shoulders, body expertly rolling with the pull and tugs on his dick.

He’s smirking as he catches the next batch of comments, all of them moving so fast.

Plowme2: we’ll do anything knight

Laceycuffs: he wants to hear us beg for it

Thebigo: pleaseeee

Then his eyes catch on a familiar user he’s grown to like the past couple weeks.

ThroughHerLenz: think you should be the one to earn it. 

Behind his mask, his eyes widen, hips stuttering. Nine times out of ten Choso had to play the more dominant role, it was just what brought in engagement. 

He didn’t mind it, in fact, he kinda liked it. The rush of power. The authority. The control. 

But there was that ten percent where comments like that would make him buck, make his groans turn into harsh whimpers, make him see stars. 

Like right now. 

“Oh sounds like someone one wants to hear me beg.” 

Strokes quicken, more pre oozes from his tip, leaking down the veins on the side of his cock.

The thought hits him like sudden thunder. 

Would you be the one to boss him around? Taking control if you ever gave him the chance to make it happen?

He whimpers at the thought. Full on whimpers. Lips worried between his teeth. Chest heaving hard as the lightning bounces off his piercings. 

“That's what you little sluts want,” he whines. 

Bunnyboo: guys who whimper>>>

Alphndomg: subby knight???

Sowettt: my prayers have been answered. 

Thehotyn: love when lenz is in the chat

“What do you say, Lens,” he groans, pleasure shooting up his spine, balls drawing up tight. 

Choso’s got one hand furiously fucking his fist and the other slung behind his rolling chair, fingers gripping the back as the stimulation grows and grows. 

“You think I earned it?” 

ThroughHerLenz: hmm

His eyes don’t leave the chat, ignoring every username but the one who has him in a chockhold. 

ThroughHerLenz: i think you’ve been good enough 

Choso comes before he’s finished the damn comment, eyes pausing at good and ropes of cum shooting from his sensitive tip. 

He paints his abs in a pearly shine already glistening with sweat. He’s kept his hair down and that too sticks to the back of his neck with the moisture. 

Roll after roll of pleasure washes over him until he’s shuddering. 

The comments are going wild now. They always do when he comes. 

With a swipe of his finger, he coats the tip in his release, bringing it to his parted mouth. 

And sucks it clean. 

“Hope you enjoyed yourself after dark,” he grins lazily. “Till next time.” 

Choso logs off before he can go through the last bit of comments. He typically doesn’t end the stream abruptly but you’re home tonight and he doesn’t want to risk you overhearing himself talking alone in his room. 

After he gets cleaned up, he’s lying in bed scrolling through the last bit of work messages before he calls it a night. 

You have three new messages from: ThroughHerLenz

Immediately he opens them. 

ThroughHerLenz (direct message sent at 9:58 pm): thanks to your help!!

ThroughHerLenz (direct message sent at 9:58 pm): sounds intriguing…but i have to hit the books tonight. have a midterm tmr. boo :(

.ThroughHerLenz (direct message sent at 10:37 pm): been meaning to ask where you learned so much about photography! you have a good eye :)

Choso can't help but think about how you’d asked the exact same question earlier. Huh, just a coincidence surely. 

MidknightScene (direct message sent at 11:49 pm): you flatter me Lens

MidknightScene (direct message sent at 11:50 pm): my mom loved photography you can say i got it from her

There's that buzzing in Choso’s blood that has nothing to do with the high that's wearing off from his earlier orgasm. 

He clicks on the profile he’s already checked ten times today, assuring himself it's just so he can give feedback on photo posts. 

But he can’t deny the girl is stunning. Beyond her beautiful body. She’s clearly creative in her shoots, calculating on her poses. A model that can tease expertly. 

The most current post, the one’s he’d complimented on the camera quality, has the barest glimpse of her lower face. The hints of a smile, pink lips and white teeth. 

Choso stares at it for a moment, admiring it, feeling that very same feeling he gets whenever he sees you smile. 

Shit. No. He can not be falling for two people he wasn’t even allowed to have. 

Quickly, he presses the x button on the top of the screen, exiting out of profile posts. 

Then he sees another message in his inbox.

.ThroughHerLenz (direct message sent at 11:50 pm): hmm. caught the last half of your stream. hot show ;) 

His heart stutters and he know’s he’s thoroughly fucked. 

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

let me know if you guys actually wanna see this idea more fleshed out, ya girl is plotting

@yoonseunghee @lem0nhead642

@nanalovesff @jeanks-favwife

[wintertreeflower]

in which you wonder if the OF creator you're falling for might just be your innocent roommate choso

Inspired by tonycries’ latest!

wc: 2337

‧˚₊•┈┈┈┈୨୧┈┈┈┈•‧₊˚⊹

The apartment smells like sweet sugary pastries when you shoulder your way through the front door. You know as you settle your gym bag on the hooks that Choso brought sweets. 

It was almost like a roommate tradition now. 

When you’d asked him he’d just shrugged, flitting gaze between yours and the bakery box from across the street, “you said they’re your favorite.” 

You’d laugh, immediately digging in for one of them. “You might just be the best roommate, Cho.” 

That had happened a week after you first moved in. So about a month or so ago. 

Now you grab a pastry dusted in crystal sugars and filled with yummy strawberry jam. 

The apartment is quiet. No signs of life coming from the door down the hallway on your right that signifies Choso’s room. 

All the lamps are off. The only light coming from the floor-to-ceiling windows that illuminated just how bright the city was. 

You stared at the life that shimmered like a million scattered stars, nibbling on your sweet treat. 

The thought came to you suddenly: what was Choso working to earn enough to afford a place like this? 

Yeah, you’d thought about it before when you’d first stepped into the luxurious penthouse lobby, sure he’d sent the wrong address. 

But then you checked the flyer you’d neatly folded in your bag. 

Spare 1 bed/1bath. 

All genders welcomed. 

50,000 yen/monthly.

Sure enough you were at the correct address, still thinking about how the offer just felt too good to be true at the time. 

Then you found out Choso, from your Intermediate Photography class, was the guy who’d pinned it on the community board and it started to make more sense.

“I’m really only looking to fill the empty room,” he’d explained when you called the number attached to the form. 

Now you were filling in the blanks. Whatever hustle he was doing paid well enough that he didn’t need to rent out the room if he didn't want to. 

Regardless of the truth, you were just grateful such an affordable living situation could have found its way to you after your unexpected lack of residence. 

And with someone you already semi-knew from class. 

Finishing the pastry, you head for your ensuite bathroom for a much needed shower. 

You undress from your sweaty gym clothes, catch sight of your naked body in the vanity mirror and get the idea that you can get some content in before you get to bed. 

The water runs hot, steam curling all around you, fogging up the glass door. Bubbly soap is lathered dense enough that it acts like a bit of covering when you decorate your tits with them. 

It’s been a request from one of your regulars. Soapy tit pics. 

Who were you to deny when those very regulars were helping you pay your stay here? 

Camera set up, lightning adjusted, you use the timer function to capture your provocative poses. 

An arm cupping your breast, soap covering your nipples, your free hand arching back to rest flatly on the shower tile wall. 

You’ve made sure the camera only captures the barest glimpses of your hip bones. After all, the request was for the upper portion of your body and you hadn’t exactly opened requests for anything more exposing. 

In this angle, your hair runs down your back in shining wet strands, head tipped back enough you wouldn’t have to blur your face out, soft skin arched for the lightning to reflect off of. 

Two months in joining ForOnlyTheFans had taught you a lot on set up, equipment, and audience engagement. The rest, however, you’d learned from your photography class. 

And whatever helpful tips Choso liked sharing with you when he shared his art portfolio. 

“They’re great, Cho,” you’d compliment. 

“Feel free to come whenever for advice,” he’d said with a soft smile.

Finally, you take one with yourself pressed against the glass. Back arching, side profile on display, tits pushed up in a way that flatters you so. 

When you finish your shower, wrapped in your fluffy robe and padding to get a start on editing your new posts, you hear the front door open and thud shut. 

Roomie is home it seems. 

Choso would likely blush alive if he found out what was paying your portion of the rent. He was just so…innocent. 

It was cute really and he was always respectful. 

Never bringing hookups when you were home even though you’d explained you really didn't mind. 

Keeping the music he worked to at a tolerable level. 

Always taking his laundry out of the dryer so you didn’t have to wait around for him to get his clothes out to dry your own. 

He really was a good roommate. And it wasn’t like he was exactly shy. 

You two had spent many late nights just watching movies, sharing comments on the cinematography and the stills you two would take inspiration for your final project. 

Sometimes he’d cook, offering whatever delicious meal because, and you quote, I made enough for too anyways. 

There’s another click of the door, likely the one for his room, and you let out a little yawn as you finish touch ups for the private request set. For the others, you promised yourself you’d finish tomorrow and upload for the normal subscribers. 

You’ve just sent them to your regular—rjthebig—when your eyes catch on the missing messages outlined in the left corner of the tab. 

Filtering through hundreds of special requests, messages of appreciation from fans, your eyes immediately flit to the one person you regularly converse with. 

MidknightScene. His bio: Where pleasure is better after dark. 

You’d stumbled across his account when you first signed up. As one of the most searched creators you really didn’t think he’d pay you any mind when you started watching his live streams. 

How you were wrong. 

It’d started with you sending a cheeky comment during his stream where he had his hands wrapped around his flush cock looking so perfectly destroyed behind his partial black mask.

Then he’d interact with you more, and at first you’d told yourself he was this flirtatious with all his other viewers. 

But if that were true then he was sliding in over 500k private dms, asking what led you to this site and then offering to help guide you when he found out you were a newbie in it for the money. 

Knight, as he went by, was funny and fucking nuts sometimes. 

MidknightScene (direct message sent at 1:31 pm): been getting swamped by demands to bring in a scene partner…let me know if you’re ever in the city. Can meet up :)

MidknightScene (direct message sent at 2:45 pm): how are you liking the new settings i suggested?

ThroughHerLenz (direct message sent at 12:14 am): hmm sounds like your audience is getting awfully greedy doesn’t it 

ThroughHerLenz (direct message sent at 12:15 am): just tried them out for specials. turned out so much cleaner and easier to edit! 

Knight had quickly become an internet friend of yours. If your internet friends told you how to fix the nudes you posted for the web to see. 

He was kind like Choso, just as respectful, never giving off any creepy intentions in the month and a half you guys messaged each other daily. 

The comparison, however, probably wasn't the best. 

Yeah, Knight was like Choso in those respectable qualities but Choso was nothing like Knight. 

The OnlyForTheFans content creator who was known for his perfect dirty talk and edging sessions that drove his chat wild for hours. 

The content creator who had sly nipple piercings that you’d definitely thought about taking into your mouth during one of his streams when he’d teased his shirt up just enough to catch a glimpse of the metal’s shine. 

Who had a chiseled set of abs that made him entirely desirable. 

Who winked with unabashed confidence before ending a stream. Posted the most diabolic captions that’d make your legs clench. 

But what you had going with Knight was never gonna turn out to be anything past online acquaintances. You had one strict rule uponing starting your journey as a nsfw creator: no meets up. 

At the end of the day this was just how you were getting by for your college years. It wasn’t going to become your profession—you had no desire for that. 

So meet ups. Collabs. Even requested dates from a couple of your subscribers, offering to fly you out at their expense. Well it just wasn’t going to happen. 

You don’t expect the instant message that rolls in, already half preparing to go to sleep as you set your phone on charge on your night stand. 

MidknightScene (direct message sent at 12:17 am): glad to hear! can always let me know when you need advice. 

Huh, that sounds familiar. 

The sound of the dm ring softly dings as another one pulls up in your guy’s chat. 

MidknightScene (direct message sent at 12:18 am): don’t want to sound pushy but you give what i said before any more thought today? wouldn’t have to be for content or anything i just think you’re great 

You try not to let his words flutter like butterflies in your chest but you’re already smiling as you type out your reply. 

ThroughHerLenz (direct message sent at 12:18 am): I have this rule that I don't meet up with people from my work. wanna keep it separate from my personal life, you know? 

Three dots pop up indicating he’s typing. You bit your lip in anticipation, seconds feeling like dragged out minutes. 

MidknightScene (direct message sent at 12:19 am): i get it! sorry if i made you uncomfortable, it wasn’t my intention 

And something in you believes it. 

Theres a long pause where neither of you types anything and you’re about to write out a goodnight message when he finally starts typing again. 

MidknightScene (direct message sent at 12:22 am): i like talking to you, Lens highlight of my night

Something like conflict wars in your head. Warning you not to get too attached, to just set a boundary and put a stop to whatever is slowly growing between the two of you. 

You don’t write that though. 

Instead you type out: i really like talking to you too <3. You hit send before you can pull back, shutting your laptop before you even see if he responded back. 

…

Choso thinks about that god damn text heart until it’s following him in his fucking dreams. 

He literally dreams that it manifested into a towering 3-d figure and started chasing him. 

Truthfully, it left him a bit distraught when he woke up but that also could have been the smell of something burning. 

“Choso!” 

He’s up now, legs stumbling as he swings his door open and walking into a huge mess of smoke. 

“What happened,” he asks a bit panicked, heading for the kitchen where you’re standing there in front of a sink on fire. 

“It caught on fire,” you quickly explain, still trying to swat the flames but you might actually just be fanning them brighter. You retreat back when it licks up to burn you, bumping against his bare shoulder in doing so. 

“I was making eggs then the stove light kinda just caught onto the oil and then I panicked and put it in the sink.” 

Choso would have found your rambling cute if the fire alarm wasn’t just activated, nearly bleeding his ears with its blaring tone. 

“Did you turn on the faucet?” 

There's a guilty look on your face as you nod shamefully. You’re pretty when you have your eyebrows bunched up like that. A little indent in your forehead that almost makes him want to soothe away. Round eyes full of apology and—

Shit the fire. 

Choso spots the pan lid you’d left by the stove. Quickly grabbing it, he shuts it over the towering flames before they can burn him, successfully extinguishing the ongoing campfire in your guy’s shared kitchen sink. 

But the heat just transfers into the handle of the lid, because science, and he pulls back, hissing at it sears his skin. 

“Fuck.” He doesn’t really curse when he’s in front of you, really in front of anyone that isn't his secret nsfw cam audience. The pain just startled him, still lingering as he pull it toward you. 

And now your hands are wrapped around his, the size difference noticeable, the pain, oh so gone now that you’re touching him. 

“It doesn’t look too bad,” you say, eyes examining, brows still pulled together this time in concern. “I’ve got some soothing gel that might help.” 

“Yeah. Soothing gel.” 

It’s too early for him to be acting like a moron to you right now. 

“I mean,” he coughs and you glance up at the tone, eyes dragging up the naked planes of his chest, halting still on his pecs. “That would be helpful. Thank you.” 

Okay not too bad, Choso thinks. 

You don’t say anything, eyes still locked on his bare chest, blinking like a thought is coming to you. 

Choso had been in such a rush he’d forgotten to throw on a shirt since he typically just sleeps shirtless. Now it was clear he was making you uncomfortable. 

“I—I’m sorry,” he stutters and he was doing so much better in fixing that awful habit. The last thing he needs is to make his roommate feel uneasy. 

“Let me grab a shirt,” he says, heading for his room. He can feel it on his face, though, the blush that wont go away when he saw how you were just staring at him. 

“Yeah,” he hears you say but it sounds far off, lost in thought, “I’ll get the gel.” 

Choso doesn’t see you stare after him even long after he’s retreated into his bedroom. 

He doesn’t know that you’ve seen his nipple piercings on someone else before… 

꩜ ‧.°. 𖦹.°.‧ ꩜‧.°.𖦹 .°.‧

this totally connects with my other piece on nsfwcreator!choso. i’m just a sucker for that man really

[wintertreeflower]

suguru doesn't like when you call him a rebound. he fucks the words right out of your dictionary

-inspired by numb to the feeling by chase atlantic 

a/n: help this isn't proof read in the slightest, just roll with it (no pun intended)

word count: 4,855

⋆⁺｡˚⋆˙‧₊☽ ◯ ☾₊‧˙⋆˚｡⁺⋆

suguru was always quiet around you. a grumpy force where he sat by the drums during practice, fingers twirling his sticks, hair messy in their hold. you’d have thought he didn’t like you tagging along during band practice. 

but that couldn’t be true. not when his eyes would glance at you every so often, stare burning to where you sat on your boyfriends lap while he rehearsed song lyrics. 

the exposed skin of your legs through your black skirt tingled and when you realized that you were staring at him way longer than was deemed friendly, you turned. 

“i’m gonna go catch yuki at her dorm before the concert,” you murmur in your boyfriend’s ears. 

“okay,” he mutters, planting a weak kiss to the side of your mouth. his focus was on the songs, you tried to reassure yourself as you waved at the rest of the band members and made your way out the studio. 

…

“i feel like he’s disconnected, yu.” 

you’re face up on yuki’s bed, staring at the painted over mold on her dorm ceiling. 

“what makes you say that,” she asks, hooping in her earrings, getting ready for the concert. 

you tell her why. tell her that ever since you and him have made it official he’s stopped making the effort to see you. blaming it on practice or a spontaneous round of drinks with the band mates or, and you sigh when you say it out loud, he doesn’t have to see you everyday to be your boyfriend. 

“you can’t be serious,” yuki glances up from where she was hyperfixated on swiping her mascara. 

“he apologized a week ago, said something about stress with music deadlines and assignments. i feel for him, i do. but now i’m wondering if he even has what it takes to be in a relationship.” 

you sigh. “i can’t believe i just said that out loud.” 

“girl i cant believe you accepted an apology like that.” 

sitting up, you fumble with the silver chain that dangles his initial. a gift when you guys had made it official a month ago. 

“couples fight, yuki. what was i supposed to do? not try to find a resolution?” 

she’s turned completely in her seat now, gaze settling and you’re almost frightened by how serious she looks. 

“resoultion doesn't come from weak acceptance. it sounds harsh but my best friend is being hurt by this dickbag and you’re letting it.” 

your lips thin. “i’m not letting anything happen. just wanna see if he’s worth fighting for.” 

“and is he?” 

you glance out the window, the sky dark with the promise of the first thunderstorm of the summer. 

“i don’t know yet.” 

…

suguru can still see the image of you perched on the band singer like a photo burned in his mind. can still smell the waft of your perfume as you warmly waved your leave. bracelets jangling in the familiar sound he’s grown to associate with only you. 

your boyfriend is a dick. plain as that. not even man enough to see the perfect attention he’s ignoring to read fucking lyrics instead. 

suguru knows how you bring him lunch every practice to make sure your scum boyfriend doesn't forget to eat. occasionally you’ll bring something for the whole band because you care. 

they all love you in a little sister way. though it doesn’t seem like it, suguru does too. likes that you care about others. that even when you're dressed in your usual dark skirt and grungy tank top your smile makes you radiate like a bright, warm sun. 

you’re radiating. it plagues everyone around you but him. because he almost can't forgive you for putting up with a loser like your boyfriend. 

but it’s not his business, he reminds himself. breathing out through his nose, he tries to shake you from your mind, tries to focus on the music right in front of him. 

it’s nearly successful but then you’re here again and there’s a blond girl next to you, making eyes at Choso who’s tuning his guitar. 

you laugh at whatever your boyfriend says, hand clutching his bicep and something like jealous is nearly lurching suguru out of his seat. 

then you're calling for him, that radiant smile that compliments your eyes just perfectly. 

“suguru!” you’re leaning against the post and he’s keeping his calm gaze on your face and not on the way your mini skirt moves with every sway of your hips. 

it strikes him that you were saying something that he was too distracted to even register. 

“huh?” 

“i said you’re gonna come to the after. gojo’s hosting it at the frats. you two are close, right?” 

“yeah, we are.” 

you’re grinning, teeth shining under the stage lights. 

“then i’ll see you there.” you don’t give me a chance to refuse because you’re already walking backstage with the blonde who’s blowing a kiss at choso. 

suguru glanced at the stage clock. It’s show time. 

…

performing may be the one time suguru doesn’t think. not really anyways. 

sure he’s thinking about his next moves, making sure he’s on time, and all the little automatic things that come from playing. but other than that his mind goes blank, the music his one and only guide. 

it manifests alive in his body. head whipping. skin buzzing. fingers restless. 

when the show’s over that high doesn’t just go away. 

no, its like his mind is crashing. searching for whatever next fix can live up to what it feels like to perform on stage. 

he’s usually safe when he comes to the frat parties since they really only serve alcohol and nothing stronger. but choso decided to come, which he never does, and there he’s standing by the kitchen pulling out a bag of blue caps to the same blonde friend you’d brought to the concert. 

it doesn't take long to find you amongst the throng of people dancing and drinking and playing beer pong. almost like his eyes just automatically know where you’re at. 

right now you’re perched on your boyfriend again like you were at practice. Skirts riding up your tempting thighs, hair free and unbound, and those sparkling bracelets glittering under the bright strobe lights. 

you’re laughing at what the group is saying and you might have had one too many drinks because you clumsily spill it all over your tank top. 

suguru can read your lips from here. fuck. 

you’re standing, heading for where he knows the bathrooms are just right down the hall and it takes all his will not to follow you there. 

as much as you plague his mind, he’s not a homewrecker. wants nothing to do with anyone’s messy relationships. 

“she okay,” gojo says coming up besides him. 

suguru glances at him, sipping from his solo cup as he feigns confusion. 

“who?”

the white haired boy’s eyes shimmer with amusement. 

“the girl you were eye fucking.” 

“satoru, must you be so crass.” 

he grins, slings a lazy arm across suguru’s shoulder and brings his ear to his lips. 

“and you need to stop living by the philosophy of being moral. doesn’t really suit you.” 

and because satoru has known him his entire life, can read his best friend as clear a book, he taunts, “especially because i know you’re not exactly having moral thoughts about a taken woman.” 

suguru shoves him off. 

“you don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

“i know more than you think. i have eyes everywhere.” 

satoru points his cup at the couch where your absence is missing. 

“her boyfriend frequents the parties i host. he particularly loves this red head sorority chick when ever she’s not with him. caught them in toji’s bathroom hooking up.” 

the admission runs like cold water over suguru’s blood. he almost expected it but now his best friend has just left, breaking the news left in his hands. 

god, you were going to be crushed. but you deserved the truth, that much suguru knew. 

“why didn’t you mention this earlier?” 

satoru shrugs. “haven’t seen you in a while. i host and you don’t show up.” 

guilt hits him. 

“i’m sorry satoru. practice has taken most of my time these days.” 

the white haired boy smiles, though it’s lopsided like something heavy is pulling its weight down. 

“don’t sweat it, man. so you gonna tell her?” 

suguru sighs, staring at the hallway you disappeared to. 

“she deserves to know.” 

“don’t think you’re being moral for telling her,” his best friend taunts. “you know you’re doing to for the slightest chance you have a shot.” 

suguru grumbled to himself the entire walk through pressed bodies and kissing couples until he’s reached the bathroom you’re still locked in. 

he stands there, gaze set on the little sliver of light escaping from the bottom of the door, your feet’s shadows there to assure him that it is you. 

his hand is frozen in the movement to knock. 

what was he doing? 

was he really going to tell you that your boyfriend has been cheating on you this entire time? did he really think you’d want to hear that from him, the bandmate of said cheating boyfriend? 

and why did he fucking care so much if you got hurt? 

fuck whatever satoru said. at the end of the day what he’d said was true. 

you shouldn’t be with your loser boyfriend but suguru also knew you shouldn’t be with someone like him. impulsive, damaged, barely restrained despite constantly thinking morally good. 

you deserve to know, yes, but not under the intention that he’d be the shoulder you cried on. 

suguru pulled back, sparing one more glance at the shadow of your feet before he urged his own to start moving. 

he knew better, he always did. it was like he had this moral function to always do the right thing. 

currently, that function was malfunction and he wasn’t sure if it was because of you or what else. he knew that he didn’t want to think anymore. he wanted to relive the high he’d just had at the concert not even an hour ago. 

he found choso immediately. 

…

“ugh.” you curl your nose at the smell of your soaked tank top. no matter how many times you washed it in the sink with the hand soap and patted it try with the hand towel, the stench of beer wouldn’t come out. 

you sigh, glancing at the mirror. you get the drunken thought that you could just wear your bralette as a top, it’s modest enough it could look like a scandalous outfit choice. 

maybe if you were single you would have but for now you’d just have to endure the wet fabric long enough to see this party end. 

with a quick fix of your hair and your lipstick, you unlock the bathroom door and head back to the couch you’d just left. 

huh, he’s gone. 

“did suguru talk to you?” 

you turn catching sight of white hair and black rimmed circular glasses. 

gojo. you don’t know him all that well, only occasionally seeing each other at his parties so what was he doing talking to you?

“um no why?” 

he sighs like that was not what he’d expected to hear. 

“nothing,” he says, pushing the tips of his glasses up his nose. the reflection of the strobe lights bounce off the surface, nearly blinding. 

“your boyfriends in toji’s bathroom.” 

you furrow your brows, still shouting over the music. “who’s that?” 

“doesn’t matter,” he turns you by the shoulders so you’re looking in the direction of the staircase. “take the stairs and it’s the last door on the right.” 

you smile at him. “thanks!” 

“no problem. but could you let me know if you see suguru anywhere?” 

you throw a quick sure over your shoulder as you bound the steps, quickly reaching the last door like gojo’s instructions. you shake the handle. It’s locked. 

“babe,” you shout though the music isn’t so loud up here and it comes out clearer. 

“shit.” 

you glance at the sliver of light leaking through the door, shadows moving across the floor. 

“gojo said you were in here. you okay?” 

“yeah,” he replies. “got sick from all the beer.” 

you shake the handle again, not really sure why he’s not letting you inside. it’s not like you haven’t been there to soothe him through his hangovers before. 

“who is she,” comes a second voice in there and the worst thought pops into your head. 

“open the door,” you demand, relentlessly shaking the knob. 

it flings open, a red head pushing past you so fast you can't make out her face.

but you turn, catching your very guilty boyfriends’ face. 

oh god. 

“oh my fucking god,” you yell. 

his mouth is stained pink, not the red shade from your lipstick. he doesn’t say anything, just stands there, mouth gaping, hands loose by his sides. 

“fuck you,” you say before you’re leaving him alone. 

you rush down the stairs, hands shaking. you’re so fucking upset with yourself for not realizing sooner. not listening to yuki when she’d first said upon meeting him that he didn’t seem good enough for you. 

you try her phone, bring it to your ear. it just rings before going to voicemail. 

you pass by the kitchen and immediately stop when you stop the blonde and choso in the corner. suguru is there too. 

“hey you,” yuki says with blown pupils. “where have you been?” 

“toji’s bathroom apparently,” you mutter rubbing your hands over your chilled arms. maybe it was the fact you were still in your wet tanktop or the discovery that you’ve been fucking a lying whore for a month now but goodbumps lined your skin. 

“oh you met him,” choso asks, puffing from a blunt that’s looking all too tempting right now. 

“no. just needed to clean up,” you lie. 

for some reason you find yourself glancing at suguru who’s staring at you like he’s not sure you're real. 

you blink, not looking away when you ask cho, “can i hit that?” 

“since when did you smoke weed,” suguru says. you narrow your eyes seeing that his pupils are blown too. 

“since you did whatever drugs have your eyes blown black.” 

choso laughs, handing it over to you. 

“i love when you’re feisty,” yuki smiles. “could save some of it for that boyfriend of yours.” 

you inhale longer than you normally do, the mention of him leaving a sour taste in your mouth that has nothing to do with the weed. 

when you blow out, it comes smoothly and you immediately change the subject. 

the conversation eventually circles around how the band performed tonight. when they’re next gig is. the research study yuki is apart of under doctor yaga’s supervision. Even the trip you have planned for shibuya this summer. 

you’ve been passing the blunt between yuki and choso, feeling suguru’s eyes burning against your side. 

“should visit nonbei yokocho,” suguru says. you’re perched on the kitchen island, having made yourself comfortable a long while ago. 

“second that,” choso huffs out. 

“you’ve been,” you direct to suguru. he’s leaning against the counter, hair unbound and so soft you have the strange urge to run your fingers through it. 

he nods. “for a gig a couple summers ago. it’s a lovely contrast from the chaos.” 

you smile, legs dangling, hands placed atop the island edge. 

“sounds exactly like something you’d like.” 

“what do you mean?” 

“you’re always so collected,” you explain. “seems fitting you wouldn’t like chaotic things.” 

he shrugs. “i prefer order. but there’s a balance to which we should surround ourselves in.” 

“how philosophical.” 

is that a smile on his lips? your eyes linger on it, enjoying the way it curves against his lip ring, the way it softens his eyes. 

you tilt your head as if only realizing just how beautiful he was. 

“you should smile more,” you think out loud, too high to filter your words appropriately. 

choso wags an agreeing finger. “i’ve been telling him since we were kids. dude for a while i really thought you just didn’t know how to.” 

you laugh, light and airy. you can almost imagine it, little suguru, a boy who’s just as grumpy as he is today. 

yuki’s whispering something in choso’s ears and you make eye contact with suguru again. Warm brown starting to leak back into their normal shape, high wearing off. 

“babe,” yuki leans, “we’re gonna call it. do you have a ride back?” 

“yeah,” you lie. “text me when you get home.” 

the blonde smiles. “of course.” she turns a hard eye to suguru. “make sure she doesn’t get in trouble.” 

“hey you think that little of me,” you pout. 

“only of the people you surround yourself with.” 

you feign hurt. “ouch.” 

yuki playfully rolls her eyes, waving, “bye!” you don’t miss how she leads choso out, hand intertwined, the blushing boy with damn near hearts in his eyes. 

“fifty bucks he tells her he loves her when they’re doing it.” 

suguru arches an amused brow. 

“choso wears his heart on his sleeve. not gonna make a bet where we both know the outcome to be true.” 

you giggle. “let me guess: gambling isn’t a part of your philosophy.” 

“money is of no value to me. what i want naturally has higher risks.” 

“what do you want?” 

it shouldn’t sound as intimate as it does. like you just perhaps asked what his deepest, darkest desires were. he’s looking at you like you in fact did ask that question. gaze heavy, jaw firm. 

he’s quiet for a moment as if contemplating his answer before softly admitting, “something i can’t have.” 

your heart pounds a bit harder. gone is the chill you were feeling earlier before, his voice, heating your skin just so. 

“so your boyfriend gonna take you home?” 

you cant help the lip curl of disgust at the mention. 

“nope.” 

suguru watches you carefully. “he do something to you?” 

you rake a hand through your hair, pushing it so it all falls on your shoulder. 

“only fuck someone that wasnt his girlfriend.” 

“i’m sorry,” he says softly and you can tell he means it. 

“it’s fine,” you shrug. “part of me was blind to what was right in front of my eyes.” 

“come on,” he’s grabbing his keys where they’re hazardly placed by the toppling bottles of liquor. “let me take you home.” 

something spikes in you when he says it. he sounds more caring in that sentence than your now official ex ever did in a month. you find that pathetic. 

the thought it so irritating that it plagues you the entire car ride home. it’s silent the entire way but you feel the weight of it nearly suffocating you when you pull up to the address of your apartment. 

“you shouldn’t be driving when you’re high.” 

suguru has a hand still on the steering wheel even though he’s put the car in park. 

“not the first time.” 

you turn in your seat, facing him. 

“that’s not helping your case. you can crash at my place,” you say, shouldering your purse. “my roommate’s out for the weekend anyways. you wouldn’t be a bother.” 

“your roommate, huh. what about your ex? the guy i’m in a band with.” 

you resist rolling your eyes. “what about him?” 

“how would he feel knowing i spent the night with no one else under the same roof but you?” 

“i don’t really care what he feels anymore actually.” 

suguru’s quiet, you realize when he does that it’s because he’s thinking, testing out sentences in his mind before he voices them. you don’t like that he keeps so much to himself. and you don’t like that you wish you could hear it all. 

“you’re looking for a rebound,” he says harshly. 

you place your manicured hand on the door handle, glancing over your shoulder at the barely restrained look all over his face. 

“tell me you wouldn’t jump into my bed if i asked you to.” 

…

your keys are barely slotted in when the two of you crash against your front door. lips brutal, tongues harsh, and teeth biting. 

it’s a kiss that feels more like a fight. a fight for entirely different reasons. 

suguru cant believe it’s taken him this long to finally taste you. how long has it been since he’s wanted to kiss you? he knows it’s stemmed back when he first noticed you at one of his concerts, pretty smile and lips untouched before you even went on the first date with your ex.

fuck being moral, he thinks, when your making that desperate little sound in the back of your throat, when you’re clawing your fingers in his hair like you don’t want him to leave.

it’s clear you’re taking whatever emotions you have about the breakup out on him. nails digging. teething gripping on his lip. then you’re dragging him inside your apartment with such a strong force he’d have thought you hated him. 

you two don’t even make it to the bedroom like you’d taunted, falling onto the empty couch in a flurry of hands and heated limps. 

the shutters are still open, the only light coming from the full moon tonight. 

suguru can’t help the growl he lets out when he cups your breasts still in your tanktop. 

“off,” he demands, breaking from the kiss in ragged breaths that fill the empty living room. 

you follow his orders, a sly grin on your red lips, gloss smearing in a way that makes you look so fucking ruined. a silent gift. 

top is off, leaving you in your red bralette. then it’s your skirt that you're shimming your hips to pull down and suguru isn’t really breathing when you're in front of him in nothing but a matching set of red lacy lingerie. 

“fuck,” he says outloud. you’re straddling you, placing a handle on his chest and forcing him so his back is against the couch. 

“i will,” you promise darkly, fingers working to unbutton his jeans, tugging his boxers down just enough so his hard and leaking cock spring free. 

your breath falters at the sight of him, small hand wrapped around the wide girth. you’ve got your eyebrows pinched together like you’re wondering if it’s going to fit. 

shit, your fingers feel so good right now and you’ve barely done anything but grip. it takes a lot of restraint not to buck up into you, not to grab you by the hips and slam the entire length of him in one go. 

your terms, he reminds himself with gritted teeth. 

slowly you tease yourself with the tip, letting suguru feel just how wet and warm you are. his hands clench the arm rest and you smile when you notice. 

“gonna fuck you nice and hard. my little rebound.” 

suguru doesn’t like it, pushes up so he can kiss that word right off your mouth. but your hand is firm against his chest, panties pulled to the side, cunt wrapping around and then sinking down. 

you both gasp at the penetration. 

hands bunching the material of his shirt, you pick up your pace, ditching the idea of starting off slow entirely. 

suguru grips your hips so hard he hopes you’ll wake up and find his finger shaped bruises etched into your pretty skin. 

“mm so good,” you whine, grinding in a little circle at the base of where his cock is filling you. 

suguru takes one his hands, fingers pulling your hood back so he can see the glistening bud of nerves winking at him. he circles it, mesmerized by where he’s stretching you out so full. 

but then you moan, clenching down hard and he has to see the face you make. he can almost come from it: swollen lips parted, brow screwed together and eyes hazy and glassy as they peer down at him. 

“don’t stop,” he says. “what? you need my help?” 

he meets your thrusts, the force harder, deeper. it makes you shudder and he grins wickedly at you. 

“keep fucking yourself on my cock, sweetheart. take it like a god damn whore.” 

the slap reverbates through the air, catching suguru by surprise but fuck if he isn’t absolutely throbbing inside you. 

you’re kissing him again, just as hungry, just as violently desperate as before. 

the sound of both your hips meeting rings in the air, heavy breathes heating your skin until sweat forms at the top of your rolling spine. 

“you’re so big,” you admit on a weak moan. 

suguru’s hand pulls up fingers brushing against your pounding pulse point as he holds you by the neck. 

“who’s fat cock are you taking, sweetheart?” 

he pounds up into you hard, fingers clenching just an inch until your breath hitches. 

“who’s hitting your god damn guts like i own this pussy?” 

your control is gone, reduced to putty in his hands. your cunt swallows him with every grind, clit rubbing against his pubic bone and you’re arching your back, feeding into this hungry desire. 

“suguru,” you answer, gasping, chanting, pleading. “fuck, you are.” 

the pressure on your clit, the stretch of you around him, cock hitting you so deep. all of it is too much and your hips stutter with the stimulation. 

“you said you we’re gonna fuck me nice and hard, right,” he asks, forcing your sensetive hips down to meet him. 

a beat. 

“so fuck me harder.” 

…

you rode yourself to your first orgasm, back arching, cry lost in the kiss that suguru dominated you in. 

maybe you had chewed off more you could bite, promised more than you could fulfill because he wasn’t going to stop until he had his fill. 

he had you on your front now, face smashed into the pillows, cock slamming so deep you swear you could feel him hitting your cervix. 

too raw. too sensitive. too much. 

“suguru,” you gasp. “i—i can’t take anymore.” 

his rolling hips don’t falter, balls slapping against your raw clit as he takes you like you belong just like this. trembling under his brutal thrusts. scalp stinging with where he’s gripping your head to force you down. 

“no it isn’t, baby,” he grunts, pulling your upper body from his hold in your hair. you’re bowed off the couch, ear to his hot mouth. “you’re gonna fucking take this cock until you can’t remember what your ex’s name was.” 

his words hit you in your gut, lightning your blood on fire and setting your nerves aflame. 

you can feel the start of another orgasm but you can’t remember which count this is. can’t think. can’t fucking breathe. can’t— “crying for me, sweetheart?” suguru’s hips slow but they don’t turn gentle. he penetrates you deeper, longer, slower strokes that makes you feel every inch of him, every veins rubbing against the inside of you. 

“too much,” you cry and yet your hips are pushing back against his, searching for that release that building low. 

“aw. pretty girl can’t take my cock,” he mocks. “he never fuck you this good before?” 

“no,” you moan hoarsely. 

suguru throbs inside of you. he places a gentle kiss at the middle of your spine, a stark contrast to his hard thrusts. 

“want you to come when i fill you. want you to scream my name.” a slap on your ass makes you yelp. “understand?” 

“yes, shit.”

 it’s already here, your orgasm. thighs sticky with your release tremble around where suguru forced himself to keep them open. your fingers reach back, nails digging into the arms that still has you by your hair. 

“yeah,” he groans, hips stuttering, release flooding you full. “you like that, baby. so fucking sweet when you moan for me.” 

you’re wrung completely loose. no strength in you as you just collapse on shaking arms. 

automatically your pussy clenches when he draws back and you feel him fingering you and both of your releases. 

“all of it in,” he says and pushes his finger inside your thoroughly fucked cunt. 

you shudder, moaning weakly. 

… 

your eyes are heavy with sleep by the time suguru got a wash cloth and gently cleaned you up. you told him you were on the pill and you curiously watch him as he just glances to the side. 

suguru is beside you, shirt and pants properly off now, in his boxers as he lies under the blankets next to you. 

his touch is soft when he draws little circles on your shoulder, chin resting on the top of your head and you rest yours on his chest. 

and you’re not sure what possesses you to be vulnerable but the words come out before you can bite them back. 

“stay in the morning,” you whisper tiredly. 

he places a soothing hand on your hair. “wasn’t planning on leaving, sweetheart. 

you hum, shutting your eyes. content. you’ve never felt this content before. 

“when you wake up,” he murmurs gruffly, “we’ll have a talk about you calling me a rebound.” 

you smile when you finally fall asleep.

⋆⁺｡˚⋆˙‧₊☽ ◯ ☾₊‧˙⋆˚｡⁺⋆

[wintertreeflower]

it's your first time making of content. good thing choso is there to guide you

“You nervous?” 

The little red blinking that signifies the camera is recording stares at you tauntingly. 

“A little,” you admit. 

Choso smiles, a little reassurance, a little comfort. 

The room is dim, his lightning equipment set up right where the camera is standing on the stand. Enough light where you can clearly see yourself in the monitor, lacey mask on your flush face, Choso bare from the waist up. 

He’s got on a pair of sweatpants and you’re in nothing but the lingerie set you specifically picked out for this occasion: your first couple content. 

Not only was it the first couple content you were filming, it was the first time you were coupling with Choso. 

Sweet roommate Choso who left you pastries out on the dining table when you came home late from the gym. 

Kind Choso who’d lent you his notes when you came to class late. 

Choso—who was not at all the innocent, blushing boy you thought you knew. Who, as it turned out, also made nsfw content just like you. Who was looking for a scene partner to increase his audience engagement. 

When he’d found out you two were working the same site, the suggestion was right there. A transactional arrangement. One that was going to be strictly professional. 

And now you were going to film the first time he…well you weren't sure what he was going to do exactly. So maybe that's why your nerves were sparked alive. 

His warm hands are on your hips, fingers rubbing circles through the lacey pink fabric. 

“We can stop whenever you want,” he reassures. “We’ll start slow,” he says, beginning to get on his knees. 

Your breath hitches when he looks up at you, eyes bright behind the partial mask he’s also wearing. 

Your lashes flutter with the realisation of what he’s going to do.

Mouth near your soaked panties, breathe hot against your sensitive skin, you can hear the roughness in his voice when he says, “Can I kiss you here?” 

You nod, breasts damn near spilling out of your bra at how hard you're breathing. 

A lazy smile pulls at his lips. 

“Use your words baby.” His fingers dance around the waistband of your panties, not pulling all the way, just a sliver so the camera picks up the naked skin of your hip. 

“They want to hear that pretty voice of yours.” 

You nod as you try to find your voice. 

“Please kiss me,” you breathe. “Wanna feel you on my cunt.” 

You’re not sure if you went too far or if your words have struck him speechless. 

Choso’s silent before he’s muttering, “Fuck. Keep talking like that.” 

He’s pulling your lingerie down, letting you step out of them completely, before he’s running his hands up and down your thighs. 

You’re bare now, save for your bra but it’s not like that's covering much anyways. He’s so close you’re practically twitching from the ghost of his breath on your clit. 

Your skin is buzzing alive, the camera long forgotten as you’re captured by the state of the once innocent boy staring at you with a voracious hunger. 

“Tell me what you want,” he urges softly. He already knows but the audience doesn’t. 

“Want you to taste me here,” you say, grabbing his hand and placing it on your warm mound. 

Choso’s eyes drop from gazing at your face, lids heavy as he gets an eyeful of your hard clit, the slick already covering it in a shine. 

Then he leans in, lips brushing against your skin that makes you gasp. 

“Right here,” he questions innocently. 

You bite your lip. “Yes.” 

His lips wrap around the bud, muting any thoughts in your head as the sensation of a million bursting suns shoots up your spine. 

Your sharp gaps turn into a whine when he pulls back, lips turning into a smirk. 

“Fuck baby. You're so swollen. Flushed and dripping.” He swipes a finger, dragging your slick from your opening up to your twitching clit. He notices. 

“This for me?” 

You’ve never seen this side of Choso. So use his little stutters and cute blushes. It’s like he’s been possessed by desire, turning him into an entirely different man. 

You like it. Like the confidence in his eyes. The tease in his voice. The tent bulging from his sweatpants that tells you he’s liking this just as much as you are. 

You nod. “All for you.” 

Choso hums, taking a moment to just stare at your pussy. You’d have felt yourself conscious if he wasn’t licking his lips like he was about to feast. 

“I’m gonna fix the ache. Okay?” His tongue is on you again, flat, slow, starting from where you're dripping and hitting up to the apex of all your sensations. 

Your mouth falls open, a perfect o shape that’s soundless. 

“Gonna make it all better.” 

With his free hand, he spreads you open, inching in thick inch after thick inch that barely relieves the greedy need deep inside. 

His tongue resumes tasting you, teasing you, circling all around your desperate clit as his finger pumps in deep. 

You’ve got your hand still on his, fingers gripping hard, anchoring you when he pumps in another. 

You don't hold back. Gasping when he sucks on your clit. Moaning when he curls his fingers just perfectly that your legs nearly buckle. 

And he’s doing it all with that goddamn smirk you’ve only just realized he’s possessed. 

“Oh my god,” you cry, head tipping back when he fucks you with three fingers now. 

Pulling his mouth from you, lips shiny with your wetness, his voice is rough and somehow still light when he says, “Yeah. Let me hear how good I'm making you feel.” 

“So good,” you moan, fingers running through his scalp, urging him closer. “Keep going.” 

Choso groans against you, the vibration lightning you up. He notices the desperation in your voice. Loves the way it sounds like youre almost begging. 

His fingers are still working you, his tongue a new addition to the mix that makes your eyes flutter shut. The feel of his fingers and his tongue in you, the bump of his nose against the little bundle of nerves still swelling…

“Fuck,” you whine when he digs his fingers into the side of your hip, pulling yourself even closer. You don’t expect him to tap you against your thigh, helping you lift your leg to hook on his broad shoulders.

Shit. He feels deeper with this new angle. By the looks of it on the monitor you look completely wrecked. 

Bra straining against your heavy chest, nipples poking out from the cusps. Skin glowing with sweat from the effort of trying to keep yourself up right. 

And Choso looks…just as ruined as you are, really. 

The muscles on his back ripple each time he thrust against your sopping cunt. Hair messy where you’ve been gripping it hard. And there's a wet stain on the front of his sweatpants. Leaking all for you. 

“Choso.” Your voice is on the edge, your body, hell, your damn orgasm. All of it is sparking like he’s lit you alive and you couldn't stop burning even if you wanted to. 

“Yeah baby,” he murmurs, pulling back enough that you can see his brows are pulled taunt just like yours, his chest is heaving just as heavy as your wild breaths. 

Your head’s shaking, legs and your entire body too. He’s pulled you like a rubber band, ready to snap at any moment. 

He doesn’t stop thrusting, doesn't stop circling your little clit with his thumb, doesn't stop kissing the inside of your thigh like he physically can not have his lips on you. 

“I’m gonna come.” And it feels like a warning when you say it because it feels like it's gonna be big. It’s heavy in your gut, building, building, building. 

“Come all over my fingers. Fucking make a messy on my hand.” 

You do. Body lurching that you're nearly folded in half, fingers digging into his scalp. You ride it out on his face and he whimpers, actually whimpers, like you’ve just done him the greatest service. 

“Good fucking girl,” he says but it comes off soft, nearly a whine.

You straighten with barely there energy, trembling like a leaf about to blow away. You just might. 

He helps you settle your leg to the ground, looking up at you now, wet fingers in his mouth, lips glistening swollen. 

“Oh my god,” you babble again. “Choso.” 

Gone is his smirk, replaced with something borderline desperate, painful. 

“God, I love it when you say my name.” 

He stands, towering over you. It's right there, the urge to kiss him, to feel his soft lips on your mouth instead of your cunt. But you have no idea if that was a part of the deal you two had set in creating content together. 

You bite your lip instead but he’s following the movement like the same thought is occurring to him. 

“I just aired your personal name,” you realize, apologetically. 

When Choso laughs, the sound is gruff and labored. 

“I’ll edit it out. But next time you do it, I'll gag you.” 

The ache you thought was gone just returned ten times hotter. 

Fuck if this arrangement wasn’t going to be the end of you.

[wintertreeflower]

Sweat is already beading on your skin, rolling down the length of your spine, hair cascading down your bare back. 

Choso grabs your hand, the one placed on his chest to stabilize you, threading your fingers with his 

“Cho,” you say, pausing in your grinds, a bit concerned when you reign your free hand up to his face, touching wetness. “Are you crying?

He makes a desperate sound, hips bucking up against you. He shakes his head but its right there in his eyes, tears stuck to his long lashes. 

“So good,” he almost slurs out. “Don’t stop. Please don't stop.” 

Another needy thrust and this time you meet him, the force deep and heavy for both of you. Twin gasps releasing from both your guy’s mouths. 

“My pretty boy crying for my pussy,” you say leaning so the words brush his parted lips. His fingers clench around yours and you can feel how hard his heart is beating. 

Skirting you lips across his, mingling your guy’s breaths into one you whisper, “Tell me how good it is. Wanna hear how I'm ruining you.” 

“Holy fuck,” he groans when you ride him faster, harder, hitting in deeper. “So tight and wet. You feel like fucking heaven. Please.” 

Your lips twitch into a smile but his cock rubs against the perfect spot inside you, the one that makes you moan and fuck harder. 

“I love when you beg. Perfect boy.” 

Cho’s eyes roll back. “S-Say it again.” 

His brows are furrowed, pulled taunt. Blush high on his cheeks. Jaw slack as more whimpers leave his perfect lips. 

Your skin tingles with goosebumps, a pit forming deep in your gut where he’s hitting over and over again. 

“You’re my good boy,” you praise through your dirty moan. Something possessive overcomes you, forces you to kiss him hard like you're claiming him as yours. You don't think too hard about what it is you're feeling, but you don't restrict yourself from the fantasy. He’s yours. 

His lips are weak against yours like he doesn't have the strength to fully kiss you back. You end up dominating the kiss and it only fuels you. 

You can tell he’s close, cock throbbing, hips greedily rising to meet your thrusts. 

And you are too. Breathes coming faster, pussy clenching in a way that makes more tears catch on his lashes. 

“Want you to come in me,” you gasp, foreheads connected, breaths married. “Want to feel it, Cho.” 

“Yes, god, yes.” He’s looking at you so intensely that your stomach rolls, the intimacy plain as day. “Gonna fill you up. Have you leaking until you’re full of me.”

That’s what does it. It pushes you over the edge, orgasm crashing against you like a sudden thunderstorm. 

Hips stuttering, cunt clenching, you moan so loud you’re sure the neighbours are gonna file a noise complaint. 

“Shit baby.” Cho fucks you through it, hands moving to where your hips have gone weak, moving you on top of him just the way he likes. 

“Look at that pussy swallowing me.” 

You glance at where you’re conjoined. A filthy ring of your cum surrounds the base of his cock stretching you out. Then Choso reaches a hand, pulling back your hood so he can circle your clit as he just watches entranced. 

“One more,” he grunts out, desire barely contained. He sounds lost in the throes of pleasure, lost in the desire to stay inside you like he doesn’t want this to end. You don’t either. 

Even though you’re deflated into bones and skin, even though your legs are trembling and your head is already shaking that you can't handle it, Cho pinches your clit. And before the first orgasm has even finished another one has you crying out, back bowing, nails digging mooncrescent into his shoulder. 

“Yeah, just like that.” 

He’s pumping you with his come when your mind regains clarity, like he’d just shattered it into a million pieces. 

Warmth fills your insides and you moan at the feeling of it running down your thighs, pooling on the base of his cock like a filthy testament to your pleasure. 

Cho doesn’t look away when he pulls out. Eyes glued to where his thick cum leaks out of your stretched hole, you gasp and shudder at the feel of him gone. 

“Look at that baby,” he huffs, wicked fingers scooping whatever's coming out almost like he’s admiring that he just came inside you. 

His finger glistens with the mix of both your releases and you don't even have to think about it before you’re wrapping your lips around it and sucking it clean. 

“Hmm,” you moan. With a wet pop, “Delicious.” 

Choso looks at you like you’re the greatest christmas present he’s just unwrapped. His cock, though softening, twitches against the skin of your raw thighs. 

“You’re gonna ruin me.” 

You laugh, pushing aside the sweat strands of his bangs. “You have no idea.”