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who's your god ?

𝄞⨾𓍢ִ໋moonee ᵎᵎ 20 ᵎᵎ french ᵎᵎ english’s not my first language, be indulgent ᵎᵎ .⋆♱⃓ toji’s sweetheart & kaiser’s angel ! side acc @fayefavz -> looking for moots

゛ ⸝⸝.ᐟ⋆ below 18? DO NOT INTERACT ⌗ explicit content ୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ

ouuu shiii yeahhh here ya go babe ;)

frat!gojo jealous of a nerdy guy ?

The bass thumped through the sprawling frat house like a second heartbeat, vibrating up through the sticky wooden floors and into your bones. Red Solo cups littered every surface, the air thick with the mingled scents of cheap beer, sweat, and too-sweet perfume. Lights flashed in erratic patterns from a makeshift DJ booth in the living room, casting everything in shifting hues of neon blue and purple. You’d never been entirely comfortable in places like this—loud, chaotic, overflowing with people who seemed to thrive on the noise—but tonight was different. Tonight, you were here because of him.

Gojo Satoru.

The undisputed king of the fraternity scene on campus. Six-foot-five of pure, infuriating charisma wrapped in a lean, athletic frame that moved like he owned every room he entered. Snow-white hair that somehow stayed perfectly tousled no matter how many hands had run through it, those piercing blue eyes that could pin you in place with a single glance, and a smirk that promised trouble and delivered it in spades. He was everything you weren’t: loud, confident, the center of every story, every party, every scandal. You were the quiet literature major who preferred oversized hoodies and the corner seat in the back of lecture halls. Opposites in every way.

Yet here you were, tangled in whatever this thing between you was. A flirtation that had stretched over weeks—stolen kisses in the shadows of campus libraries, late-night texts that turned filthy without warning, his arm slung possessively around your waist at smaller gatherings while he whispered filthy promises against your ear. Not quite dating. Definitely more than friends. A situationship that left your stomach in knots and your thighs pressed together at the mere thought of him.

You’d been glued to his side for the first hour of the party, his large hand resting low on your back, fingers occasionally dipping just beneath the hem of your short black dress to brush against bare skin. He’d laughed too loud at his brothers’ jokes, pulled you onto his lap on a worn couch, and kissed you deep enough that your head spun. But the room had grown stifling, your throat dry from the heat and the one drink you’d already finished.

“I’m gonna grab another drink,” you’d murmured against his jaw, lips brushing the sharp line there. He’d hummed, nipped at your earlobe, and let you slip away with a playful swat to your ass that made your cheeks burn.

Now, cup in hand, you lingered near the kitchen island, scanning the crowd. That’s when you spotted him—Kenji, a guy from your Intro to Classics seminar. He was standing awkwardly by the wall, nursing what looked like a warm soda, shoulders hunched in a faded graphic tee and jeans that had seen better days. Thick glasses, messy brown hair, the kind of quiet, bookish energy that felt familiar. Safe. He looked painfully out of place, just like you often felt.

You hesitated only a second before approaching. “Hey, Kenji. Didn’t expect to see you here.”

He blinked up at you, surprised, then offered a shy smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes. “Yeah, uh… my roommate dragged me. Said I needed to ‘socialize.’ I feel like I’m intruding on an alien ritual or something.” He laughed softly, self-deprecating, pushing his glasses up his nose. “These parties aren’t really my scene. I keep waiting for someone to realize I don’t belong and kick me out.”

You laughed too, the sound gentle and warm in the chaos around you. It felt easy talking to him. No pressure, no overwhelming presence trying to consume you whole. “I get that. I’m kind of the same. My… friend brought me.” You didn’t elaborate on Gojo. It felt too complicated, too raw to label here.

Kenji nodded, relaxing a fraction. “You seem to handle it better than me. At least you’re talking to people. I’ve been standing here debating whether to pretend I’m waiting for someone or just leave quietly.”

The conversation flowed naturally after that—light, comfortable. You teased him gently about his latest essay on Homer that the professor had raved about, and he lit up, gesturing animatedly with his free hand. You found yourself smiling more than you had in the loud press of bodies earlier, leaning a little closer to hear him over the music. He wasn’t trying to impress you or devour you with his eyes. He was just… nice.

You didn’t notice the shift in the air at first. The way the crowd seemed to part slightly, the subtle drop in temperature despite the heat.

Then a presence materialized behind Kenji—tall, imposing, radiating something sharp and electric.

Gojo Satoru.

His white hair caught the flashing lights like a beacon. Those brilliant blue eyes, usually sparkling with mischief, were narrowed into dangerous slits. His jaw was set, the easy smirk gone, replaced by a cold, predatory line. He wore a loose black button-up, sleeves rolled up to expose toned forearms, the top few buttons undone to reveal the sharp collarbones you’d kissed just hours ago. But there was nothing playful in his stance now. He loomed, one hand shoved into his pocket, the other flexing at his side as if restraining the urge to grab something.

Kenji faltered mid-sentence, sensing the shadow at his back. He turned slightly, eyes widening behind his glasses as he took in Gojo’s full height and the unmistakable aura of barely leashed intensity.

“The fuck is this?” Gojo’s voice cut through the noise, low and edged with venom. He didn’t even look at you at first, gaze locked on the smaller man like he was an insect that had dared crawl too close. “You lost or something, four-eyes? This ain’t the chess club meet-up.”

Kenji stiffened, mouth opening and closing. “I-I was just talking to—”

“To her?” Gojo stepped closer, crowding Kenji’s space without touching him. His height advantage was ridiculous; he towered, forcing the other guy to crane his neck. “Didn’t realize shy little bookworms were crashing frat parties now. What, you think chatting about dead poets is gonna get you somewhere?”

Your heart slammed against your ribs. Heat flooded your face—part embarrassment, part anger. “Gojo, what the fuck?” The words burst out sharper than you intended, your shy demeanor cracking under the sudden tension. You set your cup down hard enough that liquid sloshed over the rim. “He’s just a friend from class. We were talking. Why are you being such an asshole?”

Gojo’s eyes finally snapped to you. For a split second, something raw flickered there—jealousy, hot and ugly, mixed with that possessive hunger that always made your knees weak. He masked it quickly, but not before you caught it. His lips curled into a mocking smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Asshole? C’mon, princess. I’m just looking out for you. Guys like this…” He jerked his chin at Kenji, who was now pale and backing up a step. “They play the nice, awkward card. Bet he’s real good at listening to your poetry rants, huh? Real compatible type.”

Kenji swallowed hard, glancing between you two. “Look, man, I didn’t mean anything by it. She just came over—”

“Did I ask you to speak?” Gojo’s tone dropped, dangerously calm. He didn’t raise his voice; he didn’t need to. The sheer presence of him, the way his broad shoulders filled the space, the icy glare that promised consequences if pushed further—it was intimidation wrapped in velvet threat. His hand came up, not touching Kenji, but close enough that the guy flinched. “Run along, nerd. Go find your Dungeons & Dragons buddies. This conversation’s over.”

The poor guy looked mortified, mumbling a quick “Sorry” in your direction before practically fleeing toward the crowd. You watched him go, chest tight with secondhand humiliation.

You whirled on Gojo the second Kenji disappeared. “What is wrong with you?” Your voice trembled, but not from fear—from the whirlwind of emotions crashing through you. Anger, confusion, and something hotter, deeper, that always stirred when Gojo turned his full attention on you. “He was alone and awkward, just like I get sometimes. I was being nice. You didn’t have to terrorize him like that!”

Gojo’s hand shot out, long fingers wrapping around your wrist—not hard enough to hurt, but firm enough to pull you flush against his chest. The party noise faded into a dull roar around you as he backed you toward the quieter edge of the kitchen, away from prying eyes. His body was warm, solid, radiating that familiar mix of expensive cologne and pure masculine heat. Up close, you could see the faint flush on his cheeks, the way his pupils were blown wide beneath those striking eyes.

“You really don’t get it, do you?” His voice was a low growl against your ear, breath hot on your skin. One arm snaked around your waist, pinning you to him while the other tilted your chin up, forcing you to meet his gaze. “That guy? He’s exactly the type you should be with. Quiet. Smart. Won’t drag you into this bullshit frat chaos. Won’t keep you up till 3 AM because I can’t keep my hands off you. He’d be… safe. Comfortable. More like you.”

His words hit like a punch, laced with bitterness he was clearly trying to hide. Gojo Satoru—untouchable, cocky, the guy who laughed off everything—sounded almost vulnerable for a split second. Jealousy burned bright in his eyes, the kind that made his grip tighten, his body press harder against yours until you felt every ridge of muscle, the growing hardness against your stomach.

“But you’re mine,” he continued, voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. His lips brushed your temple, then your cheek, possessive and searing. “Even if we’re doing this weird dance where I pretend I’m not obsessed with you. You don’t get to laugh with some loser who looks at you like you’re the answer to his sad little fantasies. Not when I’ve had my tongue between your legs and my name on your lips.”

Your breath hitched, thighs clenching instinctively at the memory. The shy girl in you wanted to shrink away from the intensity, but the part of you that craved him—the raw, overwhelming force of Gojo—won out. You shoved at his chest half-heartedly, glaring up at him. “You’re jealous. That’s what this is. You think I’d rather be with him because he’s ‘my type’? Newsflash, Satoru—you’re the one I keep coming back to. Even when you act like a possessive asshole.”

A dark chuckle rumbled from his chest. He dipped his head, capturing your mouth in a bruising kiss that stole the air from your lungs. It wasn’t gentle; it was claiming. Teeth nipping at your lower lip, tongue sweeping in to dominate, one hand sliding down to grip your ass and pull you impossibly closer. The party raged on around you, but in this stolen corner, it was just heat and friction and the taste of beer and mint on his tongue.

When he pulled back, both of you breathing hard, his forehead rested against yours. “Yeah. I’m jealous as fuck,” he admitted, the words raw and intense, like they cost him something. “Seeing you smile at him like that… made me want to throw him through a wall. You’re too good for this scene, too good for me half the time. But I’m not letting you go. Not tonight. Not ever if I have my way.”

His hand slipped under the hem of your dress again, fingers tracing teasing patterns on your inner thigh, dangerously high. “Come upstairs with me,” he murmured, voice thick with want. “Let me remind you why you put up with my shit. Why you’re wet for me even when I’m being a dick.”

Your pulse thundered in your ears. The shy hesitation warred with the ache building low in your belly. You glanced around— no one was paying attention in the chaos—but the risk, the intensity of his stare, the way his body caged you so perfectly… it was intoxicating.

“Fine,” you whispered, fingers curling into his shirt. “But you owe that guy an apology later. And me? You’re going to make this up very thoroughly.”

Gojo’s grin returned, sharp and wicked, the familiar cocky mask sliding back into place even as jealousy still simmered beneath. “Deal, princess. I’ll start by getting on my knees.”

The bass thumped through the sprawling frat house like a second heartbeat, vibrating up through the sticky floorboards and into your bones. Red Solo cups littered every surface, the air thick with the scent of cheap beer, weed, and too much cologne. You stood near the edge of the crowded living room, nursing a drink you barely sipped, feeling painfully out of place in your simple black top and jeans. Parties like this weren’t your scene. Too loud. Too chaotic. Too many eyes.

But he was here. Satoru Gojo. The undisputed king of this fraternity, with his snow-white hair that somehow looked effortlessly perfect even under the dim, flashing lights, and those piercing blue eyes that could cut through a crowd like a laser. Tall—stupidly, unfairly tall—and built like he spent just enough time at the gym to make every movement look predatory and graceful at once. He wasn’t your boyfriend. Not even close. But the way he sought you out, the endless flirting, the stolen moments… it was something. A situationship that left you dizzy and frustrated and aching in ways you didn’t want to admit.

You spotted him across the room almost immediately, like your body had a radar tuned only to him. He was lounging on a worn leather couch, surrounded by his usual crew—laughing loud, gesturing wildly as he told some story that had everyone leaning in. His long legs were stretched out, one arm draped over the back of the couch, the other holding a drink he barely touched. Even from here, his presence sucked all the oxygen out of the space.

His eyes found yours.

A slow, knowing smirk curved his lips. He didn’t break eye contact as he said something to the group that made them erupt in laughter. Then, deliberately, he glanced back at you—checking. Making sure you were watching. Making sure the joke landed with you. Your cheeks burned. You looked away first, staring down into your cup like it held the secrets of the universe.

A few minutes later, he was moving through the crowd toward you. People parted for him without thinking, like he was magnetic. He stopped right in front of you, close enough that you had to tilt your head back to meet his gaze.

“Lost, babe?” he drawled, voice low and teasing, cutting through the noise like it was made just for your ears. He bent down slightly, that stupid height forcing him to lean in so he could “hear you better,” even though you hadn’t said a word. His breath brushed your ear, warm and minty with a hint of whatever overpriced drink he’d been sipping. “You look like you’re about two seconds from bolting.”

“I’m fine,” you mumbled, hating how small your voice sounded. Shy. Always so shy around him, while he radiated confidence like it was air.

“Oh?” He straightened just enough to look down at you properly, but his hand came up, fingers gentle but firm under your chin, tilting your face up to meet his eyes. You tried to glance away again—embarrassment flooding hot through your chest—but he wouldn’t let you. “None of that. Look at me when I’m talking to you, yeah? There she is.” His thumb brushed your jaw, mocking and affectionate all at once. “Poor thing. So shy tonight. What’s got you all flustered, hm?”

You hated him. Hated how your stomach flipped at the contact, how your pulse hammered against his fingertips. He knew exactly what he was doing. He always did.

The night blurred after that—more drinks pressed into your hand (non-alcoholic ones, you noticed, because he paid attention), more teasing comments whispered just for you when no one else was looking. He’d pull you into conversations with his friends, an arm slung casually around your shoulders like it belonged there, only to squeeze you closer when you got quiet. Every time you laughed at something he said—soft, reluctant giggles—he’d seek you out with those blue eyes again, satisfaction gleaming in them like he’d won something.

Later, the party spilled out into the backyard, string lights twinkling overhead, the air cooler but still thick with energy. You were sitting on the edge of a picnic table, legs swinging, when he appeared again. This time he had his hoodie on, the black fabric stretched across his broad shoulders. He was mid-laugh with someone, but his gaze kept drifting back to you.

“Come here,” he said suddenly, crooking a finger. You hesitated, but he closed the distance himself, stepping between your knees where you sat. “You’re too far away. I don’t like it.”

“Satoru…” you started, voice barely above a whisper.

“Shh.” He tugged at the zipper of his hoodie, pulling it down in one smooth motion. Then he shrugged it off, and—god—his white t-shirt rode up with it. The movement revealed a strip of toned, pale skin at his waist, the sharp V of his hips disappearing into low-slung jeans, the faint trail of white hair leading down. Muscles flexed as he tossed the hoodie aside onto the table beside you. He didn’t fix the shirt right away. Just let you look, that smirk deepening when your eyes lingered.

“See something you like?” he murmured, bending down again so his face was level with yours. Close. Too close. His hands braced on the table on either side of your hips, caging you in without touching. “Poor thing. You’re staring again. Can’t help it, can you?”

Your face flamed. You tried to duck your head, but his hand was there instantly—fingers catching your chin, forcing your gaze back to his. “Eyes on me. I like when you look at me like that. All wide-eyed and overwhelmed. It’s cute.” His voice dropped lower, intense, the mocking edge sharpening into something darker. “Makes me want to see just how much more I can make you blush.”

He stayed like that for a long moment, breath mingling with yours, the party noise fading into background static. His thumb traced your lower lip, slow and deliberate. You could smell his cologne—clean, crisp, expensive—and feel the heat rolling off his body. Every nerve ending was on fire. He wasn’t yours, not officially, but in moments like this, it felt like the whole world narrowed to just the two of you.

“You hate it, don’t you?” he whispered, lips brushing the shell of your ear as he leaned in even closer. “How easily I get under your skin. How one little look from across the room has you pressing your thighs together. How when I do this—” He pulled back just enough to tug his shirt down properly, but not before flashing you another deliberate glimpse of that abs line, “—you forget how to breathe.”

You swallowed hard, heart pounding so loud you were sure he could hear it. “Satoru, we’re… this isn’t—”

“Not my girlfriend,” he finished for you, voice laced with dark amusement. “I know. But you keep coming back. Keep letting me pull you into dark corners and make you look at me like I’m the only thing that exists.” His hand slid to the back of your neck, fingers threading into your hair, tilting your head exactly how he wanted. “Because you are shy, baby. So fucking shy and sweet, and it drives me insane. Makes me want to ruin that composure until you’re moaning my name instead of hiding behind it.”

The intensity in his eyes was overwhelming—bright blue, almost glowing under the string lights. He didn’t kiss you. Not yet. He just held you there, bent over you, making you feel small and claimed and seen. Across the yard, someone called his name, but he ignored them, focus locked entirely on you.

“Tell me to stop,” he challenged softly, lips hovering inches from yours. “Tell me you don’t want me watching you from across every room like you’re mine to stare at. Tell me you don’t get wet when I bend down to hear your quiet little voice. Tell me, and I’ll walk away.”

You couldn’t. Your lips parted, but no words came. Just a shaky breath.

He chuckled, low and victorious. “That’s what I thought, poor thing.” His fingers tightened gently in your hair. “Now laugh at my next joke like a good girl, yeah? I want to see that pretty smile while I’m thinking about all the ways I’m going to make you fall apart later.”

He straightened up then, pulling you off the table with him like it was nothing. His hoodie was tossed over your shoulders instead—warm from his body, smelling like him—marking you without a word. Back inside, he dove right back into the group, telling another story with that effortless charisma, but every few seconds his eyes found yours. Checking. Waiting for your laugh. Making sure you felt the weight of his attention like a physical touch.

i love your writing btw it’s awesome💕

hiii anon, sure !

Choso brat taming his gf!

You sat across from Choso at the small dining table in your shared apartment, the takeout boxes from his favorite ramen spot still half-full between you. The TV hummed low in the background with some mindless show neither of you were really watching. Choso was in one of his rare relaxed moods—hair tied back loosely, black compression shirt hugging his broad shoulders and toned arms, sweatpants slung low on his hips. He ate quietly, chopsticks moving with that precise, almost meditative focus he always had.

You, on the other hand, had decided tonight was the night to push every single one of his buttons.

“Babe,” you said sweetly, twirling your chopsticks in your bowl, “do you love Yuji more or me?”

Choso paused mid-bite. His dark eyes flicked up to yours, calm but already carrying that faint edge of warning. He hated this question. You knew it. Yuji was his brother—blood, bond, everything—and Choso’s love for his family ran deeper than anything. He loved you just as fiercely, but comparing the two was a trap he refused to fall into.

He didn’t answer. Just went back to eating, jaw tight.

You smiled innocently and leaned forward, letting your tank top dip just enough to tease the curve of your breasts. “Come on, Cho. It’s not that hard. Me or Yuji? Who’s number one?”

Still nothing. He swallowed, set his chopsticks down, and gave you a long, measured look. The silence stretched.

You kicked it up a notch.

Later, while you were both on the couch, you stretched your legs across his lap, wiggling your toes against his thigh. “You’re being so quiet tonight. Is it because you can’t pick? That’s okay, I get it. Yuji’s your little brother. He’s all sunshine and punches. I’m just the girlfriend who makes you come harder than you ever have in your life.”

Choso’s hand settled on your calf, fingers pressing in with just enough pressure to hint at restraint. “Stop.”

But you didn’t. You scooted closer, straddling one of his thick thighs instead, grinding down once—slow and deliberate—before pulling back with a pout. “Make me.”

The night wore on like that. You “accidentally” bumped into him while he was washing dishes, pressing your ass against his front and lingering. When he reached for a towel, you snatched it first and held it behind your back, forcing him to crowd you against the counter. His body heat rolled off him in waves, that tall, muscular frame caging you in, but he still held back, breathing steady through his nose.

“You’re testing me,” he murmured, voice low and rough.

“Am I?” You batted your lashes, dropping the towel and sliding your hands up his chest. “Or are you just scared to admit I’m right? That if you had to choose—”

He grabbed your wrists, pinning them to the counter with one big hand. His eyes burned into yours, that cursed energy aura flickering faintly around him like static. But he let go after a beat, stepping back. “Go sit down. Watch your show.”

You didn’t. Instead, you followed him around the apartment like a menace—commenting on how he always prioritized his brothers’ calls over date nights (even though he didn’t), “forgetting” to wear panties under your tiny sleep shorts when you bent over to pick something up right in front of him, brushing your nipples against his arm every time you passed.

By the time you both ended up in the bedroom, the tension was thick enough to choke on. You flopped onto the bed on your stomach, kicking your feet lazily while scrolling your phone. Choso stood at the foot of the bed, arms crossed, watching you with that unreadable expression that always made your stomach flip.

You rolled onto your back, spreading your legs just enough to flash him. “Still not gonna answer? Fine. I’ll just entertain myself then.” Your hand slid down your body, dipping under the waistband of your shorts.

That was the final straw.

Choso moved faster than you could track—cursed energy or pure raw strength, you didn’t know. One second you were teasing yourself; the next, he had your wrists pinned above your head with one hand, his body weight pressing you deep into the mattress. His free hand ripped your shorts down your legs in one brutal yank, leaving you bare from the waist down.

“You want to be a brat all night?” His voice was different now—deeper, darker, vibrating with dominance you’d only ever seen hints of before. His eyes, usually soft when they looked at you, were narrowed, pupils blown wide. “You think you can push me and not deal with what comes after?”

You grinned up at him, still defiant even as your pulse hammered. “Maybe I do. What are you gonna do about it, Cho? Cry to Yuji?”

Wrong answer.

He flipped you onto your stomach so fast your breath caught. His hand cracked down on your ass—hard. The sting bloomed hot and sharp, forcing a gasp out of you. Then another smack, and another, each one precise and punishing, turning your skin a flushed, aching red.

“Count them,” he ordered, voice like gravel.

“F-fuck you—”

Smack. Harder this time. His palm rubbed over the burn afterward, almost soothing, before he delivered two more in quick succession.

“Count.”

“One… two… three—ah!”

By the time he reached ten, you were squirming, thighs slick with arousal despite the tears pricking your eyes. Choso yanked your hips up, forcing you onto your knees with your chest still pressed to the bed. He shoved your thighs apart wider, exposing you completely.

“Look at you.” His fingers traced through your soaked folds, spreading the wetness. “Soaking wet after acting like a spoiled little brat. You needed this, didn’t you?”

You tried to push back against his hand, desperate for more, but he pulled away. You whined.

Choso leaned over you, his chest to your back, lips brushing your ear. “No. You don’t get to make demands tonight.” He bit down on your shoulder—not enough to break skin, but hard enough to leave a mark. “You’re going to take what I give you.”

He freed his cock with his other hand. You felt the thick, heavy length slap against your ass—already rock-hard, leaking precum. Choso was big. Thick enough that even when you were relaxed it took work. Tonight, he wasn’t going to ease you into it.

He dragged the head through your folds, coating himself in your slick, then pushed in—inch by relentless inch. No warm-up. No gentle strokes. Just one long, punishing thrust until his hips met your ass and he was buried to the hilt.

You cried out, the stretch burning so good it made your toes curl. “Choso—fuck—too big—”

“You can take it.” He pulled out almost completely and slammed back in, setting a brutal pace. The sound of skin slapping skin filled the room, wet and obscene. Every thrust rocked your whole body forward, your breasts dragging against the sheets. “This is what you wanted, right? To see how dominant I can get?”

He grabbed a fistful of your hair, yanking your head back so he could see your face—flushed, lips parted, eyes glassy with overwhelming pleasure. His other hand reached around to pinch and roll your clit, forcing sharp, desperate moans from you.

“You’re mine,” he growled, hips snapping harder. “Not Yuji’s. Not anyone’s. Mine to fuck. Mine to tame.” Each word was punctuated by a deep, grinding thrust that hit that perfect spot inside you. “Say it.”

“I’m—ngh—yours—!”

“Louder.”

“I’m yours, Choso! Fuck—please—”

He released your hair only to wrap his hand around your throat from behind, squeezing just enough to make your head spin while he railed you. His cock throbbed inside you, veins dragging against your walls with every stroke. You were clenching around him so tightly it felt like you were trying to milk him dry.

Choso suddenly pulled out, leaving you empty and whining. He flipped you onto your back again, hooked your legs over his shoulders, and folded you in half. The new angle let him drive even deeper, his heavy balls slapping against your ass as he fucked you with punishing force.

“Look at me,” he commanded.

You did. His face was flushed, hair falling loose around his shoulders, eyes locked on yours with an intensity that made your pussy flutter harder. Sweat glistened on his chest. The muscles in his arms and abs flexed with every powerful thrust.

“You’re going to cum on my cock like the brat you are,” he said, voice rough. “And you’re not going to stop until I say.”

His fingers found your clit again, rubbing tight, fast circles while he pounded into you. The pressure built fast—overwhelming, almost too much. Your thighs shook. Your back arched.

“Choso—Choso, I’m—”

“Cum.”

You shattered. Hard. Your orgasm crashed over you like a wave, pussy gushing around his cock as you screamed his name. He didn’t slow down. If anything, he fucked you harder through it, drawing it out until you were sobbing with overstimulation.

He pulled out again, but only to flip you onto your side. He spooned behind you, lifting one of your legs and sliding back inside in one smooth thrust. This position let him wrap his arms around you completely—possessive, controlling—while still driving into you with deep, rolling strokes.

“Again,” he murmured against your neck, biting down. “Cum for me again.”

You didn’t think you could, but he proved you wrong. His hand slid down to rub your clit while his cock dragged against that sensitive front wall. The second orgasm hit even harder, leaving you shaking and gasping.

Only then did Choso let himself go. His thrusts grew erratic, hips slamming against your ass as he chased his own release. “Gonna fill you up,” he growled. “Mark you as mine.”

With a deep, guttural groan, he buried himself to the hilt and came—thick, hot ropes of cum flooding deep inside you. He kept thrusting through it, pushing his release even deeper, until it leaked out around his cock.

For a long moment, the only sounds were your ragged breathing and his low, satisfied grunts. He stayed inside you, arms locked around your body, holding you tight against his chest.

Finally, he pressed a surprisingly soft kiss to your shoulder, right over the bite mark.

“You okay?” he asked, voice gentling back toward the Choso you knew.

You nodded weakly, still trembling. “Yeah… fuck, Cho. That was…”

He hummed, nuzzling your neck. “You asked for it. Next time you want to be a brat, just say so. I’ll tame you properly.”

You smiled, exhausted and sated, pressing back against him. “Promise?”

His hand slid down to cup your cum-filled pussy possessively.

“Promise.”

ft. toji, gojo, geto, nanami, choso, higuruma

tw : mdni. fingering, p in v, gun play (toji), oral (m! and f! receiving), breeding, size kink, belly bulge (gojo), somno,

GOJO SATORU

- your bsf!gojo promised he wouldn’t enter!

- gojo like the sight of your belly bulging

- a rough wake up from your husband

- don’t tell anyone if you don’t want me to be fired

- you swore you’d let be be at my rhythm !

- another hard on the morning

TOJI FUSHIGURO

- you were a total brat

- still struggling to take bf!toji even after a year

- toji? having mercy? hell nah

- toji loves to overstimulate you in this position

- “babe you’re soaking the bed”

- toji’s real good thrusts

- gun play

GETO SUGURU

- cult leader!geto’s fav member

- husband!geto size kink

- all that talk got back to u

- geto’s fav kind of asmr

- asking nicely just to destroy you later

- geto’s a freak (just like you)

CHOSO KAMO

- sleepy morning sex

- choso kind of drink

- making love.

- soft choso this, soft choso that…

- making you tremble literally

- messing with poor hard choso

NANAMI KENTO

- a way to release your stress

- got up needing you

- “let me relax before work…”

- begging husband!nanami to take the condom off

- getting you pregnant

- so full

HIROMI HIGURUMA

- got too silly around higuruma

- ruining you for anyone else

- no need to move bro

- tired sex

- got a bad day at work ?

- usually here to try on some suits…

“Toji… can you teach me how to suck your dick?”

A low, rumbling chuckle escaped him, the sound vibrating through his broad chest. “Heh. Bold little thing tonight, aren’t ya?” His large hand came down to cup your jaw, thumb brushing roughly over your lower lip. “Fine. But you asked for it, princess. Once I start, I ain’t holdin’ back just ‘cause you’re new at this.”

You nodded, nerves twisting in your stomach as he freed himself from his sweatpants. His cock sprang out, already half-hard and thick, the veined length intimidating even before it reached full size. The heavy head glistened faintly at the tip. You swallowed hard.

“Start slow,” he ordered, voice low and steady. “Use your hand first. Wrap those pretty fingers around the base—yeah, like that. Good girl.”

Your smaller hand barely circled his girth. The heat of him pulsed against your palm, skin velvety over steel. You leaned in, breath ghosting over the tip, and pressed a tentative kiss to the head. Toji’s fingers threaded into your hair, not pulling yet, just guiding.

“Lips first. Open up. No teeth, unless I tell you otherwise.”

You parted your lips and took the head into your mouth. It was bigger than you expected—salty, warm, filling the space immediately. Your tongue swirled experimentally around it, and Toji let out a grunt of approval.

“That’s it. Suck a little. Use your tongue on the underside… fuck, yeah. Deeper now. Don’t just sit there—move.”

You tried to take more, cheeks hollowing as you sucked. The weight of him on your tongue made your jaw ache already, but the low groans he made spurred you on. Saliva gathered quickly, coating him as you bobbed your head in short, unsure strokes.

Toji’s grip in your hair tightened. “Eyes up here, baby. Look at me while you’re learnin’.”

Your gaze lifted, watery and wide, meeting his intense stare. Something shifted in his expression—the lazy teaching tone fraying at the edges as his cock hardened fully in your mouth, swelling thicker, longer. The head nudged toward the back of your throat.

“Relax your throat. Breathe through your nose. Take more—c’mon, you can handle it.”

You pushed forward, gagging softly as the thick shaft stretched your lips wide. Tears pricked your eyes, but you didn’t pull back. His orders were getting shorter, rougher.

“Deeper. That’s right—swallow around it. Fuck…”

The gagging intensified as he guided you further. Your throat convulsed around the intrusion, producing wet, obscene sounds that echoed in the quiet room. Spit spilled from the corners of your stretched mouth, dripping down his heavy balls and onto your chin. You tried to pull back for air, but Toji’s hand held you firmly in place for a few extra seconds.

“Don’t you dare stop now,” he growled, voice dropping into that cold, commanding tone you rarely heard outside of fights. “You wanted to learn, so fuckin’ learn. Choke on it like a good girl.”

He thrust his hips up suddenly, forcing another inch past your gag reflex. Your throat bulged visibly around his cock, eyes squeezing shut as you gagged hard—loud, wet, retching noises filling the air. Tears streamed down your flushed cheeks, mixing with the mess of saliva. But the way his cock throbbed on your tongue, the way his abs flexed and his breathing grew ragged… it kept you there.

Toji’s control was slipping. His usual smirk was gone, replaced by a feral intensity. Both hands gripped your head now, using your mouth like a toy.

bro was supposed to teach you softly…

“Shit—yeah, just like that. Gag on my cock. Make it sloppy. I want your fuckin’ throat ruined tonight.”

He started fucking your face in earnest—shallow at first, then deeper, rougher thrusts that made your nose press into the dark hair at his base on every downstroke. Your lips were swollen and shiny, stretched obscenely around his girth. Thick strings of spit connected your mouth to his shaft every time he pulled back, only to slam in again. The wetness was everywhere—coating his cock until it gleamed, dripping down to soak his balls, smearing across your face, chin, and even onto your neck.

You were a total mess: mascara running, hair disheveled from his grip, drool pouring freely as he used your throat. The sounds were filthy—constant gagging, choking, wet squelching, and his low, guttural groans.

“Eyes on me,” he snapped when your gaze dropped. “Look at the man whose dick you’re gagging on.”

You forced your teary eyes open, staring up at him through the blur. Toji’s jaw was clenched, veins standing out on his neck. His usual teasing demeanor had vanished entirely, replaced by raw need.

“Faster. Suck harder—use that tongue. Fuckin’ milk me with your throat.”

He held you down longer now, cock buried deep as your throat spasmed wildly around him. Your lungs burned, vision spotting, but the intensity of it—the way he dominated you completely—sent heat pooling between your own thighs. You could feel how slippery and wet his entire cock had become, your saliva making every brutal thrust glide easier, messier.

“Gonna cum soon,” he hissed through gritted teeth, voice cold and demanding. “You’re gonna take every drop down that tight little throat. Don’t you fuckin’ spill any.”

His pace turned punishing. Short, powerful thrusts that battered the back of your throat. Your gags turned into near-constant choking, throat raw and fluttering. Spit flew with every withdrawal, coating his shaft in a shiny, sloppy layer that dripped heavily onto the sheets. His balls tightened against your chin, slick with your mess.

“Fuck—take it. Take it all, babe. This is what you asked for.”

With a deep, animalistic growl, Toji shoved your head down hard, burying himself to the hilt. Your nose smashed against his pelvis as his cock pulsed violently. Thick ropes of hot cum shot straight down your convulsing throat. You gagged violently around the flood, throat working desperately to swallow, but some still leaked from the corners of your mouth, mixing with the obscene amounts of spit.

He held you there through every spurt, hips twitching, until he was spent. Only then did he slowly pull out, his cock—still semi-hard, glistening with a thick layer of your saliva and his own cum—slapping wetly against your ruined face.

You gasped for air, coughing and drooling, strings of mixed fluids connecting your lips to his cock. Your face was a total wreck: swollen lips, tear-streaked cheeks, chin and neck shiny and dripping.

Toji stared down at you, chest heaving, that cold edge slowly melting back into a satisfied smirk. He wiped a thumb across your lower lip, smearing the mess further.

“Not bad for your first lesson,” he murmured, voice rough. “But we’re not done. Clean me up with that tongue, princess. Every inch. Then maybe I’ll show you what else that inexperienced mouth can handle tonight.”

He tugged your hair lightly, guiding your trembling lips back toward his slick, spent cock, the night far from over.

It had been a long night already : too long. Your jaw ached from the last client, an overweight businessman in his fifties who smelled of cheap cologne and desperation, grunting like a pig while he pawed at your breasts with clammy hands. Before him, there was the balding accountant type, all sweat and nervous fumbling, and the one before that… you didn’t even want to remember. Old, ugly, fat fucks, every single one of them. The kind that paid well but left you feeling hollow, used up, and counting down the minutes until your shift ended.

You were tired. Bone-deep tired. Your throat felt raw, your makeup was smudged at the corners of your eyes from forced enthusiasm, and your body screamed for a hot shower and the oblivion of sleep. But rent was due, and the madam didn’t care about your fatigue. Another client. You forced a practiced smile as the door creaked open.

Then he walked in.

Satoru Gojo.

Even if you hadn’t recognized the name whispered in hushed, awed tones around the club, the strongest sorcerer, the untouchable prodigy with eyes like the winter sky, his presence alone would have knocked the air from your lungs. He was tall, impossibly so, with that lean, powerful build that spoke of effortless strength. Snow-white hair fell in perfect, tousled strands over his forehead, framing a face that looked carved by gods: sharp jawline, high cheekbones, and those striking blue eyes hidden behind a pair of sleek black sunglasses that he slowly slid down the bridge of his nose as he stepped inside. A cocky smirk played on his full lips, the kind that promised trouble and pleasure in equal measure. He wore a dark button-up shirt, the top few buttons undone to reveal a glimpse of pale, toned chest, and fitted pants that did nothing to hide the confident swagger in his stride.

He wasn’t like the others. Not even close. This man was hot, dangerously, unfairly hot. Your fatigue lifted just a fraction as heat pooled low in your belly despite yourself.

Gojo closed the door behind him with a soft click, his gaze raking over you slowly, appreciatively. “Well, well,” he drawled, voice smooth and teasing, laced with that signature arrogance. “They said you were good. You look like you could use a break, though. Long night?”

You swallowed, rising to your feet on slightly unsteady heels. “Something like that. But I’m here for you now. What do you want, handsome?”

He chuckled, low and rich, stepping closer until you could smell his clean, crisp scent—something expensive and masculine, like winter air and subtle spice. He towered over you, making you feel small in the best way. Without another word, he reached out, long fingers tilting your chin up so those piercing blue eyes locked onto yours. “Straight to the point? I like that. Get on your knees. I want that pretty mouth wrapped around my cock.”

Your heart stuttered. No awkward small talk, no clumsy groping. Just raw command. You sank down obediently onto the plush rug, the fabric rough against your knees, as he unzipped his pants with one hand. He freed himself, and fuck, he was big. Thick, veined, and already half-hard, curving slightly upward with a flushed, glistening tip. Bigger than anyone you’d had tonight—bigger than most you’d ever seen. Your mouth watered involuntarily.

You leaned in, lips parting as you took him in hand first, stroking the warm, heavy length. Gojo hummed in approval, one hand threading gently into your hair at first. “That’s it. Suck me, baby. Show me what that tired little mouth can do.”

You obeyed, tongue swirling around the head before sliding him between your lips. He tasted clean, slightly salty, and you hollowed your cheeks, taking him deeper with practiced ease. The wet sounds of your mouth filled the small room as you bobbed your head, working him with your tongue along the underside. Gojo groaned softly, hips twitching forward. “Mmm, good girl. Deeper.”

His grip in your hair tightened, guiding you. You relaxed your throat, taking more of him, your nose brushing against the neat white hair at his base. But he wasn’t content with that. His other hand came down, cupping the back of your head as he pushed forward deliberately.

“Look up at me,” he ordered, voice dropping to a husky growl. Those blue eyes bored into yours, intense and unblinking, the sunglasses now perched on top of his head. “Don’t look away. I want to see those pretty eyes while I fuck your throat.”

You obeyed, gazing up at him through watering lashes as he started to move. Not gentle. Not slow. He thrust deeper, the thick head of his cock breaching your throat with a wet gluck. Your eyes widened, a choked gag escaping around his girth. He was so big—stretching your lips obscenely, filling your mouth completely. Saliva spilled from the corners of your lips, dripping down your chin in messy strings as he pulled back just enough for you to gasp a breath before driving in again.

“Fuck, yeah… just like that,” Gojo praised, his smirk widening into something feral. His hips rolled with controlled power, fucking your face with deep, deliberate strokes that hit the back of your throat every time. “Choke on it, baby. Let me ruin that tired little mouth.”

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, spilling over and smearing your mascara in black streaks down your cheeks. You were a mess already—drool coating your chin, dripping onto your heaving breasts, your lipstick smeared around the stretched ring of your lips. Every thrust made your throat convulse around him, the obscene gagging sounds growing louder, wetter. Gluck-gluck-gluck. Your hands clutched at his thighs for balance, nails digging into the fabric of his pants as you struggled to breathe through your nose.

He didn’t let up. Gojo’s hand fisted tighter in your hair, holding you in place as he picked up the pace, hips snapping forward with more intensity. “Eyes on me. Don’t you dare close them.” His voice was strained now, breath coming faster, but that cocky edge remained. “You’re so fucking tight here… swallowing me like you were made for this. Better than those pathetic fucks before me, huh?”

You moaned around him, the vibration drawing a sharp hiss from his lips. Your throat burned, raw and aching from the relentless invasion, but the heat between your legs throbbed in response. He was using you—truly using you—and it felt different. Electric. His balls slapped lightly against your chin with each deep thrust, the musky scent of him overwhelming your senses.

He pulled out suddenly, strings of thick saliva connecting your gasping lips to his glistening cock. You coughed, sucking in ragged breaths, your face a wrecked, tear-streaked disaster. Gojo stroked himself lazily with one hand, the other wiping a tear from your cheek almost tenderly before smearing the drool across your swollen lips.

“Look at you,” he murmured, voice thick with lust. “Such a pretty mess. Open wide again.”

You did, tongue out instinctively. He slapped the heavy weight of his cock against your tongue a few times, teasing, before plunging back in. This time he held your head with both hands, fucking your throat in earnest—long, powerful strokes that made your neck bulge visibly with the outline of him. Your eyes stayed locked on his, wide and glassy with tears, as you gagged and sputtered. Spit poured freely now, soaking the front of your lingerie, pooling on the floor between your knees.

“Fuuuck,” Gojo groaned, head tipping back for a moment before his gaze snapped back down to you. “You’re taking me so well. Choking so beautifully on my cock. Most girls tap out by now… but not you.”

Your lungs burned, vision blurring at the edges from lack of air, but you pushed through, relaxing your throat as best you could. The intensity built, his thrusts growing erratic, deeper, more demanding. Saliva bubbled at the corners of your mouth, dripping in thick rivulets. Your jaw ached fiercely, stretched to its limit around his girth, but the way he watched you—like you were the only thing in his world right now—made it all worth it.

He pulled back again, letting you breathe in desperate gulps, his cock twitching inches from your face. “Beg for it,” he commanded softly, thumb tracing your lower lip.

“Please… fuck my throat,” you rasped, voice hoarse and broken. “Use me.”

Gojo’s eyes darkened with satisfaction. “Good girl.”

He drove back in, burying himself to the hilt in one smooth thrust. Your nose pressed flush against his pelvis, throat convulsing wildly around every inch. He held you there, grinding deep, savoring the way you gagged and squeezed him. Tears streamed down your face unchecked. You were an absolute mess—makeup ruined, hair disheveled from his grip, body trembling as drool cascaded down your chin and neck.

He started thrusting again, hard and fast, the wet, filthy sounds echoing. “Gonna cum down this tight throat,” he growled, blue eyes blazing. “Swallow every drop, understand?”

You nodded frantically around him, humming in agreement. His pace became punishing, hips snapping with sorcerer-level stamina. Your throat was raw, abused, but you took it, eyes never leaving his.

With a deep, guttural moan, Gojo finally came. Thick ropes of hot cum flooded your throat, pulsing against your tongue as he held you pinned. You swallowed desperately, choking on the sheer volume, some spilling from the corners of your lips despite your efforts. He kept thrusting through it, riding out every wave until he was spent.

Finally, he pulled out with a wet pop, leaving you gasping and coughing on your knees. His cum and your spit coated your chin, dripping onto your chest. You looked utterly destroyed—eyes red-rimmed, lips puffy and glistening, face streaked with tears and mascara.

Gojo tucked himself away, breathing steadying as that infuriatingly hot smirk returned. He crouched down, tilting your chin up once more to admire his work. “Not bad for a tired girl,” he murmured, thumb brushing your lower lip. “Might have to come back and see what else that body can handle.”

You could only nod weakly, throat too wrecked to speak, as he straightened up and left a generous tip on the table before slipping out the door.

The room felt emptier without him. But for the first time that night, you didn’t feel quite so tired.

You stepped into the dimly lit private room of the upscale spa, the air thick with the scent of lavender and sandalwood. Soft ambient music played from hidden speakers, a gentle melody meant to soothe. But your body was tense—weeks of stress from work and life had knotted your shoulders and back into painful twists. The attendant had explained the session: full-body oil massage with the renowned therapist, Gojo Satoru. You’d heard whispers about him—talented hands, striking looks—but nothing prepared you for the reality.

You slipped out of your robe, folding it neatly on the chair. Completely naked underneath, you lay face-down on the warmed massage table, the crisp sheet cool against your skin. You pulled the small white towel over your rear, tucking it just enough to cover your ass cheeks modestly. Your breasts pressed softly into the padded table, and you rested your face in the cushioned cradle, breathing deeply. The anticipation hummed in your veins.

The door clicked open. Footsteps, light and confident.

“Evening,” a smooth, velvety voice greeted you. “I’m Satoru. Ready to melt those knots away?”

You mumbled a yes, heart already picking up pace. From the corner of your eye, you caught a glimpse: tall, lean-muscled frame in a fitted black uniform shirt that hugged his broad shoulders and tapered waist. Snow-white hair, tousled just right, and those piercing blue eyes. His presence filled the room.

He warmed the oil between his large, elegant hands, the slick sound making your stomach flutter. The first touch—his palms gliding over your upper back—sent a shiver through you. The oil was warm, scented with something exotic and musky. He started slow, broad strokes from your shoulders down your spine, thumbs pressing firmly into the tight bands of muscle.

“Fuck, you’re wound up tight,” he murmured, voice low and intimate. “Just relax. Let me take care of you.”

It felt incredible. Each pass of his hands worked deeper, unknotting the tension. Your body sank heavier into the table as he moved to your arms, fingers tracing down to your wrists, then back up. He poured more oil, the excess dripping in warm rivulets along your sides. When he reached your lower back, his hands spread wide, thumbs circling just above the towel’s edge. The pressure was perfect—firm enough to release, gentle enough to arouse.

Then he shifted lower. His fingers slipped under the towel’s hem, massaging the tops of your ass cheeks in slow, kneading circles. Not quite touching your most intimate spots, but close. So close. The heat of his palms radiated through the thin fabric, and you felt yourself growing slick between your thighs. Your breath hitched. Gojo was devastatingly hot—his forearms flexing with each motion, the faint scent of his clean, masculine cologne mixing with the oil. You bit your lip to stifle a moan as he worked the sensitive dimples at the base of your spine, his touch teasing the boundary.

“Feel good?” he asked, voice dropping an octave. His fingers danced perilously near the cleft of your ass, pressing and releasing in a rhythm that had your hips twitching involuntarily.

“Yes… so good,” you whispered, voice muffled by the cradle. Heat pooled low in your belly, a throbbing ache building. Your nipples hardened against the table.

He continued for long, luxurious minutes, alternating between deep tissue and feather-light strokes that left your skin tingling and hypersensitive. Every glide of his oiled hands sent sparks straight to your core. You were dripping now, the towel doing little to hide your growing arousal. Gojo didn’t comment, but you swore you heard a low, satisfied hum from him.

“Time to turn over,” he instructed softly. “I’ll hold the towel for modesty.”

Your mind hazy with pleasure, you obeyed without thinking. You rolled onto your back, the towel shifting… and slipping completely off your lower body as you settled. Your bare breasts were fully exposed to the warm air, nipples peaked and flushed. Your pussy, glistening with arousal, was now completely visible. You froze for a split second, cheeks burning, but Gojo’s expression was calm, professional—though his blue eyes darkened with unmistakable hunger as they swept over you.

“Beautiful,” he said simply, as if it were the most natural thing. He didn’t replace the towel. Instead, he poured fresh oil over your collarbones and chest.

His hands returned, slick and warm. He started at your shoulders again, but soon moved downward. Large palms cupped the sides of your breasts, thumbs brushing just under the swell before gliding over your nipples. The sensation was electric—intense, slippery friction that made you arch off the table with a sharp gasp.

“Oh god…” you moaned, no longer able to hold back.

He worked them thoroughly, massaging the soft, heavy flesh in slow, possessive circles. Fingers pinched and rolled your nipples with expert precision, sending jolts of pleasure straight to your clit. The oil made everything glide so obscenely, every touch amplified. He leaned closer, white hair falling forward, his breath warm against your skin as he focused on one breast, kneading deeply while his other hand trailed down your stomach.

“You’re responding so well,” he purred, voice thick. “Look at you… so wet already.”

His hand ventured lower, oil-slick fingers tracing your inner thighs, parting them gently. You spread your legs wider without hesitation, aching for more. Gojo’s fingers finally reached your pussy, gliding along your soaked folds with deliberate slowness. He teased your entrance, circling your swollen clit with the pad of his thumb, the oil mixing with your natural wetness into a slippery mess.

“Fuck, you’re soaked,” he groaned softly. Two long fingers pressed inside you without warning, stretching you open in one smooth thrust. The intrusion was intense, deliciously full. He curled them expertly, stroking that sensitive spot deep inside while his thumb continued its relentless circles on your clit.

You cried out, hips bucking up to meet his hand. He pumped his fingers deeper, faster, the wet sounds obscene in the quiet room. Oil dripped everywhere—down your ass, coating his wrist. He added a third finger, scissoring them to open you further, his pace building to something punishingly good.

“That’s it,” he encouraged, voice husky. “Let go for me. I want to feel you come on my fingers.”

The pressure built rapidly, overwhelming. His free hand returned to your breasts, pinching a nipple hard as his fingers fucked into you with relentless rhythm. Your walls clenched around him, thighs trembling. The intensity was blinding—every stroke hitting perfectly, the oil making it slicker, hotter, more overwhelming.

You came hard, back arching off the table, a loud moan tearing from your throat. Pleasure crashed through you in waves, your pussy spasming around his thick fingers as he kept thrusting through your orgasm, drawing it out until you were shaking and oversensitive.

But he wasn’t done. He slowed but didn’t stop, gentling his movements into lazy, deep strokes while you caught your breath. His blue eyes locked on yours, a wicked smirk playing on his lips.

“We’re not finished yet,” he whispered, leaning down so his lips brushed your ear. “I still have to work out every last knot… inside and out.”

His fingers began moving again, building you right back up with devastating skill—curling, thrusting, teasing your clit until the room filled with your desperate moans once more. The massage had become something far more primal, his talented hands owning your body completely in the warm, oil-slicked haze.

tw : mdni. virgin!reader, age gap, semi-public sex, doctor!gojo, unestablished relationship.

You stepped into the quiet, upscale clinic with your heart already hammering in your chest. The waiting room had been nearly empty, the soft hum of the air conditioning doing little to calm your nerves. At twenty-two, you felt impossibly young and out of place here, especially knowing your gynecologist today was Dr. Gojo Satoru—renowned, brilliant, and devastatingly attractive in ways that made your cheeks burn just thinking about it. He was in his mid-thirties, tall, broad-shouldered, with that signature snow-white hair and piercing blue eyes hidden behind sleek sunglasses even indoors. Professional to a fault, but the way his white coat hugged his frame made it hard to focus on anything clinical.

A nurse had taken your initial vitals, and now the intercom buzzed softly. “Miss [Y/N]? Dr. Gojo will see you now.”

You followed her down the hall, clutching your bag like a lifeline. The door to his office opened, and there he was—leaning casually against his desk, reviewing your chart on a tablet. His smile was warm, disarming, the kind that reached those brilliant eyes as he pushed his sunglasses up into his hair.

“Hi there. Come on in, make yourself comfortable,” he said, voice smooth and confident, laced with that effortless charm. He gestured to the chair opposite his desk. “I’m Dr. Gojo Satoru. I see this is your first visit with us. What brings you in today?”

You sat, legs pressed tightly together, and explained in a quiet voice: an uncomfortable pressure and occasional sharp twinge down there for the past couple of weeks. Nothing major, but enough to worry you. He listened intently, nodding, asking follow-up questions with perfect professionalism—menstrual history, sexual activity (you admitted, voice barely above a whisper, that you were a complete virgin), any partners, birth control, allergies. His gaze never wavered, respectful, but you couldn’t help noticing how his long fingers tapped thoughtfully against the tablet, or the way his broad chest filled out the crisp shirt under his coat.

“Everything sounds pretty standard, but we’ll do a full pelvic exam to rule things out,” he said gently. “I’ll walk you through every step. If anything feels off or you want to stop, just say so. Sound good?”

You nodded, throat dry. He led you to the examination room adjacent to his office—bright, sterile, with the padded table covered in crisp white paper, stirrups gleaming under the lights. A privacy screen stood ready.

“Undress from the waist down, including underwear. You can keep your top on and use the drape for your lap until we start. I’ll knock before coming back in.”

Your hands shook as you complied behind the screen, folding your clothes neatly. The paper crinkled loudly under you as you climbed onto the table and draped the thin sheet over your lower half. When he knocked and entered, he washed his hands thoroughly at the sink, gloves snapping into place over those elegant, long fingers.

“Alright, let’s get you positioned.” His tone was calm, reassuring. He helped guide your feet into the stirrups, adjusting them so your hips were slightly elevated. “Scoot down toward the edge a bit more… there we go. Knees apart for me, please.”

The position left you completely exposed once he lifted the drape. Cool air kissed your most intimate area. You felt your face flame hot, thighs trembling as you forced them to stay open. Gojo settled on a low stool between your legs, his face level with your spread pussy. He was so close you could feel the warmth of his breath ghosting over your sensitive skin.

“Deep breaths,” he murmured. “I’m going to start with a visual inspection.” His gloved hands gently parted your outer lips, exposing your inner folds. You were already a little slick from nerves and the mortifying awareness of his proximity—his handsome face inches from your virgin cunt. “You’re doing great. Any pain when I touch here?” His thumb brushed lightly along your labia, clinical but thorough.

“N-no…” Your voice came out trembling, higher-pitched than usual, almost whiny. It embarrassed you further.

He continued the external exam with slow, deliberate touches—pressing gently around your clit (which twitched involuntarily), checking your perineum, asking questions the whole time. “Any discomfort during penetration attempts before? Even with fingers or toys?” You shook your head, biting your lip. “Good. Your anatomy looks healthy—nice and pink, minimal irritation visible.”

His praise made your stomach flip. He reached for lubricant, warming it between his fingers. “Now the internal part. I’ll use two fingers first. You might feel some pressure. Tell me if it hurts.”

You nodded, gripping the edges of the table. He parted your folds again with one hand, the other pressing the slick fingertips against your tight entrance. The first gentle push made you whimper—high and shaky. Your walls clenched hard around the intrusion, unused to anything there.

“Easy… relax for me,” he coaxed, voice low and steady, but you caught the faintest hitch in his breath. Slowly, he worked one finger inside, then the second, stretching you open. The sensation was intense—fullness, a burning stretch, his thick digits so much bigger than anything you’d imagined. He curled them slightly, palpating your walls, feeling for abnormalities.

“Ah—!” A sharp gasp escaped you as he hit a particularly sensitive spot. Your voice was whiny now, trembling uncontrollably. “Dr. Gojo… it feels… weird…”

“I know, sweetheart. You’re very tight—perfectly normal for a virgin.” His words were professional, but his eyes darkened behind those lashes as he watched his fingers disappear into your dripping pussy. He thrust them slowly in and out, examining every inch. The wet sounds were obscene in the quiet room. Your hips twitched despite yourself, a mix of discomfort and building heat.

Then he pushed deeper, aiming for the full depth. You felt it—the sudden, tearing pressure as his fingers breached your hymen. A sharp sting bloomed, making you cry out softly, legs jerking in the stirrups. “Ow—! Doctor…”

“There it is,” he said quietly, almost to himself. His fingers paused, buried deep inside you, feeling the fresh give of your broken barrier. A trickle of warmth—blood mixed with your arousal—coated his glove. The sight of it, the evidence of your innocence literally on his hand, seemed to affect him. You glanced down and saw the front of his slacks tenting noticeably, a thick, hard outline straining against the fabric. He shifted on the stool, trying to adjust discreetly, jaw tight as he fought to stay focused.

“Still with me?” His voice was a touch rougher now, deeper. “The hymen’s ruptured—standard for a first exam like this. Some spotting is expected.” He began moving again, slower, more careful, but the thrusts were deeper, scissoring gently to stretch you. Each glide sent sparks through your nerves. Your whiny moans filled the room: soft “ah-ah” sounds and shaky pleas of “it’s too much…” that only seemed to make his cock twitch harder in his pants.

He stayed professional—asking about tenderness, checking your cervix, pressing on your belly from above while fingering you—but the intensity was palpable. Sweat beaded at his temple. His free hand gripped your inner thigh firmly to keep you open, thumb stroking soothing circles that felt far too intimate. Your pussy fluttered and clenched around his invading digits, producing more slick despite the sting. The mix of pain and pleasure had you squirming, voice breaking into needy whimpers.

“Such a responsive patient,” he murmured, almost under his breath. His blue eyes locked onto yours over the drape for a moment, pupils blown wide. He was rock-hard, the bulge obvious now, and you could see him subtly grinding against the edge of the stool for relief while pretending it was nothing. “Breathe through it. You’re doing so well… taking my fingers like this.”

The exam dragged on—long, thorough strokes that mapped every sensitive ridge inside you. He hit that spot again and again, until your whines turned breathier, hips rocking faintly to meet his hand. The broken hymen made everything wetter, messier. When he finally withdrew, his gloves were stained with your virgin blood and creamy arousal. He peeled them off slowly, gaze lingering on your puffy, freshly opened pussy.

“Everything checks out healthy,” he said, voice husky as he stood, the massive erection in his pants impossible to hide. “We’ll schedule a follow-up if the discomfort persists. Any questions for me?”

You lay there, legs still spread, trembling, aching, and undeniably turned on. The air between you crackled with unspoken tension—his control fraying at the edges, your body forever changed by those skilled, insistent fingers.

He helped you sit up eventually, gentle and composed once more, but the heat in his eyes promised this professional visit had left its mark on both of you.

⋮ ⌗ ┆mdni. p in v, size kink, r sex !

You weren’t made for Satoru Gojo’s cock. Not even close.

He was too big—stupidly, obscenely big. Too long. The kind of thick, veined monstrosity that belonged in filthy fantasies, not inside a girl like you. You’d barely taken half of him before your body started screaming in protest, walls fluttering and clenching too tight around the fat head of his dick like your pussy was trying to push him out. But Satoru only grinned down at you with that wicked, knowing smirk, blindfold long discarded so those piercing blue eyes could drink in every desperate twitch of your face.

“Shh, princess,” he murmured, voice low and rough like gravel wrapped in silk. His large hands pinned your hips to the bed, thumbs pressing bruises into your skin as he held you open for him. “I know it’s a lot. Fuck, you’re so tiny down here… but don’t worry. I’ll make it fit. I’ll make this pretty little cunt remember me—reshape it just for my cock.”

You whimpered, thighs trembling around his waist as he rocked forward another inch. The stretch burned, a sharp, overwhelming pressure that made your back arch off the mattress. He was barely halfway in and already you felt so full, like he was rearranging your insides, bullying your walls apart with that relentless girth. Your fingers scrabbled at his shoulders, nails digging crescent moons into his pale skin.

“S-Satoru—it’s too much,” you gasped, voice cracking. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, but your body betrayed you, slick dripping down his shaft and soaking the sheets beneath you. Your pussy fluttered wildly around him, trying to adjust, trying to take.

He chuckled darkly, leaning down to drag his tongue along the shell of your ear. “Too much? Baby, we’ve only just started. Look at you—already creaming all over me and I’m not even balls-deep yet.” One of his hands slid between your bodies, thumb finding your swollen clit and rubbing slow, maddening circles that sent sparks shooting up your spine. The pleasure mixed with the ache, turning it into something molten and addictive. “Breathe for me. Relax that tight little hole. Let me in.”

He pushed again—slow, deliberate, inexorable. Another thick inch sank into your heat, forcing your walls to stretch obscenely around him. You cried out, the sound raw and broken, but Satoru swallowed it with a deep, filthy kiss. His tongue fucked into your mouth in time with the shallow thrusts of his hips, coaxing you open everywhere at once. When he pulled back, a string of saliva connected your lips, and his eyes were glowing with dark hunger.

“Fuck, feel that?” he groaned, rolling his hips in a small circle that made the head of his cock grind against a spot so deep inside you it stole your breath. “Your pussy’s fighting me… but she’s sucking me in too. Greedy girl. This cunt was made to be trained by me.”

You shook your head weakly, but your legs wrapped tighter around him anyway, heels digging into the small of his back like your body had already decided it belonged to him. Satoru noticed—of course he did. He laughed softly against your throat, teeth grazing your pulse point as he finally, finally bottomed out.

The fullness was devastating. You swore you could feel him in your throat, the thick length of him pulsing hot and heavy against your cervix, stretching you so wide you could barely think. Your belly bulged slightly where his cock sat inside you, and Satoru pressed a hand over the bump with a possessive growl.

“Look at that… all the way in. Good fucking girl. I knew you’d take me. Had to work for it, but now this pussy’s molded to my shape.” He stayed buried deep for a long moment, letting you adjust, letting your walls spasm and flutter around every ridge and vein. His cock twitched inside you, leaking precum that only made you wetter.

Then he started moving.

Slow at first—long, dragging strokes that pulled almost all the way out before slamming back in, forcing your body to accept him over and over. Each thrust punched the air from your lungs. The wet, obscene sound of your pussy taking his cock filled the room, slick squelching loudly with every plunge. Your tits bounced with the force of it, nipples hard and aching.

“Satoru—ahh—fuck, you’re so deep,” you moaned, head tossing against the pillow. The burn had melted into white-hot pleasure, every drag of his massive cock lighting up nerves you didn’t even know existed. He was hitting spots so far inside you that your vision blurred, toes curling as he ground against your cervix on every thrust.

“Yeah? Too big for you, princess?” He smirked, grabbing your thighs and folding you nearly in half, pressing your knees to your chest so he could watch his cock disappear inside your stretched hole. “Too long? Too thick? Too much for this tight little cunt?” His pace picked up, hips snapping harder, the slap of skin on skin growing louder. “Don’t lie—I can feel how you’re creaming all over me. You’re gonna cum just from being split open on my dick.”

He was relentless. One hand braced beside your head, the other gripping your hip hard enough to leave marks as he pounded into you. Deep, brutal strokes that made your whole body jolt. Your pussy clenched around him like a vice, trying to milk him, trying to adjust to the impossible stretch, but he only fucked you harder for it.

“Atta girl… squeezing me so fucking good. This pussy’s learning, isn’t it? Learning to take every inch like it was made for me.” He leaned down, biting at your collarbone as he changed the angle and drove even deeper. Stars burst behind your eyes. You screamed his name, back bowing off the bed as the orgasm crashed over you without warning—hard and shattering, walls convulsing wildly around his pistoning cock.

Satoru groaned, hips stuttering for a moment as your pussy fluttered and gushed around him. “Fuck yes—cum on it. Soak my cock, baby. That’s it… good girl.” But he didn’t stop. If anything, he fucked you through it even harder, chasing his own pleasure now, using your spasming heat like it was his personal toy.

He pulled out suddenly, leaving you empty and clenching around nothing. You whined at the loss, but before you could protest he flipped you over onto your stomach, yanking your hips up so your ass was high in the air and your face pressed into the sheets. The new position let him sink even deeper, and you sobbed into the mattress as he slammed back in to the hilt in one brutal thrust.

“Perfect,” he growled, one hand fisting in your hair to arch your back while the other smacked your ass hard enough to sting. “Now I can really fuck you like you deserve.”

He set a punishing rhythm—long, powerful strokes that had his heavy balls slapping against your clit with every thrust. The head of his cock kissed your cervix over and over, bullying that sensitive spot until you were a drooling, moaning mess. Your pussy was so wet it dripped down your thighs, coating his shaft and making the slide even filthier.

“You’re taking me so well now,” Satoru praised, voice ragged with lust. He reached around to rub your clit again, fast and firm. “See? I told you I’d make it fit. This cunt’s mine now—stretched out and shaped just for my big cock. No one else is ever gonna fill you like this.”

You could only moan helplessly, pushing back against him as another orgasm built fast and vicious. He felt it, felt your walls start to tighten again, and doubled down—fucking you harder, faster, the wet slap of his hips against your ass echoing obscenely.

“Cum for me again, princess. Let me feel this pussy milk my dick while I ruin you.” His voice dropped to a dark whisper right against your ear. “Gonna fill you up so deep you’ll feel me for days.”

The second climax ripped through you even harder than the first, vision whiting out as you screamed into the sheets. Your pussy clamped down on him like a vice, fluttering and gushing, and Satoru cursed loudly, hips snapping erratically as he chased his own release.

“Fuck—take it all—” He buried himself to the hilt one last time, cock pulsing as thick ropes of cum flooded your overstuffed cunt. He kept grinding deep, forcing every drop into you, marking you from the inside out.

You collapsed boneless beneath him, trembling and utterly spent, pussy still weakly clenching around his softening length. Satoru stayed buried inside you for a long moment, pressing lazy kisses along your spine as he caught his breath.

“Such a good girl,” he murmured, voice warm with satisfaction. “Told you I’d make it fit… and look at you now. Perfectly made for me.”

He finally pulled out slowly, watching with dark fascination as his cum leaked from your ruined, gaping hole—proof that he’d claimed and reshaped what wasn’t meant for him.

And you knew, even as you drifted in exhausted bliss, that he’d do it again. And again. Until your body knew no other shape but his.

⋮ ⌗ ┆mdni. p in v, age gap, size kink !

You shouldn’t be doing this—dating a man old enough to be your father, letting him ruin you night after night like it’s the most natural thing in the world. But here you are, barely legal and spread out on Satoru’s massive bed like his personal little plaything, your tiny body trembling under the weight of his much larger, experienced frame.

Satoru Gojo had claimed you months ago, that cocky grin flashing behind his blindfold the first time he cornered you after one of his missions. “Look at you,” he’d murmured, six-foot-three of pure, arrogant power looming over your small frame. “So fucking young. So untouched. You’re mine now, princess. No one else gets to ruin this tight little pussy but me.”

And ruin you he did. The age gap was the sickest thrill for him—the way your smooth, barely-touched skin contrasted against his battle-hardened body, the way your inexperienced walls fluttered and struggled around his massive, thick cock like it was the first time every single time. He loved how small you were, how he could so easily manhandle you, fold you in half, and pound into you until you were sobbing his name. His older dick, veined and heavy and far too big for a girl your age, stretched you open obscenely every time, claiming territory no one else had ever touched.

Tonight was no different. He’d dragged you back to his place after dinner, barely giving you time to kick off your shoes before he had you pinned against the wall, his large hands yanking your skirt up and your panties to the side. “Been thinking about this all day,” he groaned against your neck, teeth grazing your pulse point as he freed his cock. It slapped heavy against your stomach—long, girthy, the flushed head already leaking precum. “This tiny young cunt… fuck, it was made for me.”

You whimpered as he lifted you effortlessly, your legs wrapping around his waist. He didn’t bother with much prep; you were already soaked from the way he’d been teasing you under the table earlier. With one brutal thrust, he buried half his length inside you, your pussy stretching painfully wide around his invasion.

“Ah—Satoru! It’s too big—!” you cried out, nails digging into his broad shoulders. Your walls clenched desperately, trying to accommodate him, but he just chuckled darkly, eyes glowing with that predatory blue behind the lifted blindfold.

“Too big? Bullshit, princess. You’ve taken every inch before. This little pussy knows its owner.” He pulled back slightly only to slam forward harder, forcing another thick inch inside. The burn was intense, delicious, your young body yielding to his experienced cock as he bottomed out with a satisfied groan. “Shit, you’re so fucking tight. So small. No one else’s been in here, have they? Just my older dick ruining you for anyone younger.”

He started moving then, deep and relentless, each thrust making your small tits bounce under your shirt. He kept you pinned, one hand under your ass to hold you up while the other yanked your shirt up to expose your breasts. His mouth latched onto a nipple, sucking hard as he fucked up into you with powerful strokes that made your toes curl.

The wet, obscene sounds of your pussy sucking him in filled the room—schlick-schlick-schlick—your juices dripping down his heavy balls with every plunge. Satoru pulled back to watch, eyes half-lidded with lust as he saw how your tiny folds were stretched obscenely around his thick shaft, creamy white ring forming at the base.

“Look at that,” he growled, voice low and ragged. “Your young pussy is creaming all over my cock. So eager. So fucking greedy for an older man like me.” He sped up, hips snapping harder, the headboard banging against the wall. Your moans turned into broken sobs as he hit that spot deep inside you over and over, his experience letting him angle perfectly every time.

He carried you to the bed without pulling out, dropping you onto your back and immediately folding your legs up to your chest. The new angle let him sink even deeper, his heavy balls slapping against your ass as he railed you. Sweat glistened on his white hair and toned abs—he was in his late thirties, but his body was carved like a god, all that jujutsu training keeping him insanely fit. And you, so much younger, so much smaller, looked utterly debauched beneath him.

“Satoru—ahh—slow down, please—!” you gasped, but he only smirked, thumb finding your swollen clit and rubbing tight, merciless circles.

“Slow down? Nah. I love how you fall apart for me. This tight little hole squeezing my big cock like it never wants to let go.” He leaned down, biting your earlobe. “Bet your friends think you’re dating some college guy. They have no idea their innocent little friend is getting her brains fucked out by a man twice her age. My experienced dick is the only one you’ll ever need, right princess?”

You nodded frantically, tears of overwhelming pleasure spilling down your cheeks as another orgasm built fast. He could feel it—your walls fluttering wildly around him, trying to milk his length. Satoru groaned, pounding harder, the wet slap of skin on skin growing louder.

“Cum for me. Cum on this older man’s cock like the dirty little age-gap slut you are.”

The intensity crashed over you. You screamed his name, pussy spasming violently around his thrusting cock, juices squirting out around his shaft as your whole body shook. Satoru didn’t stop. He fucked you through it, prolonging the orgasm until you were a whimpering, oversensitive mess.

Only then did he pull out, flipping you onto your stomach and yanking your hips up so your ass was in the air. He re-entered in one smooth thrust, even deeper now, and set a punishing pace. His large hand came down on your ass with a sharp smack, watching the flesh jiggle.

“Fuck, this view. Tiny waist, perfect ass, and that young pussy swallowing me whole.” He reached around to rub your clit again, his other hand fisting your hair to arch your back. “Gonna fill you up, princess. Pump this little womb full of my cum. You’re mine. This cunt is mine.”

You could barely form words, just broken moans and whimpers as he railed you mercilessly. The age difference made it filthier—he was so much bigger, so much stronger, completely dominating your smaller body. His cock dragged against every sensitive ridge inside you, experienced and relentless, hitting spots you didn’t even know existed.

When he finally came, it was with a deep, guttural groan, hips stuttering as he buried himself to the hilt. Thick ropes of hot cum flooded your pussy, so much it leaked out around his cock despite how tightly you gripped him. He stayed inside, grinding lazily as he rode out the aftershocks, pressing kisses along your spine.

“Such a good girl,” he murmured, voice husky with satisfaction. “Taking my cock so well. No one else will ever fuck you like this. You’re stuck with this older man and his big dick, princess.”

He pulled out slowly, watching his cum drip from your abused, gaping hole with dark satisfaction. Then he gathered you in his arms, your small frame curling against his chest as he stroked your hair.

“Round two in ten minutes,” he whispered with that signature wicked grin. “I’m not done ruining my favorite tiny young pussy yet.”

⋮ ⌗ ┆mdni. p in v, degradation, semi-public !

⋮ ⌗ ┆mdni. p in v, degradation !

⋮ ⌗ ┆mdni. p in v, prn w/o plot, younger!megumi !

just a little heads up… i’m gonna be very very less active for a while. i just finished jjk s3 part 1 and now i’m in that weird empty phase where my brain just refuses to create anything unless i’m fully in my jjk era 😭

idk if that makes sense but like… my inspiration really comes in waves depending on what i’m obsessed with at the moment, and right now it’s kinda… buffering. so writing feels forced and i don’t wanna give you something that doesn’t hit the same.

also, to be honest, i’ve been getting some hate lately, and it kinda killed my motivation to write jjk… it made me want to step back from it for a bit.

BUT i’ll probably start watching other animes soon, so who knows… new obsessions = new fanfictions 👀