@cuntphoric's main

‧₊˚⋅ Suguru Geto

‧₊˚⋅ Suguru fucking you with his tentacle curse?! Huh?!

‧₊˚⋅ Reading while suguru eats you out

‧₊˚⋅ Needy switch Suguru

‧₊˚⋅ I wanna eat you.

‧₊˚⋅ Kinky love (my personal fav.)

‧₊˚⋅ Suguru x stonergf

‧₊˚⋅ Suguru pumping you…gulps..

More coming soon, just let me tidy up…

18+ MDNI

Pervirgin!geto who cries when cumming, just messy and needy for his girl.

Pervirgin!geto who loves rubbing his big cock to the thought of you touching him until he cums and cries.

Pervirgin!geto who loves sucking your clit until you cry from overstimulation.

Pervirgin!geto who fucks you silly when he can until your both crying.

Pervirgin!geto who feels bashful every-time he touches himself to your face.

Pervirgin!geto who sends you audios of him fucking himself while your out.

A/n: I’m tipsy writing this 🤤 this alcohol goin to my clit rn so here’s this my pervirgins 🥰 ngh…no warnings cause im lazy but tw drunk phone sexting

You call Suguru lazily trying to open your phone, struggling to find his contact. “Daaaamnnn…” you quietly mutter as the alcohol runs straight through your nervous system and to your clit. You find his contact and call him, all your intoxicated mind wanted was to fuck him until your pussy was red and sopping from the amplified stimulation mixed with the devils drink. ‘Need you.’ Was all your mind could think of as you raised your phone to your ear.

You laid in bed, legs slightly spread in your queen bed as your hand wasted no time going to your genitalia. You hear the phone ring once and then twice. You closed your eyes keeping quiet as you hear his lovely voice answering your call. “Hello my love, how can I assist? Is anything the matter?” He spoke to you sweetly. You softly exhaled and started slowly rubbing your needy clit, he heard your breath hitch in your chest and slowly rise and fall. You heard him softly giggle then he spoke to you again making sure he quiets his own voice.

“I can tell you miss me, can’t get that cute pretty pussy to get wet all by yourself my flower?” he pauses for a second then you hiccup and swallow the bitter taste of the remnants of your sweet drink. He smirks and talks again in an insistent teasing sultry tone that made your body melt into the mattress.

“Have you been drinkinggg?”

You blush hard at his voice, you know he does that voice on purpose to make you even more bashful at the fact you’re even touching yourself drunken in bed imagining him with those delicate touches—wishing he was the one making you choke on your drool, making you dizzy. It was so sexy when he pretends to be clueless about what you’re doing when he knows exactly what you’re doing.

“Listen to me carefully,” he lowers his voice to a whisper—“Take it slowly, I want you to fully relax within your own skin. That edge of your fingertips lightly ever so slightly at the top letting your skin graze the pretty clit underneath.” You follow his instructions exactly, letting your middle fingers softly touch your clit but just barely making your cunt ache. He entrances you with his voice softly coaxing you but only through this damn communication rectangle you call a phone.

But god didn’t he sound like a prince doing it?

He guides you like he’s the one being spoiled with all the love, he emphasizes on every word with passion with you so you know he means every single word. And fuck he sent shivers down your spine each time he softly commands you through the phone.

“Sug-“

“You’re okay love, calm your pretty heart. Don’t panic honey, I’m right here with you.”

AHYYEYSYES

gojo’s hands might just be one of the first thing you notice when he pulls you close. they’re so fucking long, so big, so strong. you can feel the strength in them, but there’s a softness too it as well, like he knows exactly how to touch you without hurting you. UGFU #NEEDTHAT

one hand wraps around your throat, just tight enough to make you gasp, while the other slides down your body, pushing your shirt up, fingers grazing over your skin until he finally reaches your chest.

he teases your nipples, pinching them softly, then rolling them between his fingers, his eyes locked on your face and nipples, back and forth - up and down.

"..so fucking perfect," he sighs happily, before he’s pulling your pants off, his hands moving lower, slipping inside your panties. his fingers tease, sliding through your wetness before finally pressing deep inside you. the way his fingers curl and move inside you, deep and slow, is almost too overstimulating. you can almost barely keep it together, the way his hands pump inside you so easily. and when you cum, it’s all because of his hands - and all over it.

you let your mind wander, picture his massive hands holding you down roughly, his teeth grazing your throat, his voices overlapping when he grunts at you. the thought makes your hips buck into your palm, slick dripping onto the sheets beneath you, and you gasp his name again, louder this time. “sukun..a.. please..” you sound pathetic, you know it, but the ache in your chest and between your legs is unbearable.

your head falls back against the pillows, sweat beading on your skin as you circle faster, whimpering like a bitch in heat. it’s not enough—it’ll never be enough without him—but the sound of his name falling from your lips has you trembling, legs tightening around your hand as you rub yourself raw. you’re right on the edge when the air in the room shifts, that familiar suffocating pressure wrapping around you like a shadow.

which could only mean..

he's here.

towering over you in his true form, four eyes narrowed, mouths grinning sharp. his gaze drops to your hand still shoved between your thighs and you swear your heart stops. “pathetic little slut,” he rasps, voice rolling like thunder, “can’t keep your hands off yourself even when i’m gone for a few days?”

he steps closer, slow, deliberate, like a predator circling prey, and you can’t even look away—you’re caught. “moaning my name,” he growls, one mouth curling into a cruel smile, “like some desperate whore who thinks i’ll come running to fuck her.” he leans down, claws grazing the mattress by your head, his breath hot against your ear. “tell me—were you trying to replace me with those weak little fingers?”

working as gojo's teaching assistant is both a privilege and a nightmare. privilege? sure, if you call fetching his coffee and grading papers he can't be bothered to look at "career experience." nightmare? because he never misses a chance to remind you how utterly beneath him you are.

“ahh, you tried, didn’t you?” he says, peering over the essay you spent hours grading, blue eyes sharp and smug. he flicks a red mark with his finger like it personally offends him. “this correction isn’t wrong per se.. but it’s cute you thought you’d get it right on the first try.”

cute. he always says that. like he’s patting a child on the head. like you’re some bright eyed intern with no brain cells.

you clench your jaw, trying to swallow the humiliation that crawls up your throat. “i thought—”

“ah, see, that’s your first mistake,” he interrupts, smiling. “thinking.” he leans back in his chair, arms folding casually over his chest as if he’s bored of this conversation already. “you’ve got a lot to learn, sweetheart. luckily, you’ve got me to teach you. and who better, right?”

he doesn’t wait for an answer. he never does.

“i mean, i’ve got a whole decade of experience on you. ten years. that’s a long time to be better at everything, don’t you think?” he tilts his head, condescending and devastatingly pretty, and you hate that your chest tightens whenever he looks at you like that—like you’re something he could break in his hand without a second thought.

“maybe one day you’ll get there,” he continues, voice dripping with faux encouragement. “but until then, i’ll just have to keep cleaning up after you, huh? not that i mind, of course. it’s kind of.. endearing, watching you try so hard.”

you snap. you don’t mean to—it’s unprofessional, reckless—but something about the way he smiles at you as if you were some kind of joke finally makes you spit back, “if you think i’m so bad at this, why don’t you fire me?”

gojo freezes for half a second, his brows lifting in mock surprise. then, the smile spreads wider, sharper, and you know instantly you’ve made a mistake.

“fire you?” he repeats, like he’s trying not to laugh. he gets up slow, chair scraping back against the floor, and for a second you think maybe he’s joking—until he starts to circle.

“oh, no. no, no.”

his steps are unhurried, quiet except for the dull sound of his shoes against the floor. he keeps his hands in his pockets, shoulders loose, like he’s just pacing out of habit. but his eyes don’t move off you. he passes behind your chair, glancing at the papers on your desk, the half finished coffee, then back to you.

“you’re too fun to fire,” he says finally, voice even. but there’s still something behind it—something sharp you can’t quite name.

he rounds the desk in two easy strides, crowding into your space until your back hits the edge of the desk. your pulse jumps, heart racing as his hand settles on the surface beside you, caging you in.

“you know what your problem is?” he murmurs, his voice dropping low as his free hand tips your chin up, forcing you to meet his gaze. “you think you can talk back to me. like you’re equal to me.” he chuckles darkly, the sound sending a shiver down your spine. “but you’re not. not even close.”

before you can respond, he spins you around, bending you over the desk with ease. the breath rushes out of your lungs as his palm presses firmly into the small of your back, holding you in place.

“you need to learn your place,” he says, his voice smooth and dripping with authority. “and lucky for you, i’m such a generous teacher.”

his hands are everywhere. just rough and demanding, pushing your skirt up over your hips without a second thought. he’s all smug efficiency, like he’s done this a thousand times and mastered the art of making you feel utterly exposed and at his mercy.

“look at you,” he says, his voice laced with mock pity. “already shaking. you’re so eager to be put in your place, aren’t you?” he laughs softly, and it’s maddening how he sounds so composed.. so in control.. all while your pulse pounds in your ears.

his fingers dig into your hips, and he leans down, his breath hot against your ear as he whispers, “don’t worry, sweetheart. i’ll make sure you never forget who’s in charge here. just listen to me.”

your cheek presses against the cool wood of the desk, your breath shaky and uneven as gojo's hands roam over your body.

“so quiet all of a sudden,” he murmurs, his tone light but biting. “what happened to all that attitude, huh? you had so much to say just a second ago.”

you bite your lip, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a response, but the silence only makes him laugh - a low, condescending sound that has heat crawling up your spine.

“oh, i get it.” his fingers hook under the waistband of your underwear, dragging it down agonizingly slowly. “you only know how to run your mouth when you think you’re in control.” he pauses, leaning in close enough that his lips brush the shell of your ear. “but you’re never in control, sweetheart. not with me.”

he straightens up, one hand pressing into the small of your back to keep you pinned as the other trails down, teasing along the curve of your ass. “look at this,” he drawls, his tone dripping with mockery. “bent over my desk like a good little assistant. this is probably the only thing you’re good at, isn’t it?”

your nails dig into the desk, a mix of humiliation and arousal flooding your system. “fuck you,” you spit, the words sharp but shaky.

gojo clicks his tongue in mock disapproval. “such a dirty mouth for someone so incompetent! do you even realize how pathetic you sound?” his hand comes down suddenly, a sharp smack against your skin that had you immediately gasping from how unexpected it was. “there. that’s a much better sound.”

he grips your hip with one hand, his other trailing down between your thighs. his touch is teasing- never giving you enough to ground yourself. “this is what you’re good for,” he murmurs, his voice silky and cruel. “a pretty little thing to use however i want. maybe if you’re lucky, i’ll let you feel good too..”

your pride flares, but your body betrays you, hips shifting back instinctively to chase his touch. gojo laughs, a sharp, smug sound that sends a fresh wave of heat through you.

“oh, you’re that desperate, huh?” his fingers press against you, just enough to tease but not enough to satisfy. “guess i shouldn’t be surprised. you can’t do anything on your own, after all. always need someone to take care of you. isn’t that right?”

“fuck off,” you grind out, your voice trembling with a mix of anger and want.

“wrong answer.” another sharp slap lands on your skin, his tone turning colder, sharper. “you really don’t know when to shut up, do you? fine. let’s see how much fight you have left after i’m done with you.”

he wastes no time, lining himself up and sinking into you in one smooth, unrelenting motion. the stretch burns, your breath hitching as he fills you completely, his grip bruising on your hips.

“god, you feel so fucking good,” he groans, his composure slipping for just a moment before the arrogance seeps back into his tone. “tight as hell, too. no wonder you’re so useless during the day—you’re too busy fantasizing about this, aren’t you?”

your silence only eggs him on, his pace unrelenting as he drags you back onto him with every thrust. “come on, sweetheart. don’t get shy on me now. tell me—do you think about this when you’re sitting in my lectures? when you’re grading those shitty essays? bet you can’t even focus because you’re too busy thinking about how bad you want me to ruin you.”

his words cut deep, each one sinking into you with the same force as his hips slamming against yours. your breath comes out in broken gasps, your mind a haze of humiliation and overwhelming pleasure.

“you’re so easy to break,” he says, a cruel smile evident in his voice. “thought you’d put up more of a fight, but look at you now. nothing but a mess under me. guess that’s all you’ll ever be. it's pathetic”

you whimper, your resolve crumbling as his pace picks up, every thrust hitting deeper, harder. you really needed this.

“that’s it,” he murmurs, his voice low and taunting. “be a good little assistant and take it. maybe if you’re good enough, i’ll even let you cum. but only if you earn it.”

his grip tightens, his thrusts becoming more erratic as he chases his release, dragging you along with him until the only thing you know is him—his touch, his voice, his complete and utter control..

“fine,” he says, his voice sharp. “if you want to be stubborn and just moan, i can play that game too. but don’t think for a second that i’m letting you cum until you’re begging for it. and even then? maybe i’ll just leave you here dripping just until you learn how to be fucking grateful.”

“..please. just- god- just let me cum already!”

you finally tipped over the edge, your body trembling as you cum, a broken cry spilling from your lips. gojo groans, his grip bruising as he follows close behind, his hips slamming into yours one last time as he spills inside you, his breathing ragged.

he stays there for a moment, his hands sliding up to your waist, his touch almost gentle. then he chuckles, leaning down to press a kiss to your exposed shoulder.

“told you i’d teach you something,” he murmurs, smug and insufferable as always. “guess i’m just a really good teacher.”

a/n: @satorucest

working as gojo's teaching assistant is both a privilege and a nightmare. privilege? sure, if you call fetching his coffee and grading papers he can't be bothered to look at "career experience." nightmare? because he never misses a chance to remind you how utterly beneath him you are.

“ahh, you tried, didn’t you?” he says, peering over the essay you spent hours grading, blue eyes sharp and smug. he flicks a red mark with his finger like it personally offends him. “this correction isn’t wrong per se.. but it’s cute you thought you’d get it right on the first try.”

cute. he always says that. like he’s patting a child on the head. like you’re some bright eyed intern with no brain cells.

you clench your jaw, trying to swallow the humiliation that crawls up your throat. “i thought—”

“ah, see, that’s your first mistake,” he interrupts, smiling. “thinking.” he leans back in his chair, arms folding casually over his chest as if he’s bored of this conversation already. “you’ve got a lot to learn, sweetheart. luckily, you’ve got me to teach you. and who better, right?”

he doesn’t wait for an answer. he never does.

“i mean, i’ve got a whole decade of experience on you. ten years. that’s a long time to be better at everything, don’t you think?” he tilts his head, condescending and devastatingly pretty, and you hate that your chest tightens whenever he looks at you like that—like you’re something he could break in his hand without a second thought.

“maybe one day you’ll get there,” he continues, voice dripping with faux encouragement. “but until then, i’ll just have to keep cleaning up after you, huh? not that i mind, of course. it’s kind of.. endearing, watching you try so hard.”

you snap. you don’t mean to—it’s unprofessional, reckless—but something about the way he smiles at you as if you were some kind of joke finally makes you spit back, “if you think i’m so bad at this, why don’t you fire me?”

gojo freezes for half a second, his brows lifting in mock surprise. then, the smile spreads wider, sharper, and you know instantly you’ve made a mistake.

“fire you?” he repeats, like he’s trying not to laugh. he gets up slow, chair scraping back against the floor, and for a second you think maybe he’s joking—until he starts to circle.

“oh, no. no, no.”

his steps are unhurried, quiet except for the dull sound of his shoes against the floor. he keeps his hands in his pockets, shoulders loose, like he’s just pacing out of habit. but his eyes don’t move off you. he passes behind your chair, glancing at the papers on your desk, the half finished coffee, then back to you.

“you’re too fun to fire,” he says finally, voice even. but there’s still something behind it—something sharp you can’t quite name.

he rounds the desk in two easy strides, crowding into your space until your back hits the edge of the desk. your pulse jumps, heart racing as his hand settles on the surface beside you, caging you in.

“you know what your problem is?” he murmurs, his voice dropping low as his free hand tips your chin up, forcing you to meet his gaze. “you think you can talk back to me. like you’re equal to me.” he chuckles darkly, the sound sending a shiver down your spine. “but you’re not. not even close.”

before you can respond, he spins you around, bending you over the desk with ease. the breath rushes out of your lungs as his palm presses firmly into the small of your back, holding you in place.

“you need to learn your place,” he says, his voice smooth and dripping with authority. “and lucky for you, i’m such a generous teacher.”

his hands are everywhere. just rough and demanding, pushing your skirt up over your hips without a second thought. he’s all smug efficiency, like he’s done this a thousand times and mastered the art of making you feel utterly exposed and at his mercy.

“look at you,” he says, his voice laced with mock pity. “already shaking. you’re so eager to be put in your place, aren’t you?” he laughs softly, and it’s maddening how he sounds so composed.. so in control.. all while your pulse pounds in your ears.

his fingers dig into your hips, and he leans down, his breath hot against your ear as he whispers, “don’t worry, sweetheart. i’ll make sure you never forget who’s in charge here. just listen to me.”

your cheek presses against the cool wood of the desk, your breath shaky and uneven as gojo's hands roam over your body.

“so quiet all of a sudden,” he murmurs, his tone light but biting. “what happened to all that attitude, huh? you had so much to say just a second ago.”

you bite your lip, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a response, but the silence only makes him laugh - a low, condescending sound that has heat crawling up your spine.

“oh, i get it.” his fingers hook under the waistband of your underwear, dragging it down agonizingly slowly. “you only know how to run your mouth when you think you’re in control.” he pauses, leaning in close enough that his lips brush the shell of your ear. “but you’re never in control, sweetheart. not with me.”

he straightens up, one hand pressing into the small of your back to keep you pinned as the other trails down, teasing along the curve of your ass. “look at this,” he drawls, his tone dripping with mockery. “bent over my desk like a good little assistant. this is probably the only thing you’re good at, isn’t it?”

your nails dig into the desk, a mix of humiliation and arousal flooding your system. “fuck you,” you spit, the words sharp but shaky.

gojo clicks his tongue in mock disapproval. “such a dirty mouth for someone so incompetent! do you even realize how pathetic you sound?” his hand comes down suddenly, a sharp smack against your skin that had you immediately gasping from how unexpected it was. “there. that’s a much better sound.”

he grips your hip with one hand, his other trailing down between your thighs. his touch is teasing- never giving you enough to ground yourself. “this is what you’re good for,” he murmurs, his voice silky and cruel. “a pretty little thing to use however i want. maybe if you’re lucky, i’ll let you feel good too..”

your pride flares, but your body betrays you, hips shifting back instinctively to chase his touch. gojo laughs, a sharp, smug sound that sends a fresh wave of heat through you.

“oh, you’re that desperate, huh?” his fingers press against you, just enough to tease but not enough to satisfy. “guess i shouldn’t be surprised. you can’t do anything on your own, after all. always need someone to take care of you. isn’t that right?”

“fuck off,” you grind out, your voice trembling with a mix of anger and want.

“wrong answer.” another sharp slap lands on your skin, his tone turning colder, sharper. “you really don’t know when to shut up, do you? fine. let’s see how much fight you have left after i’m done with you.”

he wastes no time, lining himself up and sinking into you in one smooth, unrelenting motion. the stretch burns, your breath hitching as he fills you completely, his grip bruising on your hips.

“god, you feel so fucking good,” he groans, his composure slipping for just a moment before the arrogance seeps back into his tone. “tight as hell, too. no wonder you’re so useless during the day—you’re too busy fantasizing about this, aren’t you?”

your silence only eggs him on, his pace unrelenting as he drags you back onto him with every thrust. “come on, sweetheart. don’t get shy on me now. tell me—do you think about this when you’re sitting in my lectures? when you’re grading those shitty essays? bet you can’t even focus because you’re too busy thinking about how bad you want me to ruin you.”

his words cut deep, each one sinking into you with the same force as his hips slamming against yours. your breath comes out in broken gasps, your mind a haze of humiliation and overwhelming pleasure.

“you’re so easy to break,” he says, a cruel smile evident in his voice. “thought you’d put up more of a fight, but look at you now. nothing but a mess under me. guess that’s all you’ll ever be. it's pathetic”

you whimper, your resolve crumbling as his pace picks up, every thrust hitting deeper, harder. you really needed this.

“that’s it,” he murmurs, his voice low and taunting. “be a good little assistant and take it. maybe if you’re good enough, i’ll even let you cum. but only if you earn it.”

his grip tightens, his thrusts becoming more erratic as he chases his release, dragging you along with him until the only thing you know is him—his touch, his voice, his complete and utter control..

“fine,” he says, his voice sharp. “if you want to be stubborn and just moan, i can play that game too. but don’t think for a second that i’m letting you cum until you’re begging for it. and even then? maybe i’ll just leave you here dripping just until you learn how to be fucking grateful.”

“..please. just- god- just let me cum already!”

you finally tipped over the edge, your body trembling as you cum, a broken cry spilling from your lips. gojo groans, his grip bruising as he follows close behind, his hips slamming into yours one last time as he spills inside you, his breathing ragged.

he stays there for a moment, his hands sliding up to your waist, his touch almost gentle. then he chuckles, leaning down to press a kiss to your exposed shoulder.

“told you i’d teach you something,” he murmurs, smug and insufferable as always. “guess i’m just a really good teacher.”

a/n: @satorucest

the expo floor is way too loud. like, blaring music, flashing lights, people screaming over nothing, and it kind of makes your head feel like a soda can someone shook up and tossed into a microwave. everything smells like popcorn and plastic and overworked air conditioning. you can feel your badge flipping against your chest with every other step, and the strap of your boyfriend's backpack is slowly cutting a line into your shoulder from how long you've been holding it. he didn't even ask if you wanted to hold it. just tossed it at you like he always does. cool! fun! love that...

hiroto, your boyfriend,was already ahead, weaving through the crowd like he's in a music video... best not to imagine that. he's got his game face smile on, the one he uses when he's being charming and loud and "just naturally confident." he's talking to some fans or maybe teammates or just random people who he think are worth his precious time. you can't tell anymore. he throws a grin over his shoulder.

"babe," he calls, barely looking, "can you keep up or...?"

you don't answer. just shift the bag and hope your face doesn't look as miserable as you feel inside. your phone buzzes but you ignore it. you pass a booth with a glowing demo station for outset reign—the newest patch! the one you've been grinding until 3 a.m. every night, literally arguing with strangers online about gear builds like it's life or death! your fingers twitch. you kinda want to stop. you kind of want to disappear into the crowd and just play for even a quiiickk minnuutee—

but of course hiroto shouts something else that makes you lose all focus.

"yo! no freakin' way. is that you, kenma?"

your stomach does this weird twist thing.

kenma?

he's standing over by a tower of monitors, half in shadow, hoodie up, gripping onto a drink. he's got his more than messy dyedd hair and this really tired, done look on his face. like he's three seconds from ghosting the whole event. and for a second, you think he's not gonna recognize hiroto.

but then his eyes lift.

and then they hit yours.

sheesh...

why does he look like that?

you know him. not from hiroto's blurry instagram posts or the time you sat silently at some awful team dinner while he and the guys quoted inside jokes for two hours straight. no. you know him.

his username is appletactics. and he has absolutely been ruining your rank on every game you play for every night for the last month and a half.

like, you hate him. you yell at your screen about him, swivel in your chair after he kills you, and makes you rub your temples. he's annoying and smart and fast and somehow always, always waiting right where you're about to go. how many times has he been at the same place as you this week? you can feel the smugness through the screen. every time he one ups you, you can practically hear the shrug in his silence...

and now he's standing there. sipping his shitty drink with his shitty eyes. looking at mainly you.

hiroto claps him on the shoulder as if they're the bestest of  friends. "this is my girl," hiroto says, finally acknowledging your existence after three hours. doesn't say your name. doesn't introduce you properly. doesn't even glance at you to see if you're smiling or not. "you guys met that one time, right? after uhh nationals? she games too. pretty good at... er. fortnite, i think."

kenma side eyes him and gives him a blank stare.

you look at him. "a little," you say. your voice is a bit higher than you want it to be.

is he gonna say anything or...?

hiroto gets distracted again—some dude calling his name, asking for a picture. and just like that he peels off!!

you and kenma are just... standing there.

he leans a little closer. his voice is quiet. "you use the handle ctrlyn, right...?"

your heart drops to your stomach.

"yeah," you say, trying to look unfazed. "why?"

"you kept countering my build last patch," he says, sipping again.

you roll your eyes and cross your arms. "maybe you need better strats."

"maybe you just have a vendetta," he says, completely blank faced. "you logged off right after killing me. like, every time."

"oh my god," you mutter. "get over it!"

"...you're annoying," he says. but he says it without any heat. and somehow that makes it even worse. agh!!

you look away. back toward hiroto, who's still talking to whoever, still hasn't even glanced back to check if you're okay, or if you're having a conversation, or if maybe it's weird to leave you with someone you barely know. he never checks.

"he sucks," kenma says, like he read your mind.

you look back at him, startled.

"what?"

kenma shrugs. "he doesn't listen to you. talks over you. doesn't watch your screen when you game. he brags about you when it benefits him and ignores you when it doesn't." he takes another sip, like he didn't just drop a truth grenade in the middle of the hallway.

you blink. "you don't even know me-"

he looks at you again, and something about his eyes—low lidded, sharp, weirdly sincere—makes you feel kind of naked.

"i do now."

then hiroto's back, flinging an arm around your shoulders, sweaty and smiling. "we're getting lunch, yeah? kenma, you down? remember that place with the spicy gyoza?"

kenma doesn't answer right away. he just keeps looking at you.

"maybe," he says. finally...

you don't end up getting lunch.

hiroto gets pulled into a last minute photoshoot and says he "can't cancel" and "you get it, right?" and "just go chill in the hotel or something, babe. i'll text you."

he doesn't.

you wander back to the demo zone and play a few matches alone. your hands feel shaky. you hate how warm your cheeks are. you keep replaying kenma's words in your head like they were lyrics to a song you didn't know you already loved.

back at the hotel, you curl up on the bed, lights off, laptop screen lighting your face. you hover over your login. your finger hesitates over the enter key.

you're not even sure why you're waiting...

but thirty seconds after you're in the main menu, a party request pops up.

appletactics: queue?

you don't even think.

“ehhh? who’s this tall fool stompin’ through my house?”

“your husband of seventy long years,” he wheezes, dramatically lowering himself onto the bed. “and my back hurts from carrying this marriage.”

you clutch your chest like you might faint. “marriage? to you? lord have mercy, no wonder my hips don’t work right..”

that’s all it takes. he pounces, still hunched over in character, pushing you down onto the mattress. it’s stupid, but it still makes your skin heat when his body presses against yours, when his mouth brushes your neck and he groans, “mmm, lemme show you these old man skills.”

“hah—don’t break your hip on me,” you shoot back, but you’re already melting under him, hands tugging at his buttons.

the clothes come off in awkward tumble - you fumbling with your own waistband while he mutters nonsense about his “arthritis.” but then his cock’s sliding against you, thick and heavy, and the humor cuts sharp with heat.

he eases inside slow, both of you groaning way too dramatically, like two old people creaking in their joints.

“ouuugh, my back,” he rasps, thrusting deep enough to steal your breath.

“ohhh, my knees,” you moan, clinging to him even tighter.

and then it’s just fucking—hot, heavy, bodies smacking together—but every now and then you both throw in the act again, breaking each other into shaky laughter between moans.

“kids these days wouldn’t last five minutes like this,” he grunts, pounding into you hard.

“back in my day,” you gasp, rolling your hips, “men didn’t even last two.”

he barks out a laugh, then grabs your thighs and folds you in half, fucking you so deep your eyes roll back. “careful, sweetheart, you’re gonna give little ol' me a heart attack.”

the bed’s creaking, you’re gasping, and the roleplay starts slipping as your orgasm builds—your nails digging into his back.

“fuck—oh fuck—” he groans, forehead pressed against yours, but right when you’re both on the edge, he lets out one more exaggerated wheeze:

“call the nurse.. i’m not gonna make it..”

that breaks you, moaning and laughing into his mouth as you cum hard around him. he follows quick, spilling inside with a final deep thrust, groaning like his spine just snapped in two.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ masterlist

satoru gojo

big stretch spiderman!gojo webs you up mwahs your tits video games after sex making out with rival!gojo gojo sucks tits when he's bored gojo and geto overstimming your tits desperate gojo deepthroating you wearing gojo's blindfold while he plays with your folds gojo masturbates over your photos overstimulation with gojo praise & degrade gojo loooves edging you just to see you beg shower sex

what a game threesome gojo's hands good kisser gojo gojo loves you and your dick sucking skills cumplay small or large he's good gojo misses your titties and fucks you later on softdom!gojo loves worshipping gojo IS the present male lactation LOL bad time? geto x gojo x you first time sucking him aftermath

happy trail gojo gojo's dick is pretty he knows how to use it gojo's dick hcs getting off to your reactions giving your bf gojo head gojo loves missionary bf gojo overstims you A LOT while eating you out tits, ass, or thighs? this man fucks hard aftercare with gojo making out & tits gojo loves getting praised so he'll do the favor right back gojo would not complain eating you out for a long time

bratty gojo mirror sex spooning sex late christmas shopping fucking i feel like gojo's top five positions on a certain day would be this subby gojo handcuffed, laying on his back as you ride his face pegging gojo gojo with a pussy hanging by a thread he's all yours i miss gojo ☹ surprise fluff post sub!satoru thoughts another fluff post!! bathroom fun (this can go for really any character but i thought of him while writing it LOL)

actor!reader and actor!gojo has some fun in her dressing room prof!gojo and collegestudent!reader gets it going oooonnn indian!reader and gojo fluff he loves you baddd gojo + handjob heros always gets the job done - spiderman!gojo old draft i forgot to post idk... teasing him i guess IDK WHAT TO NAME THIS???

suguru geto

gojo and geto overstimming your tits bad time? geto x gojo x you pegging geto calm mean man tongue piercing suguru 1/3 tongue piercing suguru 2/3 tongue piercing suguru 3/3 soft nsfw hc's with cult leader!suguru 1/2 geto can’t help face fucking you

kiyotaka ijichi

dry humping & making out ijichi + handjob

hiromi higuruma

higurama loves you and your cum!

takuma ino

soft dom ino my birthday gift to my birthday girl

ryomen sukuna

fem!sukuna degradation

toji fushiguro

small titty worship toji just needs to eat out chubby!reader

choso kamo

tongue piercing choso 1/3 tongue piercing choso 2/3 tongue piercing choso 3/3 a silent mean man choso + handjob

kento nanami

polite teasing nanami (i can't write mean nanami it hurts me) nanami + handjob pregnant reader fluff

shoko ieiri

impatient girl ! utahime x you x shoko shoko loves using her strap on you

utahime iori

impatient girl ! utahime x you x shoko more!!

p links

gojo p links #1

smaus

suguru isn’t the type to rush when he has you to himself. he takes his time undressing you, like every button and zipper is something to savor. he enjoys peeling each layer away slowly, fingers brushing against newly exposed skin, eyes drinking in every inch of you and how you shiver. it’s not just about getting you naked—it’s about unwrapping you, piece by piece, with patience.

his quiet touches.

his touch is always soft, but firm. his hands move like he’s learning you all over again, every graze intentional. fingertips dragging over your arms, your back, your waist—he wants to feel you, ground you, remind you he’s right there with you when he pumps you deeply. you can tell he’s memorizing you by the way he moves.

his whispers of affection.

suguru whispers sweet things to you between kisses. such low, intimate little confessions like “you’re so perfect,” or “i’ll never get enough of your sweet pussy.” his voice goes straight to your chest, curling around your heart like a secret only he gets to say, and only you get to hear.

his kisses everywhere.

he kisses more than just your lips—he trails his mouth down your neck, your collarbone, your nipples. he knows exactly where to kiss to get those little gasps he knows and loves. he takes his time with it, tasting every part of you. he’s not in a hurry to get anywhere but here.

his warm voice.

there’s something magnetic about his voice when you’re in his hands. hot, sweet, and steady. it never needs to rise above a murmur to make you listen. he speaks to you as if you’re fragile and precious, even when things get real messy. his words pull you deeper into the moment, helping you let go and feel everything.

his soothing touch.

if things start to get intense, suguru always holds you. fingers through your hair, soft circles traced down your spine. he pauses just to hold you, to remind you that you’re safe. that this is love, not just lust.

the mutual devotion.

the way he looks at you during intimate moments is unreal—like the rest of the world doesn’t exist. you’re the center of his universe in that space. nothing matters more to him than you, and he makes damn sure you feel that in every look, every touch, every breath.

he's a hand holder.

he’s a hand holder, always. during foreplay, during sex, even after. it’s one of the many quiet ways he loves staying connected to you. sometimes he squeezes your fingers right when you need it most, like a silent reminder.

the slow, soft sex.

usually he prefers it slow—thorough and intentional. just to take away your tension with his tenderness. he’s not chasing the finish line. he wants you to feel every second of it. the pace of his cock is steady, each thrust drawn out, like dragging a match along the edge of something combustible.

his love for light teasing.

a/n; HAPPY (late) BIRTHDAY @noctislovr I HOPE 19 TREATS YOU WELL!! 💗

you didn’t even have a chance to make a wish before caleb had his hands on you.

your friends were barely out the door—leftover cake pieces in the kitchen, soft music still playing faintly from the tv—and you barely had time to turn and look at him before he was kissing you.

not gentle. not polite. just dead starving. his mouth was hot and open against yours, tongue sliding deep. he already knew exactly what you were when you were worked up like this—flushed, eyes wide, thighs pressed together from wanting him all night.

his hands found your waist and dragged you close, fingers digging into your hips - he needed you right there, right against him, every inch. no teasing. no slow lead in. just years of muscle memory after missing you—knowing how your body responded when he kissed you hard, how you always gasped when his thumbs pressed into that sensitive dip above your thighs, how you made this tiny, needy sound in the back of your throat when he touched you right there.

“you know how hard it was, pipsqueak?” he mumbled between kisses, voice rough with it, “watching you walk around all night in that cute fucking dress and not tearing it off you the second i saw you? you look so gorgeous..”

you were already dizzy, already hot beneath the collar, and he hadn’t even taken anything off yet!

caleb’s hands moved with ease. his fingers sliding up your thighs, until he was dragging the hem of your dress up and bunching it around your hips. when he slipped one hand between your legs and felt how soaked your panties were, he groaned, low and deep in his throat.

“fuck, baby. you were waiting for this, huh?”

his thumb rubbed over the wet spot. “you’ve been leaking for me alllll night?”

you made a noise, feeling high and embarrassed, but he didn’t give you a second to answer. just kissed your jaw, your neck, down your collarbone, sucking a little hickey there.

“lemme guess,” he murmured against your skin, voice like smoke. “you sat through cake and candles and birthday songs thinkin’ about how i was gonna fuck you tonight, didn’t you? i just know it pips..”

you couldn’t answer. not when he was dragging your panties down and letting them fall around your ankles, not when he was walking you backward toward the bed, lifting you like it was nothing.

the second your back hit the mattress, he was on you. still fully clothed, heavy between your legs, and when he kissed you again, it was slower this time—actually more firmer.

you helped him get his shirt off, his belt, everything. and then his cock was pressed up against your slit, hot and thick and already leaking against you. not surprised. he was big—he always was—but somehow tonight he felt even heavier. even bigger.

he dragged the tip of his leaky head up and down through your folds, slow and steady, wanting to savor the way your cunt fluttered around nothing.

"caleb.. stop teasing."

then he looked down at you, holding your plush thighs apart with both hands, and grinned widely. “ready?”

you didn’t have to answer. he was already pushing his whole dick in.

it was one long, unbearable stretch—the kind that made your breath hitch and your eyes rolled back almost immediately. you could feel every inch of him as he sank in, inch by inch..

“ohhh, fuck,” he growled, voice tight in his chest. “this pussy. fuck—you missed me, huh?”

the first thrust was slow—deep—and it felt like he was just trying to get you used to it. not even pulling all the way out, just grinding his hips down, his thick, wet cock pressing into the tightest part of you, knowing exactly how far he could go before you’d gasp for air.

he started pounding into you with a rhythm that made the whole mattress shake—lord save you.

your bodies slapped together with messy, filthy wet sounds—obscene and constant, soaking him every time he bottomed out.

smack... smack... smacksmacksmack!!!!

and did this man talk.

“look at you,” he groaned, pulling your leg up over his shoulder, going even deeper. “you’re taking it so fucking well. you feel that? feel how deep i am?”

you nodded, sobbed something out that didn’t sound like words, and he just grinned—sweaty, flushed, high off the way you clenched around him like your body couldn’t get enough.

he leaned down, forehead pressed to yours, eyes locked. "that’s it, pipsqueak.. you’re doin’ so good. so good for me."

“yes—caleb—!”

"nah.. c’mon, pipsqueak," he breathed, voice soft—too soft for how hard he was fucking you. the bed shook beneath you, headboard rattling, but his tone stayed low for only you to hear. the whole world didn’t exist past the way his hips slammed into yours.

his hand slid under your chin, tilted your head back just enough so you couldn’t look away, couldn’t pretend you weren’t already breaking for him and his cock.

"sweet thing like you can do that, right?"

“yes! ..it’s yours—i’m yours, fuck, just please—”

your orgasm slammed into you so hard it knocked your breath from your lungs. your legs shook, your hands clawed at his back roughly, and you screamed his name while your whole body tightened around him.

“ohhh, yeah fuck—” he gasped, slamming in once, twice, then burying himself to the hilt as he came inside you. his cock twitched deep inside, hot and thick as he filled you up, groaning your name like it physically broke him to feel you wrapped around him like that.

he stayed like that for a long moment, breathing hard and still very much inside of you.

your thighs were sticky with sweat and cum, trembling from the aftershocks, but his hands stayed gentle. brushing your hair from your face. kissing your shoulder. pressing soft, open mouthed kisses to your collarbone to bring you back to reality.

“..happy birthday,” he whispered against your skin. “you want another round, or you wanna finish the leftover cakes first?”

you laughed with whatever energy you had left.

“i think i’ll finish the leftover cakes first…” you spoke, fingers sliding over his waist before boldly cupping his ass. your grip tightened just enough, pulling him closer. “especially this sweet cake right here—would be a crime to leave it untouched!!"

his breath hitched as you squeezed, the heat between you both rising again, no doubt ready for another round.

"..get the strap.”

caleb x fem!reader

prepare yourselves for gruelling descriptions, daddy kink, breeding kink, objectification of your puss, and probably more

you were sitting on the couch, scrolling through tiktok when the front door opened. in waltzed the tired colonel, already tugging off his boots and hat before making his way over to you. desperation swirled in his eyes.

in fact, it's what got you here, pinned beneath him in the filthiest mating press. his joy stick impales you with such vigour, and sweet moans tumble from his plump lips.

he wasn't wearing any protection, of course. a creamy ring forms around your sex, the result of previous orgasms still tingling on the surface of your skin.

"fuck! feels so good, daddy!" you moan. your hand sneaks down to your princess parts and circles your sensitive nub. like the little whore you are, you rub yourself as he pistons into your flower.

his spanish chorizo feels heavenly amongst your pillowy folds. utter bliss wracks through your body as he hits your g-spot over and over.

"oh my god, caleb!" you whimper, your eyes rolling to the back of your head like you've been possessed.

he chuckles, "she's so fucking tight around my cock, pipsqueak. feels good, huh?"

"so good, baby," you moan, your back arching and fists clutching the sheets. those soft mounds of flesh on your chest press against his, stiff peaks all the more sensitive from the rough scratch of his skin.

the head of his meatloaf hits your cervix over and over, bringing you the kind of euphoria no one else ever could.

"god, gonna fill her up so good, babe. you wanna have my babies?" he groans. you nod frantically, like there's nothing more you could ever want more than to be pregnant with caleb's pups.

a/n; i feel high, sorry if theres any mistakes

ookk for soft; probably around 7 inches, enough to give you a preview of what’s to come. hard; easily a 10.5 inches, maybe even brushing 11 on a good day when he’s especially worked up. the kind of size that makes you stare for a second. almost porn star crazy because it stretches you out perfectly and makes you feel every inch.

straight with a slight upward curve near the tip - perfect for hitting just right when he angles his hips. the head is slightly wider than the shaft, flushed a deep but light pink when he’s fully hard!!

OHH VEINS, they're SO there, and they're sexy as hell. one prominent vein runs along the underside, thick and pulsing, especially when he's fully hard. smaller veins branch off subtly, which you can feel with your fingers, tongue, or every single nerve ending inside you. sometimes it pulses faintly when he's turned on because of the fact that it's hot as hell to watch when you've got him in your hand or mouth.

suguru isn’t the type to rush when he has you to himself. he takes his time undressing you, like every button and zipper is something to savor. he enjoys peeling each layer away slowly, fingers brushing against newly exposed skin, eyes drinking in every inch of you and how you shiver. it’s not just about getting you naked—it’s about unwrapping you, piece by piece, with patience.

his quiet touches.

his touch is always soft, but firm. his hands move like he’s learning you all over again, every graze intentional. fingertips dragging over your arms, your back, your waist—he wants to feel you, ground you, remind you he’s right there with you when he pumps you deeply. you can tell he’s memorizing you by the way he moves.

his whispers of affection.

suguru whispers sweet things to you between kisses. such low, intimate little confessions like “you’re so perfect,” or “i’ll never get enough of your sweet pussy.” his voice goes straight to your chest, curling around your heart like a secret only he gets to say, and only you get to hear.

his kisses everywhere.

he kisses more than just your lips—he trails his mouth down your neck, your collarbone, your nipples. he knows exactly where to kiss to get those little gasps he knows and loves. he takes his time with it, tasting every part of you. he’s not in a hurry to get anywhere but here.

his warm voice.

there’s something magnetic about his voice when you’re in his hands. hot, sweet, and steady. it never needs to rise above a murmur to make you listen. he speaks to you as if you’re fragile and precious, even when things get real messy. his words pull you deeper into the moment, helping you let go and feel everything.

his soothing touch.

if things start to get intense, suguru always holds you. fingers through your hair, soft circles traced down your spine. he pauses just to hold you, to remind you that you’re safe. that this is love, not just lust.

the mutual devotion.

the way he looks at you during intimate moments is unreal—like the rest of the world doesn’t exist. you’re the center of his universe in that space. nothing matters more to him than you, and he makes damn sure you feel that in every look, every touch, every breath.

he's a hand holder.

he’s a hand holder, always. during foreplay, during sex, even after. it’s one of the many quiet ways he loves staying connected to you. sometimes he squeezes your fingers right when you need it most, like a silent reminder.

the slow, soft sex.

usually he prefers it slow—thorough and intentional. just to take away your tension with his tenderness. he’s not chasing the finish line. he wants you to feel every second of it. the pace of his cock is steady, each thrust drawn out, like dragging a match along the edge of something combustible.

his love for light teasing.