mimi

she.her , twentee , blog contains mdni content

[yemmuis]

𓆩⟡𓆪 yemmuis blog𓆩⟡𓆪

[ reqs closed, thirsts welcome ! ]

masterlist/library about me guidelines/byf

mutuals list

fandoms :: jjk, aot, bnha, cowboy bebop, nana, csm

extremely choso-centric but i may write for others on occasion and have in the past

tags :: #.fanfic. #.headcanon #.mail. #.collection. #.finished. #.mail. #.mimi chitchat. #.mimis favorites.

i interact from @ungulangel (essentially my digital diary) but this is my writing blog !!

do not spam like without reblogging please! reblogging my writing helps it reach more people.

inbox open 🍰

all dividers i use are by @/cafekitsune, @/uzmacchiato, @angeliicide or are tagged/linked in the post.

!! i do not age up underaged characters for smut writing, and i will not write for minor characters at all in any sexual or romantic context.

©yemmuis 2025 do not copy or reupload or feed into any kind of AI anything I have posted

[mamashima]

MY FAVORITE CAMGIRL IS MY PROJECT PARTNER?!

❤︎ SYNOPSIS: the title is self explanatory—choso has a favorite camgirl, and now, she’s his project partner. in short, he is unwell.

❤︎ CONTENT: f!reader, alternate universe - college/university au, camgirl!reader, antisocial!chōsō (redundant), both are absolute nerds (also redundant), squirting, light angst, parties, alcohol, weed, first dates, bottom!chōsō, face riding, blowjobs, a pinch of deep throating, a splash of face fucking, non-sexual crying (happy tears) … 18+, minors and ageless blogs DNI.

❤︎ XOXO, PUMA: my first thought after seeing choso and pigtails—handlebars.

♫ NOW PLAYING: everything matters, aurora ft. pommes.

read on ao3 | 9k words | masterlist.

“YEAH BABY? YOU LIKE THAT?”

Chōsō exhales a small and stupid ‘uh-huh’ as a hand pumps his cock a mile a minute. Fast enough that he’d worry about chafing if he wasn’t drooling, and luckily for him, these videos always get him soaked.

Chōsō didn’t watch porn. (Note: didn’t—past tense.) He didn’t see the appeal of it, to be honest. Most of his jerk off sessions were to work away extra anxious energy, occasionally to hype himself out of bed in the morning or help him fall asleep. He’d scroll on some random social media site, aimless and looking at nothing sexual, just to keep something in front of his eyes. And, it worked, for a while.

Then, once, a fluke, Twitter puts soft core porn on his explore page. He doesn’t even know if it counts as that. It was a woman in a risqué cosplay, username cyberch!ck69, her identity protected and hidden behind a flu mask. Obviously, it was the cosplay that caught his attention—not necessarily the person in it—a male character, altered for the female form, from his favorite anime. Naturally, he clicks the account, wondering if she’s done more.

And boy, has she done more.

Now, Chōsō is fucked. Now, Chōsō can’t get off without looking at her, cyberch!ck69 officially and forever the first account in his Twitter search bar. If Twitter is down, he’ll cry for a little bit, before trying to recreate her from memory and failing. It’s become a nightly endeavor, a guilty pleasure, a secret he’s determined to take to the grave.

Because, having a parasocial relationship with a camgirl? Yuck.

She streams, once a week. Thursday. And every Thursday, Chōsō is scrambling, calling out of work, skipping class, doing whatever needs to be done to sit before his laptop by 7pm. He will be there, and he will donate—not enough to get noticed, but enough for him to know that the next time she buys coffee, it’s technically on his dime.

“Oh fuck, I’m gonna cum—”

Her chest shudders as she inches her hips closer to the camera, making sure Chōsō can see all of her: how her pussy soaks the dildo, obscene, slipping down the cleft of her ass. Chōsō’s hand manages to speed up on his own cock, bangs sticking to his forehead as he watches her current live stream with rapt eyes. His body is on fire—soaked with sweat and pre-cum—and the coil in his belly burns to be released. It won’t be, though. Not until she cum, first.

“Shit!”

Her legs lock as she drags out a moan, natural enough to make him shiver. She yanks the toy out and fingers find her clit, rubbing as she squirts, making an absolute mess that soaks the towel beneath her. Chōsō groans, his orgasm is pulled out of his gut before he could process any warnings, cumming all over his keyboard, and a little on the screen. It lands on her inner thigh, and yeah, the next time Twitter is down, he’s using that as fantasy fuel.

So, maybe Chōsō realizes he has a problem (which he’s realized, many times before, always during post-nut clarity, always absolutely mortifying) as he wipes down his laptop with a sigh. He should get a therapist, or something.

Or, he could keep jacking off to her.

SPARKPLUGDEEZNUTS wowowowow so hot, do it again

KENTO.NN sent 500$!

C.KAMO You’re so pretty

In class, Chōsō is trying to not fall asleep.

It’s not his fault. Once the stream ended, he had to start and finish his essay, all in one night. While he’s used to staying up late, he’s not used to getting up early—and a class had to be moved to the beginning of the day. (Something that the professor has to do, like a wedding, or something—Chōsō was zoning out. He really doesn’t know or care, but he does know and care that it’s 8 am, and his eyes keep closing.)

“For this project, you’ll be put in groups. Pairs of two…”

The professor drones on, but the word project and group catch Chōsō’s attention like wildfire. No. No, no, no, no—

He’s not scared that his partner won’t do the work—truly, that’s the last of his worries, he can always do it himself, or play snitch and tell a teacher. No, it’s that he doesn’t like talking to people. Doesn’t like interrupting the middle of his day to answer a text or a phone call, or, God forbid, hang out—jesus fuck—and definitely doesn’t like being himself around them.

(Which, he doesn’t mind, seriously. Most people don’t like Chōsō, anyways—they think he’s standoff-ish and a little scary. Chōsō has a grand total of one (1) friend, and he doesn’t mind.)

So, when the teacher calls his name, Chōsō shrinks into his seat.

“-and Y/N.”

Chōsō looks around in hopes someone will perk up, give him a clue as to who his partner is so he doesn’t have to stalk the class GroupMe for your name. He meets eyes with someone—a girl—and hopes against hope that it’s not her.

Forget about people. Chōsō definitely cannot talk to women, let alone pretty women. This feels like some sick, cosmic joke that he is not a part of, and he wants out.

Class breaks early. Probably to give partners time to find each other, to meet, to plan—Chōsō doesn’t know, he wasn’t listening again, too busy freaking out over two things: (1) having to talk to a stranger, and (2) the fact that this stranger may or may not be of the opposite sex.

He watches his worst nightmare unfold in front of his eyes.

The girl he made eye-contact with, the girl he deemed prettiest in the class after a very hearty scan, approaches him. (Because, let’s be clear—he doesn’t pay attention to his classmates. Chōsō looks at his feet on the way in, sits in his seat, stares at the board, and looks at his feet on the way out.) You hold a smile prettier than the sunrise, maybe a little shy, but not apprehensive. Not nervous—like he doesn’t look that intimidating, after all. Chōsō has yet to decide whether he hates or loves that fact.

“Hey! Uh, Chōsō, right? I think we’re partners.”

You two are definitely partners, but he thinks you might be acting polite, which is…cute. Chōsō’s heart beats way too fast, like he can feel it in his throat, fast, like it might beat right out his chest and make a break for it, fast. Chōsō wishes he could do that.

You stand there patient, expectant, and Chōsō has to take a big gulp before responding.

“Yeah.”

“Okay, great! When are you available?”

You take the seat next to him—the open seat, where he strategically placed himself, far, far away from people—without a second glance. Dropping your bag on the floor, you get comfortable, and chat like you’ve known him for years. There’s something familiar about you, but it’s not your face, so Chōsō can’t place it. Maybe, it’s from being in class together for half a semester, maybe you’ve been in his peripheral the whole time. Or, maybe you just look like a celebrity that he can’t immediately recall. “I’m available on Tuesdays and Thursdays after noon, most of my classes are in the morning. Though, on Thursdays I can’t do too late.”

You smile and wait for him to answer, again. Chōsō rips his eyes away from your lips.

“I can do Tuesday.”

“What about Thursday?”

Cyberch!ck69 streams on Thursdays. So, no—those are out of the equation.

“No.”

“Okay!” You nod, undeterred by his lack of enthusiasm. “I say we start with Tuesdays, and see if we need a second day. What’s your number?”

Your nails quickly clack against a glass phone screen to pull up your contacts, intricately designed and sharp, and that’s when Chōsō realizes—

“Are those…Tanjirō nails?”

“Huh?” You ask, before glancing down at your fingers—checkered green and black, both middle fingers tanned with a purple scar. The closer Chōsō looks at them, the more confident he is in his assessment. Demon Slayer. “Oh! Yeah.”

You look a little guilty about it, before returning to your phone. Chōsō nods. “That’s my favorite anime.”

“Really? Mine too!” You nearly squeal, and reel your backpack onto the table with a heavy thump—Christ, what do you carry in there? Chōsō missed it before, the countless keychains from different shows, some plush, some laminated, and some worn down more than others. You pull out a plush version of Tanjirō, and your nails match seamlessly. “Though, it might be a tie between that and AOT—or some random one season rom-com, God, I can never pick.”

You seem genuinely distraught by this, like it’s a thought process you’ve had many times before but have never been able to work through. As you ramble, you hold your phone out for Chōsō—which is when he remembers, right. His number.

He snatches it and quickly types it in.

“Great!” You say once you get your phone back, and stand in preparation to leave. Chōsō wants to whine. The only thing that placates it is that you have no choice but to see him again. “I’ll text you so you have my number, ‘kay? Then, we can figure out a time and place from there.”

Chōsō just nods. “Okay.”

“I’ll see you soon, pardner.” You tip an imaginary cowboy hat, accompanied by a poor accent, and Chōsō scrunches his nose in amusement. You’re so silly. He didn’t realize hot people could also have personalities. It doesn’t seem very fair to have both.

But, as Chōsō will soon come to learn, God doesn’t play fair.

CTRLSERO Do a flip!

C.KAMO I love your outfit.

SUKUNA_RYOMEN lemme lick you clean, baby

Chōsō has one (1) friend. Unfortunately, this one (1) friend has two (2) other friends, so Chōsō kind of guesses they’re his friends. too. Or something.

The cafe is rarely busy on Fridays. Most students are skipping class, at a party or preparing for a one, or just being plain lazy, the weekend too close that productivity starts to fizzle on its own. No one needs coffee at 3pm unless they’re a med student, and the med building is all the way on the other side of campus, with plenty of closer shops around. That leaves Chōsō and Suguru with nothing to do but spot clean and twiddle their thumbs. Shoko sits in a corner booth on her phone, quiet, unassuming, and disinterested.

“So, you meet with her Tuesday,” Suguru shrugs, wiping down a counter with a sigh. He keeps brushing his hair out of the way, lacking time on his rush out the door to even consider it, so Chōsō takes the spare tie on his wrist and holds it out. Suguru takes it gracefully, and ties a bun. “What’s the plan?”

“Try not to freak out,” Chōsō grumbles. He’s given up on being productive, and sits on one of their bar stools, cheek resting on a hand. He lifts an elbow when Suguru reaches that side of the table, and places it back down on the wet spot. “Try not to cry.”

“Yo, yo, yo! Hel-lo, party people!”

“Gojō, please,” Shoko groans from the corner, rubbing her ears. “I just got out of a three hour lecture.”

“Oh, big whoop,” Satoru rolls his eyes. Suguru sighs and drops the rag before Satoru can point at him and say, “Gimme my usual, Big Guy!”

“Stop calling me that,” Suguru hisses through grit teeth, rummaging through the fridge for a pre-made version of Satoru’s drink. (Something about him not wanting to make it once the white-haired guy gets here, something about Satoru hovering over his shoulder and making edits in real time.) He slides it across the counter. Satoru takes the seat to Chōsō’s left, and catches the drink mid-slide. “Heart attack, coming right up.”

“Thank you,” Satoru nods, before turning to Chōsō. Whatever he was going to say disappears at eye-contact, and Satoru’s face curdles as he takes him in. “Ew, what’s wrong with you?”

This is exactly why Chōsō has one (1) friend, and it’s not Satoru Gojō.

“He likes a girl,” Suguru answers with half a mind, busy using a new rag to wipe his hands clean. Chōsō rushes to fix the lax explanation.

“Uh, well, I don’t know,” he fiddles with the grout in the counter like there’s anything to fiddle with. “She seems cool, but I don’t know her like that.”

“You definitely won’t with that attitude,” Satoru sneers, before taking a long and loud sip of his drink and giving Suguru a chef’s kiss. “Fucking magnificent.”

“Yeah. Just don’t drink it all at once or it’ll spike your blood sugar,” Shoko huffs, sipping on her own black coffee. “That’s enough sugar to kill someone with hyperglycemia.”

“Oh, please,” Satoru waves over his shoulder, before taking a long and loud sip, peering from above his sunglasses like a dare. “Your mom has hyperglycemia.”

Shoko doesn’t even blink. “She is diabetic, so technically, yes.”

Satoru groans, collapsing his upper body against the freshly cleaned countertop. “You take the fun out of everything.”

Suguru approaches the counter from the other side, giving up on polishing for the time being, and taps Chōsō on the arm. “Hey. From what it sounds like, be yourself, and you’ll be fine.”

Chōsō smiles. Opens his mouth to say thank you, that actually helped his nerves a lot. Satoru doesn’t give him the pleasure.

“Boo! That’s the worst advice ever,” his scoff turns into a chortle, and Suguru’s glare is cutting. “I say, you tell her she looks pretty today, and you’ll get two answers—thank you, or ‘I look pretty everyday.’ Either way, you’re in.”

“Satoru,” Suguru laces his fingers together to look at his friend in utter disappointment. “That’s how you got hit last week.”

“No, I got hit last week because she couldn’t comprehend being swooned by such a handsome and intelligent man, an—”

“Whatever you do, don’t listen to him,” Suguru says, turning back to Chōsō. He doesn’t have to be told twice.

HIROMI_H Legally, I’m hard.

C.KAMO Your laugh is so cute

KENTO.NN sent 300$!

The first time you two meet, it's calm, chill, collected. Chōsō’s not freaking out.

“Okay, so, for the topic, I was thinking ‘The Effects the Heian Era had in the Modern World,’ but I don’t know if you wanted to do something else—do you want to do something else?”

To be honest, the project’s topic has been the last thing on Chōsō’s mind.

No, he’s been too busy panicking for today—wondering if his pigtails make him look childish or edgy, wondering if he should wear something more fitted instead of his usual loose clothing. He even debated wearing sunglasses indoors like Satoru, for a moment, before chucking that idea out the window so hard he tweaked a shoulder. Why would he do that?

“Um, no. That sounds good.”

“Okay, cool,” you breathe with something relieved. You push your laptop across the library table, decorated with cute, half-peeling stickers, just like your phone case. “Because, I already wrote half an outline.”

Chōsō looks your outline over. Thankfully, the project is an essay and not a presentation—if it was, Chōsō would’ve melted on the spot.

Chōsō skims it and nods. “It looks good.”

“Thank you,” you beam, grabbing the laptop back as he nudges it toward you with an inching finger. “I was a little bored the other night and couldn’t sleep, so…voila!”

Chōsō snorts.

“I’ll email it so you can edit and add to the doc…” You drag the words as your brain lags, focused on typing while trying to retain a completely separate train of thought. “And then, we can go from there! Cool?”

He nods. “Cool.”

The email goes through quickly. He focuses on nothing but his screen, and the conversation lulls, replaced by the clack of keyboards and the occasional sniff. He has to focus on his laptop, because otherwise, his mind drifts to either you or cyberch!ck69, when it shouldn’t, when it knows that’s dangerous territory. It’s just that it's almost Thursday, so he’s excited about the live stream. And, you’re dressed really cute. That’s all.

The second time you two meet, Chōsō skips breakfast.

It had been a busy morning—he got up late, later than normal, with just about thirty minutes to spare before meeting in the library. He got dressed in the dark, culminating in the strangest outfit combination he’s ever seen, and a set of mismatched socks. He’s surprised to see his shoes twin. And you, ever kind, so polite:

“Ooh! I like your outfit today!”

He looks like shit.

Chōsō lets it slide, though, with a small thank you as he settles into place. Slowly, a rhythm builds—tip, tap, tip, tap, click—the sound of your fingers clicking the keyboard a lot harsher than his. Eventually, you huff, and look over to the snack shack in the library’s lobby.

“I’m kinda hungry…want anything?”

Chōsō doesn’t even take a moment to consider, just shakes his head. “I’m okay.”

His stomach betrays him almost immediately, though, rumbling at the mere thought of food. And, it’s a quiet library. Chōsō puts an embarrassed hand to his stomach, while you giggle and lift an eyebrow.

“You sure about that?”

Chōsō sighs. He guesses he’s not.

He gets up with you—because, he’s not about to let you pay for him—and hates every inch of that walk. It’s maybe a minute long walk, but he feels hot eyes burn into the soft parts of his spine, even when there are none. You chatter the whole way—about your day, what you’re going to get, what is he going to get?

“Huh?” Chōsō asks. He was staring, again.

“What are you going to get?”

You look up at the menu with a finger to your lips, like you have options. Chōsō gets one thing, and one thing alone. “Chocolate muffin.”

“Okay,” you nod, then turn to the lady behind the register. “Can I get a Chocolate muffin, a caramel latte with oat milk…”

Chōsō doesn’t even get the chance to protest, get the chance to try to pay. What pisses him off is that he realizes he doesn’t mind, all that much.

The third time you two meet, it’s raining outside.

It was pouring, and he had to go from one class straight to this—another class moved for something else he couldn’t care less about. He didn’t check the weather this morning, and maybe that’s on him, but he never checks the weather. It’s a habit he’s willing to pick up, though, especially after dragging his feet into the library like a wet cat.

Also. It’s Thursday.

You were busy Tuesday, something about having to go back home. You kept the details vague, but Chōsō got the gist—you two wouldn’t be able to meet this week. So, you moved some stuff around, and now, Chōsō’s perfunctory him time gets snatched right from under his nose. Not that it matters, anyway. Cyberch!ck69 isn’t even streaming today.

But, like Chōsō said before, he has a Pavlovian response to Thursdays. On the fourth day of the week, he’s trained to go, walking around with something heavy simmering behind his belly button. The closer it gets to seven o’clock, the worse it gets—and it’s six thirty.

Chōsō is hanging on by a thread. A very thin thread, a thread the thickness of a fishing string.

It doesn’t help that you’re dressed all cute today—you’re dressed cute everyday, but today, the breasts...they’re nuzzled comfortably, peeking out the top of your low cut shirt, and Chōsō has…thoughts…

“—ōsō, Chōsō!”

You’re snapping his face now, and Chōsō prays the direct eye contact made with your nipples wasn’t too obvious. His face flushes, just in case.

“I—sorry, yes?”

“Are you okay? Are you getting sick?”

You take in his currently soaked state, and honestly, Chōsō might be. That has nothing to do with his thoughts, though, just the weird tightness in the back of his throat.

“I’m fine,” he shakes it off, and droplets of water drop from his bangs, to his nose, to the desk. He has half a mind to push them out of his face, but god forbid his forehead is on display, so he just suffers. In silence. He’s very good at that.

“You sure? We can call it early if—”

“No!” Chōsō answers quick, too quick, and backtracks before he can make a further fool of himself. “I—I mean, no. It’s okay, I’m fine.”

“Okay…” you say wary, not fully convinced, but not close enough to push him either. So, you just nod, and look back to your screen. “Just let me know.”

Chōsō doesn’t let you know. By the time you two are done meeting for the day, he’s still wet to the bone, and freezing, and yet, kind of hard?

SUKUNA_RYOMEN sent 15$!

ACTUALLYYUKI ooh, rawr

C.KAMO Did you do your hair different today? it looks nice

It’s Thursday.

It’s Thursday at seven pm, and Chōsō’s ready. He’s already eaten dinner, done all his homework for the night, washed his face and brushed his teeth. He’s hell-bent on watching the stream, cumming, and going straight to bed. None of that ‘oh no, I still have homework to do, but my brain leaked out my dick the second I came’ shit. Not today.

Finally, the aesthetic waiting screen cuts to the usual, cyberch!ck69 in a lilac lingerie set and flu mask. While he can’t see the lower half of her face, he knows she’s smiling—the mask bends under the weight of it. Chōsō’s been hard and pent up all day, his Pavlovian response for Thursdays, at this point, and there’s a subset of butterflies in his stomach letting him know. It’s pathetic, but there’s not much he’s willing to do about it, either.

“Good Evening,” she purrs, getting closer to the camera to read the comments. “How are my horny freaks?”

The comment section explodes, so Chōsō turns it off. He likes to gaslight himself into thinking it’s just her and him. It’s a little sad, but it’s something he’s, often, much too horny to consider. No, i’ts not until after he cums that he’ll slam his head into a pillow repeatedly, chanting in time, stupid, stupid, stupid, until he falls asleep. That’s most nights, anyways.

“Ooh, the park? That sounds fun,” she coos, tilting her head just enough for it to be tantalizing. Then, she shifts back, revealing a Hitachi Wand plugged into the wall behind her bed. “Well, today we’re going to do something familiar. My favorite.”

Yeah. Chōsō’s favorite, too.

He starts palming himself through his sweats because, while Chōsō is good at waiting, never for this. He hisses, dropping his head on a shoulder as he watches her get comfortable and assume the usual position—on her back, feet in the air, and pussy to the camera.

“I feel like we should get right into it,” she says, fiddling with the vibrating wand and its controls. “I’ve been horny all day. There’s this guy I’ve been talking to, and he’s kinda cute. Makes me wet.”

Chōsō stifles jealousy for a stranger like a pill that’s too big to swallow.

The Hitachi’s buzz is almost offensive. It’s strong enough that Chōsō can feel it through the screen, the vibrations rattling his brain just right. She places it over the lingerie set, right on her clit, and immediately mewls.

“F-fuck, oh my god,” she huffs, hips stuttering as she grinds into the toy, before recoiling like the feeling is too much. “Gimme a sec, it’s been—shit—been a minute.”

And, it really has. The last time Chōsō remembers her bringing that toy out was probably a few months ago. The stream ended with her squirting so much she soaked through the towel and onto her sheets—Chōsō knows, because she showed off the wet spot afterwards. He only prays that this one will end the same as he frees himself from his boxers.

“Okay,” she pants upon recovery, still out of breath, still placing the Hitachi flush to herself. “I set five alarms, and I’m allowed to cum after each one. Not before, though, which is going to be…tricky.”

Chōsō licks his lips. He doesn’t think he’s seen her cum more than thrice, and they all occurred close enough together that they might as well just be one long orgasm. Usually, she just turns the camera on, fucks herself, then turn it off. This is new.

“We’re graduating from amateur status!” She giggles, almost delirious, and weakly fist pumps the air with a free hand. “Kind of.”

It’s the fist pump where he sees it first. The flash of forest green.

He doesn’t think anything of it, though. No, his sex-soaked brain is focused on one thing alone: the way he can see her pussy flutter beneath thin lace. Chōsō sighs as he wraps a tight hand around himself and starts pumping slow—it sounds like it’s going to be a long stream—and relaxes into the feeling. Finally. It’s Thursday.

Then, she twists the vibrator a little. That’s when Chōsō realizes he’s fucked.

Tanjirō nails.

His orgasm takes him by surprise, chest hitching as he understands, oh, and proceeds to coat his fist and shirt in his own cum. There are spots in his vision, and though he lives alone, Chōsō slams his mouth shut into a thin line to mute the moan—it comes up and out his nose instead, but at least it's quieter.

Once he comes down—while annoyed that his own body betrayed him—Chōsō doesn’t even close the stream. Just slams his laptop shut.

Because, no. That had to be a trick of the light. It had to be his eyes seeing something that isn’t there because he wants to. Because, he’s a pervert.

So, he opens the laptop again. The stream hasn’t kicked him out yet, and she’s still writhing on the other end.

“So, this is going to be harder than I thought it’d be,” she huffs a laugh, and Chōsō groans when he realizes it isn’t a trick of the light—tricks of the light don’t affect fucking sound. “The holding back part, at least.”

The Hitachi rolls again, and your nails glint on display. Tanjirō’s stupid fucking scar mocks Chōsō from your middle finger.

He slams his laptop shut, again.

INO.OHNO oh my god that a s s

C.KAMO sjwepwuqabdqp

C.KAMO that was an accident

LARUEDADUDE And how do we feel about pegging?

It’s Friday, and Chōsō’s still freaking out about Thursday. Unfortunately, his one (1) friend doesn’t give him the opportunity to mope until Saturday. He had plenty of time to panic Thursday night, though. So much for going to bed.

fuck the big three (+choso) its just big me (+choso)

satoru g. [3:16 pm]

> party today, b there or b a FUCKING WHORE

suguru! [3:20 pm]

> that’s not the saying. also, party where?

shoko i. [3:21 pm]

> I’m good ty tho

satoru g. [3:21 pm]

> BOOO SHOKO U FUCKING WHORE

shoko muted the group chat ‘fuck the big three (+choso) its just big me (+choso)’

suguru! [3:25 pm]

> where’s the party, satoru.

satoru g. [3:25 pm]

> idfk @ som1’s house

suguru! [3:28 pm]

> mmm very informative.

satoru g. [3:28 pm]

> I WAS GIVEN A FLYER AND AN ADDY

satoru g. [3:28 pm]

> I DON’T LIKE UR SASS

suguru! [3:30 pm]

> stfu

suguru! [3:30 pm]

> yeah, i’m down.

suguru! [3:31 pm]

> choso?

me [3:34 pm]

> I don’t go to parties…

satoru g. [3:34 pm]

> WELL U DO NOW

satoru g. [3:35 pm]

> BUCKLE UP COWBOY

suguru! [3:35 pm]

> omg satoru, you give buckle bunny vibes.

satoru g. [3:35 pm]

> GET TH FUCK OUT MY FACE

satoru g. [3:36 pm]

> UR UNINVITED

suguru! [3:38 pm]

> you wish. you wouldn’t go without me.

suguru! [3:38 pm]

> choso, why not? it could be good to get out for a bit.

me [3:39 pm]

> Too many people

me [3:40 pm]

> Idk, they’re just icky

satoru g. [3:40 pm]

> oh no ur going

satoru g. [3:40 pm]

> u have no choice

satoru g. [3:40 pm]

> ik where u live

me [3:42 pm]

> Pls no

satoru g. [3:43 pm]

> FLY FLY LIKE A BIRD, FLY AWAAAAY

me [3:46 pm]

> Fly right into my bed?

satoru g. [3:47 pm]

> no

satoru g. [3:47 pm]

> fly to the p a r t y dude

suguru! [3:50 pm]

> well, it’s up to you choso, but i think you could have fun.

suguru! [3:50 pm]

> you can stand in the corner with me? i’ll glare at anyone who tries to talk to you.

satoru g. [3:51 pm]

> pfffffffft nobody is gonna talk to that boy tf

satoru g. [3:51 pm]

> he’s scary mary fr fr

satoru g. [3:52 pm]

> just dont smile and u’ll b fine

me [4:04 pm]

> I don’t know

suguru! [4:05 pm]

> and if you want to leave early, you totally can?

satoru g. [4:05 pm]

> NO TF HE CANNOT

satoru g. [4:06 pm]

> HE LEAVES WHEN I WANNA LEAVE

suguru! [4:09 pm]

> that doesn’t mean we have to stay. what are you thinking, choso?

me [4:15 pm]

> Maybe idk

me [4:15 pm]

> Was looking forward to moping today

satoru g. [4:16 pm]

> BOOOO YOU MOPE EVERY DAY YOU FUCKIGN INCEL

me [4:21 pm]

> Is your caps lock broken or something

satoru g. [4:21 pm]

> ME? PFFT NO

me [4:25 pm]

> Then why are you texting in all caps?

Choso was kicked out of the group chat ‘fuck the big three (+choso) its just big me (+choso)’

Chōsō ends up going, against his better judgement.

He wasn’t planning on it, honestly. But, Suguru and Satoru banged on his door until he answered, and barged into his apartment like it was their own. (Mainly Satoru, at least Suguru was really polite about it.)

Now, he’s here, crammed in some stranger’s apartment in an outfit he wouldn’t wear on a good day. Satoru shoved a red solo cup in his hands, but Chōsō doesn’t even know what’s in it. He takes a whiff and scrunches his nose. Definitely alcohol.

“—and then, she said never talk to me again, and I was like ‘what-what? Girl, you know you fuck with all thisssss!’”

Satoru gestures to himself and does a body roll, and Chōsō sighs. Moping at parties just doesn’t hit the same.

But, just as he’s about to say something, either about how Satoru’s story definitely counts as harassment or to reiterate that he would like to leave, the sea of people part, a light shines, and you step into the building. It’s like fucking visual poetry.

Immediately, Chōsō is tugging on Suguru’s sleeve. “I want to leave now.”

“Now? But we just got here!” Satoru whines, stomping a foot. Suguru sighs.

“I hate to agree with Satoru, but he’s right,” he shrugs and takes a swig of his drink—seriously, what’s in this? “I think we should shoot for at least ten minutes.”

“Yeah, and—” Satoru cuts himself off when you catch Chōsō’s eye, and wave. Now, he has no choice but to wave back. To acknowledge your presence. He’s not ready for this. “Oh shit, is that the girl?”

Chōsō clears his throat, shakes his head. Looks at the ground. “No.”

Suguru snarls, and slaps Satoru upside the head. He hisses a whisper, intended to be quiet enough for Chōsō to miss, but he hears anyways. “What other girl does Chōsō talk to—obviously it’s the fucking girl.”

But, when Choso looks up from his feet, you’ve gotten closer, now with a drink in hand—like you want to say hi, or something. You’re dressed…fucking…you are dressed, Chōsō can confirm, and the clothes hug your body in all the right places, just enough to make his mouth water. He swallows.

Then, there’s the whole camgirl thing—holy shit, he cannot talk to you.

“Let’s go,” Chōsō insists, bouncing a leg. Suguru looks at him like he’s acting weird—and he is, a little. Panicking, perhaps. “Let’s go now.”

Chōsō isn’t good when he panics. His heart leaps into his throat, cutting the oxygen supply to his brain off, leading him to make dumb decisions and even dumber reactions. He can’t talk, can’t think, can barely breathe. He cannot talk to you.

And yet, you approach anyway, despite the fact that he’s begging every God out there for you to not. That’s when it’s confirmed: God doesn’t play fucking fair.

“Hey! Funny seeing you here,” you grin, at Chōsō, and he kind of wants to die. Now, every time he hears your voice, he hears cyberch!ck69, and that absolutely cannot happen in public, good god.

All he can really do is hope that he doesn’t get hard. Or, like. Cry.

“Uh, yeah,” Chōsō darts his eyes to the corner of the room, hoping that if he stares hard enough, a black hole will form, and take him out of his misery. Rip him into a million, indiscriminate ribbons. “I don’t, um, g-get out super often. So.”

Satoru snickers. Suguru hushes him, but never quits watching. No, instead he introduces himself.

Well, fuck. There goes Chōsō’s shot. Not that he had one in the first place.

“Suguru Geto,” Suguru smiles, curt and polite and in the way that makes all women swoon. You take his hand when it’s offered.

“Y/N, nice to meet you!”

“And, I’m Satoru Gojō,” Satoru all but cuts you off, moving Suguru out of the way and lowering sunglasses on the bridge of his nose. “Let me know if you get tired of my boy.”

Satoru chucks a head back to gesture at Chōsō, whose grip is tight enough on the plastic cup to make it pop. You tilt a head to the side in innocent confusion, because you two are project partners and nothing else. It’d be cute if it were under any other circumstance. “What?”

“Oh, y’know, cuz he’s—ack!”

Satoru gets snatched by the back of his shirt, courtesy of Suguru, who just smiles, and says, “We’ll be right back.”

Chōsō watches as his one (1) friend absolutely abandons him, throws him to the wolves and chants fight. Satoru manages a choking ‘call me’ before he’s dragged into the kitchen, and far, far away from Chōsō. (Thank God—but also, Suguru, please come back.)

“Your friends are funny,” you giggle, and somehow, it makes Chōsō feel worse. Yeah, funny and hot and not at all like me.

“Thanks,” Chōsō nods, but he doesn’t really mean it. The conversation comes to a lull, and despite the loud music and grinding bodies, Chōsō feels overwhelmingly awkward. Maybe…maybe it’s because of the loud music and grinding bodies. He takes a big swig of alcohol and almost chokes on it, hyping himself up to ask a woefully uninteresting question.

“Um…” he starts, which gets your attention, somehow, hearing him over the heavy bass. “How’s your side of the project going?”

Your face flattens.

“I’m not talking about homework on a Friday night, Chōsō.”

“Right, right,” he nods, ignoring the throb in his noggin from immediately running into a symbolic invisible wall. You two don’t have anything else in common other than anime, to his knowledge. And, Lord knows he doesn’t want to talk about that, because, your nails, the porn—it’s all so fresh in his mind. Chōsō closes his eyes, and the image of your nails over your pussy are burned against it like a brand, hot and sharp and distinctly offensive. Chōsō has never suffered on such a psychological level. 

Thankfully, you bridge the gap for him.

“You said you don’t get out often, right?” You ask, and Chōsō nods with a diligence. “What do you do for fun?”

Watch you. Another horrible answer, to technically, a horrible question. It’s all your fault.

“Play games,” he shrugs after a second of contemplation, a moment of wait, what do I do other than jack-off. “Watch movies.”

You hum like he’s given you a riveting answer. He has not. “Ooh, okay! What’s a movie you watched recently that you really liked?”

You, you, you, you, you, you—

Chōsō takes another swig and, despite the heat, shivers as it makes its way down.

“Um…” he thinks, because honestly, he doesn’t watch a lot of movies, he just said that because it sounded normal. Now, he’s stuck, trying to figure out which movie to lie about, a movie he’s actually seen. He stays stuck, the alcohol in his system slowing his judgement, he doesn’t drink a lot, okay, and, “…I don’t know.”

You snort, like what he said is endearing and not at all wholly embarrassing. “Okay, okay fair. What about video ga—”

“Man of Medan.”

Your eyes light up, just like when he pointed at your nails, shining with cosmic star stuff and impossibilities. You gasp, “Oh my God! I love the Dark Anthology—though, Little Hope is my favorite.”

Chōsō scrunches his nose, “That one stressed me out.”

“And Man of Medan didn’t?” You scoff, shoving a politely challenging finger into his chest. Chōsō kinda likes it.

“Touché.”

So. You two end up talking about video games for the next hour and a half.

Chōsō doesn’t know what he expected—he doesn’t know why he was expecting you to be somebody else, whether the party environment or his recent discovery is at fault. You are exactly who you always were—adorably nerdy, genuinely considerate, and blinding to look at. Watching you talk is like watching a statue come to life, almost unnatural in a way that feels ethereal. And, maybe Chōsō is a little tipsy, now.

“Y’know which one sucked, but in a good way? House of Ashes,” you nod, almost solemn. You two have moved to the backyard for air (which, surprisingly, was your request, not his), taking the floating bench on the porch. It’s quiet, and thankfully, much less crowded than indoors. Out here feels like Chōsō’s own little bubble. “The claustrophobia was real.”

“Oh, that makes me feel better,” Chōsō says, and stops rolling the joint for a second. His fingers are sticky from the flower as he uses your lip liner to pack it, before handing the pencil back. “I unironically dislike it because of that alone.”

You hum and nod, but your eyes seem preoccupied with what he does with his hands, as he twists the end of the joint to close it, and proceeds to burn it off.

“What,” Chōsō asks after following your gaze. He starts to wonder if you’re one of those people that hate weed—either for the smell or affects—and maybe, it wasn’t a good idea to bring it in front of a girl he’s trying to impress.

You clear your throat, looking a little guilty as you press the tips of your fingers together, “May I steal a hit?”

Chōsō relaxes. Oh, thank God.

“You may,” he snorts, holding the joint between his lips as he flicks the lighter once, twice, three times, and finally, the stubborn flame catches. “Though, if you wanted to steal, then why ask?”

“Because,” you shrug, and leave it at that, opting to curl your body in a position that seems much more comfortable. Chōsō inhales twice, before passing it to you. It becomes a rhythm, after that. 2:1.

And, naturally, when smoking with a semi-stranger at night, things get deeper than expected.

“Y’know,” you sigh, smoke following your breath on the way out. “Because of my job, most people think I’m a whore.”

Chōsō chokes on his spit. Fucking what?

And, like—yeah, he knows what you’re talking about, but you’re not supposed to know that he knows what you’re talking about, so he has no choice but to play it cool, right?

(Chōsō Kamo is severely underprepared for this conversation.)

“What?” He asks after recovering, after comforting his spasming throat with water and another hit. You’re swinging the bench a bit, watching the sky like there’s anything to see other than smog.

“My job,” you say, looking to him like he’s supposed to have the context. And he does, but like— “I do porn.”

Okay, okay. Deep, grounding breaths. Preferably with marijuana in his lungs.

What bothers him, honestly, is that he’s not the only person who knows. And, why would he be? All someone has to do is remember what nails you have (like he did), or superimpose your face over a video.

“I only do solo stuff, like, I’m so scared of people, but,” you shrug, and that’s the end of your sentence. Chōsō should say something, right? Something comforting?

“No, I think they’re just mad that you don’t want to fuck them,” Chōsō says, and you snort, like you weren‘t expecting him to say anything at all. “And, that you make double of the average college student salary.”

“Thanks, Chōsō,” you say with a smile, too soft for his comfort. “’Course you would say that. You’re a good boy.”

It takes everything in his being to absolutely ignore what you just said, because not only does he have other things to say, but he might cry until you call him that again. Nope, won’t do it—especially when you’re talking about guys being creeps.

He rushes to change the subject. Kind of.

“And, next time somebody says that, you let me know,” he says with a firm nod, and you scoff at him in disbelief, picking the joint from his fingers.

“What are you gonna do? Punch them?”

Chōsō looks at the awning for a second as he thinks, and then nods. “I’ll try.”

You giggle, and pass it back, “Do you even know how to fight?”

“Um,” Chōsō swallows, wavers. Imagines himself throwing a punch and perhaps, putting most of his body weight behind it. “I don’t know…I’ve never tried.”

“Oh Lord,” you collapse against the back of the bench. The cushions wheeze under the weight of it. “Chat—the man I like can’t fight, am I cooked?”

Now. There’s one word that catches Chōsō’s attention. One very specific one.

Like.

“W-Wait,” the joint ashes on his fingers and onto his pants, burning from a few embers, but Chōsō doesn’t even feel it. He sits up so quick. “What do you—you like me?”

You blink at him. “Was that not obvious?”

Chōsō wouldn’t know, people don’t like him! At least, not like that.

(Not that he’s putting himself out there, in the first place.)

“As in, like-like? Like, you like my face and personality, like-like?”

You make a face that looks semi-disturbed, sighing quietly to keep it polite. Then, “As in, I wanna see you naked, like-like.”

This time, there isn’t even anything to choke on. Chōsō’s throat just seizes for no fucking reason.

“Cool,” he nods, and snuffs the joint in a random ash tray nearby before dusting his hands. “Cool, cool, cool cool cool cool—”

“Chōsō, I think you’re freaking out a little bit,” you say, and place a hand on his knee. Physical contact just makes it worse.

“No, I’m fine, I’m chill—”

“Do you…not want me back? I understand if it’s, like—

“No! I mean, yes,” Chōsō clears his throat, pinches himself to make sure this isn’t a dream, then holds onto the bench’s arm rest for grounding. He needs water, or something. Instead, he nods vehemently—until his brainstem throbs. “Yes, I definitely want that—want you, um. Yes.”

You watch him flounder for a bit. Chōsō doesn’t really know what an endearing look is, but you might be wearing one—or he’s going insane. He’s probably, definitely going insane.

“Cool! And…this won’t get in the way of the project, right?”

Chōsō shakes his head and answers so quick it’s embarrassing. “Nope—my grade’s riding on it.”

“Great, because mine too,” you say with a heavy exhale, like it’s a weight off your shoulders. Then, snapping your fingers, “So…pick me up for a date next Tuesday? It’s not like we really have to meet for the project anymore, anyways.”

“Date,” Chōsō deadpans, before realizing you’re talking to him. “Yeah—yes, I can do that.”

KENTO.NN sent 450$!

TOFUSHI27 this is so much better than killing kids

S.KONG Literally shut the fuck up

The date was great.

Great is an understatement—it was only a movie and dinner, but Chōsō felt like he was floating on cloud nine. He held your hand for half of the movie—half, because he was hyping himself up for the first two acts—and never let go, not until you two got a booth and had to take opposing sides.

Now, though…

“Yeah Baby? You like that?”

If someone had told Chōsō a month ago that his favorite camgirl would sit on his face, willingly, he would assume they’re making fun of him. Cry from embarrassment afterwards, maybe. So, yeah—he likes it a lot.

He can’t say much of anything with his mouth full, though. He just whines and tries his hardest to nod under your weight, as your hips swirl and spell his own name on his lips.

Chōsō can barely breathe anything but you, and he absolutely loves it.

“Awh, of course you do,” you coo at his little whimpers muted by your pussy, and Chōsō wonders if you can feel them. His hands hold your hips in a performative manner—not necessarily keeping you in place or steady, just holding. You start his name all over again. “C…”

Chōsō’s tired tongue chases your clit as you roll. Whether you’ve been at this for fifteen minutes, thirty, or an hour is beyond him. Honestly, it could be tomorrow, and he’d be perfectly fine with that.

“H…”

Chōsō is hard. He’s so unbelievably hard that he’s worried about blood loss. His mind goes blank, either from asphyxiation or the overwhelming taste of you, and his nose tattoo crinkles with every uptick of your hips.

“O…”

O’s are his favorite. The languid drag, the way he circles his mouth with your hips is nothing short of intoxicating. It’s so, so tempting to close his eyes and lose himself in it, but Chōsō’s determined to see you, in ways he couldn’t if he just watched another one of your streams, or videos on Twitter. He wants to see your face.

And, it’s—

“S…”

Swollen and spit shined lips tuck behind your teeth, eyes fluttering behind lidded lashes. Chōsō really hopes you're close, because he sure is and he hasn’t even touched himself yet—one accidental brush, one strong breeze, and he’s a goner.

“O…oh, I’m about to cum,” you huff behind a laugh, hands finding his pigtails and wrapping around their bases. You tug him sideways a bit, pushing against his head like he could go any further. Chōsō groans and sucks harder, neck weak and pliable. Eventually, you start to lose yourself, forgetting about spelling his name for the sake of your own orgasm, using his face like your own personal sex toy, and fuck, maybe Chōsō shouldn’t have had that thought—

Your moans peak, softer than the ones heard through his laptop and a little more natural. Intimate. Warm wetness meets his lips, and Chōsō drinks what isn’t smearing all over his cheeks and chin. His eyes never leave your face—your beautiful, absolutely stunning face—as it twists in pleasure and your hips stutter, momentarily losing their ever-increasing rhythm.

You pull away from Chōsō, whose lips chase your pussy until he realizes what he’s doing. You take a moment to catch your breath, sticky pussy to his sternum, and he wonders if there’s a way he could get it tattooed right there, in the valley of his chest.

But, he’s too busy reeling, busy licking the rest of you off his face, busy debating whether he’ll get in trouble for sticking a finger in you just to taste. He doesn’t—he’s not about to push his luck—but he wants to.

Slowly, you start moving down his chest.

You lift your hips and place a kiss where they once sat, littering them across and below, slowly working your way down. Chōsō doesn’t realize where you're headed until you pass his belly button, fingers wrapping around the band of his underwear.

You give him a questioning look. “Can I?”

“Yes,” Chōsō nods, almost vehemently, and lifts his hips to help you yank off the offending clothing. “Yeah, please.”

His dick frees itself with vigor, slapping his belly button and leaving a smear of pre-cum in its wake. The tip is an angry shade of red and weeping, punishing him for ignoring it with sensitivity. The air is too cool, and he shivers.

There’s no way Chōsō is going to last long.

Not when you look at him like that, all hungry like he’s something to eat, a highly coveted delicacy to never turn your nose at. He watches as your nails—the same set he’s seen on stream—wrap around his cock as he’s seen you do many times with many dildos. But now, it’s with him, his dick, and Chōsō takes another moment to understand how insane all of this is.

You take him into your mouth, and Chōsō chokes.

“Oh fuck,” the sound is punched out of him, straight from his diaphragm to his chest, and Chōsō presses his lips together to keep himself from making anything else embarrassing, or God forbid, high pitched.

He doesn’t even have a chance, though. Not when you take him all the way to the hilt, not when you hum on your way back up, not when your eyes flutter like you enjoy watching him writhe beneath you. You drag a hand down his chest, nails pressing into his skin and leaving harsh red lines in your wake, and Chōsō’s back bends under the pleasure.

“Fuck—fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,” Chōsō’s hands open and close at his sides, absolutely useless. But, he doesn’t want to put them on your head and accidentally push you down—not when he’s fighting the thrust of his hips and failing miserably. You grab him by the balls and his arms pull tight to his chest, unsteady fists squeezing the space by his head. “So-sorry, I—”

You giggle, and caress his inner thigh like it’s okay, like he’s doing good for taking what he wants, and it makes Chōsō’s head spin. He’s sweaty—so sweaty—pooling on the backs of his knees and sticking hair to the nape of his neck. When you moan, it sends aftershocks up his spine.

“I…” Chōsō tries. To be honest, he isn’t sure what he’s trying to say, but he feels like he needs to say something. Something hot and sexy, preferably, something not too mortifying that he’ll cringe about before falling asleep once you don’t call him back. “I…”

Whatever it was dies on his tongue, though. You rake your nails down his chest again, catching a nipple on the way down, and Chōsō whines. His voice is too high pitched for comfort, but he can’t necessarily help that when you’re sucking his soul out by his dick.

“Fuck, no, I can’t—”

The feeling is so much yet not enough, and he finds himself stuck between forcing himself deeper down your throat and squirming away. Squirming away doesn’t work though, not when you have him by the hips. You seem to be enjoying this, eyes wide and trained like you might miss something if they’re not, like you want to see him like this, and that’s enough of an incentive for his arousal-addled brain to keep going.

“I…I’m gonna cum,” it’s more of a realization than a warning, as he feels the twist in his gut, feels that he isn’t going to last much longer. You hum but don’t move, and panic starts rising in his chest along with the orgasm, his hands shooting to pull you off by your hair. You don’t budge. “N-No—I’m gonna cum, you gotta—no, no, no, no, no—”

Chōsō mewls a choked moan, back arching as he fills your mouth. He wanted to see—wanted to watch you swallow if you're so intent on it, maybe find a hint of arousal in your eyes at the sight of his orgasm—but he can’t. Whether it’s because his eyes are closed, or because of the spots dancing in his vision, he can’t. His body is on fire, every match lit and nerves ablaze, and Chōsō can confirm he’s never felt this good in his life.

When he comes down, his head kind of aches.

You look at him like he holds the world—like he’s everything you want with a few surprises, like he’s a surprise gift on Christmas. Once you climb back up his body, his dick twitching and softening, you press your lips to his. Your mouth is still full.

You push Chōsō’s cum into his mouth, and he moans at the taste. He kisses you back weakly as he swallows himself, and you along with it. This post-orgasm cocktail is not for the weak, and Chōsō is, in fact, just that.

After a few more minutes of making out through quiet whimpers, you finally pull away, and collapse on his chest. Chōsō collapsed a long, long time ago.

“Holy shit,” he blinks at the ceiling, wrapping his arms around your body. Holy shit. You just…and he…

“You good?” You snort, and he can feel you vibrate with the words, you’re that close. What the fuck.

“Yeah,” he responds after a moment. After he blinks more of the spots in his vision away, he wonders how close he was on his way to passing out. That would’ve been humiliating. He looks down at you, and you look…so peaceful. Like you ended up exactly where you wanted to, in his bed, in his arms, and body wrung out loose from an orgasm. Comfortable. Chōsō swallows the lump in his throat. “What—what about you?”

You smile, so sweet, and Chōsō sniffles. “I feel great.”

“Ye-ah?” He asks. The crack in his voice gives him away, but Chōsō fights the tears anyway. He will not. “That’s good.”

He gets caught, though. Your smile turns into a frown, and you thumb at the corners of his eyes, only for them to come back wet. Fuck.

“Are you crying?” You perk up immediately, scooting closer to get a better look at his face. Chōsō tilts his head so you can’t see. Hopefully. “Are you okay? Did I hurt you?”

Chōsō nods, then shakes his head, then gives up on non-verbal responses. “I-I’m okay. I’m sorry.”

Your bottom lip juts in a pout, hands finding his face to turn it. And Chōsō is a weak, weak man, so he lets you. He feels bad once he sees the panic in your eyes. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Chōsō shakes his head, letting out a wet laugh. He pulls your body closer and tucks his head into your neck, hoping it’ll save his dignity a little. (Yes, his dignity—the thing already in tatters.) “I’m just…they-they’re happy tears.”

He feels your breath hitch. The arms you’ve wrapped around his neck pull a little tighter, like it could make him melt into your body, and Chōsō falls right into it.

Then, you start to giggle.

“Don’t make fun of me,” he whines, then sniffles. The giggles die, but still peak every once and a while.

“I’m sorry,” you soothe, and rub circles into his back. “You’re just too cute.”

Chōsō’s face burns at the admission, and he tucks it into your neck further. God forbid you see that, too.

© mamashima/pumaya. do not edit, translate or copy my work without my permission. do not use for ai. MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS DNI.

taglist; @tokkushin, @kamislop, @zompompurin, @updownandbatty, @lynnsemptymind, @eijiromelissa12, @glokitty, @p1nkv33, @arctivv, @jamanthabean, @oo-juniper-oo, @thedailylexi, @imandumbass, @bbrckstr, @1cckedheart, @cecemochi… wanna join my main taglist? send me and ask, dm, or comment!

[serpenttine]

FEELINGS AT BAY

EX!GETO X READER

summary : being stuck on an island with your ex is every girls worst nightmare.. and it’s going to be your reality. think you’ll be able to put emotions aside and enjoy a relaxing holiday with your other two friends? think again.

content : [7K] MDNI, f!reader, au, shoko & gojo cameo, forced proximity, toxic geto, angst, mutual yearning, fighting (verbally), smoking, alcohol consumption, smut & suggestive content, thigh riding/grinding, unprotected sex, reader has an exhibitionism kink, creampie

art by @/alinassscorner on twt

suguru geto was everything you ever could have wanted and then some. for the first few months everything was perfect—nothing but giggles, flowers and really, really great sex.

but everyone has their cons. naturally you brushed them off at first, shut out the bad and only paid attention to the good.

then over time they became something you couldn't quite ignore.

he was way too possessive of you, among other things. it was something you sort of liked at first, made you feel special, wanted. but after the first time you woke up to 103 missed calls after a small girls night the idea that it might not be such an appealing quality started to circle in your head.

suguru knew how to use his words to his advantage—same goes for his dick. every argument somehow ended up with you too fucked out to remember what it was about in the first place.

gradually those carefully thought out words of his started to lose their effect on you and that's it, it was over.

the breakup was extremely messy, you not only had to get 3 new numbers but a new phone too, turns out when he said he'd try anything to get you back he meant it.

surprisingly the sole reason you didn't end up going back to him was your mutual friend shoko. she helped him minimise his 'crazy' and you not to answer any of those calls.

she's a great friend to all of you, you cherish her, deeply. except right now you aren't the least bit thankful for her.

"what do you mean he's coming?! COULD'VE TOLD ME THAT BEFORE I SPENT AN ENTIRE PAYCHECK ON THE TICKETS!" you stand in her apartment with your jaw on the floor.

she chuckles, "cmon, it's not as big of deal as you think, you two should be able to function like normal people—it's been months, i'm sure he's over it."

"really shoko? really? you told me a few weeks ago that you had to stop him from leaving flowers at my door. he seems so over it." you throw your hands up, displeased with her downright shocking attempt to calm your nerves.

while trying to hold back a laugh from how annoyed you are she defends herself, "hey, i didn't know he was coming until today, and technically i had no part in this—should take it up with satoru. he's the one that invited him in the first place."

somehow her argument manages to knock some sense into you.

you realise that you won't get anywhere bickering with her and you most certainly won't get anywhere bickering with satoru, he'll just make the excuse that he should be able to have his best friend there if shoko has hers.

maybe she is making sense.. you two can function properly around eachother, right?

wrong.

you've had a gruesome morning. constant anxiety from not just the overall stress of having to navigate your way through the airport, but your 'unfortunate predicament' on top of that.

that unfortunate predicament of yours is right behind you, queuing to get his passport checked—his big broad body that you'd love to curl up against for some comfort in this moment is mere inches away from yours.

you can be normal about this, you can totally be normal about this. the way you haven't said a single word since him and satoru met you two at the gate is incredibly normal.

shoko places a hand on your shoulder and whispers, "should calm down before someone sees you and thinks you're carrying a bomb in that backpack."

"i'm perfectly calm." you respond, your throat feeling like it was made out of glass.

"sure you are."

and suguru might be better at appearing composed on the outside, but his head is still full of you, you, and you.

it took everything he had in him to throw away the idea of slinging you over his shoulder and simply taking you home with him.

even if he was able to put the past aside, the smell of your perfume is a constant reminder of what he once had. that perfume was a gift to you for your birthday, gave it to you not too long before you separated.

a memory of you saying that you would 'save it for special occasions' replays in his head, making him wonder if, a — you consider this a special occasion,

b — you simply don't cherish it as much anymore,

or c — you wore it to mess with him. knowing you, all 3 seem plausible.

knowing you, all 3 seem plausible.

all four of you stand in complete silence, your other two friends keep quiet because they don't want to make anything more awkward than it already is, while you and suguru's heads are too occupied with one another to consider speaking.

by some miracle both of you manage to keep yourselves calm and collected enough to make it onto the plane.

even with your phone and boarding pass in your hand you've been repeating '32A' in your head since you walked out onto the runway—because adding another awkward situation like mixing up your seat to the day might tip you off over the edge.

"32A.. 32A.. 32A" you mutter to yourself as you walk down the aisle, head up and eyes glued to the overhead compartments.

and upon finally reaching it you find a worse outcome than getting it mixed up waiting for you in the middle seat.

suguru gives you a cheeky smile, "can lay your legs on me if you're planning on sleeping through the flight." he offers, patting his thighs.

you sigh, "i can't believe this." and put your head in your hands, trying to come to terms with the fact that this truly is your reality.

if it didn't mean anything, you'd accept his proposal in a heartbeat.. but it does, and there's no way you're letting him win whatever game he's playing with you.

you haul your heavy backpack up into the overhead bin and squish yourself into the small gap between his legs and the seat in front of him, all while he stares up at you, wishing he still had the right to place his hands on your hips and guide you.

"excited?" he asks, using the simple question as an opportunity to get a good look at your face. he wonders if anything is different from how he remembers it.

have you changed the way you do your makeup? did you switch the colour of your jewelry? are there any hickeys on your neck?

"mm. would be more excited if plans hadn't changed." you reply, staring off into space not noticing that he's ogling you.

he finds your attitude amusing, "you're not the slightest bit happy to see me?" suguru always loved to push your buttons, some things never change.

you're saved by the pilot's voice coming in over the speakers, the usual spiel follows—advertisements for the airline food, safety instructions, what do to in case of emergency, etc.

the weight of the day starts catching up to you after takeoff. without even realising it your eyes shut, neck relaxes, and you drift off to sleep.

you wake up to warmth and an unusual amount of comfort for someone sitting in economy.. and you don't remember brining any kind of pillow with you.

still half awake and dazed, you stretch your back—your face nuzzling further into the soft cotton you were sleeping on top of.

"e-hm." suguru clears his throat.

the scream that you barely manged to hold in would have been loud enough to alert the whole plane if you hadn't of slapped your hands over your gaping mouth.

you immediately lift yourself off of him—in fact you push yourself as far away from him as you possibly can, still gawking at him with the most horrified expression on your face.

"don't look at me like that, you're the one who fell asleep on me." he remarks, "my shoulder's numb because of you."

"what, you want me to kiss it better?" you retort, annoyed with yourself and of course, taking it out on him.

"wouldn't hurt."

from the corner of your eye you spot the elderly woman in the aisle seat leaning over, looking like she's about to tell you off.

"y'know, you two are such a beautiful couple. you should really enjoy your youth together instead of bickering with eachother." she laughs.

you begin to correct her, "oh, we're not—"

suguru cuts you off—he loves to do that. "thank you." he tells her, and then turns to you, "keep this nice woman's words in mind, she knows what she's talking about."

this is going to be a long, long 7 days.

"WOOOOOHOOOO!" satoru's the first to get into the villa you rented for the trip, he dropped his suitcase at the door and is now running around the entire thing getting first dibs on a bedroom.

and he's right to admire it.. in his own way.

it is beautiful, breathtakingly so. the gates are carved entirely out of wood, the walkway into it has so much greenery and so many flowers that it looks like something out of a movie, and the large window inside of it has a beach view.

maybe it was worth the treacherous uphill walk to it.

a real shame you don't get to look at it for long, thanks to no other than a certain someone who's already inspected every square inch of the place and is also somehow already in swim shorts and a hawaiian shirt.

satoru points one finger at you and one finger at shoko, "please please don't take forever getting ready, i'll leave without you guys, y'know?"

"we aren't stopping you." you remind him while digging through your suitcase, looking for some flip flops to change into.

shoko nods in agreement, "plus, i want to head down to one of those tiny shops we saw on the way. cigarette's are supposed to be super cheap over here."

he rolls his eyes and focuses all of his attention on you, "i don't feel bad for inviting suguru now." the most childish comment in the most childish tone comes from the most childish man you've ever met.

followed by what looks like a grown man storming off like a child. "SUGURUu! are you ready yet?!" you hear his voice grow more distant as he runs up the stairs.

you and shoko shake your heads, a few seconds of silence passing before she raises a question.

"how're you feeling about him being here anyway?" she asks, an entirely new look on her face this time.

"i don't know, it's awkward—obviously.. i do kind of miss—"

"knew it." she playfully slaps your arm, clearly proud of herself for simply recognising the obvious.

"huh?" you blurt out.

"sit on the thought for a few days longer, see if you're just deluded by the hot sun and perfectly blue water."

shoko has given you good advice time and time again, so of course you'll take it—doesn't mean it won't be hard though.

extremely hard.

that's what you'd be if you had a dick between your legs right now.

suguru's all sweaty, somehow his perfect hair hasn't suffered any consequences from the humidity—you don't know why you find that hot, but you do, and the way his arms look when he's.. well, doing anything with the volleyball currently in his hands, it makes you melt.

he can feel you staring. he's terribly losing because of the fact, groaning and grunting every time the ball slips just out of reach of his hands which isn't making it any easier for you to remember shoko's words.

satoru pulls you away from your thoughts by calling out your name and beginning to shame suguru for his horrifying volleyball skills,

"suguru sucks! it's impossible to play with him when you're as good as me. do us both a favour and help him out, will you?"

"i'm busy." you whine.

"busy relaxing?" he stares at you, blank faced.

"yeah? oo—reminds me i need to put sunscreen on." you say, more so to yourself than to him.

suguru's head darts to you. then to satoru.

satoru moves his eyebrows up and down, giving suguru a knowing look. "SUGURU CAN DO IT FOR YOU!" he shouts teasingly.

shoko sighs, "grow up."

you mull it over in your head for a few seconds, surprisingly settling on agreeing to the nonsense satoru suggested. "go on." you say, a hint of reluctance in your voice.

suguru immediately drops the ball in his hands, it falling onto the sand and starting to roll away in the direction of the wind.

the two of them knew exactly what they were doing, yet they're still equally shocked with your decision.

"only because you give good massages." you preface, pointing a finger at suguru who's now walking over to you with a huge smile on his face.

"only because i give good massages." he reiterates, pulling the sunscreen out of your beach bag.

shoko's head falls between her legs at the sight of the two of you, "i can't watch this." she mutters to herself.

you flip over onto your back while suguru squirts some sunscreen onto his hands, rubbing them to warm it up.

his eyes travel down your body as he does so, eyes glued to the thin string on your bikini bottoms—thoughts cross his mind about how easy it'd be to simply yank it.

unfortunately for him that isn't on the table.

cold palms hit your back, goosebumps forming on your arms at the sudden contrast in temperature, yet you quickly begin to relax as he starts working it into your skin.

his thumbs move in circular motions, hitting all the right spots—reminds you of something.

suguru's taking his sweet time with you, taking in the feeling of your warm skin meeting his again for the first time in months.

running his hands slowly up and down your back, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth as he watches how the skin moves beneath his finger tips.

those large hands of his reach your shoulders—you've clearly been holding tension in them, because the second he begins to knead them a mewl-like noise escapes you.

"yeah.. right there.. few seconds longer.." you plead, your voice breathy—oblivious to how seductive you sound to him.

"yeah? you like that?" he asks, his tone the same one he had used countless times when making you feel good in a different way.

"mhmm.."

it's silent except for the hum of the sea in the distance, which makes him look up, searching for satoru and shoko.

for a split second he thinks they've ran away from the two of you—which they have, but not as far as he originally thought.

he spots them splashing water at eachother in the ocean, shoko being visibly more annoyed than satoru is.

you feel him gliding his hands away from your shoulders down to an inch above your bikini, "careful."

in the past, there has been many times in which suguru has shown you that warnings directed at him mean little to nothing in his eyes.

but he’s on his best behaviour these days, trying to win you back.

the warm sun is acting as a blanket, suguru's above you giving you a massage you oh so desperately needed.

you originally had thought this whole thing would’ve been a shitshow, but you’re at peace.

until an angry shoko removes all tranquillity from your current state, the sound of her sharp tongue invading your ears, "one condition. i gave him one condition."

"what, what's wrong?" you ask before opening your eyes, in the process of lifting yourself up to get a look at what's going on with your best friend.

she clicks her tongue, "what's wrong she says.."

she stands in front of the two of you, completely drenched. water droplets falling from all over her body, hair fully soaked, and a very, very unamused look on her face.

it makes you and suguru burst out into laughter.

the uncontrollable kind where you're gasping for air as tears well up in your eyes, the kind that goes on so long that you're wheezing by the end of it.

shoko remains still and straight faced, her arms crossed as she watches the two of you find enjoyment in making a mockery of her.

"mm, laugh. get it all out cause we'll be leaving soon, i have to scrub my hair before we go clubbing. i'm not getting any women looking like this."

her words only do more damage, your body falls back onto your towel and suguru's holding his gut to try and stop cackling at poor shoko.

even through blurry vision suguru spots satoru laying starfish-posed in the sea with his eyes closed, letting the current drag him where-ever.

he grabs your arm and shakes you, pointing to where satoru's floating.

you think you're going to die at this rate, it shouldn't be this funny—but to see both of your friends looking like dumbasses gives you a boost of serotonin like nothing else.

eventually both of you manage to calm down, refusing to make eye contact with shoko nor dare to look in satoru's direction until you catch your breath.

all four of you slowly begin to make your way back from the beach, it doesn't take long for shoko to forgive satoru once he offers to piggyback her up the hill leading to the villa.

lightbulbs go off in suguru's head upon seeing shoko so peaceful wrapped around satoru's back.

he comes to an abrupt stop right before you all reach the hill, kneeling down and looking at you. "get on my shoulders."

there wasn't any way he'd let you say no and theres no way you were going to in the first place.

you waste no time and quickly place your thighs at each side of his neck and he gets back on his feet without any difficulty, as if you weigh nothing.

"REMEMBER, HOT SUN AND PERFECTLY BLUE WATER!" shoko shouts down at you from further uphill.

you wonder how much he benches… bet he looks even better at the gym.

you've picked out a gorgeous little black dress, very little, it hugs your body in all the right places, so who cares if your asscheeks come out at some point?

not you, but suguru sure does.

he spots you—and the black panties you're wearing underneath it as your heels click down the stairs.

satoru begins to start his usual whining, "finally, the driver's been-"

but is interrupted by suguru speaking over him, "what are you wearing?" there's a disapproving look on his face, he knows you look good. too good.

you can tell he's planning on picking a fight with you by the way the words fall out of his mouth. "a dress?" you scowl at him.

"a dress." he repeats in a condescending tone.

"you think you can go and do whatever you please since we broke up." he sighs, shaking his head. "this is what you did for those months i wasn't here, huh? went around letting men ogle you?"

he keeps blabbing on and on, it's always like this. it never ends with him.

a couple words is all it took to change your mood completely. you were so, so excited to go out in your new dress to an entirely new place—just to end up pissed off, storming out and slamming the taxi door.

you plop yourself in the front seat so there wouldn't be the slightest chance you'll be forced next to him. whether it's petty or not, you don't even want to see his silhouette from the corner of your eye.

on the drive over he's once again all that's on your mind. you don't notice the deafening silence in the car, the beautiful stars in the sky, nor the strong smell of cologne in the air.

you're equally as pissed of at yourself as you are at him.

cursing yourself for being so stupid, for letting yourself have the slightest belief that he could have grown and changed because what, he's been trying to court you the whole day?

shoko was right, shoko's always right.

the second the car stops you swing the door open and practically sprint to the bar, walking ahead of everyone else.

you walk right up to the bartender, order 3 shots and guzzle them down before your friends have found where you've ran off to.

"slow down." satoru says jokingly, trying to lighten the mood.

it doesn't work out in his favour.

you know you're being a buzzkill, but there's not an atom inside of you that wants to laugh nor smile right now. all you're interested in is drowning your sorrows in cheap vodka.

you don't move, don't react, staying as still as you were before he had came up to you—as if he hadn't said anything in the first place.

unbeknownst to you, shoko's looking at suguru like she wants to wring his neck. he's her friend, of course—but that doesn't mean she isn't contemplating throwing a drink in his face for how he's acted.

she signals the bartender for another round, and another. a few more and you stop counting. you drink them all as soon as they hit the table.

it doesn't help, not in the slightest. the music's only grown louder and more annoying, you're suddenly painfully aware of how uncomfortable the bar seats are, and you just feel like shit overall.

throwing your elbow down onto the table, you let your head fall into the palm of your hands.

suguru and satoru are talking a few seats down, while shoko's been whisked away by possibly the hottest woman you've ever seen in your life.

someone's already ruined your night—your whole trip for that matter, so you decide to do the complete opposite of what suguru's done for you.

you get back up on your feet, heading for the bathroom to prevent yourself from burdening anyone else with your sour mood.

you don't know how long you sit there for, long enough for you to overhear 3 separate instances of a woman crying at the sink with nearly the whole bathroom comforting her.

minutes go by where not a single thought appears in your head, and minutes go by where your heads full of them.

the cycle only breaks when you hear what sounds like your name being called. unsure if you're just deluded with the alcohol in your system, you wait to see if it happens again.

BANG BANG BANG!

the stall beside you shakes.

BANG BANG BANG!

now its yours.

you reach over and click the lock open, finding shoko a second away from banging on another girl's stall.

"there you are." she breathes out a sigh of relief, "i called for you."

you hold the door open, "not the quietest place in here if you didn't notice." you say, a small smile appearing on your face.

she skips the whole spiel she'd usually give you in times like these and gets straight to the point. "forget about him, he's a dick. let's go dance."

"its alright, you should go back to that girl i assume is waiting for you at the bar." you tell her, still reluctant to burden anyone else with your problems.

shoko's smile grows wider, "you seen? isn't she the epitome of my type?!"

"oh i seen." you nod at her with a smirk. "can i ask you for one thing though?"

"anything." she replies instantly. "what is it?"

"a cigarette."

after digging around in her bag for a few seconds she pulls out the pack and hands one to you. "gave you my lucky one."

"thanks, i owe you." you say, grabbing a hold of it by the end.

she chuckles, "shut up." you've been friends long enough to have abandoned the concept of being indebted to one another.

heading out of the bathroom the both of you go your separate routes, she heads for the bar and you turn into the smoking area outside.

you find a spot that isn't too crowded and lean against a brick wall, putting the cigarette in your mouth and abruptly come to the realisation that you never asked her for a lighter to go with it.

"fuuuuck me." you groan, scanning the area looking for someone approachable.

doesn't take you long, the section is full of smokers after all. your eyes land on a blonde, lanky man who's standing alone, not too far from you.

"hi, uh—sorry, you got a lighter i can use?"

"i do." he pauses, "in exchange for your name."

while you're telling him your name, laughing, giggling as the fire from the lighter casts an orange glow on your face, suguru's just walked in.

he doesn't notice you at first, just stands and enjoys about a quarter of his cigarette before recognising your laugh.

his head shoots up, looking all over the place until he spots you.

with a mans hand on your hip.

suguru taps out his cigarette— calm as ever, and walks up to you and your newfound friend.

you're making small talk with him when all of a sudden there's a heavy arm on your shoulder, resting against your collarbones.

whipping your head around, you find the one man you didn't want it to be.

"who's this? you replacing me now?" suguru snickers, looking the guy up and down.

the man in front of you is tall, yes—not as tall as suguru though, and definitely not as built as him either.

so, by no one's surprise, he begins to freak out. "o-oh, i'm sorry." he croaks, the sultry tone in his voice that he was using with you completely gone. "didn't know she was with you.. again, s-so sorry."

suguru watches him scurry off, a look of satisfaction etched onto his face. if he hadn't been so easily influenced, the situation would've gone a completely different direction.

a long sigh leaves you. "i'm not even going to argue with you, i don't have the patience for it, suguru." you turn your head away from him, too exhausted at this point to bother.

he seems to ignore you, "what did i tell you about these anyway?" in a flash, he snatches the lit cigarette between your fingers and puts it in his mouth.

if you weren't so tired of bickering with him, you would've commented on the irony of it all. how he's scolding you for smoking just to go and do the same thing.

"sure. take it, i'm leaving anyway." with that you try to nudge his arm off of you, it doesn't move an inch.

you take another deep breath.

a loud noise comes from further behind you, so loud that everyone in the smoking area turns to look.

"pfff.." satoru steadys himself against the door that he had used his entire body weight to swing open, "MTHERE YOU GUYS ARE!" he shouts, his speech slurred.

suguru finally tears his hand from you to go and tend to satoru, who's had more than he can handle.

the rage you've been holding in gets the better of you, "yeah, you go and take care of him. i don't need anymore problems." making one last snarky comment towards him as you begin to walk off.

he hisses, "hey, no—wait!"

thinking on his feet, he grabs satoru by the collar and starts following you out, pushing past people who's faces he can't make out. they're all blurry except for you.

a drunk and dazed satoru somehow catches shoko's face in the crowd. "I THINK WE'RE LEAVING!"

she gives the three of you a dissatisfied look and simply turns back to the woman she was talking to before he had interrupted, as if nothing had ever happened.

seems she's as tired of all this as you are.

looking back, you notice satoru being dragged across the sticky club floor first, and then suguru. "will you ever leave me alone?!" you spit at him, louder than you intended.

in an instant you feel 50 pairs of eyes land on you, only heightening your anger.

this is exactly what you didn't want. you didn't want to cause a scene, you didn't want to lash out and you didn't want him anywhere near you.

"calm down will you? lets talk." he's still using that slightly aggressive tone with you, which isn't helping him out one bit.

you speed up again, turning your head back to look him in the eye as you push open the doors to the outside, "i've BEEN calm, and that clearly wasn't enough—"

THUMP!

those goddamn heels.

as if loudly arguing with your ex boyfriend in a club wasn't embarrassing enough, you've now practically flown out of the place. twisting your ankle and landing on your side.

tears well up in your eyes—not because of the pain, but because you're so overwhelmed you don't know what to do with yourself anymore.

suguru can piece two and two together even though he didn't see the fall—unlike satoru, who's wondering why you're on the ground.

thankfully he doesn't make it worse by saying anything stupid.

suguru sets him down and runs over to check on you, kneeling down by your side. "are you okay? where are you hurt? show me."

"i—" sniff "—don't need your help."

"you do. look at you, you're crying." he gently cradles your face in his hands, wiping away the tears spilling from your eyes.

"cause of you." you say with a shaky voice.

then, and only then does it click for him.

he falls silent. realising it is his fault, everything that has happened, happened because of him. the anxiety, the loss of confidence, the anger, the hurt, the tears, he is the only one responsible.

"i…" he trails off, choosing not to finish his sentence. "will you please, at least let me get you up off of the ground." he says softly.

you try and go against him, attempting to do it all on your own. it doesn't work. your ankle is fine for the most part, but you have no willpower.

"please." he breathes, watching you struggle.

"okay."

he helps you get on your feet first, steadying your back and putting one of his hands in yours.

once you've stopped wobbling he bends down, wraps a hand around the back of your knees and picks you up bridal-style.

you're shocked when your feet start to raise from the ground, but you don't protest. you let him carry you as he tries to hail down a taxi, finding a speck of comfort in how he's holding you so lovingly.

one eventually stops for him, he calls satoru over and tells him to get in the front seat but he's barely awake. suguru again, has to drag him by the collar while still holding you on one arm.

he'll be fine. suguru hasn't seen even a bruise on him in the entire 10+ years that they've known eachother.

still carrying you, he gets in the back and sets you down on his lap, your back against the window and your legs propped up on the seats. his arm acts as a cushion for your back so the car door's hard interior wont cause you any discomfort.

he gives the driver the address, then hands him a large bill—paying upfront.

it's quiet for a while, not like before though. it's not awkward this time, not for you and not for him, you're more so just existing together.

"i'm sorry."

it comes out of nowhere, yet you don't feel anything upon hearing his apology. he's never been one to give them out—an even bigger reason as to why you should feel something, but you're just.. content with it.

"thank you." you answer, meeting his eyes.

"i mean it."

"i know."

…

"i don't mean to be so.. bad to you."

although you don't necessarily 'agree' with his statement, you hum to let him know you're listening.

the words he wants to say are slowly coming together in his head, "i'd say i'm acting this way because i miss you, but i always have, haven't i? even when we were together."

your brain wants to tell him he's right, tell him that he's always been like this and he always will be—but your heart wants to hear him out.

"i thought i'd be able to change. maybe i did, and maybe when i saw you again all the work i put in went out the window." you can see it in his face, that he's telling you how he really feels.

he's never been very good at that, always preferring to bend the truth to benefit himself rather than be transparent.

at least he's improved on one thing.

you clear your throat, "i missed you too, in case you didn't catch it. i know it doesn't look much like it."

giving you a warm smile, he cups the side of your face with his free hand and leans in closer.

"suguru.. we shouldn't." you whisper, your body contradicting your words, unconsciously moving closer to him with your eyes fixated on his lips.

"that doesn't mean we can't." his cold fingers move down to rest against your chin, gently tilting it up.

you chuckle at his reasoning, "you're such a—" your sentence was cut short by his lips connecting with yours. they meet for only a second—testing the waters with a simple peck.

another, longer one follows. by the time he pulls away you know this won't end with just a kiss.

it doesn't.

when suguru successfully gets satoru into the ginormous bed he had picked out, the moment the door clicks behind him you're against the wall opposite it in seconds.

his knee is between your legs, pushing up against your throbbing cunt as his tongue slips between the seam of your lips.

through your soaked panties your clit grinds against his thigh, you try to hoist yourself up further for more stimulation—but there's only so much you can do with wobbly knees.

even with his eyes closed he notices, of course he does—he knows the ins and outs of your body.

grabbing onto your hips and slightly bending his knee, he helps you move further up whilst following your own chosen rhythm.

it gives you some relief, however it's not long before you're whining against his lips. it still isn't enough for you, you're trying to tell him to just fuck you already without actually saying it.

upon hearing your plea he breaks the kiss, a string of spit still connecting the two of you. "which way?"using as few words as possible to help him catch his breath, he asks where your room is.

"the one by the window." you say, a faint smirk playing at the corners of your lips.

in an instant, you're scooped up. legs wrapped around his hips as he kisses the side of your neck—thanking your past self for choosing one of the rooms downstairs.

he carefully sets you down on the bed and begins fumbling with his belt, not treating it with the same care. the same goes for the expensive shirt he was wearing, in his rush to take it off the threads break and snap.

you only get wetter at the sight, seeing how desperate he is to get back to pleasing you as soon as possible has your thighs squeezing together.

because the little black dress slipped off so easily, you're left sitting on the edge of the bed in only your panties looking up and watching suguru remove what's left of his clothes.

by the time he's stripped down to only his boxers you've grown very impatient and decide to beckon him over, "sugu, come here already."

the nickname is one he hasn't heard in a long long time, he swears his dick grows harder from just hearing you say it again.

hooking your fingers into the elastic, you slide them down an inch or two to free his cock. it springs out of his boxers, laying flat against his stomach for a second before gravity forces the heavy weight down.

it's just as pretty as you remember it. long, curved, a vein going from base to tip—one you bend down to trace with your tongue, having missed the feeling of it pulsing in your mouth.

at the feeling of the wet muscle making contact with his pulsing cock he takes in a sharp breath, "save that for later." he hisses.

you pout, "i can't just have a taste?"

"you'll get one—every night up until we're on the plane home." he assures you, a large grin plastered on his face.

suguru's been fantasising about having sex on the beach for lunch and stuffing your throat full of his cock for dinner since you met in the airport.

looking down at you with low eyes, he pushes his boxers all the way down, letting them pool at his feet.

then, slowly, he pinches the lace of your panties and guides you to lay back by lifting one of your legs.

the fabric is carefully slid down your lower body and quickly discarded somewhere behind him.

taking your other leg in his hand, with his hands placed on the back of your knees he spreads them even further apart and coats his cock in your arousal, "this.. from some kissing? oh doll, you should've came to me sooner." he teases.

"suguruu, plea—" your breath catches in your throat as you feel him push into you.

he's not even halfway in yet and is already starting to blab about how much he's missed you,

"got no idea how many nights i dreamt of this. was hell always waking up without you, not having the power to make it real."

with every thrust he pushes his cock further and further inside you, until you've taken him all the way to the base.

instinctively, your legs try and fight against his hold on you—attempting to close, yet it only leads to him pushing them further apart.

"did you forget already? no running, no writhing, none of that."

the obsession he had over control didn't stop inside the bedroom, if anything it grew.

you don't know how to feel about the fact that it hasn't changed, but you're not in a position to say anything even if you had a problem with it.

not when he's hitting that spot inside of you juuust right—long, deep, sometimes upward strokes.

you swear he must be doing it on purpose, how could you not writhe when every roll of his hips sends a wave of pleasure through you?

all hope isn't lost for you, because the one thing you are allowed to do is moan.

"a-ahh! sugu..!"

"waaaitt.. not so—ngh—fa-haast..!"

"F--FUUCCCK!!"

you moan his ear off, as usual, but that last one might've been a little too loud.. "shhh, you want satoru to wake up and find out what a dirty girl you are?"

for some reason that's entirely unknown to you, those words have you feeling butterflies in your stomach, your walls tightening around his cock.

"oh?" he chuckles, "you like that? guess we should wake him up for you then.." reeling his hips all the way back, suguru's got the most conniving look on his face.

"S-SHIIT!" you wail at the force he slammed his cock back into you with. "nononono.. haaah.. didn't—"

"didn't what? didn't mean it?" his thrusts are now much faster than they were before, causing you to become a babbling mess underneath him.

"i'll even add in another sense for him next time, he can watch, ngh—you want that too?"

"n-no! j-just you, onlyy yyou!" it's getting to be too much now, your eyes roll to the back of your head as his pace doesn't stutter once.

"suguru slow—nhhhnmm—down! i'm gonna, gonna cum.." a breathless plea leaves your lips—one he doesn't listen to.

he keeps bullying his cock into your gushing pussy over and over, until you break. you cum with a loud guttural moan, clamping down on him.

"d-don't do that." he tilts his head back, his adams apple bobbing in his throat while continuing to drive his hips into you.

the fact that he hasn't stopped means you haven't either, your pussy flutters around his cock—sending him over the edge and filling your cunt up with his cum.

even as he begins to still, he stays buried inside you. "oh, i love you." he says breathlessly.

"mmnn.. love you too.."

shoko wakes up to satoru shaking her, and if that wasn't enough she's hit with a blinding headache and an overwhelming feeling of nausea only a few seconds later. "jeez.. stop.. im up.." she croaks. "i only got back like 3 hours ago.."

" i wiiin." he says in a sing-song voice.

"what do you mean you win?.. whaat.." she says, her voice raspy from the incredibly dry throat she's suffering with.

"suguru didn't come to bed last night."

"okaay? why're you talking about him like he's your wife?" her head not only hurts from her hangover but the extremely vague things satoru is telling her.

he pouts, "were you hit by a truck on the way home? 50. now."

"ohhh. that." she pauses, collecting her thoughts. "seriously? we've only been here like.. just over 24 hours."

"yeah, and i said 36. whoevers closest wins. you overestimate how good the advice you give her is, y'know."

a/n : if u havent seen the post i made on it im back in contact (after a whole year) with my ex bc of this fic LMFAOOOOO … its really not funny though i hate him

perm tags: @jaaazy @yoonsucks @cherrychoso @itimisu @b-bitter @theyluvchanel @fairylilysstuff @yemmuis @measfaf @iheartspencereid @violasepals @jiyuspassion @nightmarenyxx @6x-x9 @kaiismadgay @kmhsjy @magicalpeenpoo @icebearcucumber

geto tags: @valberryboos @sluttyangel04

want to join my taglist? comment under the linked post or fill out my form.

[indiewritesxoxo]

teasing your loser boyfriend until he cums in his pants is probably your second favorite hobby.

the first?

well, unfortunately that’s being teased by your loser boyfriend.

“come on, baby,” gojo purred, thumb deliberately ghosting right over your sensitive clit instead of on it beneath your skirt. “thought you said you could take it.”

“shut the fuck up,” you hissed, nails digging into his pale forearm as your brain belatedly recognized the familiar click! of the remote hidden in his pocket, the vibrator pulsing inside you kicking up another notch.

was this his payback for making him moan out loud in the middle of geto’s quiet birthday dinner? or for that one time you jerked him off in a bathroom stall and made him walk around stores for an hour with cum in his boxers?

“m’so jealous of that toy right now,” he murmured in your ear, his thigh pressed hard against yours in the restaurant booth as you eyed the bulge outlined in his jeans. he just had to be that couple every time you went out to eat, occupying every atom of your personal space as he gave you that pretty pout of his. “bet you’re squeezing it real tight.”

“i hate you,” you half-whispered, blood rushing to your face as you bit your bottom lip to hide a moan. glancing around anxiously to make sure no one had noticed what a mess he was making of you.

“you adore me.”

and god, when he grinned at you like that, you couldn’t help how close you were, thighs squeezing together as fire roared through your veins, the pressure building and building-

“too bad you’ll have to wait until till we get home to prove it,” he smirked, winking at you as the toy inside you stopped.

“i’m breaking up with you,” you hissed back, flustered and frustrated as you shamelessly squirmed in the seat, chasing friction as the heat in your core started to dissipate.

“good luck,” gojo chuckled. “you’re stuck with me.”

and apparently with a vibrator in you for the rest of your meal.

[indiewritesxoxo]

INDIE'S CRACKTACULAR KINKTOBERFEST!

mdni. multiple jjk men. fem reader. all fics will feature heavy smut + crack treated seriously. tags will be found in individual posts. gojo art by @keki1205 + div by @pixopix

SHARKNADO! starring ex-husband surfer!gojo + shark hybrid!sukuna

WILL FEATURE MONSTERFUCKING + OVIPOSITION

it's raining...sharks? but, uh, instead of man-eating ones, it seems this one is hungry for pussy! will your ex-husband save you? or do you even want to be saved?

VELOCIPASTOR! starring veloicpastor!geto

WILL FEATURE BONDAGE + GLORY HOLE

as a stripper, you've had your fair share of strange clients. but, uh, a priest turned cult leader with the ability to transform into a velociraptor? yeah, that's a new one.

COCAINE BEAR! starring bear hybrid!toji

WILL FEATURE KNOTTING + PRIMAL PLAY

what's a wildlife activist to do when the bear hybrid she's been studying accidentally stumbles upon a shipment of cocaine? probably not have sex with him. easier said than done.

LAVALANTULA! starring scientist!nanami

WILL FEATURE HUMILIATION + BREEDING

keeping your crush on a coworker secret is hard! a lot harder when the volcano you've both been observing for months erupts - and now you've got to struggle to survive fire-breathing tarantulas together.

GOJO VS. EVIL! starring frat!gojo

WILL FEATURE SEX TOYS + APHRODISIACS

a cabin in the woods. a quiet pond to fish on. a relaxing little getaway where you could enjoy some peace and quiet. what could go wrong? a group of annoyingly attractive college students crashing your sweet spot - and start dying off after you save a beautiful blue-eyed idiot from drowning?

a/n: these fics will probably take me longer than october to finish up but i'll do my best <3 some of them will be shorter, closer to drabbles and few will be longer oneshots :3

[ungulangel]

confused and lowk grossed out by people who are in their twenties writing romance and smut for underage characters. no age-ups don’t count. yes this is about megumi fushiguro. leave that baby alone he does not have time to be the mischaracterized angsty male lead in your x reader smut he is already in the trenches AND ALSO HE IS LIKE FIFTEEN!!! WHAT!!!!

[suksatoru]

CARNATIONS MASTERLIST.

REHAB!TOUYA X READER

The former villain known as 'Dabi' is now your patient. On the road to recovery, you're in charge of nursing him and his broken heart back to health.

carnations symbolize new beginnings, grief, and love. ❦

ᥴһᥲ⍴𝗍ᥱr ᥆ᥒᥱ ❦ 𝖼ɦαρ𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝗍ωⱺ ❦ 𝖼ɦαρ𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝗍ɦ𝗋𝖾𝖾 ❦ 𝖼ɦαρ𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝖿ⱺυ𝗋 ❦ 𝖼ɦαρ𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝖿𝗂𝗏𝖾 ❦ 𝖼ɦαρ𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝗌𝗂𝗑 ❦ 𝖼ɦαρ𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝗌𝖾𝗏𝖾𐓣 ❦ 𝖼ɦαρ𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝖾𝗂𝗀ɦ𝗍 ❦ 𝖼ɦαρ𝗍𝖾𝗋 𐓣𝗂𐓣𝖾 ❦ 𝖼ɦαρ𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝗍𝖾𐓣 ❦ 𝖼ɦαρ𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝖾ᥣ𝖾𝗏𝖾𐓣 ❦ 𝖼ɦαρ𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝗍ω𝖾ᥣ𝗏𝖾 ❦ 𝖼ɦαρ𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝗍ɦ𝗂𝗋𝗍𝖾𝖾𐓣 ❦ 𝖼ɦαρ𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝖿ⱺυ𝗋𝗍𝖾𝖾𐓣 ❦ 𝖼ɦαρ𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝖿𝗂𝖿𝗍𝖾𝖾𐓣 ❦ 𝖼ɦαρ𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝗌𝗂𝗑𝗍𝖾𝖾𐓣 ❦ 𝖼ɦαρ𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝗌𝖾𝗏𝖾𐓣𝗍𝖾𝖾𐓣 ❦ ᥴһᥲ⍴𝗍ᥱr ᥱіgһ𝗍ᥱᥱᥒ ❦ ᥴᥲrᥒᥲ𝗍і᥆ᥒs ᥒ᥆𝗍іᥴᥱ :)

[chososprettygirl]

⡴ gym teacher!sukuna has an embarrassingly known crush on school nurse!reader

lowkey wanna turn this into a full oneshot

if he heard one more twelve year old’s squeaky voice whispering to one another, saying he’s ‘got a crush on the school nurse’ he swears he’s gonna write up the whole grade.

god, it’s even worse when one of the eighth grade girls come up to him when he’s on lunch duty.

“mr., mr. ! did you know the nurse mentioned she likes tall guys when i went into her room for a tylenol !”

“what does that have to do with me ?” he grumbles, scrunching his face while the girl and her friend stare up at him.

“well everyone knows you like like her—”

“GO SIT DOWN!”

he swears the whole lunchroom conveniently goes quiet when he yells that as the girls squirm away back to their tables and start whispering around gossip.

and even worse than the girls that draw hearts around you and sukuna’s staff photos next to eachother in the main office, he’s got gojo. gojo, who ships you two and nags him like worse-than a middle school girl. gojo, who shoves you two together for any school event.

“what game do you have planned for tomorrow?” you ask, leaning over to whisper to sukuna as eighth grade awards are called for each subject, timing claps inbetween your words while names are called. you smirk, “how many kids am i gonna have sent my way next time?”

“just dodgeball.” he leans down to whisper flatly against your ear, still staring down a kid giggling in the seating rows of the auditorium and effectively getting him to stop with his gaze.

“your version of dodgeball is basically to the death, i might have to have paramedics in my room on standby.” you joke, turning to smile at him so sweetly. in his mind, this counts as him making you laugh and therefore counts as a win.

he chuckles lightly, just a quick huff of his chest, but essentially the hardest he can laugh if he’s not looking at a kid getting tackled in class. “these kids will toughen up eventually, i am just teaching them to do it early.”

“were you a weak kid that needed to toughen up? i can really only picture you as a big scary dude.”

“i was actually a severely malnourished child due to my mothers impoverished state during her pregnancy.“ he says, truly not realizing how solemn he sounds in his voice even as he means it as a light hearted jest.

you blink at him, face contorted in confusion and awkwardness. he wants to hit himself.

the only thing that saves him from not saying anything stupid again is the end of the assembly, marked by gojo yelling into a megaphone and for kids to round up by homeroom.

the following week he’s still embarrassed to even look you in the eyes. he’s mulling over how stupid he must’ve looked infront of you while sifting through the equipment closet.

he hears steps echo throughout the currently empty gym before he yells out.

“gojo i’m not covering your lunch break, fuck off—” he turns around to not see the usual suspect he finds during his free period. instead, he sees you, leaning against the door in scrubs and white coat clinging to your body. he stills in his motion.

you speak before he can (if he can speak at all in his embarrassed state).

“i understand the confusion, he bothers me all the time too.” you dismiss, smiling at him with your glossed lips he probably thinks about hourly. waitwaitwait, gojo talks to you all the time ? he’s going to kill that lanky fuck. “just wanted to drop these off for yuri in your next period.” you jostle around a pill bottle in your hand, “she can get fainty on gym days so give these to her just in case to help prevent that.” he knows it’s your job and all, but your concern is honestly kinda cute.

“uhh yeah i’ll be sure to.” he nods, right as you drop the bottle on top of a stack of rubber cones by the door before you walk out. and he would just like it to be known he definitely didn’t stare at your ass as you left.

and he typically makes it easier for himself to deny how down bad he is to you, but now, after you spent a week of saved up sick days out last week, he’s kind of craving your voice. so who can blame him when he calls his 6th grade nephew into his office while he’s supposed to be at lunch.

“look, kid. i’m going to need you to do something, and i’m gonna need you to not be annoying about it, kay?”

yuji furrows his brows, fiddling with the strings of his hoodie.

“you,” he gestures to his nephew, “are going to act like you collapsed and let me bring you up to the school nurse. you are then going to be quiet when i talk to her.”

“is it cause you have a crush on her—”

sukuna tenses before cutting him off.

“do a good job acting and i will consider buying you that human earthworm blu-ray. do you hear me, brat?”

yuji’s eyes light up at the mention of the dvd.

“is this impression good enough then?” yuji leans and clutches at his side in fake fatigue while moaning dramatically for help, then immediately straightens up with a smile like he’s waiting for a rating. sukuna shakes his head and genuinely wonders how he’s related to this—in sukuna’s words— pea brained doofus.

he dials your number on his offices phone, sitting tense in his chair while he shh’s yuji. yuji nods and salutes as sukuna continues to roll his eyes.

yuji could’ve sworn he saw him smile when you pick up. he continues to watch sukuna fiddle with the curled wire of the phone as he explains yuji’s apparently dire situation. he can just barely hear the muffled sound of you saying ‘just bring him up and i’ll check him out.” over the speaker of the phone before sukuna hangs up and fixes his hair.

sukuna walks out the door and desperately tries to ignore yuji’s terrible post fainting impression behind him as his nephew follows his step to your room.

just before they step into your room he whispers to yuji as he leans over.

“if you can bring up me being single i’ll take you out for ice cream, brat.”

ignore typos i was too lazy to fix any

[creamdreamsss]

another banger posted on mi birthday

[fellshish]

feeling guilty over not working on your fic is so silly if you think about like why are you stressing over the hobby you do in your free time for fun lol wip not whip

[serpenttine]

you’ve been choso’s muse longer than you think.

art by @/f_tality0 on twt

you and choso have been friends since the start of your second year at college, with him being an art major and you being one of his only friends it's no surprise that over time you began to take up half his sketchbook.

he's always insisting you have a face made to be put on a canvas. you don't quite see it nor have a good understanding of what exactly that means, but it makes you feel good.

sitting on the art studio's uncomfortable chairs isn't so bad when he finally reveals the finished product. the way he draws you—it's like he's drawing your soul too. you've never felt prettier than when you see yourself through his eyes.

"well, can i see?" you ask, noticing he finally put down his sketchbook.

"it's not finished yet, i have to go over some of the shading—but you can take a look while i clean up a little." he picks it up between two fingers and stretches so you can reach it without any difficulty.

before standing he speaks again, "i know you've got a busy couple days coming up so i'll do my best to paint it without you here." in truth he would do just fine without you here. he has the sketch, has the colors he'll use planned out in his head—hell, he could draw you from memory at this point. but you don't know that.

you furrow your brows, "you sure?"

"positive."

"kay, just let me admire it for a sec and i'll go."

the second your eyes hit the page you start smiling, its beautiful. it always is. you don't have words for him, you haven't for a long time. there's nothing you can say that he hasn't already heard.

while choso's busy cleaning you decide to look through the rest of his sketchbook, flicking to the very first page. at the top right-hand corner of the page he has the date marked in red pen—which is nothing out of the ordinary for him, but you take note that it begins just a few weeks into his first year.

you turn the pages and smile, noticing how his current art-style seeps into his older drawings, but the next page is something you didn’t expect, something that makes your heart drop.

it sinks lower and lower every time you carefully slide the pages between your fingers. its you—they’re all you. they date back to a time you hadn’t even heard of his existence.

you sitting on a bench, you with your friends who’s faces haven’t been drawn, you reading a book, you listening to music, you—

“like it?” choso shouts from across the studio.

do you?

[slutdge]

i love being a pervert online with all of you

[choivae]

ᝰ.ᐟ bf!toji who hates seeing you cry until he makes you sob during sex ⸝⸝ 18+ mdni

bf!toji who acts like nothing bothers him, but he secretly notices every little change in your mood. he knows exactly how sensitive you are and treats your feelings like something fragile, even if he tries to act casual about it.

bf!toji is the type to drop his tough guy act the second your bottom lip starts shaking. if you two are watching a sad movie and a pet dies, or if you just had a terrible day and drop your cup on the floor—he's right there. he won't tease you. he’ll just pull you against his chest, let you ruin his shirt with your tears, and rub your back until you stop crying. he genuinely hates seeing you sad.

bf!toji who is completely caught off guard the first time it happens. you’re sitting on his lap, wrapped around him, completely lost in the moment. one of his big, rough hand is holding your hips, keeping you close, while he kisses your neck and slowly moves his thick digits inside your pussy, finding a rhythm that takes your breath away.

bf!toji stops completely the second he hears a small, shaky sniffle. he goes totally stiff under you. he stops moving his fingers and pulls back from your neck, his dark eyes wide and worried as he holds your face. seeing tears running down your cheeks scares him a little.

"hey... look at me. what's wrong? did i hurt you?" his voice is rough and actually panicked. "tell me, do you want me to stop?"

bf!toji watches you whine softly because he stopped. you shake your head, hiding your face in his shoulder and crying out the truth: "n-no, don't stop... it just—it feels too good, ji. i can't help it."

bf!toji freezes, taking in what you just said. hearing that you aren't crying from pain, but because he is making you feel that good? a switch flips in his brain and the panic disappears, replaced by a huge rush of excitement.

bf!toji becomes totally obsessed with this—knowing he can make you lose control just by touching you makes his ego go through the roof. the sweet boyfriend who hates to see you cry in public completely disappears behind closed doors. in bed, your tears mean he's doing a good job.

bf!toji gets really smug and loves to tease you about it. he’ll purposely slow down, touching the exact spot that makes you crazy, watching your eyes fill with tears while he smirks.

"look at you," he’ll whisper, wiping a tear away with his thumb. "crying already? you're so sweet for me. keep going, let me see how good it feels."

bf!toji loves to push you over the edge by building the friction until you can't take it. he’ll pin your wrists above your head, spreading your legs wide so he can look right at you while he slides all the way inside. every time he thrusts deep and hits your sweet spot, a fresh wave of tears leaks from your eyes, and he just stares down at you with a dark, heavy grin, loving how loud you gasp and sob under him.

bf!toji who will change positions just to make you cry harder. he'll flip you onto your stomach, pulling your hips up high so he can slide in from behind. the angle is deep and intense, and as he grips your waist hard enough to leave marks, you're burying your face in the pillows to muffle your crying. he'll lean down, his chest pressing against your back, and talk right into your ear.

"baby, let me hear it—turn your head and look at me—god, look at how wet your face is just because i'm stretching you out like this."

bf!toji decides that if you aren't crying by the end of the night, he didn't try hard enough. it becomes a game to him. he will deliberately push you over the edge, using his dick and his dirty mouth to keep you completely overwhelmed until you're shaking and crying in his arms.

bf!toji who will actually praise you for crying. while he's holding you tight and making love to you, listening to you sob, he’ll lean down to kiss your wet cheeks and growl, "that's it, gooood girl. cry for me."

[yemmuis]

thinking about making choso do pushups till failure on top of you and giving him a little kiss for every one he does until hes whimpering and sweating 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️ yes sir

[yemmuis]

@satorucest making gojo do pushups till failure on top of you except he isnt allowed to kiss you at ALL or touch you until hes done. except he has to fuck you all exhausted afterwards bc he did too many pushups and tired himself out (this would take an extremely long time thanks to him being #strong) (the strongest, even?)

[yemmuis]

thinking about making choso do pushups till failure on top of you and giving him a little kiss for every one he does until hes whimpering and sweating 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️ yes sir

[indiewritesxoxo]

lust, longing, and other things

call me cupid

helpless. hopeless. horny. honestly, you should just stamp never been laid on his forehead, but no, it's up to you to fix him

synopsis: matchmaking was your calling. what wasn't there to love about love? never, in all the couples you created, had you ever failed. choso's about to change that.

pairing: virgin!Choso x cupid!Reader

content: mdni, angst and smut, modern au where cupids work for a matchmaking corporation, fem reader, inexperienced choso, loss of virginity, fingering, piv sex, yearning, jealousy, he wants us BAD, falling in love

choso art by @hunnismokah

Unlike some people, you actually liked your job.

There was a certain magic to it, matching people together and watching them fall for each other, the love lingering in the air thick enough you could practically taste it.

Some clients were harder than others, sure, but they usually just needed a little help. None had ever made you second guess your position in this profession.

Until him.

His pale hands nervously wrapped around a cup of coffee, knee bouncing as he looked everywhere except you.

"Um, Choso, right?" You smiled, sweet and polite as you took a sip of your hot chocolate.

"What?" He grunted. Grunted.

His voice was like gravel, low and rough and rigid. Thick brows scrunched together as he looked out the window. Counting birds or staring at passing strangers. You didn't know.

"I'm just here to help you," You chirped. You'd been through the practiced welcome speech twice already and it still hadn't seemed to set in. He'd barely even cracked his front door open to speak to you, only willing to join you at a nearby coffee shop after you slipped him your business card and told him you spoke with his brother.

"Why?" He grumbled.

You struggled not to sigh, to keep your smile in place as you slid over the form his younger brother had filled out begging you to set his brother up.

"Yuji thinks you could use a girlfriend. Or boyfriend, you know whatever you-"

"Girlfriend," He muttered under his breath.

Well, at least you were getting somewhere.

"Okay, well, your brother requested we help you out. And I was assigned to your case," You explained. He reluctantly picked up the paper, frowning at his sibling's handwriting before sighing himself.

"Fine."

You relaxed, shoulders slumping as your smile turned genuine, relieved you wouldn't have to mark his file as a failure.

"Great," You beamed. "So, I spoke to your brother on the phone, and he said you didn't have a lot of experience, but-"

"None," He interrupted you, the thick tattoo across his nose wrinkling as he scrunched it up.

"Excuse me?" You questioned, tilting your head to the side in confusion.

"I don't have any," He curtly said, meeting your stare for the first time since he sat down. His eyes were dark, and you couldn't tell where the pupils started or the irises ended, but they were still just as sharp as the rest of him, threatening to burn a hole through you.

"Like you've never had a real girlfriend before, or-?" You trailed off this time, blinking at him like it'd make it more believable that the ridiculously hot guy in front of you somehow had no experience with women.

"Like anything," Choso repeated, cheeks heating up before he looked away again.

"Well, I mean, what's the furthest you've gone?" That was probably unprofessional, but the question slipped out before you could stop it, more curious than you should be.

"I held hands with a girl once when I was fourteen," He answered.

"Well, um, let's change that, alright?" You tried to cheer him up, reaching across the table to squeeze his hand to reassure him.

You'd set up virgins before.

But a guy that had never been kissed?

It was painful.

Maybe if you cared less, it'd be easier. Just a matter of pulling out your arrows and picking someone pretty out to complement him.

But this was his life. He'd be living with the decision you made - unless he wanted to pay a premium fee to unmatch him from whoever you paired him with. But so far, none of your couples had done that yet.

You would be damned if he was the first.

Even if it meant you had to be his first.

"Put your other hand on my waist," You instructed him, leaning in closer, your chest pressed against his, a pretty blush dusting his pale cheeks as his palm settled on your side. "Good."

For the past few weeks, you'd been setting him up on date after date, taking notes and offering pointers afterwards, debriefing just for him to nod along and never give a real opinion.

You were trying to gauge his interests, figure out what kind of woman he was looking for.

The problem was glaringly obvious - Choso seemed to not have any preferences.

Unable to tell you what he liked or disliked about each one, only declining second dates. He hadn't even kissed a single one of them.

Choso was a catch. Maybe he was a little scary looking at first, scowling and serious, but he was soft, smart, the kind of considerate most girls would kill for. A family man too.

You cornered him about it back at his apartment after another failed date, asking what his deal with, frowning when he admitted that he was nervous about being a virgin.

So you did what anyone would do in your shoes! Offer your services!

"Like this?" He murmured, craning his neck down so his nose brushed against yours, close enough your lips were almost touching.

"Mhm," You nodded, breath catching in your throat as your eyes drifted down to the soft pink of those lips. "You sure about this?"

You guessed he was judging by how hard his mouth crashed into yours.

A little clumsy, taking a couple seconds to adjust, to copy your movements, but pretty quickly getting the hang of it.

You would have to add fast learner to his resumé.

Especially when two seconds later, his hand was holding you in place, stronger than you expected, palm pressing flat and hard on your spine. His tongue pushing in to trace your teeth, to explore your mouth.

You started to pull away just to breathe, but his lips made their way down to your jaw instead, lingering on your skin.

"Should I stop?" He muttered, and you had no clue if he meant to be seductive, or if it was all natural. The husk in his voice and the heat in his hands.

"U-up to you," You stuttered, surprising yourself.

"And if I want to keep going?" He asked, although it sounded more like a dare when his mouth was ghosting over your throat, pressing a tender peck to your collarbone as the hand on your back drifted lower until he was slipping underneath the hem of your dress.

"We can go as far as you want to," You reassured him, purring into him when his sturdy fingers found the band of your panties, pulling it back just to let it snap against your skin.

There wasn't much you hadn't done truthfully.

All in the name of being the best agent of love you could be, of course.

But this felt different, something you couldn't quite pinpoint when he suddenly picked you up and tossed you onto his partially made bed.

The dark comforter crinkling underneath your body, dress riding up your thighs as his hands tugged your panties down.

"Talk me through it."

For someone who swore he'd never touched a woman, Choso somehow knew exactly what to say to make your stomach flip. Fingers dipping into your skin as he spread your thighs, hesitating at the sight of you glistening for him already.

"If you, um, put your fingers in-"

He laughed, abrupt but soft, the sound strange coming from his mouth, but oddly comforting all the same.

"I meant tell me what you like," Choso chuckled, and you blushed.

"Oh," You breathed.

And then his fingers were slipping in, slow and steady. There was nothing unsure about it, no nerves slipping through. Your lips stayed parted, chest stuck rising as he pushed in deeper, an crooked smile spreading across his own mouth watching you start to squirm around his thick digits.

He took his time, exploring you like you were something special, watching every flicker of your face and change in your expression. A pretty look glinting in his dark eyes when he crooked his fingers and you moaned for him.

"There?" He asked, amusement sneaking into his gravelly voice.

You barely managed a nod, pressure building in your stomach when his fingertips tested the sweet spot, pressing back into it while you sucked in a harsh breath. "Mm, mhm."

He chuckled a little when he slotted another finger in to help stretch you out and you made a strangled noise you didn't even know you were capable of.

"T-there," You stammered, letting your head rest back on the pillow when he pushed back in, sliding in-and-out with a filthy squelch, the metal of his rings just adding to the intensity.

It was only then that you realized there wasn't anything for you to fix.

He'd have been just fucking fine without your help if he could finger you stupid first try.

His clothing rustled, his fingers sliding back out with a lewd pop! before he was peeling his shirt off.

And you rarely thought this about anyone, let alone a human, but he really was beautiful. His skin was smooth, carefully carved muscles tapering down to the sharp v of his hips, his dark happy trail standing out against his pale complexion.

Choso noticed you staring, a low laugh escaping his throat, and you felt that flutter in your stomach again, your body betraying you for him.

You sat up, nimble fingers working to undo his button and tug down his zipper, admiring him more than you should admit when he had to stand and pull his pants and boxers down.

His cock sprang up, longer than you expected, pre-cum leaking and smudged around his top. Hesitantly, you reached out, brushing your thumb over his slit just to watch his jaw clench, muscles going taut at the slightest touch.

"Sensitive?" You teased, lips curling up in a smile as he threw you an annoyed look, unable to answer when you dragged your thumb across the collect the pre-cum there.

Brining it to your mouth to taste, struggling to keep your face smug when the lump in his throat was bobbing so hard while you made a show of licking it clean.

You hadn't even fully pulled it out before you were being pinned to the bed underneath him.

Wrists caught between his heavy grip, pressed into the pillow overhead, his lips suddenly attached to your throat and leaving hickies everywhere he could. Cock grinding against your clit, clumsy and desperate, practically rutting against you before he was even inside you. Making out and jumping like teenagers at a party.

"Ch-Cho-" You gasped, wiggling a wrist free to grab a handful of his hair and tug to get him to look at you.

"Too much?" He breathed, brows furrowed in concern like his cock wasn't still throbbing between your bodies.

"Not enough," You murmured, leaning up to press a kiss against the corner of his lips.

It turned out he was a good listener too.

He only paused to put a condom on, struggling at first to slip it over the tip before he tugged it in the rest of the way.

Your hips hooked over his waist, fingers dimpling your skin as he pounded you into the mattress, murmuring to ask if you wanted more in your ear while he found a steady rhythm.

"That's it," You hummed, fingers combing through his hair as he groaned and sank in deeper.

"You have to tell me if I suck," Choso warned, surprisingly serious as his sharp focus zeroed in on your face.

You giggled, and he throbbed inside you, still buried to the hilt as he grimaced, clearly struggling to stop himself from cumming already.

"You don't suck," You reassured him, reaching up to trace all the sharp lines of his face.

He nodded, barely a short bob of his head, staring at your lips like he wanted to suck on those instead.

"Cho," You murmured his name, enjoying the way it felt like he melted into your body, your touch, your breath. "You can kiss me."

Each one was better than the last.

Longer and rougher, getting more comfortable with every single second he was connected to yours, swallowing your moans with needier ones of his own. Picking up the pace out of need, probably leaving indents of your bodies into his bed, smothering you with more affection than you ever expected.

It'd been a while since you'd slept with someone so concentrated on you. How he watched your body, studied your reactions and responded in kind, even when he was kissing you, even when he was busy burying his cock deep enough his top was grinding into your cervix.

You were close, thighs starting to tremble, breathing getting strained as the pressure mounted higher, burned hotter.

Unsure, one of his hands slipped down, dancing anxiously over your clit and testing how quickly you twitched against his touch.

"Wanna make you cum first," He grunted when he hesitantly pulled away, clearly chewing on the inside of his cheek.

"You don't need my permission," You tried to laugh, but you were pretty sure he could hear your voice shaking a little when the rough pad of his thumb dragged over the bud again.

"I want you to want me to," He frowned, his nose brushing back against yours.

"I want you," You reassured him, the earnestness in it genuine.

Choso was barely holding on to the tethers of his restraint. Hearing the words leave your lips only made him fuck you harder, your nails sinking into his shoulders to hold on while he suddenly started rubbing harsh circles over your clit like he needed this more than you did.

Which might've been true considering he came the second after you did, spurred on by the way your face scrunched up in pleasure, swallowing your moan of his name with another heated kiss.

His head dropping down against your collarbone, sweat sticking his forehead to your skin as he sighed.

You didn't move. Let him lay there, trying not to think about the fact you'd just taken his virginity and he fucked you better than half the guys you'd been with before.

"Is-" He paused, sucking in a sharp breath. "Is it always that good?"

"Sometimes. It's better when you're in love with someone," You murmured, wrapping a loose strand of his dark hair around your fingers, watching the way it soaked up the light through his window.

"Oh," He muttered back, his body settling over yours, heavy as he exhaled.

"Yeah," You swallowed hard.

It was a little awkward. The smell of sex hung in the air, the dull hum of his air conditioning running in the background, the setting sun outside casting long shadows across the room.

"Sleep with me tonight," Choso finally said. Whether it was a request or a demand didn't matter much, you guessed. You knew you were going to comply before your lips even parted.

You still blinked, more flustered than made sense.

Sleeping with him shouldn't feel so intimate, but he readjusted, rolling over and dragging your still pliable body on top of him, running his fingers through your hair with your face pressed against his chest.

"You were great," You admitted, only able to say it when you weren't looking directly at him.

"Promise?" He sighed softly.

"Yeah," You nodded.

It was a weak attempt to remind yourself that this was all apart of your job.

This was supposed to be about teaching him.

But under the weight of his body, with the warm scent of his cologne wrapping around you like a blanket, you couldn't help but indulge yourself.

A few minutes wouldn't hurt.

Or maybe a night.

You just hadn't meant to sleep with him until the morning.

Something was touching your wings when you woke up.

You almost jumped, panicking as you tried to crawl out of bed and a heavy hand held you there, only relaxing when Choso's thick morning voice whispered in your ear, "Where are you going, angel?"

"Sorry, you weren't supposed to, um, see-" You stammered, heat flooding your face as his other hand trailed over the edge of your feathers, sending a shiver down your spine as his fingers ghosted over an embarrassingly sensitive spot.

You preferred to never let your clients see what you actually looked like. It wasn't that you were ashamed. The wings were cute, you guessed, pretty standard for a cupid. But you liked walking with them, blending in with the whole human disguise.

"It's pretty," He muttered sleepily, oblivious to the heat he was stoking back in your stomach. "You're pretty."

His casual sincerity felt more like a stab when he was on a date with another woman the next day. And the one after that.

Sure, you set it up, but still.

Watching him offer small smiles and open doors for gorgeous girls, sipping coffee across the table or going on walks in the park, listening to them with the same attentive ears that had been tuned into your moans not that long ago.

You rejected your jealousy.

But when he returned to you at the end with a shake of his head and an apologetic shrug just to end up pulling you back in his bed for more hands-on experience, you couldn't help but be soothed by his smooth hands and sweet kisses.

Letting the next couple weeks slip by in a haze of failed dates and late-night fucks.

Until her.

A pretty blonde reaching a manicured hand out to push his bangs back and study his face. Stuck at a table across the street when he let her.

You felt a pang inside your chest watching him laugh at something she said, leaning in and brushing a crumb off of her cheek.

There was the kind of crinkle by her eyes you'd seen a thousand times before. A crush turning into a spark, the seed blooming as his thumb dragged over her lip.

He would choose her.

And your job would be done once their date was.

You frowned to yourself, pulling your knees to your chest and ordering a second dessert while you waited, ignoring the voice in your head telling you to look over at them.

This used to be your favorite part.

The moment two people became more. Not strangers or friends, but something exciting and electric.

You should be happy. Attempted to convince yourself that you were. But it was bittersweet to think this would be the last time you saw him.

Sometimes you'd check on other couples you set up, but this wouldn't be one of them. Couldn't be.

"Hey."

You almost fell out of your seat, startled as you glanced over your shoulder behind you.

Choso was awkwardly standing there, hands shoved in his pockets. Staring at you like he had something to say and didn't know how to.

"It's her, isn't it?" You plastered your best smile on, told yourself that he deserved this, dusting your dress off and standing up.

His date was standing outside the restaurant, giggling on the phone with someone, probably calling one of her friends to say she met a guy and blah blah blah.

Choso hesitated, but you were already stepping out into the closest alley, swapping your disguise out, wings fluttering as you picked a pretty pink arrow from your sheath, starting to notch it before he blocked your shot.

"Wait," He swallowed hard, the lump in his throat bobbing.

"What?" You hesitated, relaxing the string.

"I don't want her," Choso spat it out. His face was pale, eyes uncertain as those dark brows met in the middle, a deep crease between them.

You froze.

"But I thought-" You paused, dropping the bow down entirely. "Weren't you having fun?"

"She's not you."

He shouldn't have said it.

You shouldn't want him to.

But you stood still, letting the words sink in and snap the stitches carefully holding your feelings in place.

All the heavy tension shifted between you, all the words still not spoken hanging there. It was wrong. This was wrong.

"I love my job," You murmured, not entirely positive if you were saying it to him or yourself.

"I know," Choso replied, and the warm understanding on his face pierced through you more than an arrow ever could.

"I can't leave it," You added, breath hitching painfully.

"I know," He repeated, stepping closer.

You wished you could bring yourself to step back, to put the distance between you before the two of you could cross the line between client and matchmaker in a way you wouldn't be able to repair.

He read your reluctance the same way he read your soul, with the type of easy acceptance you didn't want to reject anymore.

"I'd choose a couple days with you over a lifetime with someone else," He spoke quietly, but he was sure. Jaw set and lips pressed together in a hard line, those dark eyes begging you to believe him.

"I can't ask you to wait for me," You whispered. Even if you wanted to.

"You don't have to ask," He admitted. "I'll wait anyway."

And wasn't his stubbornness the reason you were even here?

He wasn't the kind of man who'd budge once his mind was made.

"If you find someone else-"

"I won't," He promised before you could even finish. "I'm yours."

You'd never realized how badly you wanted to hear those words before.

HR might have a fit about you using your time off to come visit your human boyfriend but technically, you weren't breaking any rules since you hadn't used any of your arrows on him yet.

The alternative was spending eternity wondering what if you had said yes to Choso. Would search for his face in every crowd and wish you hadn't left him standing here. Regretting loving him would be easier than regretting leaving him.

You swallowed your pride, taking a shaky step forward to caress his cheek, fingertips brushing over the line of his tattoo, the hard ridge of his nose. Leaning in to ghost your lips over his, taste the hint of wine still lingering there, the sweetness he saved just for you.

"I'm yours."

[yemmuis]

is there even a market for doctor x patient shoko ieiri fanfiction these days or do i need to build it from the ground up

[indiewritesxoxo]

indie what do u think about authors using ai when writing fanfics?

this has been bothering me for some time because i grew up on wattpad and just recently joined tumblr and ao3, but i came across some ai written stuff (they didn’t say they used it, i just recognized the sentences as such) and dk if it’s the jjk fandom thing or what??

also read some really cute work from this author who really interacts with readers on here and is rlly nice, but something about their last chapters is reallyyy bothering me and i lowk feel kinda heartbroken loll myb i’m just in too deep but i feel like there’s genuinely no point in fanfics if the fuckass robot is writing it for u :((

(im definitely in too deep)

what are ur thoughts ?

i hate it i hate it i literally loathe it ai written stuff has absolutely no place in fandoms it is so baffling to me bc it's supposed to be FOR FUN i would much rather read something 'badly' written then read something that is stealing from other creators to generate slop

but at the same time we should NOT be baselessly accusing people bc the ai is generating stuff that is literally from other's actual work and will copy writing styles. i've had a few friends and mutuals who very much wrote every single word they ever posted and still get accused over nothing just because of hyphens or italics or phrasing. i think people also have off weeks or times where they make themselves push out chapters even if they aren't really feeling it, but i think we should assume the best in someone unless we are given a very good reason to believe otherwise

anyway it's just such a double edged sword bc as much as i hate this stupid ai shit, it is extremely demoralizing and demotivating to spend a lot of time and effort and love into a work just to get accused of it being ai bc everyone is terrified of it

[yemmuis]

say it with me now ai has no place whatsoever in creative spaces 🗣️🗣️🗣️🗣️🗣️ PERIOD NO WHAT IFS NO BUTS NO EXCEPTIONS

humans have been making art for thousands of years without any technology. art is HUMAN. and it should stay that way. SAY IT WITH ME AGAIN AI HAS NO PLACE AT ALL IN CREATIVE SPACES AND THE ARTS 🗣️🗣️🔥🔥🔥🔥