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synopsis . Finding out your fwb is into being slapped and dominated. content . afab!reader, slapping, fratjo, stuffing fingers in his mouth, he’s a lil mean in the beginning, dom!reader, implied overstim, orgasm denial/edging, fucking an apology outta him, lots of begging, choking, masochism, one subby satoru, revealed mommy kink, etc. (not proofread)
author’s note: ib the banner art, which is from here.
You’d never been one to slap a man until now.
“I like you more when you don’t overthink things,” Gojo had said, back adorned with scratch marks that certainly weren’t from you based on the position you last let him fuck you in.
That wasn’t what set you off though.
No, it was moments later after a bit of back and forth when he found the nerve to cut you off and say, “Quit bitching, we’re not together.”
Slap!
Your hand flew right across his face without thinking.
While he was right—you two weren’t together—his words certainly didn’t have to be so harsh, especially not with you. It was audacious and most unexpected from him considering he was the one who started this relationship with you.
Although you figure you should’ve known things would turn out this way. He is a well known & sought after member of your university’s frat…
Gojo’s face was frozen in the direction you’d slapped it off to, his eyes widened as the pain struck all throughout his cheek and left it an agitated shade of pink. His tongue swat around the inside of his mouth before poking against the inside of the same cheek you'd struck, a small smirk spreading out across his rosy lips.
You should've know from then that this was not going to go into the angsty direction of conversation you were hoping for.
Not even seconds pass before his cock is rearing its plump head up against his sweats, having jumped to life after the feeling of pain spread throughout his body.
Your eyes trailed him up and down with confusion as to why he was smirking, brows taut until you found yourself doing a double take at his crotch. Honestly, you thought you imagined the excited boner that your slap just sprung about but, after a few bats of your lashes you quickly came to the conclusion that you weren't seeing things.
Hell, he got turned on so fast that it almost seemed like he'd only made his rude ass statement to get you to hit him. Was he insane?
Spoiler alert; yes.
You're not quite sure if it was the sight of his boner that got you into this position or the fact that you had anger you wanted to take out on him but, either way, you're promptly bouncing up and down the expanse of his cock now.
His voice was a lot more ragged as he spoke to you, the sound of it bubbling out of his throat as pathetic tears coated his blue gaze, "C-C'mon, you know I didn't mean it, baby."
"Do I know that?" You asked coldly, your finger tightly clasped to his jaw, keeping his head up and his eyes on your as you ride him.
"Uhuh, you do-, fuck... y'know you do," He mumbled, head nodding with a submissive quickness, and his bottom lip beginning to quiver.
Your hips rocked forward and he felt that mind numbing sensation of your pussy squeezing around his thick shaft, demanding he empty himself into you at any given moment. He may have been rude earlier but surely your cunt was being far ruder now.
"P-Please, I'll be good now," Gojo panted. Then his eyes sealed shut when your hand slipped down from his jaw and to his throat, the squeeze against his airway making his cock pulsate violently inside you—weeping for release.
You've been denying him of an orgasm for the past fifteen minutes now and he feels like he's on the verge of passing out, having never allowed anyone to edge him for this long.
A fucked-out giggle springs out of your throat as you sunk all the way down to his straining base, the puffy lips of your cunt left to bulge around him all cutely, "You're sayin' everything except what I wanna hear, 'Toru. Is it really this hard to say one little word?"
”No, but—hahh.. d’you really need to hear me apologize?” He asked as those pretty white lashes began to bat up at you with silent pleads. His hips impatiently buck upwards when you take an unnecessary amount of time to let his words sink in.
To which your grip around his neck gets stronger and your body leans forward a bit more, your chest mashed into his, “If you wanna cum then yeah.”
Gojo smiles all of a sudden before grunting out a half-assed, “M’sorry,” as if you were some kind of fool.
You saw straight through his little attempt and purposefully lifted your hips a bit before slamming them back down. “For what, Satoru?” You huff, feeling his breath hitch and tangle up against your palm.
“Ngh-,” Gojo moans, dick twitching within the saccharine warmth of your walls. “I’m sorry for bein’ so rude t’you..” He says as clearly as he can. It was quite difficult for him to avoid the slur in his words when your pussy had him overly drunk.
You repeat the same move from before and he tries to toss his head back, only to get tugged forward by the hand on his throat. Which makes him whine, “Ohfuck, yes, please don’t stop, please.”
“That’s it? You’re only sorry for being rude?” Your question comes out with so much tension behind it that he wonders if he’s truly yet to make up for his statement.
Though, you believe it to be deserved since he claimed you were bitching to him—all you did was express your feelings. And you’d like to think that if he meant it, he’d be too busy fucking it up into you to say it like that.
“I—,” He’s swiftly cut off by your fingers sliding into his mouth.
“M’not sure if I believe you, ‘Toru,” You teased with this look in your eyes that suddenly made him feel small for the first time in his life. You didn’t know it but he probably would’ve cum right then and there if you’d call him anything close to degrading. “If you’re really sorry, you’ll let me feel it, won’t you?”
Gojo nods dumbly again before mumbling a drooly, “Mhmmm,” around your fingers as he sucks on them obediently.
“Shit, you’re actually kinda cute like this,” The praise hits him at the same time his tip slathers against your sweet spot, causing both of you to moan out in unison.
His tongue lathers in between your digits and he keeps his eyes all doe-like ‘n pretty as he peers up at you. You could feel his whines around your fingers and each one made your chest tighten with a sense of pride.
You liked this side of him far more than you’d ever admitted.
When your fingers eventually fall from of his mouth, that’s when his own curl into the sheets below him.
“Can I,” He groans loudly in between his words, “Can I at least touch you now?” Another whine exits him when you nod in response, his hands flying to your hips to hold you as he lifts your body up a bit. Then he’s angling closer and his voice is pitching lower, “Can I cum now too?”
“Say please.” You command calmly.
Right then, Gojo starts fucking his needy cock up into your sopping hole, letting the squelches echo around his room and serve as a prelude to his incoming series of pleas. Next thing you know, he’s using his grip on your hips to help you ride him harder-, faster.
His voice cracks as he whimpers, “Please? Please let me cum. I-I won’t say anything like that ever again-, fuck.. I promise, I pinky promise. Please, I’ll be s’good for you. Please mo-,” He chokes then, as if to catch himself at the end.
You bite your lip and whisper, “Uh-uh, say it.”
Gojo can’t help but moan, his brows furrowing with frustration as your words make his head spin. You’re being pushed over onto your back faster than you have time to adjust and he’s pumping his cock into you at a different angle.
When your face begins to twist up into that expression he likes—the one that lets him know he’s hittin’ that sappy spot of yours just right, his own falters into something desperate.
Leaving him to huff a breathless, “Please mommy?”
“Good boy,” Your chime leaves you almost immediately and there’s a proud smile pulling itself across your lips. His cockhead nearly spurts at the sound but he waits oh-so-patiently for you to follow that up with a soft-spoken, “You can cum now.”
Then he’s cumming in thick, hot, ‘n creamy gushes, letting his eyes roll back til’ only the whites are showing as he releases the most pathetic moan you’ve ever heard.
Every drop of his load is thrusted into you with hushed out, ‘m’sorry’s tumbling out of his throat.
…And you may have imagined it but you swear he let a soft I love you slip as well.
searching for a fic! read it a long time ago but it was where think you meet suguru and he takes you home and he has satoru as a pet and traps you. i know im being vague but PLEASE help.
SYPNOSIS. you share your life with three magnetic men. what started as a convenient roommate setup spirals into a night of unbridled passion after a wild club outing, where boundaries dissolve and desires take over in a whirlwind of shared ecstasy.
PAIRING. ryomen sukuna x reader. gojo satoru x reader. toji fushiguro x reader.
WC. 4.1k
CONTENT. MDNI. foursome. rough and intense penetration. multiple partners. oral sex (giving and receiving). face-fucking and throat penetration. massive creampies and way too much cum everywhere. like seriously excessive amounts of cum. squirting. overstimulation. degradation mixed with heavy praise kink. spit play. cum play and cum-swapping. spanking. hair-pulling. light choking. clit slapping UGH. bruising and visible marking. PURE SEX MAN. aftercare and soft tender moments afterward. fully consensual in the story but extremely raw, boundary-pushing, and humanly overwhelming in how desperate and needy it gets.
A/N. flow state dude. toji and sukuna art by actually_valerie_art and gojo art by thatsallitchief on ig!
in the glittering chaos of tokyo's nightlife, your penthouse stood as a sanctuary for you and the three men who had woven themselves into your daily existence. you can't even recall how you got tangled with them.
gojo satoru, the white-haired tech genius. toji fushiguro, the scarred ex-mercenary turned personal bodyguard. and ryomen sukuna, the inked-up king of the underground scene.
it began innocently enough—shared spaces, late-night conversations over drinks but the undercurrent of attraction had been building for months. tonight, after hours at sukuna's exclusive club, it finally erupted. back home, the air hummed with electric tension, thick with the promise of everything breaking open in the best way.
you didn't even close the door fully before toji had you backed against it, his large frame caging you in, breath ragged from watching you dance with the others all night.
"you've been drivin' me crazy," he muttered. his calloused hands gripped your waist, pulling you flush against him so you could feel how hard he was, pressing insistently against your thigh.
gojo lounged on the nearby couch, shedding his jacket with a lazy grin, blue eyes sparkling with mischief. "don't be greedy, toji. we all saw her grinding on sukuna earlier."
sukuna stripped off his shirt, revealing the black tattoos swirling over his toned body, and chuckled darkly. "jealous? good. makes it more fun."
toji didn't wait for permission. he crashed his lips onto yours in a kiss that was all teeth and tongue, devouring you like a man starved. his fingers tangled in your hair, tilting your head back to deepen the angle, while his other hand slid under your dress, hiking it up to expose the lace of your panties. you gasped into his mouth, clutching his broad shoulders, nails digging in as heat pooled low in your belly.
"fuck, toji," you breathed when he pulled back slightly, only to trail biting kisses down your neck.
sukuna stepped up behind you, his hands joining toji's on your body. one slipped between your thighs. "already soaked? we've barely started, princess." his voice was a sinful purr as his fingers pressed against your clit in slow, teasing circles, making your hips buck involuntarily.
gojo rose then, sauntering over with that signature swagger. he unzipped your dress deftly, letting it pool at your feet in a silken puddle. "let's get you comfortable," he whispered, lips brushing your ear as he unclasped your bra. your breasts spilled free into the cool air; his hands covered them immediately, thumbs rolling over your hardened nipples, pinching just hard enough to pull a whimper from you.
the three of them surrounded you now—a living cage of heat, muscle, and barely restrained hunger.
toji’s mouth stayed latched to the side of your throat, sucking hard enough to bloom a fresh bruise. sukuna’s fingers never stopped their cruel torment between your legs. gojo pressed his chest to your back, letting you feel his hard length grinding lazily against the cleft of your ass while he toyed with your breasts like they were his personal playthings.
“look at these,” gojo murmured against the shell of your ear, voice dripping with awe and mockery. he rolled both nipples between his fingers, tugging them outward until the sting made you arch and whine. “so pretty when they’re all hard and begging. bet they’d look even better with my teeth on them.”
before you could answer, sukuna hooked two fingers into the crotch of your panties and yanked them aside, exposing you completely. cool air hit your dripping core and you shivered—only for toji to drop to one knee in front of you. his big hands spread your thighs wider, holding you open. he buried his face between your legs and devoured.
“haaahh… w–wait a min–”
his tongue dragged flat and broad up your entire slit in one long, filthy stroke, collecting every drop. then he focused—sucking your clit between his lips with bruising suction, the tip of his tongue flicking side to side in rapid, merciless lashes. you cried out, hips jerking forward, only for sukuna to clamp an arm around your waist and pin you in place.
“stay still,” sukuna ordered. “let him eat. you don’t get to run from it.”
gojo laughed softly against your neck. “she’s shaking already. poor thing’s gonna come on his tongue in under a minute if we keep this up.”
he wasn’t wrong.
toji growled against your pussy when your walls fluttered, the vibration ripping another broken moan from your throat. gojo’s fingers never left your nipples, twisting and pulling in time with every hard suck until the dual sensation short-circuited your brain.
your first orgasm hit like a freight train. legs buckling, you would have collapsed if not for sukuna’s iron grip and toji’s bruising hold on your thighs. the climax tore through you in violent, shuddering waves—your whole body locking up as you came against toji’s unrelenting mouth. he drank every pulse, tongue flattening to lap up the flood like he refused to waste a drop, growling low the entire time.
only then did toji pull back. dark eyes locked on yours as he rose slowly. he wiped his mouth with the back of his forearm.
“fuckin’ delicious,” he rasped. “could eat you all night.”
“fushiguro, don’t be greedy,” sukuna growled. he spun you roughly, slamming your front against the wall so hard the framed art rattled. his cock was already out, thick and veined. he lined up and rammed in without warning, bottoming out in one brutal stroke that knocked the air from your lungs.
“kuna! w–warning please!”
the stretch burned. your walls clamped down hard around the sudden invasion. he didn’t let you adjust—pulled back almost to the tip and slammed home again, hips snapping with enough force your tits bounced against the cold wall. every thrust punched deep, the fat head bullying that spot inside until your knees shook and your nails scraped uselessly at the paint.
“what for?” he growled against your ear, one hand fisting your hair to yank your head back. “don’t need it when yer cunt is this ready.”
wet slaps filled your entryway. his balls smacking your clit with every punishing drive, your own juices dripping down your thighs in messy strings. he fucked you like he hated you and needed you at the same time, ruthless, giving you no second to breathe.
toji stepped up on your left, thick fingers forcing your jaw open. “look at me while he ruins you,” he rasped. he spat straight into your open mouth, watching it land on your tongue before shoving two fingers in deep, making you gag around them while sukuna kept pounding.
gojo was already on your right, pants shoved down, long cock in hand. he stroked himself slowly while he watched. sukuna’s rhythm turned erratic—short, mean thrusts that ground his pelvis against your ass until you were whimpering around toji’s fingers. sukuna’s hand left your hip to slap your clit once, sharp and stinging—then again, and again—until the pain twisted into heat and you came hard, came so hard that sukuna cursed and buried himself even deeper, flooding you with hot, thick spurts that leaked out the second he started pulling back.
before you could whimper at the emptiness, gojo was there, spinning you around and shoving you to your knees so fast your palms slapped the floor.
“open that mouth,” gojo said, voice tight with need. he fisted your hair, yanked your head back, and fed his cock past your lips in one smooth glide. he hit the back of your throat immediately, making your eyes water. he didn’t stop—rocked his hips forward until your nose pressed against his pelvis, his pubes tickling your face.
toji dropped to one knee behind you, spreading your ass cheeks wide. he spat on your already dripping hole, watching it mix with sukuna’s cum before shoving three thick fingers inside without warning.
your pussy was still fluttering from the last orgasm, now getting finger-fucked roughly while gojo used your throat like a toy.
“look at this sloppy cunt,” toji muttered, curling his fingers hard against your g-spot until you choked out a muffled scream around gojo’s dick. “still leakin’ sukuna’s load and beggin’ for more.”
gojo groaned, hips snapping faster. “f-fuck… gonna paint her face. hold her steady.”
toji’s free hand wrapped around your throat from behind, squeezing just enough to feel gojo’s cock bulging it every time he bottomed out. tears streamed down your cheeks, drool poured from the corners of your mouth.
sukuna stepped closer again, cock already hardening despite just coming. he fisted your hair next to gojo’s hand, forcing your head back further. “swallow around him,” he ordered. “milk him dry.”
you did. your throat working convulsively enough to make gojo break quickly. he yanked out at the last second, hand flying over his shaft as he came in thick, messy ropes across your face.
first stripe on your cheek and lips, second on your closed eyelids, third dripping hot down your chin to splatter on your tits. he kept stroking, milking out every last drop until your face was a wrecked, glistening mess.
sukuna hauled you up by the hair before you could collapse, dragging you toward the couch. he threw you face-down over the armrest, ass up, legs kicked wide. toji was already behind you, thick cock in hand, rubbing the head through the mess of cum and slick before slamming in with one vicious thrust.
“wha…already?”
“yes my angel, need my turn,” he snarled, setting a pace that made the couch creak. he fucked you like he was trying to break you—balls slapping wetly against your clit.
you couldn't complain. not when you're body craves for this attention.
gojo knelt in front of your face, smearing the last of his cum across your swollen lips. “sweetie, before you forget to clean me up,” he muttered, pushing back into your mouth while toji railed you from behind.
you tried to focus, tried to swirl your tongue around gojo’s softening length the way he liked, but toji’s brutal rhythm made it impossible to do anything but drool and moan around him. every punishing thrust shoved you forward, forcing more of gojo’s cock deeper until your lips were stretched wide and your throat kept fluttering uselessly.
toji’s big hands gripped your hips so hard you knew you’d have perfect finger-shaped bruises tomorrow. he wasn’t just fucking you—he was claiming you, marking every inch inside with the thick drag of his cock. the scarred mercenary didn’t talk much during sex, but the sounds he made were filthy enough.
“fuckin’ hell,” he grunted, one hand sliding up your spine to press between your shoulder blades, forcing your chest down harder against the armrest. the new angle let him hit even deeper, the fat head bullying that spot until your vision whited out. “this greedy little pussy doesn’t know when to quit, does it? still flutterin’ after two loads.”
gojo pulled out of your mouth with a wet pop, strings of spit and cum connecting your swollen lips to his tip. he crouched down so his face was level with yours, gripping your jaw to make you look at him.
“you’re so pretty when you’re getting ruined,” he murmured, thumb swiping through the drying mess on your cheek before pushing it between your lips. “you’re the perfect girl.”
you obeyed automatically, tongue curling around his thumb while toji kept pounding into you from behind.
sukuna watched from the side, lazily stroking his cock back to full hardness, the dark ink on his chest and arms shifting with every slow pump. he was sure enjoying the show—better than any porn he’d ever jerked off to.
“gonna fill this cunt up,” toji rasped against your ear, voice wrecked. “gonna pump you so full you’ll be leakin’ me for days. you want that?”
you could only whimper, nodding frantically around gojo’s thumb.
“say it,” toji growled, slowing just enough to make you feel every thick inch sliding in and out. “tell me you want my cum.”
“please—” your voice cracked, hoarse “—please, toji, f-fill me—toru, i want him to fill me—”
that was all he needed.
his hips stuttered, rhythm turning sloppy and desperate. one last brutal thrust buried him to the hilt, and then he was coming—so much it immediately started leaking out around his shaft despite how tightly your walls gripped him. he kept grinding through it, forcing every drop as deep as possible while you shook and sobbed beneath him.
when he finally pulled out, a stream of cum followed, dripping obscenely down your thighs to join sukuna’s and your own slick on the floor. you felt hollowed out, aching, and still somehow desperate for more.
toji stepped back, breathing hard, cock still glistening and heavy between his legs. he gave your ass a possessive smack that made you yelp.
gojo was already moving.
he hauled you up off the armrest like you weighed nothing, spinning you until your back hit the couch cushions. he climbed over you immediately, knees bracketing your hips, that long cock slapping wetly against your swollen folds.
“been waiting,” he said, voice deceptively light even as his eyes burned. he hooked your legs over his elbows, folding you in half until your knees nearly touched your shoulders. the position left you completely exposed, every messy inch of your used cunt on display.
he didn’t push in right away—unlike the other two.
instead he dragged the head of his cock through the creamy mess toji and sukuna had left behind, coating himself, smearing it over your clit until you were twitching and whining.
“look at this,” he murmured, almost to himself. “three loads in you already and you’re still dripping for more. greedy fucking slut.”
then he sank in—slow at first, letting you feel every inch as he stretched you open again on top of everything else.
you keened at the pressure, walls fluttering around gojo’s length like they were trying to pull him even deeper. he stayed still for a long second, letting you feel the full, throbbing heat of him, the way your overworked pussy gripped him like it never wanted to let go.
after a minute he started moving. slow rolls at first, deep grinds that stirred everything inside you, dragging his cock against every sensitive ridge until your toes curled. his hands pinned your thighs wide, keeping you folded and helpless beneath him while he watched your face with that maddening half-smile.
“feel that?” he whispered. “feel how full you are? sukuna’s load, toji’s load, and now me stretching you open again. you’re just a little cum-dump tonight, aren’t you?”
you couldn’t answer—could only whimper and nod, nails digging into his forearms as he picked up speed.
"y-yes… want it all—"
"hey." sukuna cuts you off as he climbed onto the couch beside you. he fisted his thick cock again, then slapped it heavily against your cheek, leaving a sticky smear.
“open,” he ordered, voice low and dangerous. “don’t make me wait. you haven’t paid attention to me.”
"oh." your lips parted on instinct. “’m sorry, ryo.”
he didn’t wait—pushed the fat head past them, resting on your tongue while gojo kept fucking you.
"show me yer sorry then." sukuna’s taste smeared across your tastebuds, salty and bitter, mixing with the remnants of gojo’s earlier release still drying on your skin.
toji knelt at the side of the couch, one big hand wrapping around your throat while the other slid down to where gojo was splitting you open. his rough fingers found your clit and started rubbing tight, mean circles that made your whole body jerk.
“gonna make her squirt this time,” toji rasped, eyes locked on where gojo’s cock disappeared inside you over and over. “wanna see this sloppy hole burst all over him. that'll be a sight man."
gojo laughed breathlessly, hips snapping harder. “do it. ruin the couch. ruin her.”
the combined assault was too much—gojo’s cock hammering that spot relentlessly, toji’s fingers grinding your clit without mercy, sukuna lazily fucking shallow thrusts into your mouth while his free hand twisted one of your nipples hard enough to sting.
your body locked up.
too many mouths, too many hands, too much cock.
it built fast and brutal, a pressure so intense it almost hurt. you tried to warn them, tried to beg around sukuna’s cock, but all that came out was a garbled, desperate whine.
then it broke.
you came so hard your vision blacked out for a second. your walls clamped down on gojo like a fist, and then you were spilling—hot, clear fluid squirting out around his cock with every thrust, soaking his abs, his thighs, the cushions beneath you. the wet rush was loud, filthy, unstoppable. your whole body convulsed, thighs shaking violently in gojo’s grip as you sobbed around sukuna’s length.
“fuck—there it is,” gojo groaned, pace turning erratic. “fuckin’ soak me.”
he didn’t last long after that. a few more brutal snaps and he buried himself deep, cock pulsing as he added another thick load to the mess inside you.
sukuna pulled out of your mouth right as gojo started to come down, stroking himself fast over your face. he came with a low curse, painting fresh stripes across your tongue and lips, some dripping down to join the drying mess already there.
when gojo finally eased out, thick, creamy rivulets of all of them leaked from your abused hole. you lay there panting, legs still trembling, body slick and marked everywhere.
toji leaned down, dragging two fingers through the mess between your thighs before bringing them to your lips.
“clean up,” he murmured, voice rough with satisfaction. “taste what we did to you.”
you sucked weakly, tongue curling around his fingers as the taste of everything filled your mouth.
you finally calmed down, assuming it was over.
then sukuna shifted, sliding off the couch only to pull you down with him onto the thick rug in front of it. he sat with his back against the base of the couch and hauled you into his lap, facing away so your back pressed to his chest. his still-hard cock nudged at your entrance again, slick and insistent.
before you could catch your breath he sank in…slow this time, inch by thick inch—until he was seated fully inside you once more.
your next orgasm didn’t build. it detonated.
you screamed loud. body convulsing so hard sukuna had to tighten his hold to keep you from bucking off him. he fucked you through it without mercy, chasing his own release until he buried himself deep and came with a low, animal snarl, adding another hot flood to the mess inside you.
when it was over you were limp, trembling, covered in sweat and cum and bruises that would bloom dark and beautiful by morning.
sukuna stayed seated inside you for long moments, arms locked around your waist, lips brushing your temple in something almost tender.
“breathe,” he murmured.
gojo pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, then your tear-streaked cheek.
toji simply draped one massive hand over your thigh, thumb stroking idle circles against the sensitive skin.
“you did so fucking good,” gojo whispered, voice wrecked with awe.
sukuna finally eased out of you with a slow, you whimper at the sudden emptiness. he shifted you gently…surprisingly gentle for him. now you were cradled sideways in his lap on the rug, head tucked under his chin, one tattooed arm banded securely around your ribs like he still wasn’t ready to let go completely.
for a few long minutes no one spoke.
just the sound of four sets of lungs catching up, the faint city drone filtering through the glass, your own heartbeat thundering in your ears. your body felt liquid, heavy, deliciously used. every muscle ached in the best way.
your skin was painted with fingerprints, bite marks, streaks of drying cum. the slow drip between your legs only made you feel more claimed, more theirs.
gojo was the first to move.
he stretched languidly beside you, then leaned over to brush sweat-damp strands of hair from your face. his touch was feather-light now, reverent.
“hey,” he murmured, voice soft, “still with us, baby?”
you managed a tiny nod, lashes fluttering. words felt too far away.
toji grunted, pushing to his feet with a wince. he looked down at the three of you.
sukuna still holding you, gojo stroking your cheek.
“gonna go shower,” he rasped. “you’re a fuckin’ mess, doll. i’ll bring a towel.”
he padded barefoot toward the master bathroom. the sound of the shower kicking on a minute later was distant white noise, steady and soothing.
sukuna’s chest rumbled against your back as he let out a low sigh. his fingers traced idle patterns along your hip.
“got a fight in a couple hours,” he said quietly, almost reluctant. “big match. can’t miss it.”
you felt a small pang. irrational after everything—but the thought of him leaving even for a few hours made your chest tighten. he must have felt the shift because he pressed his lips to your temple again.
“i’ll be back before dawn,” he promised. “gonna win quick. then i’m coming straight here to collect my prize.”
he kissed the shell of your ear, then carefully transferred you into gojo’s waiting arms. sukuna stood, stretching so every inked muscle flexed under the low lights. he looked like sin personified.
“don’t let satoru talk you into round four before i get back.”
"fuck you." gojo says flipping him off only for the older guy to laugh at him.
then he was gone—grabbing his discarded shirt, tugging it on as he headed for the door. the soft click behind him felt strangely final, but you were too tired to worry.
gojo gathered you fully against his chest and stood with surprising ease, carrying you toward the bedroom like you were made of glass.
“c’mon, princess,” he murmured into your hair. “let’s get you cleaned up a little. you’ve earned the soft treatment now.”
the bedroom was dim, lit only by city glow through half-closed blinds. gojo laid you in the center of the enormous bed and disappeared for a moment, returning with a warm, damp cloth and soothing lotion.
he knelt beside you. the cloth was heaven against your overheated skin. he wiped your face first—chin, lips, cheeks—then down your throat, between your breasts, careful around every bruise and bite mark. when he reached between your thighs he paused, eyes flicking to yours.
“too much?” he asked softly.
you shook your head, even though you were so sensitive it almost hurt.
he cleaned you with infinite patience, murmuring little praises—“so pretty even like this,” “took us so well,” “my brave girl”—until you were mostly free of the sticky evidence. then he warmed the lotion between his palms and smoothed it over the worst of the marks.
his touch felt like he was worshipping you. well it's no surprise because satoru has always been the sweetest out of the three.
when he was done he crawled onto the bed, pulling the comforter over both of you and tugging you into the cradle of his body,
your back to his chest, his arm draped possessively over your waist, chin tucked over your shoulder. he was still half-dressed. his pants unbuttoned, shirt hanging open but the warmth of him was perfect.
“you okay?” he asked for what felt like the sixth time tonight.
you nodded, reaching back to thread your fingers through his white hair.
“more than okay, thank you toru.”
he smiled against your skin that you could feel the curve of it.
“good. because i’m not letting you out of this bed until you’ve slept at least eight hours. doctor’s orders.”
you huffed a tiny laugh, already feeling exhaustion drag at your limbs.
“you’re not a doctor.”
“i’m your doctor tonight,” he countered, pressing a kiss to the nape of your neck. “and my prescription is cuddles, water, maybe some painkillers in the morning, and absolutely no more cock until you can walk without wobbling.”
another soft laugh bubbled out of you, sleepy and content.
the shower shut off down the hall. a minute later toji appeared in the doorway—towel slung low around his hips, hair dripping, looking unfairly good even bone-tired. he took one look at you curled in gojo’s arms and something soft flickered across his face.
“she good?” he asked quietly.
gojo nodded. “floating. probably gonna pass out in the next thirty seconds.”
toji grunted in approval, then crossed to the bed and dropped down on your other side, stretching out so you were sandwiched between them. his hand found yours under the covers, rough fingers lacing with yours in a grip that felt like an anchor.
“sleep, doll,” he muttered.
you did.
the last thing you registered before darkness claimed you was gojo’s lips brushing your shoulder in a feather-light kiss, toji’s steady heartbeat against your palm, and the distant promise of sukuna coming home soon.
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part 2 : synopsis: after your ex dumped you, you needed a new place to stay. and what was better than moving in with two men you met on craigslist? over the months while your relationships evolve, tensions rise. and when they ultimately bubble over, toji shows he has a way to work things out.
warnings: mututal masturbation, hand jobs, dirty talk, degradation, praise, pet names (baby, princess, doll, dollface, pretty girl/boy), slight internalized homophobia still (sukuna coming to terms with his bisexuality), fingering, oral m! and f! receiving, anal fingering, anal sex, threesome, p in v, more gay shit, ball sucking, creampie, anal creampie is that the right term, teasing, overstim, ass slapping, dom/sub dynamics : dom toji, sub sukuna, sub reader, daddy kink oops!
wc: 12.2k
art by @hunnismokah ૮ ྀིᴗ͈ . ᴗ͈ ྀིა also this entire thing is dedicated to @cupidstrace the #1 new girl fan ily
18+ mdni - this can be read as a standalone but you can also find part 1 here
It's only been a few weeks since the first time that you and Toji had sex, and nearly nothing is the same around the house. Except for your movie nights.
Those haven't changed much.
Still a post-work ritual, when you, Toji, and Sukuna are all tired and no one has the energy to cook. One of them will call a restaurant for takeout while the other picks a movie and you grab the drinks from the fridge. Then the three of you pile on the couch for a night spent in front of a crooked TV, nursing your beers and laying all too close together for three people who like to swear up and down that there's nothing going on between them.
Honestly, it's more of an inside joke at this point. When someone asks if you're seeing one of them and you shake your head, suppressing a little smile that's threatening to pull at your lips. Or sometimes one of the guys, usually Satoru, will make a comment when they think you're out of earshot, asking if your roommates have 'got on that, yet,' and the two of them just sigh and tell him 'no.'
Their friends never seem to notice the little look that Toji and Sukuna share, the acknowledgement of your circle's secret.
Because another truth is that none of you guys have actually addressed the situation. No one's talked about where your relationships stand, what kinds of feelings may or may not be involved— so while it's fun to keep that knowledge private, there's also a part of you that knows deep down you're not even certain how to answer some of the questions that get thrown your way.
Sukuna and Toji seem to be quite content with the way things are— though partially because Sukuna will never admit to you how it's nearly killing him that he hasn't so much as kissed you yet, and neither him nor Toji are ready to admit why that is.
When you stumble into the kitchen, still rubbing the sleep from your eyes, Sukuna flashes you a grin that only widens as your tired gaze rolls over the bare expanse of his torso.
You turn, fiddling with the coffee machine, working under the guise of needing a latte instead of hiding the blush on your cheeks, despite the fact that you know he's already made one for you. He's been sweet— as sweet as someone like Sukuna can be— and lately he's always got your coffee ready by the time you make it into the kitchen.
But it's just because you do this every time.
Your back to him, skin always soft under a thin spaghetti-strap tank-top, ass threatening to spill out of your favorite sleep shorts. Practically a silent invitation for him to slot himself behind you, a firm hand on your waist as the other reaches around, mug in his grasp.
"Already made yours," Sukuna's voice rings low in your ear, raspy from sleep and going straight to your core. His chest is nearly flush against you as he towers behind you, and he wonders if you're even aware of it— the way you're nudging your hips backwards, ass pressing oh, so slightly against his crotch.
"Thanks, Kuna," you mumble in reply, gracing him with a quick smile over your shoulder before grabbing the cup from him. The ceramic is warm in the palm of your hand, a heat rivaling the furnace that is your pink-haired roommate, though it's admittedly less comforting.
Your eyes do a quick scan around the room, no doubt looking for the third roommate. You do that a lot when Sukuna's around you. Like you're going to get caught doing something you shouldn't.
It seems like you haven't realized that they didn't actually mind sharing. Whether that was sharing you with each other or sharing each other with you— they were more than happy to do either, on their own terms of course.
You raise the mug to your lips, trying to ignore the way your bodies are flush against one another, the way his hand has dipped under the hem of your shirt, calloused thumb rubbing gently along your skin.
It's robust, bold in the way espresso should be, and the milk is perfectly foamy, the syrup not too sweet. He really has memorized the way you like your coffee, and the contented sigh that falls from your lips tells Sukuna as much.
"'s it good, princess?"
"It's perfect, you should be a barista."
Sukuna hums like you bring up a good point, demeanor playful, casual like his chest isn't swelling with pride at the praise. "Nah, don't really care to make coffee for people."
You finally turn around, twisting in Sukuna's grip as he runs his other hand through his hair. "You make mine all the time," you point out.
"And?"
"Why bother making mine if you don't care to?"
"That's different," Sukuna sighs, watching the way your brows furrow.
"How?"
"Because I want to make yours."
"Why?"
You want him to admit that he's into you, but each time you try to pry it out of him he somehow manages to give you nothing.
Sure, he's always flirting and teasing, Sukuna's never one to shy away from that. He's quick to be the first one touching you— smacking your ass when you bend over in the kitchen, wrapping an arm around your waist as he reaches above you to grab the pan you need, pulling you onto his lap when it's just the two of you on the couch together.
He'll get you worked up to the point where you're dripping through the gusset of your panties, poor neglected pussy just desperate to be filled, and it's always that exact moment when he decides to pull away. He leaves you high and dry, wondering what the fuck just happened as you slip back into your room and open your nightstand to pull out your vibrator.
In all the weeks that have passed, you still don't have any real confirmation of his interest in you, and each day that goes by leave you feeling more unsure. You find yourself wondering if Sukuna just doesn't want you in the way Toji does.
But in Sukuna's mind, it should be obvious, regardless if he's actually fucked you or confessed his feelings. Because there's no way you're standing mere inches away from him with his hand on your hip, your eyes locked on his, and you're asking him why he'll make a latte for you.
"You can't be fuckin' serious," Sukuna's face is flat, lips starting to pull into a disappointed frown.
"You act like that's not a valid question," you start, voice beginning to raise in the way it always does when you're feeling defensive, "you just said you don't care to make coffee for people, so I asked why you make mine everyday. I feel like that's—"
"Yeah but that's a stupid fuckin' question, cause—"
Your jaw falls open as you set your coffee down behind you, arms coming up to cross over your chest. "It's not stupid, Kuna. And don't interrupt me, it's rude."
His eyes flutter shut, chest rising as he inhales deeply, fighting to keep his frustration at bay. How could you be one of the only people he enjoys spending time with and simultaneously the biggest pain in his ass? "Okay, my bad— even though you just interrupted me too—"
"It's not even 9:30, how the fuck are you two going at it already?" Toji's voice cuts through your silly argument, stealing both your attention away as he shuts the front door behind him.
You suck in a breath at the sound of his voice, turning slightly to look at him though Sukuna keeps you in your place within his hold.
"Morning, Toji," you greet, mustering up the courage to look him in the eyes.
A quick scan of his expression reveals little, leaving you both apprehensive and curious. Toji always seemed relatively indifferent about your relationship with Sukuna, offering nothing but a chuckle whenever he'd spot the two of you much too close together.
He flashes you a crooked grin, dropping the his gym bag to the floor. "Mornin' dollface, this guy bothering you?"
Sukuna rolls his eyes, suppressing a sigh because he can't believe that actually pulled a giggle from you. "She's the one bothering me, don't be fooled."
You spin around to swat at his arm, "am not!"
"Oh yeah?" Toji smirks, standing across the room, shoulder resting on the wall and jade eyes locked on the scene before him. Your hips against Sukuna's, his hand on your waist, not to mention the little pink tint that's dusted across his cheeks as he scowls down at you. Your pretty tits are sitting inside that flimsy top, nearly pushed up against Sukuna's chest as he leans over you, keeping you locked between him and the counter. "Should've known— she's a handful."
"Tell me about it," Sukuna drawls, the words lazy, rolling off his tongue at the same speed of his hand as it slides lower, drifting over the swell of your ass and squeezing gently.
The men lock eyes in a second, mirrored smirks reflected back to each other as you rack your brain for something to say in response to that, but in all honesty the entire situation has you feeling flustered. And nothing gets any better when Toji moves again, long strides carrying him the rest of the way over to you and Sukuna.
He's still sweaty from the gym, raven locks slicked against his forehead and compression shirt glued to his skin. You can smell the musk radiating from him, the smell harmonizing with the lingering scent of Sukuna's cologne and body wash.
Toji slips an arm around Sukuna's shoulder, their bodies pressed close. And with both men peering down their noses at you now, you can't help but feel quite small before them. Your knees shift, instinctually moving closer together as you feel that familiar heat pooling low in your belly— a subtle movement, but one that's caught by everyone in the room, two sets of eyes flickering down to your thighs before meeting your gaze again. "Gotta go easy on him, he doesn't know how to handle you like I do."
Toji's touch feels like it's burning into Sukuna's flesh, the weight of his arm resting heavy around his neck.
"And how's that?" Sukuna asks, ignoring the way he can feel Toji. There's a growing bulge in the apex of Toji's sweatpants that's nudging against Sukuna's leg each time he shifts, and you haven't even noticed.
You're too distracted by the feeling of Sukuna's own cock prodding at your pelvis through his shorts.
Heat creeps up the back of your neck, radiating off of your two roommates as they cage you in against the counter. Breath coming in ragged, your eyes flit from one man to the other, like you can't decide where to give your attention because they're both too captivating.
The tension that's settling thick in the room makes your chest feel tight and the space between your thighs ache with a glaring need.
And then, with a loud smack to Sukuna's ass, Toji breaks through the silence between you three, causing your gaze to snap up to his. "Well, I gotta shower."
"Yeah, you stink," Sukuna grumbles, doing his best to ignore the way he can feel his cheeks flushing a deeper shade of pink.
Toji just grins, sly and knowing as he pulls away from your group to get a better look at Sukuna, "you stink too now, so… you coming?"
And just like that, when you think you're finally going to get what you want— what you've wanted for the last several weeks— you're left alone in the kitchen, frustrated and confused.
You're sure there's something going on between the two of them. It's not like they're doing a good job at hiding it considering all the touches, the glances, the constant showering together. But you never thought that would be something that got in your way considering how forward both men still were with you, not to mention the fact that you and Toji have continued hooking up.
With an exasperated groan you turn back around, staring glumly at your coffee that's now gone cold. Through the quiet you can hear the sound of the water turning on down the hall, the scowl on your face only pulling deeper as your thighs press closer together.
You can imagine the way the room must be filling with steam, a thick blanket of warmth covering the two men as a shiver runs down your spine.
"Fuckin' cockblock." Sukuna's grumbling as he strips down to join Toji who's already naked and standing under the water.
Sukuna tells himself he's not sure why he even follows Toji's lead— why he listens to him each time he intervenes between you and him, whether in person or as a little voice in his head. He tries to convince himself that he's irritated, that he's tired of missing such easy chances with you because of your other roommate but if that was really the case then he wouldn't be so hard.
"Just get in here," Toji mutters, rolling his eyes.
With a single stride Sukuna closes the gap, stepping over the lip of the tub and into the shower, and Toji wastes no time slipping an arm around his waist. One large hand splaying across Sukuna's lower back, Toji tugs him closer and the heat of his breath just inches from his face feels more stifling than the steaming water cascading over the two of them.
Rough fingertips trail along Sukuna's skin, drifting to his hips, his pelvis, before dropping lower. He sucks in a sharp breath at the feeling of Toji's hand finally wrapping around the base of his cock.
"You just hard all the time?" Toji teases, giving the base a light squeeze. "I mean I get it, living with her…"
Sukuna averts his eyes, gaze slipping down in time to see Toji's tongue darting out, swiping along the scar on his lips. And Toji doesn't miss it, nor does he miss the way Sukuna's length twitches in his grasp.
"Or maybe it's not her—"
"Shut up," Sukuna snaps, his own hand flying down to grasp between Toji's thighs.
Toji's heavy in Sukuna's palm, his cock already half-hard and getting stiffer with the tighter that Sukuna grips it. And Sukuna's fucking throbbing. Precum leaking just to get washed away by the shower, but the water can't hide the way his tip is all swollen and red. Toji swipes a thumb over the slit causing Sukuna to shudder, his head lolling back and eyes fluttering shut. Toji always knew exactly what he needed— how he needed to be touched.
It was infuriating.
Especially when Toji would dish out those stupid commands at the same time—
"Don't fuck her yet," he rasps, tone curt and voice low as Sukuna groans, a sound of pleasure and frustration.
Sukuna's hand works slowly, gliding up and down Toji's length with a practiced rhythm as he grits out his question, "how much longer you gonna make me wait?"
And Toji just chuckles at that. An easy sound that doesn't betray the tightness in his abdomen, his muscles tensing with each rub of Sukuna's palm along his shaft. "Dunno. Til I get bored of this."
It wasn't even jealousy that Toji was feeling, he wasn't protective over you, he was secure enough to not care about that. He just loved the power. Loved being in control of Sukuna, in control of your relationship with him, without you even knowing.
A scowl spreads across Sukuna's face, his fist moving faster. "Y'know I could just fuck her anyways—"
"You won't." Toji loosens his own grip, his touch featherlight as he twists his wrist, pumping Sukuna's cock languidly. A grin splits across his lips at the sight of Sukuna's frown tugging down further in response to his lightening grasp. "You always listen, don't ya?"
Bottom lip tugged between his teeth, Sukuna rolls his hips, chasing the feeling he was getting before but to no avail. Toji doesn't move, doesn't wrap his fingers snug around his length and twist and pull like Sukuna needs him to.
"Admit it," Toji grunts, his own hips stuttering in Sukuna's hold which hasn't relented because, despite Toji's actions, he's still pumping his cock like he has something to prove.
Sukuna's just hoping that the closer Toji gets to his release, the more lenient he'll be. He's gambling on the chance that just maybe Toji will take pity on him and finally give him what he wants.
But he should have known Toji would never give in that easy.
"You're gonna be a good boy aren't ya? Just like you have been."
The smile on his face, the tone of his voice is cruel. He's getting pure amusement from the knowledge that Sukuna's trying so hard to please him just because he'd do anything but defy him.
"F-fuck off," Sukuna rasps, breath catching in his throat at an unexpected squeeze of Toji's fingers just under his swollen tip.
Toji's thumb presses against Sukuna's frenulum before gliding down with his hand, trailing along the winding veins towards the base and back up again. "You're gonna let me keep stuffin' her with my cock instead, yeah? Just cause I told you to."
Picking up the pace, Toji works faster to match Sukuna's rhythm, drawing a low groan from him. Pink tresses matted to his forehead, they contrast with the black ink as his head hangs forwards now, red eyes narrowed at Toji. His jaw is tight, his teeth clenched together to bite back whatever retort he had because he wouldn't dare say that Toji's wrong— not when he's finally able to feel his climax building.
"Fuck— you love it though," Toji grunts, "y'love it when I'm fuckin' her. Know you're listening every time, probably jackin' off."
If Sukuna's cheeks weren't already flushed from the steam they would be now. Memories coursing through his mind of all the times he's done that very thing over the past few weeks. All the nights where Toji follows you into your room, casting a quick glance over his shoulder at Sukuna before shutting the door, leaving the pink haired man to tend to himself.
Which he did every time.
Snaking a hand into his pants to fist his already-stiff cock, the other clasped onto his mouth to try and muffle the sound of your names falling from his lips.
And he doesn't even feel that guilty about it anymore. Not since the first time he heard you calling their names.
No, he doesn't feel bad now that he knows you're also imagining him, imagining Toji, imagining him and Toji together whenever you're stuffing two little fingers into your cunt.
It's exactly what you're doing right now— out in the living room because you couldn't even wait to make it to your bedroom. Legs spread wide as you writhe on the couch that smells like your two roommates, a sticky mess coating your hand as you rub sloppy circles on your clit.
You know what they're doing every time they go in the bathroom with one another.
It used to piss you off— it still kind of does— the fact that you haven't been invited. But you can't find it in yourself to stay mad when your mind starts conjuring up vivid images of the two of them. You imagine what they might be saying to one another, what they might be saying about you. You imagine the way their sweat must be rolling over their chests and down their backs, mixing in with the rivulets of bath water as they pant, their breaths mingling.
"Course I'm jackin' off. Y'won't let me fuckin'— fuck— do anything else," Sukuna groans, irritation seeping back into his emotions.
Toji hums, eyes glinting with something that makes Sukuna's stomach flip and his cock jump. "I'll let ya fuck her if you give me somethin' else."
Sukuna's eyebrow raises at that, an indication of his intrigue, urging Toji to continue.
"Suck me off. Then you can."
"Fuck no, that's gay."
A sharp laugh escapes Toji, he'd really thought that Sukuna was past that part but apparently he's still coming to terms with some things. "You think this isn't?
"'m not— sh-shit— suckin' your cock," Sukuna grits out between broken moans.
It's taking every ounce of Sukuna's brainpower to keep responding to Toji as his orgasm looms overhead. It's rising embarrassingly fast, threatening to crash over him with every drag of Toji's thumb over his cockhead and every filthy word that spills from his roommate's mouth.
And it's only worse now that Toji's planted the idea in his head.
Sukuna can feel his composure slipping even faster as images flash through his mind. He can imagine what it would be like— Toji's dick gliding along his tongue, his jaw aching from being stretched wide open to accommodate the girth. His knees pressed hard into the porcelain tub and a rough grip in his hair, guiding him however Toji wants. Faster, deeper, until the back of his throat is bruised and being painted white.
A sound much too close to a whimper bubbles up from Sukuna's throat as he feels his cock start twitching.
"Then y'cant fuck her." There's a smirk playing at Toji's lips because he knows that Sukuna's about to cum.
No matter how much the tattooed man grumbles with feigned disgust towards Toji's desires, the truth is that each time he suggests they try something else, just a minute later he'll have Sukuna grunting out his name, leaving his hand is a gooey mess.
"God 'm gonna bust—" Sukuna groans, a guttural sound that echoes off the tile walls around them.
The two men are practically fucking themselves into each other's fists now, hips rolling as they stand inches apart. Foreheads pressed together, they're both staring straight down, entranced by the view of their arms crossed, their hands wrapped snug around the other's cocks. Each thrust pushes their flushed tips further out of their grasps until they're rubbing up against one another. Shower water and precum smearing between the undersides of their shafts as they glide together.
"Mmm, y'like that?" Toji drawls, tongue licking at the corner of his watering mouth. He spits down, a fat glob landing on their heads, rolling down between them. "Fuckin' nasty. Never gotten this close have we, pretty boy? You like watchin' our dicks rub together?"
"Fuck, yeah," Sukuna pants. He can feel the sweat forming on his forehead just to get washed away, the back of his neck burning as he brings his other hand down to tug at his balls.
"Know you're close— c'mon, want ya to cum all over both our cocks. Lemme feel the mess you're gonna make." Toji's voice is addictive. Each word easily coaxing Sukuna's orgasm to the surface leaving his hips stuttering and his fingers squeezing tighter as he feels his balls and Toji's cock both twitching in his palms.
And Sukuna cums hard. A whole body reaction as his muscles tense and his body shakes, he can't stop the shout of Toji's name that tumbles out as seemingly endless spurts white spill onto his cock, Toji's cock, their hands, the shower floor before getting washed down the drain.
"Holy shit." The sight alone sends Toji falling off of his peak right after, his hand gripping Sukuna's nape. Toji ruts into Sukuna's fist faster, craving a rougher friction until his spend is seeping between his fingers like glue. Whatever hasn't been washed away clings to their skin, forming translucent webs of their seed as they finally pull their hands back from one another.
Toji's chest is heaving when he leans away, lips slightly parted as he and Sukuna look on at one another silently. That is, until Toji starts to laugh.
"The fuck is so funny?" Sukuna's scowling again already, a result of his post-nut clarity being amplified from Toji's outburst.
"Nothin', you just really did make a mess."
Sukuna's jaw drops at that. No matter how often the two of them get off together, he's still warming up to the idea of actually talking about it afterwards. He'd much prefer if they just finished up the shower normally and continued to go about their days.
"Half of that shit was you!" Sukuna shouts, eyes squinting as water splashes on them. "Just shut the fuck up and wash your greasy hair."
Things continue the way they are for the rest of the month. Which means weeks of endless teasing, endless flirting from both Toji and Sukuna, and still Toji is the only one that ever gives you more. He's the only one that follows you back to your room when you whisper in his ear about what you need him to do to you.
He's always happy to indulge. Cock already stiff by the time he slides your panties down your thighs and slots himself between them. Tip already leaking even before he presses inside your heat, stretching you open, watching your back arch off the mattress with a saccharine moan of his name.
But no matter how many times you sit yourself on Sukuna's lap with your arms slung around his neck and lips brushing the curve of his ear— he never breaks. Even when you can feel the bulge in his pants pressing hard against your ass and you can hear how his breath catches in his throat.
He'll just chuckle, deep and strained as he plants two hands on your hips and lifts you off of him before standing and retreating to the bathroom or his bedroom.
You know he's taking care of himself in there. Or Toji is. So why the fuck won't he let you?
You're certain that they can tell that you're fraying at the edges.
You catch some of the shared glances they cast each other whenever you snap at one of them for crowding your personal space— something you never minded before. You notice the slight waver in Sukuna's hand before he places it around your shoulder during movie night, and the way Toji's eyes constantly flit down to his own hand on your thigh like he's making sure you didn't cut it off when he wasn't looking.
It's making you feel like you're crazy.
Never in your life have you seen someone so clearly attracted to you who also acts like it would be a crime to actually have sex with you. So you decide that you're done putting yourself out there and playing into their games.
Next movie night, you sit on the end of the couch instead of the middle, where you usually are sandwiched between them. When they walk in it's clear they're not expecting it. Both men pause in their tracks for a brief moment, beers in hand as they look at you quietly before finally sitting down awkwardly.
Sukuna's in the middle now, and Toji's in his usual spot on the other end of the couch.
"Here," Sukuna turns, holding a beer out for you to take.
You barely look at him when you grab it, muttering a flat 'thanks,' under your breath. His gaze lingers, mouth slightly agape like he's considering saying something else before it closes and he shifts to give his attention to Toji.
Toji always gets his attention.
Taking a swig of your drink, cold and carbonated, it's as bitter on your tongue as the jealousy twisting in your chest.
"What movie were you thinking about?" Sukuna asks, nursing his own beer.
Toji just shrugs, reaching for the remote with a grunt before reclining into the couch, "don't care, up to you guys." Legs spread wide, his thigh is pressed flat against the side of Sukuna's, his free arm slung around the back of his seat as he turns on the TV.
Sukuna looks at you once more, eyes met with the side of your face as you continue to stare straight ahead. "What do you wanna watch, princess?"
You fight against the twitch pulling at a corner of your lips, stubbornly determined to keep your mouth set into a straight line. "I don't care, something good."
A soft chuckle comes from the other end of the couch. It's obvious you're pissed off, and Toji should probably feel bad for finding it to be amusing but he can't. Not with the way you're cutely pouting, avoiding their eyes as you grumble whenever they talk to you. Maybe he'd be more worried if he wasn't so sure that there was no way you'd be able to stay mad at them.
There was always a way to make you forgive them.
Sukuna didn't look so sure. His eyebrows pulling together as he looks on at you barely acknowledging him.
"Go on, Sukuna," Toji muses, "put on 'something good'."
You flash Toji a glare, annoyed at his mocking tone which made it obvious that he wasn't taking your ire seriously. You're going to make this movie night as difficult as possible for them.
Every movie that Sukuna suggested, you said no to.
"This one? It's a thriller, I heard it's good."
"No, don't feel like a thriller tonight."
"Okay… horror? Could watch a slasher."
"Ew. Too much gore, I don't want to see that right now."
Sukuna sighs, clearly frustrated but trying not to piss you off further by expressing it. "Fine, want to watch one of those girly movies you like? 'Chick flick' or some shit."
That pulls a small glance from you out of the corner of your eye, when he continues, "Mean girls? Legally blonde? You love those."
"Not in the mood." That one hurt to say no to.
And finally, Sukuna reached his limit. You were being impossible. "Alright," he sets his beer down, arms crossing in front of his chest as he leans back to get a better look at you. "The fuck is wrong?"
Your eyes narrow into slits, mouth tugging into a frown. "Seriously?"
"Yeah, seriously. Trying to make you feel better by lettin' you pick the movie and you're bein' difficult, so what's wrong?"
"I don't care what stupid movie we watch," you snap, causing Toji's eyes to widen slightly.
Sukuna swears there's got to be a vein bulging in his forehead by now, his voice raising slightly, "then what the fuck do you want from me?"
If only there was some popcorn for Toji, this beats any movie.
"Nothing! I just—" you pause, hesitant to continue your sentence. If you tell him what's really bothering you and he turns you down, that could potentially lead to some tension between all the roommates, and you don't want to ruin your living situation.
"You just…?" Sukuna's eyebrows raise as he looks at you expectantly. Each beat of silence that passes causes the pit in your stomach to grow as you wage an internal battle over how to respond. "Spit it out, princess."
Your eye twitches at the pet name. One you secretly adore, though it makes your chest hurt now, serving as a reminder of what you don't have. You used to be so certain that he used it because he meant it— and now you don't know. The word rolling off his tongue with sincerity, by the time it reaches your ears your own emotions have twisted it into mockery.
"Don't call me that," you mutter, eyes downcast as you grip your beer in both hands, the aluminum crinkling slightly. "Not unless you mean it."
Toji's eyebrows fly up now, looking on with intrigue at the scene unfolding in front of him. He's already caught on to the true issue, but given the confusion written all over Sukuna's face, it's clear that he still hasn't.
"What are you talking about?" Sukuna near shouts, more frustrated by his own lack of understanding than the fact that you're giving him attitude.
He hates this.
He hates the way you won't look at him, and the way your voice is small when you're normally overflowing with confidence. He hates that he doesn't know what's bothering you, because you won't just tell him what the issue is. And he hates that Toji is behind him snickering throughout this whole conversation, clearly picking up on something that he hasn't.
"You've been a brat for almost a week now," Sukuna starts, voice low but sharp, finally pulling your gaze up to his, "and I feel like I'm the only one who doesn't know what the hell the problem is, so just fuckin' tell me."
"You're my problem!"
"Um—"
"You want Sukuna, ain't that right, baby?" Toji coos.
A flush of embarrassment sears under your skin from Toji calling you out so bluntly, but Sukuna speaks before it can fester for too long.
"You seriously think I wouldn't want you?" His gaze is heavy, trailing over your body. Your neck, your lips, your bare legs exposed by the little shorts you love to wear around the house, and your chest in your favorite cotton tank top.
"Well, I don't know—"
Toji stands up from the couch and stretches, flashing Sukuna a look in silent communication with the other man following suit after.
You watch them with curiosity as you sit silently, the rest of your sentence long forgotten.
Emerald eyes hold your gaze as Toji cocks his head to the side, motioning toward the hallway, "you lead the way."
Your insecurity slowly starts to dwindle, being replaced with a burning anticipation as you push past both men on a path back to your bedroom. They trail closely behind you, watching intently, the weight of their stares bringing goosebumps to your skin.
Once inside your room, the sight of your bed makes you pause. You're no stranger to sex, but a threesome was one of the things you'd never tried before.
And as if he knew exactly what you were thinking, Toji's arms wrap around you from behind, his lips brushing by your ear as his fingertips grasp the hem of your shirt.
"Strip."
Sukuna watches, his pupils blown wide and breathing heavy as you lift your arms, letting Toji slide your flimsy top over your head.
"Fuck." Sukuna's already hard, the view of your tits alone sending all the blood in his body straight to his dick.
"Perfect, huh?" Toji hums, thumbs dipping into the waistband of your shorts and tugging gently.
Sukuna can only nod, mouth dry and tongue heavy as he watches your shorts fall over your thighs, down your calves, and onto the floor where you step out of them.
"No panties?" Toji's voice rumbles in your ear, the space between your thighs that was already wet getting slicker at the sound of it. His eyes glide up, staring into Sukuna's as his hands drift along your stomach, "your turn."
Already shirtless, Sukuna wastes no time before hooking his fingers inside his shorts and briefs, pulling them both down together. Your eyes are transfixed on the scene in front of you as you watch the garments slide down his muscled legs, your breath hitching when his freed cock slaps up against his stomach before hanging down from its own weight.
They're both huge.
And that's not all. Your eyelids widen when you notice them— the two black lines tattooed around his shaft, just under the flushed head. So he did have more tattoos after all.
"God, look at you two," Toji groans, his own cock twitching with life. You're both naked now, so perfectly on display for him. It's not like it's something very new— he's already seen the two of you but this? Both of you before him at the same time?
His hands roam, moving to cup your tits, playing with them. Pinching at your nipples and tugging gently, Toji forces Sukuna to just watch as you let out a sigh, your head falling back onto his shoulder. It's obvious that Sukuna wants to move closer, wants to touch you himself and feel your skin on his but he can't yet. He hasn't earned it.
"Y'want him to fuck you?" Toji purrs behind you, rolling his hips, making sure you can feel the bulge in his sweats against your ass.
Your eyes cut up to Sukuna, his broad chest heaving as he wraps a hand around his dick, squeezing and pulling gently, working up to a lazy rhythm. You can't help but watch, saliva pooling in your mouth at the sight as you nod.
"You know what you have to do." He's not addressing you that time. Sukuna's jaw clenches as he weighs his reply, mind thinking back to their last shower together— what Toji had asked of him. "C'mon… look at her. So needy, she's already wet for you. Don't you wanna feel that?"
He's dangling you in front of Sukuna, teasing him with the reminder of how close he is to getting what he wants. A hand slides lower, over your hips before slipping between your thighs. It's intentional, the soft brush of his fingertips over your clit, just light enough to make your hips buck and pull a moan from your sweet lips— the final push Toji needed for Sukuna to finally break.
"Fuck, okay. Fine."
"Attaboy."
You look between the men for an answer as to what exactly they're talking about but they give you nothing, both just focused on one another as Sukuna steps towards you.
"You go sit on the bed— you're gonna watch for now, baby." Toji sends you off with a pat on your ass, grinning at the sight of you pouting at him over your shoulder while you move to kneel on the mattress. You probably would have put up more of an argument if you weren't so intrigued by whatever was going on between your other roommates.
"So you just want me to…" Sukuna trails off, his nerves setting in now that he's standing before Toji.
"On your knees, pretty boy." So that's what Toji wanted.
Sukuna hesitates, still fighting internally with himself over the situation. It's embarrassing. Being forced to his knees by Toji all while you're watching him, but he'd be lying if he said that wasn't actually turning him on more. One glance down and he can already see the way he's starting to leak pre from his flushed tip.
And he can tell you're just as into this as him and Toji are, which reassures him as he sinks to the floor, knees pressing into the rug. He moves slowly, hands gingerly reaching for Toji's waistband before starting to drag his sweatpants down over his hips. The tent in his pants is evident, the head of his cock catching on the fabric as Sukuna slides them off.
He's seen Toji plenty of times and still, Sukuna can't stop his jaw from hanging slack when he sees him again this time. His cock hangs heavy, all girth and veins, the angry red tip just inches away from Sukuna's face. Fuck, it looks so much bigger like this.
A feeling of respect flashes through him when he thinks about how many times you've probably done this already.
Pride swells inside Toji at the view of Sukuna at his feet, eyes wide and tongue darting out to lick his lips as he stares at Toji's length. That was easier than he expected it to be, but he has to give the credit to you. If it wasn't for you, all soft skin and sweet sounds in front of Sukuna, there's no way he would have folded that quickly.
But now, here Sukuna is, reaching out, a large hand gripping the base of Toji's cock.
"Eager now, huh?" Toji chuckles, earning him a glare from the other man.
"Shut up, don't fuckin' drag this out." The minute the words leave his mouth and he sees the smirk on Toji's lips, Sukuna knows he should have kept quiet.
"Y'know what?" Fingers furrow in Sukuna's hair, wrapping tight around the pink tresses and tugging harshly until he's forced to look up at Toji. "Beg."
The answer is immediate— "No."
"No? Guess you don't wanna fuck our pretty little roommate then." A sound akin to a growl gets stuck in Sukuna's throat. He's really going to pull that shit. "Poor thing, got all excited at the idea and now you're not gonna give her what she wants," Toji tuts, shaking his head with feigned disappointment.
"All ya had to do is say a few words, can't even do that?"
"Fucking fine," Sukuna snaps. He inhales deeply, exhaling with a long sigh before the words come out, small and shy and so not-Sukuna. "Please, Toji."
"You can do better than that. Beg to suck daddy's cock, c'mon."
Even your mouth falls open at that. You of all people know that Toji has a daddy kink— you found that out the first time you ever fucked him— but the last thing you expected was for him to rope Sukuna into it too.
Still, there's a smile playing at your lips.
You remember the teasing you had to endure from Sukuna after he'd heard you and Toji, you remember the frustration you felt for the last week because of him, the confusion and anger.
"Do it, Kuna," you whine, voice desperate in the way you make it whenever you need him to do something for you, "thought you wanted to fuck me."
The look on Toji's face could only be described as feral. You were fucking perfect. Jumping in like that, there's no way Sukuna would say no to you now, you knew that as well as anyone and you were taking full advantage of it.
Eyes shut, Sukuna's breathing deeply in a way that looks as though he's trying to swallow his pride, when in reality it's because his cock is throbbing. Blood pumping through it, he's pulsing in a way that leaves him aching for any sort of relief.
"Please—" Sukuna swallows loudly, tongue sitting heavy in his mouth, "please, daddy, let me suck your dick."
"Good boy," Toji unfurls his hand, patting Sukuna on the head a few times before letting it rest there, "now do it."
Your eyes are glued on the men in front of you, your bottom lip tugged between your teeth as you sit, entranced by their dynamic. It makes sense now. It's not that Sukuna didn't want to fuck you, he did, and that was the whole point. Toji loved keeping that from him knowing how much he craved you, because every day that went by where Sukuna wanted to give in to you but still chose not to— that was all because Toji said so.
And Sukuna was getting off on that too. He had no idea how much he was missing that kind of dominance until he was given it for the first time, and after that he was done for. So yeah, Sukuna wanted to fuck you, but more than that, he wanted Toji to tell him when.
Toji's cock twitches when Sukuna's breath hits it, hot and humid, a preview to what awaits him when his jaw falls slack, tongue lolling out. Still gripping the base with one hand, the other comes to rest on the back of Toji's thigh as Sukuna finally leans forward, tongue flat as he licks a slow, experimental stripe up the underside of Toji's shaft. He traces the vein that runs along the length before licking at the tip, lapping up the bead of precum that was sitting there.
Mildly salty, musky, the taste fills his mouth when he swirls his tongue around the head, eliciting a groan from the man above him.
"Quit teasin'." Toji's hand presses harder, urging Sukuna to give him more.
His jaw open as wide as it can go, Sukuna finally takes Toji into his warm mouth, tongue gliding along his cock as Sukuna takes him deeper. Inch by inch, he's breathing heavy through his nose until he gags when Toji hits the back of his throat. Toji's fingers tug on his hair, a natural instinct to the feeling of Sukuna's throat constricting around his length.
Spit is pooling in Sukuna's mouth each time he pulls off and sinks back down again, determined to take Toji further each time. He's consistent, his pace steady as he focuses on just trying to throat all of Toji's length. And by the time he does, saliva is dribbling out the corners of his sputtering lips, an obscene suction sound coming from him each time he slides up Toji's cock with his cheeks hollowed. But he can't even care to think about that when he finally feels the tip of his nose buried in the hair at Toji's base.
"That's it— takin' me so well. Showin' our pretty baby exactly how much you want her," Toji grunts, hand holding Sukuna down, practically choking him. He relishes in the way Sukuna's struggling to fit all of him in his mouth, and still, he does. He makes it fit so he won't disappoint.
Your thighs are slick with your arousal, glistening nearly as much as your sopping cunt when you slip a hand between them. You have imagined the two of them together a million times before but it was nothing compared to what you're seeing now.
A quiet moan falls from your bitten lips when your fingers reach your clit, rubbing little circles on it. It's so sensitive already and you've barely even been touched. Each brush of your fingertips leaves your thighs tensing and your brows furrowing until Toji's voice rings out again.
"What're you doin'?"
His eyes are dark, an unreadable expression on his face as he stares at you now, distracted for a moment from Sukuna.
"Uhm, touching myself…" you reply hesitantly. That makes Sukuna's cock throb.
"Don't remember sayin' you could do that," Toji drawls, his hand still guiding Sukuna's head as it bobs. "Get over here."
He gives you a hum of approval when you're finally kneeling next to Sukuna, a sound that makes your stomach turn. "Help him out, doll, put that slutty mouth to good use."
You shift slightly, adjusting your position until you're able to slot yourself in next to Sukuna. Spitting into your hands you reach one out toward Sukuna and the other toward Toji, but not without glancing up at him first, silently checking if it's okay.
When he doesn't say anything you wrap your manicured fingers around Sukuna's cock, the others reaching for Toji's balls. It's hard to find a rhythm. One hand trying to glide up and down, pumping along Sukuna's length, squeezing and twisting as you go, all while the other is cupping gently, tugging and rolling without squeezing too hard.
But each sound you're able to pull from the men is motivation for you to keep going, fumbling around until you're able to get the hang of it. Only then do you lean closer, tentatively sticking your tongue out until it meets your hand on Toji. You're lapping at his balls, spit smearing around the skin before opening your mouth wide and sucking. You divide your attention between each side, your hand focusing wherever your mouth isn't.
It's obscene. The squelching sound of saliva and tongues as you and Sukuna nearly devour the man towering over you, your cheeks hollowed and tongues flicking, swirling, moving in whatever way makes Toji groan the loudest or grip your hair the hardest.
"God damn, you guys are nasty," Toji grunts, hips rolling as he starts to fuck himself into Sukuna's mouth. "Didn't expect you to be so sloppy but you're— shit- quit gaggin'— you're fuckin' drooling all over my cock." His eyes slide to you, panning over your flushed face and watery eyes that are looking up at him with pure reverence. "You too, doll. Greedy mouth s'gonna suck me dry. Y'just love havin' my balls in your face, huh?"
Toji's abdomen hurts from how hard it's tensed, fighting to keep a semblance of composure so he doesn't find himself spilling down Sukuna's throat too early in the night. But neither of you is making it easy, each one leaving a glimmering trail of spit in your wake as you let him stuff your mouths until you can hardly breathe. You're both going to fucking ruin him.
"Fuuuck," Toji growls, his fists tightening in your hair as he lets his head fall forward. Black locks drip sweat onto your faces as you stare up at him, the first few salty tears starting to fall from your eyes. You look so pretty like this, sharing him so desperately, just content to be given any part of him.
It almost pains him to know that he won't be giving you much more of himself tonight.
"Thaaat's right, get it nice and wet jus' like that— 's all the lube you're gonna get, pretty boy."
Both your eyes and Sukuna's fly wide open at that, pulling a breathy laugh from Toji that's quickly cut off when Sukuna speeds up. The hand that was gripping the base is now moving in sync with Sukuna's mouth, sliding up and down Toji's shaft, spreading his spit around while his free hand grips the back of his thigh for stability.
He lets the spit that he used to swallow down pool in his mouth now, leaking out of his lips until everything is just that much wetter, messier. But that's when Toji reaches his limit. The unexpected change in pace left him reeling, his cock twitching against Sukuna's tongue until he finally yanks him off with one harsh tug on his hair.
You get the message, pulling off of Toji with a soft pop! and taking your hand off Sukuna, leaving the three of you panting.
"Shit, you two are gonna kill me."
A small smile graces your lips at the sight of Toji struggling to keep it together. It's welcome knowledge that you're having that much of an effect on him, and if the smirk on Sukuna's lips is any indication, he's definitely feeling the same way.
Your knees are rubbing together as you wriggle in place again, trying to get some friction and Toji notices, an eyebrow cocking as he looks down at you and grins.
"Poor thing," Toji coos with feigned sympathy, "so needy. That pussy just wants some attention, yeah?"
You nod, uttering a small 'please' that isn't missed by either of the men. That earns you a soft pat on the top of your head before Toji steps away from you and Sukuna. "Take care of our girl, pretty boy."
Sukuna's on you in a second. Hands gripping your waist as he practically throws you onto the bed, making you yelp. Calloused fingers trail up the insides of your thighs, pressing them apart as Sukuna slots himself between them. You're already dripping. Puffy cunt all shiny and wet, just waiting for someone to ravage it.
Inhaling deeply, a low groan rumbles in Sukuna's throat— he's been wanting this, wanting you, for so long.
Two fingers run between your folds, gathering your arousal before he brings them back to his lips. Slipping the digits into his mouth, Sukuna licks them clean, tongue swirling around them so he doesn't miss a single drop of you. And you taste so fucking sweet.
"So perfect," Sukuna breathes. He needs to taste you again, not just on his fingers, he wants purest form of you.
Tongue lolling out he licks a long stripe up between your lips, the muscle flicking at your clit at the top. Your hips jerk instinctively, trying to chase the feeling, and he's not holding anything back from you. His mouth closes around the sensitive bud, tongue swirling as he sucks gently.
"She's so responsive," Toji muses, Sukuna humming in agreement.
"Aah! Oh god—" you gasp, the vibrations in Sukuna's mouth making your legs tremble, thighs coming together around his head.
Toji wants to be the one eating you out so badly, but he can't because if Sukuna's going to take him later then he needs to be prepared, especially since it's his first time.
So now it's his turn to watch.
He watches as Sukuna uses the same two fingers to press inside your entrance, agonizingly slow as you try to roll your hips down onto them. He watches the way your face scrunches up, eyes shut and mouth falling open as the most addictive sounds fall from it.
His eyes are still locked on you when he kneels behind Sukuna, both hands coming down to his hips. Sukuna twitches, a tiny reaction of hesitation at the feeling of Toji's hands on him but he quickly relaxes into the touch. Toji's fingers dance along Sukuna's tanned skin, trailing over the swell of his ass before splaying out across both cheeks.
Still focused on you, Sukuna's eating you out like a man starved, lapping at your juices, sucking on your clit all while pumping you full of his fingers. The digits curl with each thrust, searching for that spongy spot inside you that leaves you seeing stars.
He knows what Toji is doing. He knows why Toji's doing it too— but still that doesn't quell any of his shock when he finally feels the man's thumb trailing along the rim of his asshole. His whole body jolts as Toji keeps his ass spread open, teasing the hole with featherlight touches that make Sukuna's cock twitch against the mattress.
You want to watch but you're too lost in the feeling of Sukuna's tongue, his fingers, your own impending orgasm.
"Better be makin' her feel good," Toji murmurs, thumb pressing harder now against Sukuna's asshole. The tiniest whine falls from Sukuna's lips, muffled against your cunt as his face stays buried between your thighs, but Toji still hears it.
Letting the saliva collect in his mouth first, Toji spits a thick glob of it straight down onto his thumb. It's warm, wet as Toji smears it around, letting it work like lube when he finally pushes the digit in. That part's easy. Just one little finger, pumping slowly in and out, just trying to get everything loosened up.
Sukuna sucks in a sharp breath when he feels Toji pull out all the way, only to feel two fingers teasing him now. He does his best to relax, to breathe through it and just focus on you but he falters, a whine spilling from your lips in complaint. He was pushing you so steadily towards your climax, each movement made with deliberate rhythm, and now it's inconsistent, the man bumbling around between your thighs.
"Wait, don't stop— please I'm so close, Kuna." You're rolling your hips again, trying to grind down against his face, your slick coating his nose and lips.
Toji tuts at Sukuna, shaking his head lightly before pressing both fingers in to the last knuckle. "Can't make her cum?" He's mocking, relishing in the fact that the words die on Sukuna's tongue the minute he starts scissoring his fingers, spreading them apart and stretching Sukuna open around them.
"I can, swear," Sukuna rasps, lips moving against your cunt.
"Really? Or do I need t' show you how to eat pussy? Make you watch while I have her cummin' all over my face like she should've already."
"Don't care who it is," you mewl, "jus' wanna cum, wanna cum so bad."
"Might not let you taste her again if ya don't give her what she wants."
That threat lingers in Sukuna's head, playing on repeat when he dives back in. Every ounce of his energy is poured into you. Even when Toji's pushing his fingers in faster, harder than before, Sukuna still keeps up his pace. Sukuna still curls his own fingers in the way that makes his name tumble from your lips, still wraps his mouth around your clit in the way that makes your back arch off the bed and your toes curl.
Your mind is hazy, void of thoughts except those about your impending release. All you can think about is the feeling of Sukuna's face buried in your crying cunt, his fingers stretching you out while Toji watches.
And when you cum, it’s overwhelming— your entire body convulsing on the bed as Sukuna’s arm pins your hips down, holding you in place as you gush, your arousal leaking onto his face while he ruts into the mattress.
He’s painfully hard, blood pumping through his cock from the taste of you and the feeling of Toji. But the minute you’re panting, chest rising and falling deeply as your body trembles with the aftershock of your orgasm, Sukuna’s left empty.
Toji pulls out slowly, carefully, admiring the way Sukuna’s body responds to every little touch.
“Good girl, look so pretty when you cum. Did he make you feel good?”
Your eyelashes flutter as you nod tiredly, “felt so good.”
“Told you I could,” Sukuna points out, his ego needing to prove a point to the man who was teasing him.
“You want me to praise you?” Toji’s grinning, moving beside the two of you to lay down on the bed. He knows the answer is yes, but whatever is left of Sukuna’s pride won’t let him say that out loud.
"C'mere," Toji nods, chin pointing at the space between his spread thighs. He's stroking his cock languidly, laid out like a king as he waits for Sukuna to crawl over to him. "Uh-uh, turn around— like that, yeah."
Sukuna is clearly out of his element as he shifts his hulking figure until he's straddling Toji with his back to him, both feet planted on the outside of Toji's legs. The older man wraps an arm around Sukuna's abdomen, fingers splayed out as he guides him to lean backwards into his chest.
You're watching in awe at the way they're fitting together, while wondering at the same time where you're supposed to be joining them.
Toji's hand stills around his base when his eyes find you. Gaze trailing over you as you fidget on the bed in front of them, obviously feeling unsure what to do with yourself. "Dollface," he pulls your attention back to him, "gonna need those little hands."
Smacking his length against the inside of Sukuna's thighs a few times, Toji waits for you to slip your fingers around him before he lets go, both hands moving to grip the backs of Sukuna's knees. Toji holds them up, keeping his legs spread wide and putting the tattooed man on full display for you.
One arm slung over his face, Sukna's trying to hide the deep red shade spreading across his cheeks. He can feel the weight of your stare as you pump Toji's cock a few times. This experience is completely new to him, apprehension swirling in his stomach, and still he swears he's never been more hard. It's honestly a bit ridiculous considering he's barely even been touched the entire night.
"Go on, put me where he needs me," Toji coos, his breath fanning against the side of Sukuna's neck as they both lean forward now to watch you.
Sukuna waits with bated breath, silently until he sucks in a gasp of air when he feels the tip of Toji's spit-soaked cock prodding at his asshole. Your lips agape, you're completely concentrated on the view before you.
You almost feel worried for Sukuna— you know how big Toji is, and you know how much bigger he feels when he's inside you. But you don't stop. You just keep angling his girth so when Toji rolls his hips you can witness the way the tip starts pressing past that tight ring of resistance.
"Shit," Sukuna grunts, body tensing in a way that makes Toji let out a hiss.
"Fuckin' relax or this is gonna take forever." He rolls his hips again, jaw clenched and teeth grinding.
Even with all the time Toji spent stretching Sukuna out it feels like there was no prep at all with the way he's practically strangling his cock. Tight walls clamping down like they can't decide if they're trying to suck him in or push him back out until finally Toji feels the head slip inside.
"Oh fuck, that feels—" Sukuna's own words are interrupted by a strained groan when Toji lifts his hips up off the bed, forcing himself deeper, "aah shit."
"Doin' so well," Toji groans, still working himself inside Sukuna inch by inch. He knows it's never easy your first time, he knows he isn't small either, and still it doesn't take long until he's over halfway buried inside Sukuna's ass. "Takin' this cock like a pro, such a good boy isn't he?"
You're nodding fervently, your hands now at your sides as you watch. "He is," you answer honestly. "Kuna, you're doing so good. You guys are so hot," you whine, hips wiggling on the bed. The praise makes Sukuna's stomach flip, a newfound sense of determination taking over when he rolls his own hips downward eliciting a sharp grunt from Toji when he bottoms out.
Sukuna's never felt so full.
Is this what you feel like every time you're getting fucked?
No wonder you're constantly acting like you're in heat whenever you're around them— poor cunt just craving the feeling of being stuffed to the brim. He can understand why you're so desperate now.
"Look at that— wasn't so hard now, was it?" Toji teases, earning an incoherent grumble from Sukuna.
"Please," you squeak, that exact feeling of desperation starting to overtake you. You're aching. You already came once and now you're just being left alone, all sticky and sensitive while they're both laid out in front of you. "What about me?"
Toji tuts, his hands sliding up Sukuna's thighs until they rest on his hips. "Our pretty girl thinks we forgot about her."
Sukuna lets out a choked laugh, trying to hide the fact that he is not sure what Toji has planned for you either.
"Climb on, dollface—" you start crawling immediately, moving on your hands and knees until you're now straddling both of them. "Just like that, you wanna ride him?"
You're already nodding your head again when Sukuna cuts in, "w-wait, you gonna support the both of us?"
"Course I am," Toji answers easily, like it's the most obvious thing in the world. Honestly, you hadn't even considered he might not be able to. I mean, the man was in the gym every single day, there wasn't much he couldn't do.
You don't give Sukuna any more time to worry about the logistics, choosing instead to grind your hips against him. Looking him in the eyes while you glide your slick folds along the length of his cock, once, twice, three times until the entire thing is coated in your arousal.
"Fuckin' tease," Sukuna grunts, a hand coming up to land a harsh smack! on your ass, sending you falling forward. Your hands plant beside their heads, the softest whimper escaping you when Sukuna slaps the same place again. "Such a goddamn brat. Been waiting for this shit for weeks."
His tone carries a dangerous edge that makes your core burn. Rough fingertips dig into the fat of your ass, and using his grip, Sukuna lifts you up and slams you back down onto him in one fluid motion.
"Fuck! Kuna—" you gasp. Fully sheathed in one thrust, he's stretching out your gummy walls so nicely, your thighs quivering and pussy throbbing.
"Squeezin' me so tight, fuckin' pussy was made f'me." His voice is low in your ear, crimson irises locked on you as you let out a shaky breath.
"That pussy's perfect, ain't it?" Toji grunts, giving the two of you just a moment to adjust before moving.
"S-so perfect— ah shit! Chill—"
With his hands on Sukuna's hips and his feet flat on the mattress, Toji lifted his hips off the bed in one brutal thrust. Cock sliding halfway out of Sukuna before slamming back in, the force of it making your hips move. It was overwhelming the way Toji set such a mean pace right off the bat.
His hips slapping up against Sukuna's ass, over and over, making sure he was burying himself to the base each time. Sukuna had never felt anything like it. His tight hole being filled up while your sopping pussy is clenching down around his cock at the same time. Stuck between you two there was nothing he could do but sit there and take it.
But it's not like you were much better. You tried to grind down on Sukuna, tried to plant your feet and bounce your hips up and down just for Toji's pace to take over and leave you helpless. Hands on Sukuna's chest as your head lolls back, you're arched so perfectly, ass jiggling and tits bouncing every time Sukuna's cock is forced back inside you.
"Ohmygod, f-fuck— Toji, Kuna-aah!" You're whining, brows knit together as you look down at Sukuna now. His hands are digging painfully into your hips as he tries not to lose every thought in his head.
You look so fucking perfect like this though. Face showing nothing but need, eyes all glossy as you pant above him, babbling whatever unfinished sentences make it out.
"Feels so good," Sukuna moans, and you give a pathetic mhmm in agreement that makes Toji chuckle.
"Yeah, feels good? Gonna cum and make a mess?" He's not even addressing anyone in particular, just talking to the room because he knows that both you and Sukuna can barely even give him much of a reply.
But still, you try. "Y-yeah, gonna mmfuck—" you mewl, eyes clamping shut when your puffy clit rubs against Sukuna's stomach. The stimulation makes you jolt, legs twitching as your arousal seeps down around Sukuna's base forming a creamy white ring.
Teetering on the edge of his climax, Sukuna's trying to hold it back as much as he can but he knows he won't last much longer. Fucking embarrassing. It's only been a few minutes with him inside you and he's already about to cum.
Except that you're even closer. You're moaning a slew of curses followed by their names, mouth parted in a perfect "o" as your back arches further, cunt pressing down harder against Sukuna's abs as you chase the feeling of his rough skin rubbing against your clit.
The sounds filling the room are lewd. The squelching wet sound of your pussy sucking in Sukuna's cock, the sound of skin slapping against skin and heavy panting filling any silences.
"Shit 'm cumming, where—"
"Inside," you rasp, voice tired already, "Please, Kuna, need it— need you so bad."
"Fuuuck, yeah, gonna cum inside you, you want that?"
"Yes! yesyesyes," that word is stuck on repeat when you hear Sukuna let out a guttural groan. His cock twitches, balls constricting before shooting sticky, white ropes of his cum inside your poor pussy, velvety walls coated with his spend before it starts to leak out.
"Such a good slut, bet she's takin' every last drop— god— bet you will too, huh?" Toji's rhythm doesn't slow, it only gets faster the closer he gets to his own release. The pace turning cruel as it pushes Sukuna into the realm of overstimulation.
"H-hold on," Sukuna grunts before a whimper falls from his lips when you keen, crying out a mix of both men's names as your cunt clamps down around Sukuna's softening cock, milking him for all he's worth when you cum.
It's too much. Your sloppy pussy gushing around Sukuna, pushing even more of his seed out until it's dripping down onto his balls, down onto Toji's balls, all while his asshole is still getting stretched open.
"I can't, hold up—"
"'s too much! Tojiii," you fill in what Sukuna was scared he was going to have to say.
"You'll take it, you both will. I know two sluts like you aren't fuckin' complaining already." Toji's tone was gruff but in all honesty, he was close, and the shit spilling from both of your mouths was only driving him further to the edge. The neediness in your voice and the way Sukuna's was tense, Toji loved knowing he was the one causing it all.
"S-so sensitive," you mewl, sweat beading on your forehead as little salty tears form in your waterline with each press of your clit against Sukuna's stomach. "Daddy, please— I c-can't, need you to cum."
You don't even care how humiliating it is, or how pathetic you sound at this point. You know what Toji likes to hear, and you're determined to get what you want.
"Fuck, doll— sound so pretty when you beg like that," Toji groans, a low sound deep in his chest. "Don't worry, gonna fill this tight little hole, fuck my cum back into it—"
Sukuna can't stop the moan that tumbles out, his cock jumping again at Toji's words, the feeling making you jolt. He isn't sure how he's able to get hard again already, but it hurts the way he's getting stiff inside you now, needing to spread you open around him just to make it fit again.
"Kuna! Sh-shit."
"'m sorry, baby, can't help it."
"You hard again?" Toji breathes, sweaty hands adjusting their grips on Sukuna's hips. He doesn't last another minute.
The feeling of Sukuna's ass tightening around him with each thrust, the feeling of your cum mixed with Sukuna's dripping down onto him, the sounds of your whimpers and the knowledge that through everything Sukuna's already stretching you out again— no one can blame him when he finally breaks.
Letting out the loudest grunt, Toji's fingers dig into Sukuna's skin, his hips stuttering before stilling as his cum spills out. Hot and messy, he fills Sukuna with his seed, hips still rolling to push it back in even though it's already starting to leak out around the base.
With that he finally collapses back onto the bed, limbs limp and heavy with exhaustion, his body is covered in a sheen of sweat. You're the first to move, urging your weak knees to work as you slide off of Sukuna with whimper, the man letting out a long sigh at the sight of more cum seeping out of your cunt, webs of white connecting you to him.
"You guys are insane," Toji pants, "I'm exhausted."
"Us? That was all your idea," you remind him as you flop down on the bed.
Sukuna doesn't say much, just moving cautiously as he shifts to sit up. Wincing, he finally tries to move off of Toji, who just lays there, hands behind his head as he watches with mild interest.
"Fuck, I'm gonna be so damn sore tomorrow," Sukuna complains.
You're giggling tiredly into your pillow, even though you and Toji will probably be in the exact same boat. But you can't even find it in yourself to care about that right now.
Your eyelids are heavy, sleep threatening to take over when the bed dips next to you. Sukuna fills the spot on the other side of you, kneeling beside your body before two large arms snake underneath you. Picking you up like you weigh nothing, he moves to carry you to the bathroom, Toji following closely behind.
Sukuna tries to ignore the feeling of something warm dripping down his thigh but Toji snickering behind him is making it hard, causing him to roll his eyes— but you haven't noticed.
"Let's get you cleaned up, princess." His voice is uncharacteristically soft, his hands gentle as they set you down on your wobbly legs, feet landing on the cold bathroom tile.
"You should hop in there too, you both need cleaned up," Toji says pointedly, gaze flitting between Sukuna's legs and the scowl on his face.
"You're not much better," Sukuna snaps, his own gaze lingering on Toji's half hard and cum-coated dick.
It's true, you were all a mess.
"Quit arguing, I'm tired," you sigh, turning on the shower.
"Sorry, princess."
"Sorry, doll."
The night ends with the three of you squished together under your sheets, legs tangled in a mess and Sukuna snoring much too loud. It took little convincing for you to get them to stay with you. Just a few bats of your lashes with your bottom lip jutted out in a pout and they were folding, tucking themselves in next to you.
In the morning, you still felt the weight of an arm draped over your waist, the sheets warm from body heat as you twist, hands coming up to rub the sleep from your eyes.
Things remain the same for the most part.
None of you mention dating other people, choosing instead to stay ‘single’ and pour your energy into your own relationships with each other.
Movie nights become a little more frequent, though actually watching the movies is much less common.
And in the mornings, on the days when Sukuna's too lazy to make a latte, Toji makes his way to the cafe down the street, returning with three coffee cups and a brown paper bag full of pastries. He leaves you and Sukuna to your own devices, knowing that each time he opens the door again upon his arrival the two of you will be bickering in the kitchen.
likes, comments, reblogs always appreciated ! i have more works here ♡
a/n this actually took me months to finish so i appreciate the patience and all the love on the first part of new girl. this fic is my baby, i birthed it so i hope you all enjoyed pt 2 as well (˃͈ ˂͈ )
you might not be sweet...but these three have decided you'll be their treat tonight!
synopsis: attending a frat party for Halloween sounds fun...until all your flings show up when you're trying to seduce someone else!
pairing: frat!Gojo, guitarist!Geto, tutor!Nanami x f!Reader
content: mdni, SMUT SMUT SMUT!, foursome, costumes, reader sleeps around a LOT, rough sex, every hole filled, SO MUCH JEALOUSY, sukuna mentioned, drinking/smoking, casual sex, sleeping around, frat parties, making out, oral sex (m! receiving), unprotected piv sex, anal fingering + sex, being manhandled, creampies, possessive men, nanami is so done with all of them but this is gojo's best night ever lmfao, so much bickering, facial, FILTHY FILTHY STUFF!!
a/n: art is by @/thatsallitchief + divider by @/petalpxl !!
You might look an angel. But you weren't going to be acting like one tonight.
What better excuse was there than Halloween to dress up in as little as possible?
Wearing a flimsy white scrap of fabric that barely passed for a dress, a crooked halo delicately fixed on top of your hair as the tiny wings you strapped on fluttered with every step. Ignoring the stares sticking to glitter shimmering on your skin, reflecting the low streetlights as you stumbled out of your friend's car onto the front lawn of the nicest frat house. A warm buzz already burning underneath your chest from pre-gaming earlier, a tight ball of desire that was starting to pulse and grow fangs of its own as your heels sunk into the grass.
"So, who's the lucky guy tonight?" Yuki giggled, poking your halo back into place.
You'd been the lucky one lately.
Juggling three different men of all different flavors.
Satoru Gojo, the pretty playboy president of the frat club, had fingered you stupid in a dark closet during seven minutes in heaven last weekend. Nanami Kento, your cute history tutor let you give him a handjob in the library after class on Tuesday. And your personal favorite, resident guitarist in a local rock band, Suguru Geto, ate you out backstage after one of his shows just two days ago.
But none of them were more than pretty friends with prettier benefits. Just fun flings. Guys you filled your spare time with.
"Dunno," you lied, finger reaching up to brush over where your lip gloss was already smeared.
Your target tonight was simple: Ryomen Sukuna.
A guy who dealed pot and a few more illicit substances in the corner of frat parties, lips wrapped around a beer while he pocketed the cash he was slipped.
But you heard he had a really big dick - and honestly?
Size did matter.
Especially when the only thing you wanted to suck on tonight wasn't candy.
"Sure," Yuki giggled, looping her arm in yours to pull you out of the way when some drunk dickhead almost spilled his beer on you as he slurred an apology.
Maybe you should've taken it as a sign.
The universe trying to subtly say, 'Hey, this is a bad fucking idea, by the way.'
In your own defense, you never thought all three of them would be here.
Nanami never showed up to parties, like, period. Suguru was too cool for something like this, probably back in his dorm or at some bar with a cute girl in an equally exposing costume flirting for his attention. Satoru, well, you thought he might come, but you figured he'd be wasted by the time you made your appearance. Easy to slip past.
Except, it seemed someone was waiting for you.
Who apparently must have bribed one of your friends to find out what you were wearing tonight judging by the flimsy white fabric he had loosely fastened into a toga and the much bigger angel wings attached to his back, the only part of his costume that was actually store-bought. His halo was shiny and silver and made of what looked fucking tinfoil, standing out above his fluffy white hair and about to fall off at any second.
Satoru was standing by the front door, holding a huge candy bowl and proudly passing it to some frat initiate next to him the second he saw you.
"There's my girl," he happily purred, slinging an arm around your shoulder.
You rolled your eyes, shrugging him off with an exaggerated sigh. It wasn't that you really minded his flirting - but you didn't need everyone here to think you were his. Satoru's words carried weight, more than he actually realized.
"You wish," you teased, batting your lashes and pushing past him to walk through the cracked-open door. The music you could hear from the street was jarring inside, bass thumping loud enough you could feel it in your bones as Yuki slipped out to go greet someone else.
Satoru was harder to shake off.
"You know I do," he hummed, following close behind you, his own angel wings making everyone else skirt around him in a wide berth.
He plucked out one of your feathers feather with a light laugh, the one that always seemed to take up space in your head after you heard it. You swatted at his hand, but he was already holding it over your head like it was fucking mistletoe.
"C'mon, sweetheart," he hummed. "Just one kiss for your favorite guy?"
Currently, you would rank him like number four or maybe even five, but you bit your tongue. Didn't have it in you to correct him. Got up on your tip toes to press a begrudging kiss on the corner of his mouth instead.
"Happy?"
"For now," he grinned.
You let him tug you into the kitchen, listening to him ramble on about someone you wanted to meet later. You didn't ask how he was planning on introducing you - and honestly, you didn't want to know.
For a guy who could have any girl on campus, he seemed awfully inclined to tack on a label to something you were both better off leaving unnamed.
Why ruin a nice thing?
Turn sloppy make outs and occasional casual sex into anything that could be construed as serious?
People were shouting his name as you passed by, one of those wide grins creeping across his face as his halo nearly fell off with how much he kept swiveling his head to greet his friends and the other girls who wanted to fuck him.
They could have him tonight.
You casually replied back to whatever he was chatting to you about, nodding and keeping an eye out for a head of pink hair while he rummaged through the fridge and pulled out some drinks. One of his frat bothers came up, leaning in to ask about how many kegs they had as Satoru rolled his eyes.
You managed to slip away before he even finishing cracking open his hard lemonade. Glancing over your shoulder at the irritatingly cute way his nose scrunched up at the sour taste at his first sip.
There was some foreign uncomfortable pressure in your chest, squeezing all your organs as you snuck out - forcing yourself to set your mind back on your mission.
It only took five minutes to find him.
Sukuna was reclining on a couch in one of the back rooms, thick thighs spread and smoking a blunt while heavy music blasted in the background. He hadn't bothered with anything other than his typical lazy outfit, a long-sleeved shirt clinging to his chest, loose jeans ripped and torn.
His head tilted to the side, a tiny smirk curling up on his lips as you walked over, wobbling on your heels as you pretended to be just a smidge more drunk than you really were so you'd be able to get away with more. Have an excuse in case you got rejected, easily slotting yourself in the empty spot next to him as his eyes dragged over your costume.
"Can I help you?" He grunted, like he wasn't considering what his dick might look like between your tits.
You looked down at the roll still perched between his fingers and then up to his lips.
"We could help each other," you slyly suggested, letting the implication hang in the air and biting your bottom lip.
"Oh yeah?" He arched a brow, still feigning nonchalance, but you knew better.
You had him.
He patted his lap, and it was so easy to toss your legs over his. He didn't touch you yet - let you do the work of scooting closer while he held out his blunt.
All you needed to do was wrap your lips around it. Except you got caught in the act.
"If you wanted some weed, I would've bought it for you," someone dryly commented behind you, and your manicured fingers paused above the blunt before you could reach out and grab it.
Throwing a look over your shoulder, angel wings fluttering as your eyes locked onto your second problem of the evening.
Suguru was smiling at you, perched all pretty on another man's lap, but it was hollow. The way his lips curled up was more like a smirk, one that spelled out trouble. He'd chosen some cheesy priest costume this year, as if he wasn't hoping to be worshipped himself.
"I'm just looking for a little fun," you hummed, daring him to say something else.
Suguru wasn't like Satoru. They were sorta similar, in a funny way, although you weren't sure if they even knew each other. Carried the kind of gravity that sucked you in. Satoru's was light, airy, playful like you were just animals batting back-and-forth with each other. Suguru?
He was closer to a panther, watching you with those dark eyes, waiting to strike and get you underneath his paw.
"You think you'll find it here?" He challenged, and you bit the inside of your cheek to stop your smile. He knew you wouldn't be able to resist the temptation of taking him up on whatever he was offering.
"You're the worst," you groaned, giving in before he could pick a fight and completely ruin your chance with Sukuna.
God, he knew how to derail your plans. With him though, you didn't really mind. Not when you could see if he was planning on putting those thick fingers to use for something other than strumming his stupid guitar.
You untangled yourself from Sukuna with a sigh, squeezing his thigh as you stood up. Suguru didn't step in how Satoru probably would have, waited for you to get close enough before one of his huge hands pressed down on the small of your back beneath your fake wings.
"Hey," Sukuna called out, and you barely concealed your own smirk when you looked back.
"Oh yeah?" You mimicked him. Tilting your head innocently, batting your lashes as cute as you could.
"I'll see you around."
You'd make sure of that.
Suguru stiffened, and you caught the way his mouth twitched before his thumb dug into your spine. He was pretty when he was jealous. The little pinch in his brows. The subtle clench of his jaw.
As if he didn't have his own fan club of sorority girls chasing after him.
He noticed you staring as he led you out of the room, squeezing in between passing people and up the stairs, his dark eyes swirling as they kept shifting down to see if you were still looking.
"What?" He asked, as if he didn't know.
"You're cute," you commented, shrugging a little bit.
"I thought I was the worst?" He teased, and you tried not to laugh.
Struggling to keep a straight face when his hand drifted lower, dancing over the curve of your ass right as he knocked twice on a door down the hall before pushing it open, peeking in first to make sure no one was inside.
And then he was dragging you to the bed, half-flopping down before pulling you on top of him. A hand on your ass, under your dress, possessive as you straddled him and got comfortable. A hint of annoyance still clinging to the corners of his mouth at the thought Sukuna got to have you on his lap first.
Even if he hadn't gotten a taste.
"What do you think you're doin' with a guy like that?" He asked, attempting to pull off your wings. For a guy who looked like he was ready to preach about heaven, you had a sinking feeling he wanted to drag you to hell with him.
"I don't know what I'm doing with a guy like you," you retorted, echoing him just to get a soft chuckle out. Dragging your finger down his chest, feeling for where his pants were underneath the dark tunic - and that thick bulge barely hidden, just waiting for your palm to press down.
"You want me to remind you?"
All it took was a smile for him to give up on plucking your wings to pull out his cock. It was one of the thicker ones you'd seen, a long vein pulsing all pretty along the side as pre-cum collected around his tip.
But before you could do anything with it, his hand was on your side, dragging you in for a kiss. Demanding, tongue on your teeth and hand in your hair, tethering you to him with soft kisses that didn't taste drunk.
Maybe a little hint of something sweet, but no nasty aftertaste of beer or alcohol clinging to him when he deepened it, sucking on your bottom lip like he'd die if he didn't.
His kisses ventured south - and it didn't take long for him to yank your tits free from your corset. Wrapping his mouth around one to suck hard, sharp canines grazing over your sensitive nipple while you whined his name.
Suguru was never sloppy, but he wasn't as precise as he usually was during your typical hookups. Dragging his tongue over the sore spots his teeth left, remarking the same places like he was just having fun.
Your chest was warm, pleasant heat drifting down to your core as you glanced around the room. It was dark, only the headlights of passing cars and the warm yellow lights street lamps bleeding through the window to illuminate the soft blue of the wrinkled comforter underneath you, dorky posters of characters you didn't know plastered on all the walls.
Suguru wasn't in a frat - but you guessed maybe it was his friend's room. You preferred not to hookup with a guy in their own bed. They got ideas of you being theirs.
But this wasn't a bad loophole.
"I don't like the idea of sharing you," Suguru confessed, his cock throbbing underneath you when your weight shifted down.
"Too bad," you teased, smirking as he barely stifled his own groan at the contact.
He might've made you eat those words - but the universe seemed to have something to say about it too.
The door swung open and someone too familiar stumbled in.
Your heart sank to your fucking ass. Staring at the open door, Satoru's hazy blue eyes sharpening fast the second they landed on you on top of someone else.
"Baby," he breathed. "I'm wounded."
Before you could say anything, Suguru was sitting up with an exaggerated scoff. Still holding you in place, but pulling you up against his chest to hide your breasts from Satoru. Oblivious that he had already seen them.
"How many times have I told you not to call me baby?" Suguru grinded his back molars, exhaling hard as his fingers sank deeper into your back. You blinked, trying to process what that meant before Satoru was rolling his eyes.
"I was talking to her," he huffed, pointing at you.
"You're sleeping with him?" Suguru fixed you in a hard frown, head snapping between the two of you like he couldn't conceive it.
"That's supposed to be my line," Satoru retorted, hands on his hip, moving a little to call attention to his wings like he was trying to show off the fact you were unfortunately matching him in front of Suguru.
"You guys, um, know each other?" You awkwardly asked, as if it wasn't obvious. Satoru snorted.
"Apparently not as well as you," Suguru muttered, more jealous than he started off as.
"Don't be mean to my princess," Satoru defensively said, and you both swiveled to stare blankly at him.
"I'm not-" You started, about to hold up your hand before he kept talking.
"Did you really ditch me for Suguru?" He whined, walking over casually, like he was ready to just fucking climb in bed with the two of you.
"No," you shook your head, avoiding the actual answer.
Suguru laughed though, and you shot him a glare to shut up. His dark eyes had narrowed though, amusement glittering in them as he leaned in.
"Seriously? You and that idiot?" Suguru chided, all low and a little sleazy, lips ghosting over the shell of your ear.
"Hey," Satoru pouted, standing directly in front of you now, pulling your attention back to him with two firm fingers on your chin. "I can hear you too, y'know."
"I know," Suguru sharply replied. Daring him to do something, as he continued in a low drawl. "You've got terrible taste, pretty girl."
"Clearly if she wants you," Satoru scrunched his nose up again to argue.
"She wanted Sukuna earlier," Suguru ratted you out, and you felt the pulse of his cock, the bite to his voice that made it clear he was itching to claim you.
"What?" Satoru's perky voice dropped into something sharp enough to skewer your heart.
"Caught her on his lap," Suguru revealed, like he was letting him in on some juicy bit of gossip.
"Were you gonna fuck him on my sheets too?" He bluntly asked, pretty lips pushed together as he leaned in close enough for his nose to nudge against yours.
The tension was too thick to slice through, filling up your lungs when you sucked in a shaky breath. An even worse idea than your initial one starting to form as your eyes flicked between each man.
The only thing better than one hot guy was two, wasn't it?
"What are you guys gonna do about it?"
You felt Suguru's smirk against your throat before Satoru chuckled, surprisingly deep as he cupped your cheek.
"You really wanna find out?"
You were really in trouble now. Had fucked around and found out just how much your flings could take before they were finished.
Literally and figuratively and soon-to-be stuffed with proof of just how screwed with you.
But their hands were too nice to ever say no to. Their mouths latched all over your body, throwing jabs at each other while they pulled-and-pushed you between them. A blur of fingers and cocks and tongues, your angel wings and panties discarded somewhere on the floor so you could be stretched out on Suguru's thick digits. Scissoring you open just to replace it with his unfairly large dick, dragging it against his walls and bucking his hips up so you kept falling forward on his chest. Relying on him for support while Satoru painted your back and shoulders with hickies, his chest against your back so you were stuck between them.
And then Satoru straining to reach past you to pull out a bottle of lube, softly muttering that he could satisfy you more than either of them ever could - only earning a scoff from Suguru.
"How do, um, you guys know each other?" You stammered out the question, breathing heavily between each word, eyeing where Satoru had stationed himself behind you as he squeezed an intimidating amount on his palm, already rubbing some on his cock before his cold hand started drifting down your ass. Skimming over your other hole, previously unbreached before he slowly started pushing the tip of a finger in.
He hesitated, testing the waters to see if you wanted it before you nodded yes, as if anal was a fucking peace offering.
"We've been best friends since high school," Satoru easily replied, like this was a conversation you were having in class instead of while you were being fucked and fingered.
"D-do you guys do this, like, a lot?" You asked, eyes scrunching shut as Suguru's tip grinded against a sweet spot inside of you, your nails digging into his chest for purchase as Satoru continued his steady exploration of the other parts of you.
"Do you?" Suguru remarked, his next thrust accidentally forcing Satoru's fingers further in time with him, a pathetic little whine torn from the back of your throat as you clawed at him again.
Your lips were stuck in a permanent part, about to say no, but you couldn't find it in yourself to form a single coherent word as Satoru readjusted just enough to slot another finger in your ass, the searing stretch rewiring your brain until you could only think about how fucking full you felt.
It wasn't exactly uncomfortable, but teetering on the brink of brain-breaking as he started to pump his fingers in and out, the weight of his chest starting to press down as he swirled them around just enough you could feel the thin barrier between him and Suguru straining to contain both of them. A new kind of intense you never experienced before, hyper aware of each and every movement and still lost in all of it.
"You think you can handle the real thing, baby?" Satoru tempted you, his mouth pressing a painfully soft kiss to your shoulder before his tongue licked a clean stripe up your neck. Making you shiver, seeking their warmth like a second skin.
"Mm, mhm," you mindlessly moaned, a tiny little whimper escaping when his fingers slid out and something even more enticing pressed against the base of your ass instead.
At least he wasn't as thick as Suguru was.
Unfortunately for you though?
He was longer.
The new stretch was brutal, but the lube and his fingers managed to loosen you up enough that the sting of his cock slowly sliding in was pleasurable instead of painful.
Suguru's mouth was back on yours, capturing you in reverent kisses while Satoru worshipped you from behind, slow strokes eventually picking up the pace, messy squelches and lewd moans drowned out by the party still thumping outside. Although if someone was standing on the other side of the wall, they might have heard the bed frame constantly knocking into it in time with their mean thrusts.
You were folded almost flat between them. Knees digging into the wrinkled blankets, thighs still spread wide as both their dicks dug in deeper. Drool probably leaking out of your lips before Suguru lapped it up.
"Am I not good enough for you?" Satoru huffed in your ear, teeth nipping at you while you were splayed in this position, buried in your ass while he nagged you about his feelings.
"I jus' don't w-want a boyfriend right now," you managed, slurring half your words when your lungs could barely get any air in them. Suguru's cock felt like it was fucking lodged in your throat, insides being rearranged by both of them.
"But if you did-"
And because your night wasn't messy enough, the door swung open for the second time tonight.
Your knight in cardboard armor had arrived.
And Nanami Kento was not happy at what he walked into.
His favorite tutoring student being sandwiched between morons number one and two. And maybe math wasn't your best subject either, but it wasn't hard to calculate that he didn't approve.
"Ken," you started, batting your lashes like both your holes weren't being filled. Like you could manage more than broken thinking and begging when you couldn't even breathe.
As if Satoru wasn't still halfway in your ass where he could see the filthy connection between your bodies.
"God, do not tell me that you've been hooking up with him too," Satoru whined. "He's the fucking frat treasurer."
Somehow, you missed that memo.
"Maybe?" You offered, both dicks inside you throbbing and pulsing as Suguru snickered. His own jealousy only overwritten by his amusement at Satoru being more jealous.
As if this was a competition he'd ever win by being nonchalant.
"Your presence was requested downstairs," Kento dryly said, his annoyed stare settling on Satoru, arms folding across his chest.
"Sorta busy, man," Satoru huffed, but your heart pulsed at the way Nanami started to turn.
"Unless you wanna join too?" You called out all airy and soft, watching his shoulders freeze.
"Are you suggesting I-?" He stopped himself, pushing the bridge of his glasses higher up on his nose while you stuck out your bottom lip.
"What? Are you scared?" Satoru eagerly joined in, ready to ragebait Nanami or call him a pussy for passing on yours.
"No," Kento scoffed, a faint hint of pink blooming underneath his cheeks.
"We could always see if Sukuna wants to join since you liked his attention so much," Suguru sarcastically added, that familiar edge in his honeyed hum, his cock grinding in deeper, kissing your cervix to make you whimper in front of the blond.
"This is a horrible idea," Kento muttered, and you were inclined to agree. But he just locked the door - throwing away his better judgment for the night.
The only thing all three of them seemed to agree on was their dislike for him. Or maybe just their want for you.
Kento stopped at the edge of the bed, as if touching it would mean he was just as bad as the rest of you. Your eyes hesitantly looked up to meet his, but instead of disgust waiting for you, it was just the faintest flicker of disappointment drowning in an amber sea of something much stronger.
Desire.
He knew he never had all of you. And he'd make due with what you could give him.
Right now? That meant your throat.
It was a little awkward at first, but then he was pulling his dick free too, one knee on the bed to position himself at the right height for where your face was. Although Suguru side-eyed the pale member, making sure it didn't get too close to him before your lips parted, tongue out and ready.
"Y'know," Satoru unhelpfully chimed in behind you. "It's bigger than I thought it'd be."
"Shut up," Kento hissed through gritted teeth before he stuck his dick in your mouth like he was trying to get you to stop talking instead.
But you took it, cheeks hollowing out as you sucked on him, barely keeping your own teeth from grazing him when your body was being tugged three different ways. His strong fingers tangling in your hair to pull you in, cock bobbing in the back of your throat. Suguru's hands on your side to hold you in place while he pumped you full. Satoru's full weight on your back keeping you pinned there for all of them to fuck.
"Your mouth's better than your hand," Kento slyly murmured, and Mr. Cool and Collected underneath you snapped, his dark brows furrowing together and throwing his competition a seething glare.
"How romantic," Suguru retorted, all snarky as you struggled to breathe through your nose.
You didn't think you'd ever done anything so filthy.
And you only wanted more, body trembling and shaking as you whined and whimpered for them. You could feel the sinful way you were squeezing down on Satoru and Suguru, the wall barely separating and holding both of them in as they dragged themselves in-and-out over and over again. All your sounds muffled by the girth of Kento pressed up against the roof of your mouth. You didn't even know whose name you would moan if you could.
Completely and utterly filled, their words going in one ear and out the other as you took their thrusts.
You had no idea who came first.
Maybe Satoru? Or Suguru? Both?
Overwhelmed by sudden warmth down between your thighs, deep groans as someone's fingers found your clit. You were pretty sure it was the former, judging by the sloppy little circles being rubbed over the sensitive bud. Messy massages, just as desperate and needy as you were as he moaned your name into your skin, his teeth sinking down on your shoulder as he worked you closer to a climax.
"Come on, sweetheart," he purred, pleading. "Cum for me, okay?"
You still didn't have the heart to tell him no.
With the pressure of his fingers, his arm wrapped around your waist to get better access, or maybe just from how full you were, the rubber band barely holding you together snapped hard and fast.
The noise it ripped from you sounded like some animal, all strangled and raw, the reverberations making Kento cum too, warm ropes of cum shot down your throat, nearly making you choke. The veins against your tongue throbbing briefly before he abruptly pulled out like your gag concerned him just for another thick spurt of it to suddenly coat your face.
Satoru's fingers were still underneath you, still rubbing you through it, Suguru's voice coaxing you and offering pretty praises while Kento cursed, pumping his cock as the last of it dripped out on your lips.
You felt like a puddle. Reduced down to something limp and boneless, collapsed on Suguru's chest while Nanami cleaned you up, grabbing a pair of boxers from the closest drawer after asking Satoru if it was actually fresh. Suguru was saying something to his friend too, but he was preoccupied pulling out of your sore ass, his fingers disappearing from your front as he shifted off of you. Someone was brushing your hair from your face, but your eyes were closed, lashes still fluttering as exhaustion set into your bones. Cum still leaking down your thighs, probably a mess soaking into Satoru's sheets, a mix of all of you.
Maybe you didn't get to fuck Sukuna. But surely this was better, wasn't it?
You could just try again next party.
other kinktober fics
a/n: feel kinda meh about how it turned out but hope you guys liked it <3
gojo's been waiting years for you to notice him. who would've thought it'd take you getting a tail to give him head?
synopsis: after a date gone wrong ends in you getting stuck with a new set of fuzzy ears and an annoying tail, you find yourself getting comforted through your first heat by your cute coworker! there's just one teensy little issue - he's not nearly as experienced as he told you!
pairing: snow leopard hybrid!gojo x cat hybrid!reader
content: MDNI!!, SMUT SMUT SMUT!, porn with plot, not-really-unrequited pining, slightly oblivious reader (at first), catfishing, misogyny (NOT from gojo), a curse turning reader into a hybrid), gojo is a nervous dork AND a lover boy!, hybrid au obvi (ears + tail), heat cycles, mating, marking, bites and breeding, oral sex (m! receiving), they are HORNY for each other, friends-to-lovers, unprotected piv sex, rough sex, knotting, breeding kink, creampie, happy ending
part of my hybrid valentine's event! art is by @/maronjapan9art + div by @/tsumiinum !
Satoru Gojo wasn't scared of anything.
What even was there for the strongest sorcerer of today to be afraid of?
Other than, of course, confessing his massive crush on the pretty assistant he spent practically every day with?
And so what if anyone with eyes could see that he was hopelessly in love with you?
(Everyone except you.)
"A date?"
Gojo was pretty sure he was two seconds from puking. You giggled as you leaned across his desk, passing him paperwork in a terrifyingly tiny dress, one that clung to your thighs and chest, highlighted all his favorite places while you tilted your head like you were completely oblivious to his stare. When you messaged him on your afternoon and said you just had to stop by his office for a few minutes, he never dreamed you'd be dolled up like this.
Or that it wouldn't even be for him.
"I mean, right now, you're pretty much the only man in my life," you laughed, all sweet as you tapped an empty line for him to scrawl his signature by. "I'm just grabbing dinner with some dude from a dating app."
Some dude. You were going out with some dude, probably to some two-star rated restaurant that didn't even have a proper drink menu, instead of spending the night being spoiled by him. And in that goddamn dress, no less.
Did it have to be blue?
Hold you the way he wished he could?
"Yeah? Where?" He casually chirped, hoping you didn't pick up on how hard his jaw was clenched as you pushed out your bottom lip a little.
His tail wasn't the only thing twitching, his knuckles bone white as his grip on his pen tightened.
Gojo wasn't one for insecurity. Not when he'd been placed on a pedestal since birth. Blessed and chosen and beautiful and a billion other things that made him one of the city, no, the country's most eligible bachelors.
Except for the simple fact that he was a hybrid and you weren't.
It was't like it used to be. Hybrids had all the same rights, worked and lived in all the same spaces, no longer made normal humans stop and stare when they were out on the street. And despite some of the, uh, anatomical differences, people still had sex and found partners regardless of their hybrid status.
But he couldn't convince himself to come clean and risk ruining your relationship when he didn't know if you'd ever be interested in being with someone like him. Who wasn't just burdened by the weight of the sorcery world but heat cycles and knotting too.
Especially when he didn't even have experience in, uh, relationships in general.
"Not sure yet," you hummed, shrugging your shoulders without a single clue what was rattling around in his head. "Hope it's good though."
His mouth opened and words he wasn't even fully aware of started spilling out, talking just to fill the air, his brain scrambling to come up with some excuse to get you to cancel no matter unfair he knew he was. Babbling some nonsense about how boring his day was without you, mumbling something about a late-night café that just opened nearby you would like, earning one of those smiles that stole his breath as you teasingly rolled your eyes.
"You don't have to pretend like you'll miss me," you lightly scoffed, reaching one finger out and pausing just before you could poke his cheek. You probably thought he had infinity on, didn't bother testing his technique, although if you had, you'd see that he turned it off just for these private moments with you. "You just don't want to be alone to fill all this stuff out."
"That's not-" He protested, but his sentence died in his throat when you turned away from him, teetering a little on your heels as you bent over to pick up your purse from the floor.
"I'll come in early tomorrow morning if you wanna call it a night too," you suggested, pulling out your phone without looking at him. His chest straining as he pulled his blindfold back over his eyes. Sensitive ears perking up at the vibrations of your phone, maybe your stupid date sending you something, his chest tight and stiff as your lips curled up higher at whatever was on screen.
"Yeah, sure," he heard himself say, like it didn't hurt at all.
You glanced back at him, grinning as you lifted your hand up in a little wave. "Wish me luck, okay?"
He wished your date would break his fucking legs, actually.
ʚ₍ᐢ. .ᐢ₎ɞ
The man sitting across from you was no Satoru Gojo.
Didn't have his flawless complexion, the creamy skin or the sharp edges, his blue eyes dull, boring in comparison to the brilliant shade that seared through you, his lips not glossy or remotely close to the same shade of pink when he opened his mouth to say something about stocks you couldn't really care less about as you contemplated how far he was from his profile.
But the biggest difference was the pointy ears you could make out underneath his hair you spotted when you climbed in his car earlier, the tail that stuck out of his clothes.
You didn't care if he was a dog hybrid, couldn't give less of a shit what breed he was - but it was a little off-putting that he didn't disclose it at all online, went as far as to hide it in his photos.
The first day you met Gojo, he'd let his tail wrap around your leg, throwing you a cheeky smile as he cracked an awful joke about not using a litter box to lighten the mood.
"I mean, it might be a little too advanced for you-" He continued, and you nodded without really paying attention to what he was even referring to. You hadn't even gotten your drink order yet, but your foot was already anxiously tapping the ground, attention drifting towards the exit as your brain suggested that maybe your night would've been better spent doing paperwork with Satoru.
He was still cute, you supposed, but something else about him was off-putting, his gaze making your skin crawl when he openly stared at your cleavage before dragging it over the rest of you like you were something to assess. You felt more like a piece of meat he was only interested in devouring, something to chew up and spit out instead of savor.
"Huh," he muttered at the end of his spiel, your pride taking a hit at the hint of disappointment in his voice, like you hadn't lived up to his expectations as he practically squinted at your tits.
"What?" You defensively pressed, daring him to say it and give you an excuse to go.
"Were you wearing a push-up bra in your pictures?" He accused, your jaw dropping at his audacity.
"No," you quickly answered, bristling as you felt the heat crawling up your cheeks in embarrassment.
He didn't say anything back immediately, still obviously looking, and part of you wondered for a second if it was just his excuse to be sleazy, trying to neg you instead of just giving you a goddamn compliment.
"Are you actually 6'3'?" You curtly asked in return, stiffly squirming in your chair as your anger frosted over into something hard and thick lodged in the pit of your stomach. You knew the answer was no, considering you spent all day every day chasing after a man who was. But even with the lifts you had suspected were in his loafers, you didn't think your date came close.
"Of course I am," he disdainfully scoffed back at you, his brows pinching together dramatically.
Only one of you was lying, and you knew it wasn't you.
But before you could tell him to trick the next girl, an unsuspecting waitress approached, notepad in hand as she beamed at both of you.
And while she introduced herself, rattling off memorized specials, you caught the way he appraised her too, your annoyance reaching a new peak as you suffered this fresh humiliation.
"What can I get started for you guys?" She innocently asked, looking at you first, pen ready to write down whatever you wanted.
"She'll have a salad," he answered before you could, condescending and sharp, and your eye twitched.
Satoru would have suggested ordering dessert for an appetizer. Probably would have maimed the poor excuse of a man at the table with you for having the audacity to speak for you.
You wished you said no.
Swiped fucking left on his stupid smirk.
God, you were starting to consider the chance he used fucking AI to write all those seemingly sincere messages to you when he obviously lacked the basic manners to let you order your own meal.
"You know what, I'll actually be leaving now," you coldly cut him off, pushing back the chair before you snapped and threw your water in his face. Pretending not to feel the sudden stares and attention all directed your way as you snapped at your date. "Clearly, we're not compatible."
"It's because I'm a hybrid, isn't it?" He glared at you, as if it wasn't because he was a ginormous asshole.
"It's because you're a fucking dick," you hissed back at him, snagging your purse while he spat out more accusations that you were discriminating against him.
You didn't indulge him with responding.
Storming past tables of gawking couples and curious strangers, trying to make it out before anyone pulled out their phone to record it and your face was plastered on social media.
Of course, because tonight couldn't get worse, it was pouring outside, rain pelting your skin and plastering your dress to you as you stomped down the sidewalk in your teetering heels.
Murmuring under your breath about what a dumb mistake you made letting that prick pick you up and not driving yourself, teeth chattering as you folded your arms across your chest to try and stop shivering. You debated on calling Satoru, asking him to come get you at the risk of looking absolutely pathetic as you avoided the puddles in the cracked concrete.
You only looked back once, just to make sure that you weren't followed, although you were convinced your date was definitely busy hitting on the waitress by now before you slipped out your own phone. Quickly unlocking it, thumb tapping away at the screen with muscle memory before you nestled it between your ear and your shoulder at the first ring, sniffling in the chill.
For a man who did more stuff in a day than most people did in a year, it only took him two seconds to pick up.
"Hey, sweetheart, are you-"
"Um, a-are you busy?" You tentatively asked, cringing at the fact you were basically calling your boss just because you went on a bad date.
But then again, he'd always been more like a-
Well, you weren't sure what category to put him in, but you'd like to think you meant more than just a glorified secretary.
"You want me to come get you?" He preemptively asked without even answering your own question.
"I mean, if you wouldn't mind," you sighed, looking around for the nearest street sign, mumbling your location into the phone as you massaged the tension from your shoulders.
Too distracted to even sense the curse until it slithered out of the shadows, a tentacle wrapping around your ankle and sending you stumbling to the wet concrete, phone clattering the ground as you gasped in surprise.
The ache of the impact was quickly dulled by panic when you propped yourself off and saw the absurd-looking thing. A dark mass of movement, your eyes struggling to focus as you scrambled back on clumsy limbs, only for it to drag you closer with a harsh tug.
You weren't like Satoru.
Barely had enough cursed energy to be considered a sorcerer.
That was the entire fucking reason you stayed out of the field when you weren't by his side, sticking to paperwork and putting up veils rather than fighting yourself.
A sharp sting struck your ankle, white-hot pain racing up your calf as you realized the fucking thing bit you.
Something sickly sweet suddenly flooded your senses, fire burning underneath your skin like someone had fried every goddamn nerve ending as your chest strained and threatened to seize, a hundred little stars floating across your vision as you reached for your phone, desperate to tell Satoru that he needed to get here now.
Was it pheromones? Some kind of strange poison filtering in through
The curse was doing something to you, the tentacle curling tight as the world swam and swirled, unable to focus when you couldn't so much as move.
Was this it?
Did you have to get some dick so badly you were about to die for it?
Before another tentacle could wrap around your throat, suffocate you or condemn you to a fate of being splattered on the sidewalk, its grip on your ankle disappeared, releasing you as a horrifying squish resonated in your eardrums.
"Date sucked?" A warm voice chuckled, strong arms scooping you up as you faintly detected a hint of concern in his usually carefree voice.
"I'm, ah, more of a cat person," you breathed, but it hurt, lungs aching as your fingers clumsily clutched at his uniform.
You started to turn your head, but he blocked your vision before you could catch so much as a glimpse at what happened to the curse.
"Nuh-uh," he softly scolded. "No looking."
You made some sound, meant to be a laugh, or a huff, but it came out more like a whimper, the world all fuzzy as you curled up in his arms.
"It bit me," you breathed, wincing as he hummed appraisingly.
"Let's get you to Shoko, then, hm?" He asked, like everything was alright now, like it would all be okay now that he was holding you.
It was the easiest thing in the world to believe that.
He just had that sort of effect on you - made everything softer, sweeter when you existed in his space.
Even if your body still felt like it was on fire half an hour later, tossing and turning on Shoko's couch while she shined a light in your eyes to test their reaction, unable to understand anything that left her mouth until Satoru gently held your body down so she could put an IV in your arm without you moving around to mess it up.
Somewhere in the haze, you guessed you must have fallen asleep, exhausted yourself enough that you dozed off, waking up to the curtains pulled in her dim apartment, squinting as you sat up and realized Satoru had fallen asleep sitting next to you, head propped up on the cushion as he drooled onto the couch.
"Satoru," you murmured, throat itchy and dry as you blinked, vaguely aware that something was different as you shifted uncomfortably.
"Mm?" He yawned, sleepily sitting up and stretching as he wiped the spit from his mouth. Satoru glanced up at you, and in a single instant, he was wide awake, blue eyes locking onto you with shock. He reached out, fingers trembling in front of your face before he abruptly stopped, standing up and starting down towards the hall. "Um, Shoko?"
Maybe you should've known then.
Figured out that maybe more was wrong than you realized. Especially when she walked back out of her bedroom and froze when she saw you the same way Satoru did.
"Looks like whatever it put in your system turned you into a hybrid," she wryly assessed when she started walking back over, bending down to get a better look while your jaw dropped open, ready to protest until she pinched one of your now fuzzy ears. "It might be temporary."
Might.
You felt like an idiot stumbling up and starting for the bathroom in her hallway, pushing open the door and flicking on the suddenly too-bright lights only to see what they did.
Turning around only to find a pretty gray tail, discomfort swirling in your stomach as the idea of fate pulling a prank on you started to set in once you realized you'd been turned into a cat hybrid in particular.
"Oh," you murmured, unsure what to do or say when you stared at yourself in the reflection, fingers reaching around to feel how fluffy your new tail was, sticking awkwardly out from underneath your tight dress.
"Suits you," Satoru snapped you out of it, his voice low and soft, your eyes flicking over to find him leaning against the doorframe, his own tail lazily swishing back-and-forth as he studied your own. "Cute."
"You think so?" You hesitantly asked.
"Pinky promise," he winked, mouth curling up in a small smile as he nodded back towards the living room. "You should go back to sleep. Shoko says you need more rest."
"Okay," you agreed, mostly because you halfway thought that this might be some dream, or that whatever weird side effects you were going through would be gone when you woke back up.
But you were wrong, once again.
Blearily blinking just to feel for your ears through your hair to confirm that you were still stuck like this. For now. Maybe forever.
Shoko let both of you crash for the night, and despite you insisting to Satoru that you were fine, he insisted on sleeping on the floor, refusing to leave your side.
You rolled off Shoko's couch, creeping past Satoru's dozing body just to find her making coffee in her kitchen, sipping it with a borderline bored expression as you tried to ignore your tail moving while you walked.
"Mind giving me a ride back today?" You yawned, covering your mouth as you glanced at the pretty sleeping man sprawled out with a loose blanket tangled around his long legs. "Have a few things to catch up on."
You kept a change of clothes in the office anyway. Could shower and refresh yourself in the locker rooms by the gym too.
"Uh-huh," she hummed, snagging a mug on the shelf to pour you coffee too.
Although, it only took you an hour and a half to regret the caffeine, leg bouncing anxiously as you sorted through the stack of files in front of you in Satoru's office, heart beating too fast as you re-read the same line for the fifteenth time.
Struggling trying to clear the haze from your head by burying it in paperwork, staring at the still mostly full to-go cup Shoko dropped you off with despite how much pent-up energy was already pulsing in your chest.
You tail felt weird, hanging out of a skirt that hadn't been designed for it, your ears picking up more noises that you never noticed before, fingers tapping the desk in an unsteady rhythm.
And when your phone buzzed, you practically jumped, sucking in a sharp inhale as your hand shot out to check it just to see a message from Satoru complaining about you leaving without waking him.
It was completely normal.
The same sort of thing he'd sent you a thousand times before.
But why the fuck did the idea of him sitting there and typing it out for you with those long, thick fingers of his, a cute little pout pushed out on his pretty lips make you so goddamn horny now?
You'd always found him attractive. Who didn't?
But he always existed in a different league. Sitting pretty on top of a pedestal you'd never be able to climb up to. He could have anything he wanted. Anyone.
Untouchable.
But all your inhibitions, all the rules and regulations you'd set in stone and stuck to since he hired you, were suddenly slippery, failing you when you needed to cling to them the most.
Your brain conjuring up the world's most unhelpful images of how hot he'd look between your thighs, how sweet his lips would taste if they were pressed against yours, how he'd surely fill up the irritating emptiness you were now acutely aware of.
As if he'd even be interested in you.
You squirmed, thighs pressing together as you swallowed the thick spit that just seemed to keep pooling in the back of your mouth. Tail twitching and curling behind your seat as you struggled for some comfort.
Everything was too warm, sweat pricking at your brow as your breathing slowed, searching for some part of your body still in your control.
Maybe you should've just gone home.
At least there, you'd be able to rub one out and torture yourself over how wrong it was to want him in private.
Was this a part of your, ah, transformation?
Or was this all you?
The door swung open to Satoru's laughter, his white hair messy as he readjusted his blindfold, a second set of footsteps following him as you realized Nanami had accompanied him to argue about one of his students, your face heating up hotter at both of them about to catch you in this...state.
"Satoru," you murmured, your voice cracking as it came out uncertain, glancing up at him with wide, wavering eyes. Trying to choose your words carefully as you chewed on the inside of your cheek, "Something is happening to me."
He pulled down his blindfold, blue stare piercing straight through you with an expression you didn't recognize, jaw locking hard and tight.
You thought you knew him better than almost anyone. Cheeky and carefree. Cold and calculated. From clan meetings he sat at the head of to complaining about curses over ice cream, you sort of thought there wasn't a single side of him you hadn't seen.
But you had never seen him make that face before.
And honestly?
You never wanted him more.
"Nanami," he bluntly said, a harsh edge to his voice that sent an electric tingle down your spine. "Get the fuck out."
ʚ₍ᐢ. .ᐢ₎ɞ
The only thing scarier than admitting he was an idiot obsessed with you was admitting he must have trigged your heat.
That in his desperation to stay by your side despite the fact you were like him, he forgot what all that meant. That just his presence could trigger a certain biological reaction for, ah, breeding purposes.
It wasn't like he ever had to do it before.
He'd never been through one of his own ruts with anyone. He'd never been with anyone at all.
Sure, he'd seen porn. Knew the mechanics of sex, what he was supposed to do.
"You should go home," he murmured, no matter how all his instincts were begging him to bury his cock inside you right here, right now.
"I-" You hesitated, squirming all cute in your seat, blinking and silently begging him to be the one to crack and do something first.
He didn't even know if you knew what was happening. What your body wanted - and if it was even him it wanted it from.
"You're about to go into heat. Take a few days off, and don't leave your place," he muttered, his throat constricting as he picked up on your scent, nails digging into his fist as he bottled up all his own cravings. Knowing every second he stayed, he risked his composure cracking.
He tried to put some space between you, forcing himself to stare at the ground as he walked over to his desk, half-collapsing into his seat and hiding his face in his hands so he wouldn't be tempted to peek thorough them.
"Heat," you echoed, all light and airy, his resolve crumbling with one soft syllable. "Can't you help me?"
God.
HIs cock throbbed in his slacks, a familiar ache blooming in his core as he heard the creak of your chair.
"Sweetheart," he started, the lump in his throat bobbing as he spoke. Could he? "You don't know what-"
"I don't know what?" You teased him, too fucking close, delicate fingers wrapping around his wrists and pulled his hands down so he had to look at you.
"If I-" He paused, swallowing hard as you rendered him as close to speechless as he'd ever come when you tilted your head all cute when you got down on your goddamn knees in front him. "I won't be able to stop myself."
Your palms slid over his muscled thighs, squeezing softly as he let out a low grunt he hardly recognized, gritting his teeth as he held back the urge to growl, to push his cock between your parted lips until it was bumping into the back of your throat.
"Do you want to?" You asked, morning light streaming in through the window and bathing your pretty face in the warm light.
You needed him. Fuck, you needed him, and he was desperately trying to not show how much he needed you too.
"What?" He asked, feeling like a fucking idiot as he blinked down at you right as you started toying with his zipper. Flicking it slowly, like you were waiting for him to grant you permission.
"Do you want to stop?" You asked, brow arching up, ears twitching. "Or do you want me?"
"You know I want you," he heard himself say, nearly trembling as he finally came clean, the words hanging in the air as your mouth turned up in his favorite smile.
"Yeah?"
And funnily enough, now that it was out, he felt like he could tell you a million more times without getting sick of it. Caving into the part of him that knew you were meant to be his from the first day he met you.
"Yeah," he murmured. "With or without the tail."
It was all you needed to hear, pulling down his zipper as he hurried to tug down his pants enough to tug his cock free, his heart slamming into his ribcage as he watched you bring the swollen tip of it to your mouth, offering little kitten licks like you were trying to drive him fucking crazy.
But it didn't take long for your own need to start getting to you too, your nails digging into his thighs like little claws as you took him deeper, tongue pressed against his pulsing vein as you fit inch after thick inch in, one hand readjusting to start stroking what you couldn't fit.
Your mouth was warm, but it was just the sight of you sucking, cheeks flushed and hollowed out, six eyes searching and studying every gorgeous detail of your face as you bobbed up-and-down on his cock that nearly had him cumming down your throat when you barely began.
It was a billion times better than his own hand.
His pride swelling at how eagerly you worked, your fingers looking so much fucking better than his own wrapped around the base of his shaft, drool dribbling at the corner of your mouth. Letting him tangle his fingers in your hair, gripping hard as he started guiding you faster, tempted to throw his head back and groan, but too enraptured by how pretty you looked like to move a single muscle.
"F-fuck, baby," he hissed, a fever building in his chest that he knew would bubble over soon, sweat he hadn't noticed before starting to get stuck in his own hair as he spread his legs further apart to let you scoot closer, acutely aware of how hard you were squeezing your own thighs. "Feel so fuckin' good, y'know that?"
You couldn't reply with a mouthful of cock, but your lashes fluttered, eyes darting up to him, nose crinkling up like you felt the same.
"Probably fucked my fist to the idea of us doing this a thousand times," he babbled, moaning loudly as his girth got pressed up against the roof of your mouth, hardly-aware of what he was saying until you pulled back, still pumping his cock when you popped off. Saliva connecting the two of you together until you wiped your lips off, an adorable smirk curling up on them now.
"You jerked off to me?" You asked, and he knew he should be embarrassed.
But he'd never been good at embarrassment. And really, he was so sick of playing it cool around you.
"A lot," he admitted, knowing he was grinning like an idiot just for you to giggle too. "Did you ever-"
"Maybe," you murmured, your fingers pausing mid-stroke to slip up high, tracing over his sensitive slit to collect where your spit and his pre-cum had mixed together.
He caught your wrist before you could test the limits of his patience, see how much teasing he'd let you get away with, pulling you up in one mean tug. In half a second, he had shoved everything off his desk, papers scattering to the ground as he twisted you around and pinned you flat against the wood.
Gasping as your cheek got squished against the cool surface, wrist flexing in his firm hold as he clicked his tongue. And then he was shoving your skirt up, bunching it around your hips and letting your tail hang free, already eagerly swishing in anticipation as he ripped your panties clean off.
You were drenched.
Slick sticking to your thighs as he nudged them further apart, his throat nearly closing as your scent flooded his nostrils, sweet and strong and all his.
He wanted to bite. Sink his teeth into your throat and claim you. Make sure you didn't go on any other stupid dates or give anyone else the chance to see how gorgeous you looked like this.
Squirming and shivering, pretty pussy exposed and waiting for him to put a cute little hybrid in your womb, roll the dice and see who it took after.
"Last chance," he warned, his fingers digging into your wrist as he expended a ridiculous amount of energy just to cling to his restraint.
You threw a dramatic pout over your shoulder at him, pushing out your bottom lip, clueless how badly he wanted to suck on it. "What else do I have to do to get you to finally fuck me?"
How the fuck could he hold back when you were here, waiting on him, wet and wiggling your ass?
"It hurts," you added in a soft whimper, like you knew it would make him break.
His cock bobbed up as he wrapped his sturdy fingers around it, gliding over your entrance just to make you whine before he started edging it in.
And fuck, it only took him a few seconds to hate himself for not having you far sooner.
Feeling you squeeze around his fat girth and suck him in so sinfully as he fucked you right there on his desk, watching himself disappear inside your pussy as he shoved himself deeper. Listening to the cute little noises currently being ripped from your throat as you clawed at the smooth surface, having a hard time staying in one place when he was doing his damndest to split you wide open.
Operating on pure reflexes, doing what his brain was programmed to do no matter how much his body was unaccustomed to these actions.
"It's-" You whimpered, cutting yourself off like you were trying not to feed his ego.
Which had never been bigger than it was right now, inflating by the second at seeing your face scrunched up in pleasure because of him.
"Just relax for me," he purred, putting more pressure on your wrist and keeping you pinned there as he pushed the last few inches in, your ragged little breaths ringing in his ears as he tried not to get lost in your scent. "Let me make it better."
He could feel himself nudging against your womb, his abs tensing as he ached to fill it with his sperm, to fuck you until it took, until he knew you'd be waddling around in seven months carrying the next Gojo heir.
"S-Satoru," you stammered his name, and his first thought was how long would it take to convince you to take his last name too. To wake up to hearing your pretty little whisper in his ear as his wife, pump you full and press your face into his pillow next.
"Mhm, sweetheart?" He asked, eyes nearly rolling to the back of his brain as he forced himself to slip out to fuck back into you, slow strokes at first, building up to a faster rhythm in response to your greedy cunt clamping down on him hard.
"M'full," you whimpered right as he grinded against that spongy little sweet spot to drag another moan out, lewd squelches echoing in the office as he pumped in-and-out.
Rutting into you with the faint fear that he really might never stop, not when it felt so fucking good, when it felt like home in your warmth.
Gojo laughed, high and airy, a crooked smile finding its way on his face when he thought about full you were about to be.
"If you want me to pull out, gotta do it now, baby," he murmured, hoping to whatever was out there that you'd tell him to cum inside you. To fill you up until you were dripping him all day long.
"Don't."
He nearly came on the spot.
Fucking into you faster, feeling more animal than human when his hips kept smacking into your ass, pressing his chest to your back as he wrapped his free hand around to fumble for your clit.
He knew it was clumsy, fingers twitching as he tried to massage it, reading your body language for some sign that you liked it, your body shuddering at the contact.
"I'm gonna fuckin' knock you up," he started rambling, leaning down even closer, sniffing your skin before dragging his tongue up your throat. "Put a litter in you."
Did that sound stupid?
He felt stupid saying it, self-conscious as a brief stab of anxiety struck his heart until you started nodding.
"P-please," you whined, like you might die if he didn't do precisely that. Thighs trembling as you tilted your head to the side to give him better access to your neck.
He couldn't help himself.
Not when it came to you.
The base of his cock swelling before he could so much as warn you, his mouth latching hard just above your collarbone as your body went stiff and rigid beneath him as the first spurts of warm cum started coming out in thick ropes, painting your insides while he claimed them for himself.
Would you consider being his mate an upgrade to his assistant?
Gojo sure fucking hoped so.
Biting harder as you moaned, toying with your clit as you twitched underneath him, some strangled sound that sort of resembled his name escaping right as the knot forced its way in, making sure no cum could leak out.
He hadn't even kissed you yet, but somehow managed to lose his virginity and possibly get you pregnant at the same time. You'd definitely say yes if he asked you on a date, right? To be his fiancé girlfriend?
"Am I living up to your fantasy?" You panted, and he was sure he was blushing, heat going straight to his head as he helplessly nodded.
"Better than my wildest dreams, baby," he promised when he finally broke the bite, voice painfully tight as his knot kept you locked together.
He kept painting circles over your sensitive bundle, picking up the pace as he tried to coax you through the tight fit, your walls squeezing him just right while he desperately tried to make you cum too.
"A-are you close?" He stammered, hating how lame he sounded, unlike the great Gojo he tried to make you think he was, swallowing hard as your head bobbed.
"Mm, harder," you half-whimpered, drool leaking out of your lips and collecting on your desk as your muscles tensed.
He might be part snow leopard, but he could listen to you like a dog. Wag his tail and obey, rubbing harder, applying just enough pressure to make you unravel for him.
His knot held tight while you came, bracing you through it as your body gave into him. He licked over the bruise blooming on your throat, soothing the sore spot as he murmured sweet nothings into your skin.
You were babbling now too, crying out his name as real tears rolled down your cheeks, ones he wanted to lap up too. You looked so beautiful like this, furry ears pinned back as his cock split you open, his swollen base preventing you from doing anything other than squirming as you came back down from your own climax.
Gojo already knew one round wouldn't be enough.
That he needed at least two more to satisfy the heat coiling tight in his own stomach, that he'd only feel better if he spent all day fucking you into overstimulation and he burned every little expression and moan of yours into his brain to replay whenever he wanted.
"Satoru," you breathed his name like it was all the air you needed, and he snapped from the spell your pussy had casted on him.
"Y-yeah, sweetheart?" He stuttered, hoping you didn't notice.
"Does this, um, mean we're like, dating now?" You asked, blinking fast as you managed to glance back at him with glossy eyes.
"This," he hummed, poking at the bite mark on your throat. "Means you're mine forever."
reblogs + comments are always appreciated adore you all :3
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Lipstick on a Cigarette Stub
mdni - enjin x reader
Enjin loves to bury his long, thick tattooed fingers in that perfect little cunt of yours after a battle, especially after a good meal and a nice drag of a cigarette.
And he loves to suck those juices off, tongue lapping over his black nails and red and black tattoos, to let the flavor bounce off his tongue when his lips wrap them. His cheeks hollow, smirking even as he sucks, leaving you a trembling little mess after a mission.
You, a trembling mess.
It started off as a little 'reward' and stress relief for you - after all, you're doing so good for him, taking down monsters all on your own with your vital. How can he not reward and encourage such good behavior on his team?
Thats what he says is the reason at least, not that you're so pretty he can't stop jerking his thick, veiny cock to you at night since the moment you joined him, when everyone's fast asleep in the barracks. That he does far more lessons with you than any of the other cleaners.
Enjin is great at fucking but terrible at feelings.
You constantly don't know during these sessions of filthy pleasure... are you more? You don't ever say those words though, too lost in how he feels against you, behind you with his legs spread, you're snug between his thighs as he moves those fingers, moaning out loud, earning his chuckle against your ear.
"That's it, look at you," he whispers, fingering the sticky mess that's just pouring, his amber eyes glazed over. "Deserve to feel good, especially after you fuckin' nailed those little shits to the wall like that, y'know?"
Enjin taking care of you, it's the best ritual you can really think of, your sore muscles quickly forgotten as his fingers fill you up, bigger than any cock you've ever had. You're pulsing around them as the squelching fills the room, gasping out, tits bouncing almost out of your top, fucking ending him.
He loves a nice pair of pretty tits, and yours are the prettiest - he wouldn't tell you that, but he would suck your puffy nipples in his hot mouth, as your fingers slip across his undercut, entangling in slicked back blond locks. You're so close to shattering when he moans and drags his tongue around a nipple.
"More, please f-fuck..." You can't believe you're begging, you a fucking elite cleaner who could take down damn near anything, but when he's got you picked up and then pressed against the wall like this, covered in graffiti? you're fucking done for.
Weak for him, for a man you're sure sees this as 'fun'.
Enjin grins with those sharp teeth glinting underneath the dark lighting in that room, the paint is peeling at the edges and scraping against your skin when he stands straight. So fucking tall you have to lean your head back, gasping when he slips in a third finger.
It barely gets in at the tip, your cunt contracting as he's chuckling at the way you squirm for him, biting down on lips he aches to kiss.
"Too much, too much!" Your voice is just a sweet little pathetic cry, making his cock leak more pre against his boxers.
"Hah, didn't ya say more?" He teases, smirking as he watches you with lazy amber eyes, the ones you can't ever read, but now they're dilated to pinpoints, as his cock leaks, ready to fill you for the first time. "Aw, can't take it brat, huh?"
Enjin has been fingering you every mission for days, but he's never fucked you - or even kissed you... You wondered what it was. He didn't even let you suck him, just enjoying making you get off and squirt all over him.
and the reason why?
He knows it'll ruin him, and the shit terrifies him, that kissing you is too intense, that the whole world is a fucking mess and somehow with you he forgets it all. That you're every bit the fucking type he's wanted, your curves in all the right places like it's a cruel fucking joke, plus you're too fuckin' smart.
Not that he'd reveal it, but you make him dumb, gummy walls gripping his fingers while your cunt just drips and drools, he groans out, leaning low, lips tempting you. "M-more, fuck... stop teasin' me like this."
"Hah," he slowly drags his fingers out, making you feel every inch, you're trembling and gasping out, biting down on your lip so you don't drag this damn man down for a kiss. "Slutty lil' thing, ain't ya?"
"Just shut up and fuck me - ah!" He turns you and shoves your skirt up your hips, tugging that fabric and bunching it up, groaning when he eyes your pretty body.
"Hold it up f'me, slutty lil' brat," he whispers in your ear, you do just that, whining out and desperate. "But gonna do it my way."
"The fuck is your way - ngh! Enjin..." You're screaming out, resting your head on your arms when he's yanked down the flimsy, soaked panties.
"Ruined..." He smirks at that, looking at the syrupy strings that are attached to the pathetic excuse for cotton.
He's soon down there lapping a filthy stripe, broad stroke of his tongue with his piercing flicking, the barbell smacking against a twitchy little clit, before he scoops it deep inside your hole. That spongy spot in your gummy little walls make you scream out.
"Keep that noise down, Princess," he grins against your pretty cunt, already pussy drunk though he won't admit shit. "Already this fuckin' messy? Look at that."
Enjin is eating your cunt out before ever kissing you, and the moment your hand falls off your skirt he smacks your cunt, making it sting. "Ow!?"
"Hold it the fuck up, just like that," he grins again when you eagerly obey, a woman as strong as him damn near and far smarter weak and ready. Your cunt drools for him, spreading it wide with his thick, long fingers, moaning out. "There we go, let's stretch her out. Ya deserve it, working so hard."
Enjin slurps up your cunt like he's starving for it, making you gush and pour, lapping every drop up. You're cumming for him and burying your face against one of your arms, though you're sure your cunt is so loud anyone could hear it.
Filthy fucking slurps of his mouth, gulping you down before spitting on it, one, two, three times, watching the clear strands of spit pour from that hole. "There you go, look at that."
You're too fucked out to answer, when his pierced cockhead teases that soppy hole - click, click, click - the noises make you blush. "In me, please fuck, stop teasing!"
"Greedy lil brat, shh," Enjin lifts you like you're nothing, dragging his tip down your soppy folds and then bottoming the fuck out. No stretching, no gentle ease. "Takin' me like this, f-fuck..."
Enjin shoves his cock fully while those huge hands grip your hips, and he starts pounding your cunt, cock filling you so goddamn deep. Your head falls back, muscles so sore and stretching for him, drooling down his length, making him bite back a pathetic fucking whimper.
He can't just whimper!? He's fucking Enjin.
But fuck if you don't make him lose it, lifting your ass higher, damn near holding you up as he fucks you, big arms wrapping your body, a hand coming to grip a tit and squish it, leaky red tip just pouring fucking pre against your cervix. You gasp out, head falling against his big, muscled chest.
"S'deep f-fuckk..." You can't form a coherent word, not when he pulls out and leaves you empty, just to pick you up, pressing your back against that wall with his big hands on your ass, shoving it right back inside.
"Gotta show you how good you did - hah - look at that," he's grinning, sadistic little fucking grin - still not kissing you with those lips coated in your cunt. "All fucked out already, hmm? Gonna squirt and make a fuckin' mess?"
You can't retort like you usually do, not when that curved, pierced cock is fucking you too good, you just cling to him and scream out, finally getting shushed by his lips. Plump lips you've been dying to feel on your own.
That's when Enjin whimpers.
Pathetic for you really, but he doesn't think he can say it, doesn't think he can tell you - but he can show you, by fucking you into that wall at a bruising pace, balls heavy and smacking and just full of cum. He can pound your perfect cunt until you're a writhing little mess in his arms, until you're squirting just for him.
"Mmm," he pulls back with a messy kiss, dripping saliva between you both, smirking at your lidded, fucked up gaze. "Look at you, ruined from just a few pumps? Hah... perfect lil cunt just milking me."
You're done talking, kissing him instead, as your cunt does just that, milks him, god with every pump in your perfect cunt he can feel his heavy balls draining them for all they're worth, pulsing as he thickens and just floods you with his cum, painting your spasming walls and whispering your name against your neck so quietly you're sure you misheard.
Enjin makes sure to finger his cum you're wasting right back inside you, shoving those long, tatted fingers in your mouth as you whine out desperately, tasting the two of you together. "Good fuckin' girl, knew ya could listen, bratty little thing."
You glare at that, but when he kisses you again, messy with the lingering taste of a cigarette on his lips mixing with your cum and his... It's too much. He pauses, smiling good naturedly like this is normal, like him railing your pretty cunt and kissing you dumb was fine.
"Slutty princess needed my cock s'bad, huh?" he taunts, sucking in every fucking feeling he has, you just scoff, rolling your eyes, letting him hold you steady.
In a fucked ass world - he makes it better. But what was fun, what was teasing and pleasure, now leaves you two awkward, standing there and just studying each other.
"Wanna smoke, Princess?" He teases, fixing your clothes carefully. "Got a blunt hidden for us."
"Fuck yeah," you smile back, like it's easy, when he's inhaling that blunt and blowing it back into your lungs until you're dizzy, and he's fucking every thought from your mind while you ride his thick cock. No one has business being that good at sex, that fucking hot with a dick like that.
You're collapsed against him and spent, the weed and his cock a lethal combo, when he carries you to his bed and lets you have it, laying on the floor and smoking a cigarette, eyes shut.
The fuck was that, he can't place it, it scares him to even think that it's more than sex, more than your pretty body, more than...
He peers at you, lightly snoring, before crashing out right on that floor.
That's a problem for tomorrow he supposes.
The next mission the two of you eye each other as you gear up, he grabs that umbrella as you snatch up your own instrument, meeting his amber gaze - and both of you just wondering... What the fuck were you two?
****
I'm on this thanks to @blkkizzat and @honeybunnnnie ahahah I think Imma be writing him againn help he's sexyyy
❝ HIS CINDERELLA CAUSE I MAKE IT FIT ! ❞
⤷ Enjin x Fallen Spherite!Reader
>>>>>> Apparently Enjin has all the 'luck' when it comes to finding Spherites in No Man's Land. This time he's found you—a stuck-up Spherite noble—cast out with the trash. You're prissy, needy and an overall pain in his ass. Definitely not his type—but that slutty pussy sure is. ♡
>>>>>> 𝐦𝐝𝐧𝐢 𝟏𝟖+ for filthy enjin smut. enjin & reader are delulu & down bad. big dick!enjin. size queen!reader. bimbo!reader. sex under the influence. public sex. breeding. bjs. enjin is overall diabolical. but there's also a bit of plot too with some romance/fluff/humor. no spoilers for anime/manga.
>>>>>> 𝐰𝐜: 13.1k
𝐚𝐧: major special shoutouts to @honeybunnnnie my trash daddy partner in crime, who beta'd for me and gave me lots of good lil' gems I incorporated here. we share one horny brain cell when it comes to this man and the amount of headcanons we have made based on this that I didn't even include is INSANE lmfao.
You aren’t Enjin’s type.
That much is certain the moment he stumbles upon you after being called to check out a disturbance in No Man’s Land. Scanning the terrain of garbage, Enjin wonders if he’s hallucinating.
Still high from the night before—or maybe there’s a leak in his full face?
Either way he had to be tripping absolute balls right now because what the hell else could explain the giant kaiju-like plushie with bunny ears, wide beady eyes, and jagged teeth ripping apart trash beasts in the distance like they were wet paper towels?
But blazed or not, Enjin still has a job to do. Umbreaker sweeps him across the trash dunes in a speedy blur, but by the time he arrives he is already too late and the show is over.
All that’s left is you: a young woman passed out in a pile of demolished trash beast remains and other junk. The giant kaiju-like plushie—now inanimate and no bigger than a hand—lay beside you tethered to your person by a keyring.
Happening upon another giver in No Man’s Land wasn’t out of the ordinary, sure, but if Enjin thought he was high from seeing your jinki in action he had to be damn near in the clouds once he recognized your clothes.
Similar to when Enjin discovered Rudo, he could immediately tell by your dress you are a Spherite. But unlike the threadbare attire of the scrappy tribesmen teen, yours practically screams wealth. They are the finest clothes Enjin has ever laid eyes on. Appearing as if they are woven from gold itself, despite the fresh layer of grime that settled on them.
You aren’t just any ol’ Spherite—you’re a Spherite noblewoman.
Keh, interesting.
With a shake of his head Enjin scoops you up, heading back to HQ. They aren’t gonna believe this…
Enjin digs out a backup mask from his satchel—clearly not made for your face, because it slides right off. With an annoyed sigh, he holds it in place himself. Guess that’s his job now… at least until you wake up.
Although Enjin soon discovers a pattern of how unnecessarily difficult Spherites can be upon arriving to the Abyss—as the first thing you do upon waking in Enjin’s arms is to slap the everloving dogshit out of him.
Fuck, you have a mean right hand.
Enjin tongues a tooth to make sure it’s still there.
“Let me go this instant, you filthy kidnapping degenerate! I demand you to take me home!” You cry out.
Tears fog up the mask on your face as you clearly mistook Enjin for some kind of criminal with his ‘full face’ on. Enjin sighs, tightening his grip on you and taking the not-so-painless beating you’re dishing out until you reach the nearest city.
The very second you both are in a habitable area for breathing, Enjin unceremoniously dumps you to the ground. He catches the mask, yet he leaves you to fall straight on your ass. The fall shocks you but Enjin’s sure what’s really got you stunned is the strange bustling city surrounding you.
Removing his fullface, Enjin crouches down to eye-level with you. Overwhelmed and overstimulated by the foreign place, your eyes dart around helplessly. You’re frantic, looking everywhere for some sort of bearing of where you are and avoiding the man in front of you.
Yet Enjin just waits, clicking his tongue and rocking back on his heels, for you to quiet your hysterics enough for him to get a word in.
When your eyes, still wide with panic, finally meet, he has the nerve to raise a brow—like you’re the one being dramatic and not the guy who literally kidnapped you.
“So, as you may have noticed by now…this ain’t the Sphere,” Enjin says, balancing a cigarette between his lips.
You look at him skeptically—he says it like it’s nothing, while your world is actively falling apart. What is he even talking about?!
“I know this ain’t the welcome wagon you posh Spherites are used to but…”
Enjin pauses, exhaling smoke to the sky. Your gaze follows up, widening once you see the oddly shaped dome covering the city, a strange yellow fog in the atmosphere.
“....welcome to the Abyss, Girlie. Name’s Enjin.”
Blankly staring at Enjin, you say nothing. The both of you in a mini stare down. Although you’re the first to give by suddenly bursting into sobs.
Rolling his eyes, a thought briefly flashes in Enjin's head that he should have just left you for the raiders. Hell, he could still leave you now—you’re calling way too much attention to yourself.
However, Enjin also figures that with you all but swimming in luxury on the Sphere, you probably thought of the Pit—your so-called Hell, or its inhabitants as mere fairytale.
Enjin’s inkling is confirmed when you calm down enough to piece together that your now ex-husband had hired a bunch of shady tribesmen to kidnap and dispose of you—all to collect your inheritance.
Yeah, not your fault. Enjin thinks and cuts you a break.
For your own sake, Enjin somehow convinces you to come back to Cleaner HQ with him. He can’t return you to the Sphere himself—but he knows another Spherite who’s trying to make their way back. That small glimmer of hope is enough to lift your spirits, just barely. This time, you follow him willingly—though you still cry the entire way to HQ.
Shame how prone to hysterics you are, otherwise Enjin actually thinks you’re pretty hot. Noting how the expensive silk of your dress clings so damn well to your every curve. He’d sell your clothes while you were near the shopping district—but unlike Rudo, he doubts he could talk you out of them.
At least—not yet.
But that thought is drastically short lived as Enjin spends more time in your presence. Sure, you could have gotten along. You could’ve even been Enjin’s type. Yet there’s one glaring problem:
You’re an annoying, needy-ass brat.
Besides looks, you tick off nearly every one of his dealbreakers. You’re ditzy, dependent and whiny. Basically Enjin’s nightmare.
Plus your snobby little ass never once thanked nor apologized to him over the following weeks.
Not after he saved you.
Not after he brought you back to HQ where you were welcomed with skeptical, yet open arms—as a new, very reluctant (you had no other options really) recruit in-training.
And you certainly never thanked Enjin, even after all his shit luck, when he was assigned to be your teacher and look after your haughty ass. You have the most indignant pout on your face when Corvus announces that since Enjin found you, you're Enjin’s problem.
“You have to be kidding me? I’m stuck with Trashy Poppins here!?”
“Yo, Trashy—what!?” The reference doesn’t land with Enjin but he knows it isn’t good.
Semiu nods curtly in agreement of the pairing, amused that Enjin finally has someone to keep him on his toes as she ushers you off to get settled in.
The fuck?!
Lamenting being stuck is supposed to be Enjin’s line. Enjin had figured the logical move was to pair you with Zanka—the closest thing to nobility among the Cleaners—and let you bond with Rudo, a fellow Spherite, even if he was a tribesman.
But it doesn’t take long to realize neither boy can handle a grown ass woman like you. One flutter of your lashes and they’re useless saps—like the big sister he never had, you could soothe Rudo’s worst moods with a mere head pat.
While Zanka, older and appreciating your more ‘robust’ qualities, trips over his own tongue trying to talk to you.
Both ready to do anything just to earn a few sweet coos—unless someone steps in.
It had to be Enjin. He was the only one who could ‘resist’ your charms.
Still, Enjin’s got his work cut out for him when it comes to you—especially training you for combat and figuring out how the hell you’re supposed to use that so-ugly-it’s-almost-cute vital instrument.
He tries not to judge. Really, he does. Jinki are personal—he knows that better than anyone. But still…the fact that you even have one? That’s wild.
A Spherite? A noble Spherite, no less—the same pompous assholes who treat the Abyss like a dumping ground—actually caring enough about something to pump it full of anima?
Yeah, that’s impressive, he’ll give you that. What wasn’t though was the name you gave the lil thing: Bubu.
Tsk. Wack as hell. Vital instruments deserve names with some bite. Something like—Umbreaker.
Still, credit where it’s due—you’re picking things up faster than expected.
However, that doesn’t spare him from your nonstop bitching, though. The complaints come daily: the strange smells your hair absorbs, the absence of your sacred skincare routines, not being able to take a 30 minute shower, and how everything down here always tastes just a little off.
But the most absurd? The cherry blossoms.
You complain the most about not being able to frolic in your lush, petal-covered garden full of rows of cherry blossoms. Enjin’s never even seen a damn tree like that, let alone the acres of grass and flowers you describe like some bedtime fairytale. You haughtily anoint yourself as a floral herbalist, an expert when it comes to your pretty little flowers.
It’s shit like that on top of everything else that irks Enjin when it comes to you.
And yet?
Enjin thinks the most irritating thing about you is the fact that he can’t seem to stay away from you.
Sure, you’re annoying as fuck—but in spite of his own objections, Enjin keeps finding ways to keep your time occupied. He makes up excuses to train you longer and drags you along on missions that are solely meant for him.
Moreover, since you can never keep that pretty little mouth shut, anyone you meet clocks you as a Spherite within seconds—which means you need Enjin’s constant protection, whether you like it or not.
Enjin ends up spending less time drinking or chasing women, finding a far more amusing pastime instead—the way your face twists in indignation every time the Ground doesn’t live up to your so-called “noble standards.”
He gets a kick out of it, really. Agitating you on purpose, just to watch you squirm.
“Goddamnit, Enjin! Watch it!”
You’d shriek every time your short skirt went flying from a sudden gust of wind he’d whip up with Umbreaker. Enjin saves that lil trick for No Man’s Land when the others’ backs are turned.
“That’s Enjin-sensei to you, Princess.”
“Choke—slowly, Trashy Poppins.”
You’d lunge for his mask like you actually meant to rip it off, but at 6 '3, Enjin’s tall enough that you never have a chance at reaching it. It’s all worth it too—Enjin’s already got every pastel scrap of lace you own burned into memory, each one tucked away like a reward for getting under your skin.
It’s a little sadistic, sure—the way he taunts you nonstop, delighting in soiling that polished image of yours to grind you into the dirt of the ground right along with him.
There’s a fire in your eyes every time Enjin dubs you as “Your Royal Trash Princess”—or just “TP” if he’s feeling lazy. You never fail to rise to his bait, eager to prove yourself—and prove him wrong.
Enjin feels he’s owed a bit of amusement for all his troubles.
Doesn’t mean anything.
Yet the more Enjin pushes, the harder it is to ignore that your bratty spark isn’t just an attitude problem. It’s energy. Real, raw passion. The kind that could actually cultivate anima. He sees it best when you’re snapping at him, flushed and defiant, too stubborn to back down.
It’s trouble to be sure, but fuck if Enjin doesn’t love coaxing it out of you.
All it took this time to get you going was him doubting your so-called knowledge of plants and remedies— “what kinda ‘floral herbalist’ hasn’t toked one?”
So now here you are, in the HQ lounge, about to smoke your first joint as a ‘pre-game’ to the happy hour Corvus organized for all the Cleaners.
You and Enjin sit shoulder to shoulder on a worn, black quilted-leather sofa that’s seen better days. The cushions creak as you nervously smooth your skirt and settle in, unhooking your jinki—Bubu—from your belt to set her gently on the table.
Enjin rolls a few joints with unhurried precision—like he’s got all the time in the world, and watching you squirm is part of the ritual.
“Bet ya didn’t have anything like this in your lil’ garden, eh TP?” Enjin quips, breaking the silence.
Nose already upturned, your face scrunches as Enjin tosses an extra bud from his stash into your open palms. You hated the nickname ‘TP’ most of all, too easily mistaken for ‘toilet paper’ and Enjin knows that.
You shoot Enjin a dirty look before letting your focus drift back to the brittle sprig in your hands—the first real plant you’ve touched since becoming a Ground-dweller.
You think you actually recognize it.
Back on the Sphere, your family was among the wealthiest, and your garden was massive. You took pride in your green thumb—like Delmon, whose garden you’ve been meaning to ask about. You want to help, if only to see what kind of plants can survive in conditions this toxic. But Enjin never gives you the space—always hovering, always cutting in before you can finish a full conversation.
You brush off those thoughts but your frown stays as your fingers trace the bud’s dry veins. Even for a dehydrated sample, it feels wrong—brittle in a way that hints of sickness.
“Hmm. We had something like this—I think. But it’s just another weed.” You say shrugging.
“Heh,” Enjin smirks at your cluelessness, “Would you believe me if I told you ‘weed’ is exactly what we call it, Princess?”
You roll your eyes at the inordinately simple name. It probably has a proper scientific designation—but expecting Enjin to know it? Please.
“We always uprooted them—weeds are unsightly in gardens, you know. A weed, let alone one sick as this, would definitely be pruned right away so as to not syphon nutrients from the other plant life.”
“HAH?!”
Mid-seal on his joint, Enjin stops cold, staring at you like you just dared to commit some sort of sacrilege before exhaling a theatrical sigh, shaking his head in pure betrayal.
He can’t believe Spherities are probably pissing away the dankest shit ever cultivated. The thought was maddening.
When Enjin’s eyes do meet yours again, there's no amusement as he takes a rather chastising tone with you.
“Princess, for your own good, never repeat that in front of anyone down here…I mean it.”
You huff, but Enjin doesn’t blink—just starts sealing the joint again, eyes never leaving you as his tongue drags slowly across the edge of the paper.
You squirm, and that’s all the reward he needs.
“See somethin’ you like?” Enjin drawls, holding the finished joint out toward you like it’s a gift—and not a trap with your name written all over it.
Turning on teacher mode, Enjin decides to school you.
“I know we mostly have ‘reggie’ down here, but still, it’s worth its weight in gold for its purposes. Not just for fun ya know—chronic pain, nausea, anxiety—gives a bit of relief from the ailments of Abyss-living you Spherites have so graciously bestowed on us.”
From his pocket, Enjin produces a lighter, shoulders curling as he bows into the flame to set it alight.
Your eyes flick over the sinewy stretch of Enjin arms, the way his jacket strains across his shoulders—reminding you just how solid Enjin really is beneath all that shapeless fabric. Built like a weapon, hiding in plain sight.
You watch as his ringed fingers lift the joint to his lips. Drawing in a slow, steady breath, Enjin sinks back into the sofa like gravity’s got a tighter hold on him than usual. Smoke pools in his chest before slipping out in a long, deliberate exhale.
His gaze follows it, distant—like he’s chewing on thoughts far heavier than anything you said… but somehow still set off by it.
“That’s the problem with you Spherites….you don’t see things the way they are—you see things the way you are.”
Enjin chuffs at his own words, closing his eyes to let his high settle. Not even completely stoned yet and he’s already spouting off pseudo philosophical one-liners.
“Everything else is collateral, amirite?”
Ouch.
Toeing at the floor, you sulk in silence. Wounded from the verbal licks Enjin just dealt you. Mulling over his words in silence though, you know it isn’t that simple. Horticulture can be complicated even in the most ideal conditions. Just because a plant is viable doesn’t mean it belongs in every garden—some plants are just incompatible.
However…
You sit silently, your teeth worrying your bottom lip as you study the brittle bud in your palm.
…that doesn’t make it worthless.
Instead of exploring any potential use, you tossed the so-called "weed" out—just like everything else the Sphere deemed useless. Not even considering how valuable it could be. You can see why Enjin wouldn't want you repeating that mistake. Enough people already looked at you with disdain as it is.
Sure there’s a lot of things you miss about it, mostly superficial things that had to do with vanity, but overall life up there was super sterile and dull. You’d never say it out loud but you are glad you fell, it was hard on the ground but it was liberating.
Sighing, you quietly concede. You hate anytime Enjin actually has a point though. It’s the worst thing imaginable—for your pride and for his already unbearable ego.
Cracking an eye open, Enjin curses under his breath. Switching tactics, he decides to replace the long look on his Trash Princess’s face. Annoyance would do just fine. Besides, there was no need for you to pout over it, you actually had a shot at redemption here… heh, the kind that might just work out in his favor, too.
“Y’knowwwww, we’re always learnin’ better ways to grow things down here, faster too...”
Enjin moves so quietly, you don’t realize how close he is until you turn—and he’s right in your face, barely a breath away. Swiping his ringed thumb across your cheek, Enjin’s touch is surprisingly tender. However his expression is entirely obnoxious, full of amusement from how fast your pouty little face flusters.
“...could be a nice little hobby that would do alotta good…and if anyone could figure out how to grow this shit properly down here—”
Enjin plucks at the heat of your warm cheeks, pinching just enough to tease and drag the moment into something more lighthearted.
“—I do believe it could be you—Trash Princess.”
Your eyes catch something deeper than just teasing in his golden gaze—but before you can dwell on it, instinct kicks in. You jerk back, swatting his hand away, shoving whatever that was out of your mind.
Enjin just laughs, unbothered, as you glare at him.
“And why can’t you get Delmon to do it?” you counter, arms folding across your chest. By now, you’ve learned Enjin usually has an angle for everything.
Right on the mark, for a beat, Enjin actually pauses. He hadn’t expected you to bring up the obvious—Delmon, the gentle giant practically martyred to the idea of saving what’s left of the Abyss. But Enjin’s roguish grin slips back into place, spreading wider as he leans in, unapologetically invading your space.
“Why? Well...’cause I asked you, Princess. The ol’lug has enough on his plate as it is. You can handle it alone, can’t ya?”
Truthfully, even knowing your interest in Delmon never strays beyond roots and soil, it still irks every time Enjin catches sight of you with him. You look every bit the noble—graceful, composed, eyes soft and curious as you gaze up at Delmon, eager to learn. It grates on Enjin more than he’d admit, knowing he’s never once gotten that look, despite monopolizing most of your time.
“Ya know—unless, your skillset just ain’t up t’par?” Enjin finishes with a shrug.
Wholly unconvinced, you see this for the bait it is from a mile away. Nevertheless, you can’t deny that you are eager to get even the tiniest bit of normalcy back in your life from your old hobbies. Planting something, anything, would be nice—even if it ends up being contraband for Enjin. Although you still aren’t quite sure why you can’t consult Delmon.
“Ugh! Fine!”
You fall back onto the sofa and Enjin follows, his arm settling behind you, practically draped around your shoulders. You don’t even flinch. He takes another slow hit, smoke curling toward the ceiling, but this time there’s a wicked glint in his eye as he watches you. Deciding he’s babysat the joint long enough, he leans in with a lazy smirk and holds it out to you.
“Enjin—your eyes!” You blurt out, disregarding his invitation. “Is that just from smoking!? I can’t go to happy hour looking like some kinda zombie!”
Enjin sputters mid-laugh, coughing as wisps of smoke leak from the corners of his smart ass grin.
“Eh, well duh. Why else would they get so red when I smoke?”
Enjin coughs out a few more chuckles. You roll your eyes.
“I don’t know, Trashy Poppins…I didn't make the connection since the air quality down here is 80% pollution! You could have anything.”
While Enjin is amused by your sass, the joint continues to burn down. Each second unsmoked is wasting precious bud. Leaning in, his voice drops to a low purr—the kind that makes your stomach flip.
Heh, time to pull out the big guns.
“Aht-aht-aht, c’mon now, Princess, you know the golden rule…”
You sigh, thinking you need that happy hour drink more than ever right now.
“You’re not serious.”
But you know he is, and of course you remember the silly motto Enjin makes an unspoken rule for his team. Although he mostly just uses it to get you to do something you’ll usually regret later. You sigh, knowing you’ll never make it to happy hour until you appease the big man-child in front of you.
Enjin’s golden eyes shine with even more mischief than before and together like some damn mantra, you both repeat:
“...it’s not peer pressure—it’s just your turn.”
Resigned, you click your tongue, swiping at the joint in his hands. But Enjin is much faster as he pulls back with infuriating speed. You glower at him, snark locked and loaded.
“Nah, actually I’ll help you out since it’s your first time, Princess.”
Innuendo coils around his words, heat radiating off him as you tense under his gaze. You don’t want to argue with him though, the sooner you smoked, the sooner you both could be at happy hour.
“Open.”
Enjin’s fingers graze the corner of your mouth as he holds the joint to your peach-glossed lips, eyes darkening when you part them obediently for him.
“Now breathe it in, nice and slow…deeper. Yeah, that’s it—hold it. Don’t let go until I say—good girl.”
You want to scoff at him, but you can’t—not with tears stinging your eyes and smoke burning its way down your lungs. By the time Enjin gives you the nod to exhale, you’re already choking, coughing it all back up in ragged plumes.
Yeah, this was nowhere in hell as easy as Enjin made it look.
The buzz rises in your head almost instantly, an airy haze creeping into your consciousness.
“See? Not a terrible cherry pop, eh?”
The glare you throw at Enjin is more of a squint. Still recovering from the fire tearing down your throat, your coughs earn you a few heavy-handed smacks on the back from Enjin. If it’s out of comfort or mockery, you can't tell.
Everything in the room is spinning and becoming more distant, like a daydream.
“Easy there, breathe—it’ll hit easier when ya figure out how to grow it right, Princess. The dank shit won’t burn this hard.”
You want to bite back that even if you do figure out how to grow the damn ‘weed’ plant, you’d never touch it again. But the sudden heaviness seeping into your limbs drags you down, tilting your head on the axis of equilibrium.
“I think, no—I know, I need to lay down.”
Not waiting for permission, you flop down onto the worn cushions beneath you, curling up awkwardly with your head leaning against the armrest and your legs dangling off the seat at an angle.
Enjin doesn’t miss a beat though—he scoops your legs into his lap, tugging off your boots so you can be comfortable.
Leaning back, perfectly at ease, Enjin holds the joint in one hand while the other rests on your stocking-covered shin, giving it a casual, reassuring pat. The way your arm drapes over your face tells him everything—yeah, you’ve got the spins.
“Keh, you’ll make it, Princess. Just let it all ride out.”
You’d make it alright, but not to happy hour anytime soon. Enjin supposes he might’ve let you take a bigger hit than you were ready for.
Whoops.
Silence stretches in the aftermath but it’s not uncomfortable. Enjin takes a few more lazy tokes, one golden eye cracked open just enough to watch you, taking stock of your state.
It’s in moments like this—rare ones, when you’re quiet—that he remembers just how fucking smoking hot you are.
Especially in that Cleaner uniform. Man, God bless August.
The eccentric tailor took special care in designing it thanks to a sudden burst of inspiration—August even convinced Enjin to allow him to keep some of the trim from your Spherite clothes that he repurposes. The outcome of your uniform is shinier, more fitted and much sluttier than standard issue.
You took to it immediately, without much fuss and actually complimenting August. That was August’s gift though—whipping up pieces to suit even the finickiest of tastes—and Enjin had to admit, the man did his big one.
But the real surprise wasn’t the craftsmanship. It was you—his oh-so-prim little Trash Princess—strutting around in something so damn naughty. Dressed up like a treat that Enjin can’t help but eat up with his eyes.
And whaddya know? Enjin has the munchies bad right now.
Left to his own devices, Enjin takes his time devouring the sight in front of him. His gaze lingers down the length of your legs sprawled across his lap, to the soft, exposed flesh of your thighs—spilling over the edge of your stockings just enough to make his jaw clench.
Fuck, they look so soft. He can't help but wonder how they'd feel locked around his head as his eyes climb to the next indulgence—your crop top. Rucked up to your ribs, the thin white cotton hugs just beneath your tits. Shit, the way your cute little nips poke through the fabric makes his mouth twitch with the urge to say ‘hi’ right back—with his tongue.
Is it hotter in here, or—?
Leering at you for too long is a surefire way for Enjin to pop a boner. Enjin knows he’s not alone in that either. That uniform of yours turns heads in every city you pass through. Consequently, Enjin has split more skulls because of idiots trying to hit on you or cop a feel than he ever has for anyone trying to snatch a Spherite.
Not that he’s jealous or nothing.
Nah. Just doing his job. Watching out for you. Plenty of unscrupulous assholes out there willing to pounce on a clueless little thing like you.
However, right now, Enjin’s just as unscrupulous—‘watching out’ only for a flash of your panties as each restless wiggle sinks you deeper into the lumpy cushions, bunching your skirt higher and teasing him with a glimpse of skimpy lace.
Man, just a little more and he’d know exactly which pair you picked today.
Sobering up a bit more, you sigh at your inability to get comfortable when you could feel the very springs in the sofa. Stretching, you straighten your leg suddenly and—
“Yo! Watch the feets, girl!”
Though there’s amusement in his voice as he jolts upright, tatted hands grabbing your ankle before you’re able to land another blow.
“Ah, sorry—” You mutter sheepishly, reeling back your foot. “I didn’t mean to kick Umbreaker.”
For what it’s worth, the apology comes quickly—you’ve learned better than to mess with a man’s jinki, especially Enjin’s. You've nearly tripped more times than you can count over that bulky extension of himself that he always keeps within reach.
You know it’s serious too when he doesn’t even bother with the stupid nicknames he usually calls you. Nevertheless, you’re left puzzled when Enjin’s laughter comes out loud and sharp.
“...that wasn’t Umbreaker, Princess.”
Huh? What does he mean that isn’t—
You freeze.
Carefully peeking out from under your arm, your reddened eyes squint down the length of your body and onto his. When the realization does set in of what exactly you kicked, it smacks you harder than any hit of ganja ever could.
“O…oh…—OH MY GAWD!”
Immediately springing upright, your vertigo swirls with how fast you’re scrambling to your knees as you gawk.
Time passes for what seems like a solid minute or two and neither of you speak.
You’re staring at the crotch of Enjin’s baggy pants and Enjin is staring at you.
“Heh.”
The devious look on Enjin’s face right now could shame the devil himself. Yet you’re still in utter disbelief.
There’s no way that’s his dick!
Still, your brain won’t stop running the numbers—high girl math with clumsy calculations drawn from the fleeting brush of your toes against the long, thick mass hidden beneath the fabric of his baggy pants. Enjin’s words ring in your mind like a gong—‘that wasn’t Umbreaker…’
“You’re burnin’ a hole through my dick, Princess—”
Enjin’s voice unfurls seductively, like the smoke curling from his lips.
“—keep starin’ like that and I’m gonna think you wanna see it.”
Your eyes meet his dead-on.
“I do.”
“Yeah, I’m sure yo—wait, come again?!”
Enjin’s grip goes slack, the joint slipping from his fingers. He was halfway to some sassy quip, ready to taunt your denial—but your delivery is so honest, with no teasing or angle to play off, he doesn’t know what to do with it.
The embers hiss against his thigh before he even registers he dropped it.
“Tch.” Cursing under his breath, he flicks it aside—it’s all roach anyway—and tries to pull himself back together.
You’re fucking with him. Yeah. That’s it.
Smug again, Enjin leans into the bit you started.
“Ha ha…right. I know my stuck up lil’ Trash Princess isn’t asking to give me a dick inspection…”
Enjin adjusts his pants in a casual sweep that doesn’t fool either of you. He’s not brushing off the remaining flakes of ash—he’s palming his restless cock that jumped at the idea of you actually wanting to see it.
But both you and Enjin would quickly discover, despite your snobby Spherite upbringing, you lose any type of filter and sense of couth while high—blurting out your thoughts unabashedly.
“I said I wanted to see it, Trashy Poppins. Or m’not gonna believe you’re actually that big.”
You fold your arms, huffing stubbornly.
There was no way an unbearably annoying man like Enjin was slanging actual horse cock!
He had to be the one fucking with you here.
Well, wait, no—a cocky, stupidly sexy man having a big dick actually tracks, now that you think about it.
But still—you need to verify. For science, if nothing else.
Yeah. Science.
Enjin blinks, taking stock of you—kneeling close, your tits straining like they’re about to burst free, and your skirt rides so high on your thighs this time, he swears one more millimeter and he’d see your panties for real.
“C’mon now…”
Your sickly sweet coos needle at Enjin’s spine.
“...as if you aren’t always upskirting me just to see my panties.”
Shit. You knew it was intentional?
“At least you can show me your undies for a change. If you’re really that big, then I’ll be able to tell.”
The spark alight in your eyes is a challenge to Enjin, who loves pushing your limits. Now he needs to know how far you’ll go. Even if he’s completely unprepared for this turn of events, he’s sure as fuck not gonna be the one backing down first.
“S’that right, Princess? Well, I haven’t even seen yours today so—”
Enjin doesn’t even get the chance to finish before you’re lifting your skirt and spreading your knees wider. You stare up at the ceiling, the popcorn squares suddenly appearing super interesting to you. Enjin’s eyes however immediately zero-in on the pink lace stretched tight across your pussy.
Christ.
With a much closer view, Enjin picks up all the little details he usually misses—like how the hem digs into your soft curves or how the material is thin enough to see the split of your chubby lil pussy lips pressed underneath.
Goddamn, are you intentionally buying them a size too small?
Or is your pussy print just that fat?
Enjin gulps, mouth dry.
His attention caught like a hook to your cunt, everything else is unimportant—including the irony of how he was just teasing you for the very same thing—it’s all utterly lost on him. His priorities shifting rapidly the longer he ogles you.
After a minute, giving him quite frankly more of his fill than he deserves, you let your skirt drop back into place. The alluring spell of your fatma breaks when your knees snap shut and Enjin is yanked back to a world that doesn’t exist between the apex of your doughy thighs.
All of his lecherous starring is worth it though—if only to be able to throw his own saying back at him for once.
“Now, how’s it go again? It’s not peer pressu—”
“—Yeah, yeah, I got it, Princess—My turn.”
Enjin relents, cutting you off with a twisted grin as he shakes his head.
“Ya don’t gotta break my arm to see my dick, babe. Just makin’ sure you’re sure. Don’t need you runnin’ off telling Semiu I flashed ya.”
Semiu is already on Enjin’s ass for teasing you as much as he does. Something about him being ‘too grown’ not to ‘nut up’ and ‘come to terms with his reality’, but Enjin was never listening for long, zoning out as soon as a new lecture was underway.
However, if your prissy ass really wants to see his dick that bad, of course he’d oblige. Hell, Enjin would get another kick outta watching your horror when you realize for real just how much he’s packing. It had been a minute since he'd seen that look on a woman.
For being as hot and charming as he is, Enjin didn’t get nearly as much play as he should’ve. He isn’t a virgin by any means, but too many women take one glance at his size and back off expeditiously.
Life on the ground meant hustling to survive for most. Nobody could afford to be laid up for days just because Enjin’s wrecking ball of a cock tore through their walls, rendering them unable to walk—let alone go to work.
Yet with a clink, that all changes as the leather strap of his belt and gear slides free. Enjin lifts his hips enough to shove his pants down past his thighs and there it is—short red boxer briefs with a black waistband, the fabric stretched thin over the obscenely long, thick outline of his dick resting along his thigh.
Simply put, your jaw drops. There’s a static-like silence buzzing in your mind as you process the monstrous mass of phallic muscle before you.
You’ve never seen a dick that huge in your entire life.
Clocking your shock, Enjin’s chest puffs like he’s just been crowned a king in the room.
“Relax, Princess…” he drawls, smugness saturating every word.
“I ain’t even all the way hard yet.”
Bullshit!
Your eyes pingpong between his face and his cock before landing on the obvious conclusion—no overthinking this time.
“What are you waiting for then? Get hard.”
Enjin actually chokes for real this time, still not used to how blunt his demure lil’ Trash Princess gets when she’s high. He manages to laugh regardless once he finds his breath as he sure as hell doesn’t hate this new side of you.
“Hah?! It doesn’t work like that ya know…”
Enjin lies right through his fucking teeth.
Just hearing that vulgar command from your prissy lil’ lips has his blood surging south, his cock swelling at rapid speed. Already on go, his dickprint thickens, straining against the fabric until threads stretch thin to form almost obscenely over him like second skin.
Yet unlike his past hookups you don’t flinch at the sight of him getting even bigger.
There’s more than enough incredulousness on your face for sure, but Enjin half expected you to backpedal for the sake of your pussy’s self-preservation and book it out the door. Instead, the look you’re giving his dick is more akin to awe than fear.
Truly, though—you are in awe.
Men weren’t like this on the Sphere. Well, your husband certainly wasn’t.
Older than you by over a decade, your husband’s stamina was so poor he never lasted long. His size, his endurance, and his dismissive comments about your sexual appetite being perversely unbecoming for a lady of your station had you wondering if something was wrong with you this entire time—if you expected too much from sex.
But when your eyes drift back to Enjin—catching the thick vein running along his length, visible even through the fabric—you know better now.
It was never you.
The realization brings a surge of boldness. Your gaze trails the pulse of his cock down to the wet patch blooming at the tip—so much pre spilling it seeps through the fabric.
Enjin inhales sharply through his nose. He knows he’s proven his size, but your silence and the way you’re eyeing his cock like some kind of museum exhibit is starting to get to him.
Enjin doesn’t want to back down as he impatiently waits for your final verdict of approval. But if you keep staring at him like that, with those big pretty eyes of yours, he’s going to come in his pants, untouched, like some fucking cuck.
“Well, Princess? Big enough for ya?”
You don’t even hear Enjin, too lost in your own thoughts. Your body, buzzed and reckless, has a mind of its own though. Reaching out, your hand leaves your lap to trace the thick ridges of his cock, mapping its shape through his briefs.
“Oh, shiiii—” Enjin hisses.
His lip catches between his teeth as all thoughts vanish the moment your delicate little fingers start stroking him.
“Argh—fuck. Can’t jus’ go grabbing a man’s dick like that ya know.”
Yet Enjin does nothing to stop you as your touch grows bolder. Your palm flattens around his girth—too thick for even your whole hand to wrap around, even through his boxers.
How would someone even get something that monstrous inside them!?
Encircling his leaky cockhead, you giggle as your index finger slowly tap-tap-taps the mess he’s made there, amused at how many of the small, sticky suds you can gather on your finger through the material.
Enjin’s own laugh is strangled. This can’t be real.
You’re unfazed by Enjin’s provocations – too mesmerized by the obscenely large cock in front of you that has you squirming uncomfortably as your own panties turn swampy with heat.
“May I?”
Meeting Enjin’s gaze, your polite innocence is accented by a wide-eyed pout that’s far too sweet for the filthy implications of your request. Like you’re nicely asking permission to play with your favorite toy—except you don’t even wait for him to give it,fingers impatiently snapping the edges of his waistband like some cockhungry slut.
“Uh…” Enjin blanks while his dick is practically screaming at him to respond—even a damned head nod would suffice. Yet his brain blue-screens as it registers that look—the normally innocent, curiosity filled look that he's been craving since he found you in No Man's Land—now twisted into something debased and filthy. And best of all?
Meant just for him.
Enjin’s so fucking hard right now it’s painful—and hell, if you’re planning to do something about that, he’s not about to stop you.
“Keh. Do you, boo.”
Enjin manspreads, giving you full access. You eagerly pull down his shorts just enough to release his cock, and it springs free, thick and heavy.
Good God, he’s a big boy!
Although you knew that, seeing the monster in all of its unleashed glory was an entirely different experience. Enjin’s dick bobs back to curve towards his abs, a shiny pubic piercing shining at his base under its shadow.
Panting, your previously dormant inner size queen activates. You have to swallow down the bucket of saliva collecting on your tongue before you choke—you can’t help but salivate at the thought of what a huge cock like this tastes like… what it feels like.
You’re pretty sure it could break you in two, and surprisingly, the thought excites you.
Lowering yourself on all fours, the first tentative lick you give Enjin’s length has his toes curling as he grips the sofa, ripping a chunk clean off the decaying material.
You moan out a depraved 'ahhh' once you reach the top, a little smile playing on your lips as you tongue down the hole at his tip. Greedily, you lap up all the little dribbles of pre beading at the tip and flowing out.
“W-Woaaah—ugh. FUCK!”
Enjin’s hand flies into your hair as he clears his throat. Sure, your mouthwatering stares made a blowie likely, but diving in this shamelessly? It’s enough to make him feel like he’s losing his damn mind.
You grip his base—an insurance policy to keep him from cumming—while your other hand cups his balls, giving them a gentle squeeze. His thigh jolts beneath you and you simper at how sensitive he is despite his massive size.
“T-There’s no way in hell they taught your prissy ass how to be this much of a slut up there.”
Pouting, you release his balls to cradle his cockhead against your puffed up cheek, uncaring of the amount of pre seeping across your jaw.
“D-Do…do you hate it? My hus—um, ex said it was a turn off. H-he'd say I have 'the depravity of a slums streetwalker.”
Staring up at Enjin, your eyes are clouded with lust, yet edged with worry—like he’d threatened to rip something precious away. But it’s only his cock you’re coddling tighter against your cheek, your lips parting just enough to chase the beads of pre that drip close to your mouth.
If you weren’t gripping Enjin’s base so hard he definitely would have blown a load all over your face. Fuck, if the thought isn’t tempting to him though – he doesn’t think you’d even mind in this state.
Goddamn, you’re so much sluttier than Enjin could have ever imagined.
And he’d imagined it plenty.
Especially on nights Enjin stumbled back to HQ drunk and alone, having closed down the bar with Corvus and Gris. Left to sate his own booze-fueled boner, he’d shamelessly rut into his pillow. Yet, no matter where his perversions strayed, every faceless fantasy in the dark insisted on transmuting into you.
You seriously think he couldn’t match your freak?
Oh, sweetheart, you have no fucking idea.
“Hate it?”
Enjin holds back the growl building at the back of his throat. There’s a torrent of thoughts swirling with his high all at once—all coming to settle right back into his dick.
“Never. Show me who you really are, Princess—n’ I’ll give it right back to ya tenfold—that’s a promise.”
If you weren’t already trembling with arousal—finally free to let your freak flag fly—you might’ve shied away. Enjin’s easy acceptance of you stirs something deeper, something messy that you usually ignore before it can settle. Now, with his scent thick on your face and tongue, you’re not thinking at all—aching with the urge to all but inhale his cock.
You merely nod, flashing Enjin a coy smile before stretching your plush lips to wrap around him. Slowly, you swallow down his girth, mouth hot with suction so deliciously moist Enjin’s hips jerk up. You gag, but his firm grip on your roots keeps your head in place, forcing his length to breach your throat.
“That’s it, baby…open up f-f’er me—g-good fucking girl, Princess…”
Tears prick at your eyes as his cock pounds back of your throat. The stretch is brutal—but some desperate part of you craves more of his filthy praise. What you can’t take with your mouth, your hands make up for—stroking every thick inch your lips can’t swallow.
“Shiiiit, girl! You’re a pro at this.”
If you ask Enjin later, he’d probably call you a throat goat, however most of your “experience” came from the smutty paperbacks high-society wives hid in corsets and swapped under tea tables—not actual practice. You don’t really know what you are doing. You’re just following the book's explicit instructions.
Still, Enjin doesn’t seem to mind being your test dummy.
On the contrary, Enjin is more than happy to let you do your thing and he does just that. Although, the longer your head bobs along his cock, the more your skirt rides up—until it finally flips over your hips, giving him a perfect view of the cheeky lace framing your ass.
Enjin groans, gripping your ass with bruising force before sliding his fingers down to palm your pussy over your panties—fuck, you’re already dripping for him.
“Hah—uppity cunt gets this sloppy just from a lil’ dick sucking, eh?”
Enjin laughs, yet the gravel rattling in his voice betrays him. No one has ever fearlessly tried to deepthroat him and actually fucking enjoyed it.
Unable to respond with your mouth, too busy still trying to do the impossible and fit more inside your throat, your hips respond instead—wiggling desperately against his fingers, begging for more of his touch.
Enjin doesn’t hesitate. Slipping a tatted finger into your panties, he drags it through your folds, marveling at how wet and scorching you are. Pushing into your core, your walls clamp down, fluttering around his digit.
Oh fuck, even his fingers are big!
A second ringed finger follows – the rough, callous fingers of a man who's seen too many fights scrape so good against all your gooey spots. Lewd squelches echo from your pussy as your throat tightens around him in tandem. The sounds, the squeeze, the heat—all of it is driving him crazy.
Shit he’s gonna cum for real this time.
To his credit, Enjin tries to warn you—tries to pull you off before it’s too late.
He doesn’t wanna risk pissing you off and having you refuse to ever do this again. Enjin still wants to fool around more;, he wants to fuck you. It’s that thought—your pretty pussy lips splitting open to swallow him instead—that has him busting his hot seed down your throat in thick, hot pulses.
“HAHH—FUHH!”
Releasing your hair, Enjin half expects you to pull away, furious he hadn’t warned you. Instead, your nails dig into his thigh, steadying yourself. You moan around him, the vibrations rippling through his sensitive cock while you work him for every last drop, his hips jerking beneath you.
Only when you’re certain you’ve drained him do you pull back, swollen lips coming off his cock with a wet pop.
“Allll go-neee S-Sheee? HAhhhhh~♡”
Tits jiggling as you heave for air, you present your tongue to Enjin as proof you’ve swallowed all of him. Every. Filthy. Drop.
You can’t help but agree—your throat’s wrecked and your pussy’s aching to be used just as thoroughly. Enjin’s fingers aren’t inside you any more, although they are still on your pussy, running through your folds absentmindedly.
“Ngh—n-eed m-more,” you slur.
All your decorum was lost to the wind the moment you asked to see his dick—you don’t even care that it’s Enjin of all people that you just gave head to. Suddenly, the obnoxious pain in your ass seems like your only deliverance. Right now, you're more frustrated that you've spent so much time bickering with him when you could have been fucking him.
You much prefer his moans to anything else coming out of his mouth.
You need him to get hard again—immediately!
Enjin, mind mushy with release, takes another joint out to light. As much as he wants to return the favor after that kind of sloppy top, the man needs a minute. His high has his whole body tingling from the post release sensitivity.
But you can’t wait any longer. It’s been god knows how long since you’ve had a proper orgasm and those were only from your own small, fumbling fingers. Throat achy and raw, you quiver at the masochistic thought of how his cock is going to absolutely obliterate your pussy.
You slide your panties down before flinging off your jacket and top. Taking a seat on Enjin's lap, you're now clad in just your bra, your skirt that's bunched up at your hips, and thigh highs. Grabbing his cock, you give his soggy, half-hard girth a few encouraging pumps.
Your pussy is already slobbering, a viscous string of syrupy slick drips down from your slit to land on his cockhead, connecting you to him as you line him up.
Feeling your fingers around his length, Enjin's eyes fly open, balancing the joint between his lips as he quickly shrugs off his own jacket, checking the pockets.
“Woah, woah. Slow your roll there sweetheart—you’re skipping a few steps.”
You aren’t listening though, not giving a fuck what Enjin is talking about as you cry out, grinding your clit against his fat tip, before running it back through your folds.
Enjin grits his teeth, coughing out smoke as he holds the joint in one hand and your hips in the other. You’re being a brat again, not listening to a single word he’s saying.
“Gotta find my rubbers…also gotta stretch you out better, Princess—you’re gonna split in two if I don’t.”
You whimper, petulant and needy. You press his cockhead against your entrance, swiveling your hips like you’re going to recklessly sink down on him at any second.
“Huh? Rubbers?” You shake your head in confusion, pouting. “m’Ennnnjiiiiin…I can’t wait that long—puh-leaseee don’t make me wait s’long, Enjiiiiin. I can take it, promiseee!”
The way you sweetly coo his name is shattering any sense of self-control Enjin has left. The urge to submit you to the ultimate corruption surges hot through his veins, but Enjin knows how big he is and while he did want to break you, he didn’t want to hurt you in the process. You are absolutely nuts to want to ride him with so little prep—now, on top of everything else, you apparently wanted him to fuck you raw.
Wait—did you just ask what rubbers were? Did you not have condoms on the Sphere?
But any lingering concerns dissipate the second you start fighting to get his tip inside you.
“Too s-slow!” You groan.
Fear is the last thing on your mind—evident in the way you impale yourself on him, defiant even against the impossible stretch. Your pussy is tight around the swollen head of his cock, strangling it as your nails dig into his shoulders. You grind in slow, desperate circles. Tears roll down your cheeks as you bite them to keep from crying out, your body fighting against every inch.
Enjin watches with a dark glint in his eyes – you trying so hard for him makes him want to flip you over and fuck you into the cushions. But he’d let you have it at your own pace…for now.
Releasing your hip, Enjin spits into his palm, rubbing his slick fingers over your clit in slow steady circles.
“Such a hard-headed girl—c’mere…”
Enjin takes a long drag from the joint, balancing it between his fingers as he grabs the back of your neck. His lips crash into yours before you can think.
You gasp and Enjin takes the opportunity to exhale the smoke deep into your lungs, taking the harshest of the hit himself. You're left with only the smooth, earthy flavor warming your chest before it melts through your limbs.
But it’s the way he kisses you after that really knocks the ground out from under you. His tongue pushes past your lips, tangling with yours—hungry, messy, like he wants to steal the little air you have left until you’re only breathing him in.
Your arms wrap around his neck, hands buried in his soft buzzed undercut, anchoring yourself. You moan into his mouth and he swallows it greedily, teeth nipping your lower lip before diving right back in. All the while, his thumb keeps grinding into your clit, faster now, like he’s keeping rhythm with the pulse that’s beating under your skin.
Why does it feel this good? How is he doing this to your body? S’not fair!
Not realizing you could feel this good from a kiss, you're unraveling in real time. Your mind goes blank with every pulse, every word, every inch. You’re not even fully seated yet, but you can already feel the blunt head of his cock grinding against your cervix, the pressure building with each centimeter you drop. You never imagined you could feel this full—like he might actually breach your womb.
The thought alone has you trembling, unstable, your aching thighs giving out, causing you to slide down a bit too fast. The thick veins along his length rake across your g-spot and your body snaps. A sharp, helpless spasm rocks you as your breath catches and a small, unexpected orgasm rolls through you.
Enjin pulls back just enough to let you breathe, though your body doesn’t stop shivering, lost in a blur of pleasure and pain.
“Eh... did you just cum, Princess?”
The question is rhetorical, full of smug amusement, as he can feel the increasing wetness leaking down his cock, making it all the easier for you to slide down.
Teasing your earlobe, Enjin’s tongue dips in to flick at the shell of it, making you clench.
“HA! Good fucking girl! A lil’ more and I bet she’ll be a real squirter f’er me.”
Enjin beams, proud of his Trash Princess. No woman had ever taken him this deep—not even close. Enjin hadn’t expected you to be any different. And yet…when Enjin looks down, he releases a groan deep from his gut.
The sight alone almost has Enjin nutting in you -- your drooling cunt spread so wide around his girth, sitting almost at his base. A thought flashes briefly – it's kinda like he’s a virgin again. Parts of his dick had never experienced this kind of molten heat so maybe, in a sense, he is? Enjin didn’t fucking care if he was though, as he ain’t about to be with the way your pretty pussy is giving way like it’s made for him.
“Run that back.”
Enjin takes the final drag, pinching the smoldering end of the joint between his fingers before flicking it aside. He leans in again, slower this time. There’s no rush in how his mouth seals over yours. The second shotgun is less about the smoke and more about the feel of you—your lips parting for him, your breath syncing to his, and the small whimper you make as he sucks slowly on your tongue.
The haze spreads between you both, thick and warm. Simultaneously, his knuckles tease your clit, a soft schlick sound filling the space between you from you getting wetter by the second. By the strength of some unknown force, you finally bottom out, immediately collapsing into his neck.
You both moan. Enjin feels you quivering from the inside out and you feel him everywhere—shifting your guts into your ribs.
“I…I did it.”
Your smile blooms soft against his inked skin, lips grazing the spot where you can feel his own pulse hammering wildly.
Enjin’s in no state to congratulate you on your impressive feat. Completely sheathed in you raw, coring out your gummy walls into the shape of his dick—something in his brain chemistry fizzles. Like a bit of pussy juice, acting as a catalyst, slipped into his dick and traveled straight to his prefrontal cortex to corrode all of his previous thoughts about you. The result is clear.
Enjin doesn’t give a fuck if you are a snobby, annoying, needy lil’ brat who never let him get away with shit and bitches at him constantly—the furtherest thing from his type.
Because honestly?
Motherfuck a bullshit-ass type. Your slutty ass pussy is fuckin’ perfect.
For the first time, Enjin realizes he might be in love with you.
How could he even look at another woman after this?
One thing if for certain—Enjin is going to make damn sure you never have the desire to even look at another man.
Both his hands trail up your hips, groping and squeezing the plump curves of your ass before settling at your waist. His blunt black nails dig into your skin to pull you back from his neck.
Enjin whistles, admiring the stagnant stream of spittle lingering on your chin. Look at you—cockdrunk just from sitting on him.
Enjin doesn’t think he’s ever seen you look more beautiful.
“Enjiiiiiin,” you whimper, not being able to hold yourself up.
But your cries for him only inflame the predatory smirk on his lips, your honeyed cunt hugging his cock so beautifully.
“Makes sense you fell from heaven, huh Princess?”
Whether you're ready or not, Enjin forcibly winds you on his cock in slow circles. Your clit brushes up against the well placed pubic ring like a reward for being the first to experience it.
“—cause this pussy’s a fuckin’ angel.”
Your eyes are already lodged in your skull so you can’t even roll them at his cheesy line. But if your pussy is an angel, then Enjin's dick is most definitely a demon—his sinful cock tearing through your insides and condemning you straight to hell.
Moaning loudly, your body moves on autopilot—chasing more friction from the rhythm Enjin set. Good thing everyone was at happy hour or you would for sure be attracting some major attention now.
Although, to be honest you probably wouldn’t notice anyway. You don’t even notice when your bra falls away, your tits spilling out just so Enjin could watch them jiggle in his face. You only register its disappearance once his mouth latches onto one of your nipples, his tongue finally saying it’s ‘hello’.
“Shiiiiit!”
Your hips stutter, then stall when Enjin tugs at your sensitive bud with his teeth.
“Hey…I know my Trash Princess ain’t tappin’ out just yet.”
SMACK!
Enjin brings a heavy palm down on your ass and your pussy clenches tighter around him. Enjin relishes the way your plush curves mold to his hands, each smack adding to the wet, messy sounds between you. You’ve already leaked enough on his lap to stain the sofa beneath you.
“Nah, ya just got on the ride, baby. Giddy-up.”
SMACK!
“NNNGH!” You weakly glare daggers at him.
Any softness on Enjin’s face has since been replaced by something far more mischievous. If you thought he was obnoxious before—you’re about to learn he’s a full-blown menace inside of pussy.
Wobbling, you gather together what little resolve you have left to roll your hips forward.
“HAAH! S’too biiiiiig,” you whine but your body can’t stop.
The juices saturated between you grant enough momentum to finally get a good, smooth bounce going.
“Fuck—that’s it, ride it like it’s yours, baby.” Enjin encourages you.
The way you cream harder every time he calls you 'baby' doesn't go unnoticed.
“Oh? You like me talking sweet to the pussy, baby girl?—Or do you just like being my filthy lil’ trash slut, hm Princess?”
Gritting your teeth, you grab on to Enjin’s shirt like reins, pulling him closer to you.
“Y-You’re…gonna—ahshiiiit—hafta f-fuck m’better than thisss…if you want m-me to be your ‘baby girl’—Trash Daddy.”
Unfortunately, your sass falls flat—you can barely keep your head from lulling to the side. But Enjin’s thoroughly entertained nonetheless—he’ll take ‘Trash Daddy’ over ‘Trashy Poppins’ any day.
“Bet.”
Electricity runs through Enjin. He’s all charged up—now it’s his turn to unleash.
Your brow furrows from the noise Enjin makes—you’re not sure if he just laughed or snarled. But it's the only warning you get.
Sliding down the sofa a bit, adjusting himself for stability, Enjin spreads his legs, planting his feet firmly on the floor as he bullies his cock up into you like he's breaking in his own personal fleshlight.
All you can do is go slack, falling forward on his chest. His grip bruising your hips, not allowing you to run from the way his blunt cockhead plows into your womb like a battering ram.
The couch beneath you groans, its frame creaking under the strain. The wood and leather protest like the entire thing might fall apart at any moment.
“Enjinnnnn, m’slowwww dowwwnnn!”
Your cries only fuel his frenzy and Enjin knows from the way you’re gushing on him you can take it.
Fuck—this sweet lil’ pussy is just so good for him. Imagine if he never met you.
If you never—
Enjin cuts the thought off cold.
Moving before you can blink—your world flips. One second he’s pummeling up into you, the next you’re on your back.
Enjin peels away his shirt, muscles flexing as he looms over you. His hands curl around your ankles to keep them pinned overhead. A single bead of sweat catches your bleary eyes as it slides down his bare chest, gliding over firm muscle. The bold ink patterns seem to come alive on his skin. He looks so fucking sexy right now and you can’t help but to shamelessly ogle him.
Yet, there’s something much too serious and somber about Enjin’s current demeanor. You’ve been staring at him far too long to go unnoticed. The highly expressive, sassy powerhouse is rarely this silent. He should be teasing you right now, asking some smartass shit like if you’re ‘enjoying the view’.
“Enjin?”
Your sweet voice hits his ears and instantly you have his attention again. Enjin flashes you a pearly white smile.
“Heh, enjoy the break, Princess? You wont get another.”
Ignoring the question in your eyes, Enjin folds you into a mating press, thrusting to the hilt all in one motion. The sound of flesh lewdly slapping against flesh fills the room, as do your cries.
But there’s still something else burning in his eyes. Enjin knows it’s unfair not to be honest with you, but taking out his unspoken feelings on your pretty pussy is the only way he can express himself at the moment.
Suddenly, there’s a loud creak followed by a decisive snap and two of the sofa’s legs give out. If your sweat and cum weren't like glue on the old leather you’d surely slide off head first. You yell out in alarm, but Enjin doesn’t give a fuck about the damn sofa.
His mood is still soured by the thought that wouldn’t be shaken away until he confronted it—
If you never fell.
But you did. He found you—and now that Enjin has you under him like this, he needs to fuck the point he’s concluded into you:
If Rudo ever finds a way to the Sphere, Enjin will personally travel there and see to your ex-husband himself.
Hell, he might even rail you in front of him a few times—show him what a real man could do. Maybe even a real…husband?
If the sounds of sloshing fluids and skin slapping skin weren't ringing so loudly in your ears that it drowned out everything else, you would have thought Enjin had lost his mind with the way he was cackling above you. He sounds completely deranged, laughing at the idea of him finally wanting to settle down all while continuing to pound you deeper into the broken sofa.
But despite being high off weed and your pussy, Enjin’s mind has never been more clear—he wants to lock you down.
“Hah… P-Princess, can ya feel me in your tummy? Right…” Enjin’s golden eyes lock on the ever-so-slightly distended bulge from the monstrous intrusion in your guts.
“....right, here.”
Throwing your legs over his shoulders, his large hands splay across your sweat sheened belly. You’re squirming under the heat of Enjin sandwiching your guts between his palm and his cock. Its all far too much—you’re too full, unable to really focus on what Enjin’s saying.
“Ahh, E-Enj—m’ c-cum, g-gonna mmm…” you hiccup, swallowing your tears.
Your nails rake down his arm to ground yourself but your body is thrumming too hard, adrift in the rush rolling through every one of your wired nerves. Your tits bounce obscenely every time your velvety walls devour his cock back down to the base. Enjin’s pubic piercing bucking against your clit has you clutching onto his dick like you were about to break it off.
You feel so fucking good. Enjin desperately needs to feel you creaming on his cock, and you would be soon if your kitten nails raking down his arms– adding more red to his already inked skin– were any indication.
“That’s it, Princess, hah—fuck, baby, I got you. Squirt for your Trash Daddy.”
As if on command, the knot inside you coils to its breaking point, prickling every nerve, releasing a warm rush of fluids. Your body tingling in ecstasy, you quickly tumble over your peak, eyes blinded by speckles of brightness as you cum.
Yet Enjin hasn't slowed, his continuous pounding forcing more of your cum and squirt to gush out of you—the melody of his now drenched balls colliding with your wet ass only growing loude
“Fuck, that’s it. Pussy cryin’ like she wants my cum, Princess…”
You’re barely conscious from all the pleasure, eyes rolling back into your head.
“She’s jealous that slutty throat of yours got all my cum, now it’s her turn to swallow, isn’t that right?”
It’s a rather roundabout way for Enjin to ask if he can nut inside you, but then again, he wasn’t really asking. The thought of breeding you makes him feral.
“Ahh—f’nnghhhh!”
Non-verbal and fucked dumb, you’d probably agree to anything right now. You’re an utter mess–pussy stretched beyond anything you thought possible, face sticky with slobber rolling down to pool in the folds of your neck.
“O’course it is…gonna dump all these trash babies into my princess’ sweet lil’ cunt.”
Although you are super turned on by the thought of Enjin breeding you, there's no way you have any idea how serious Enjin is about putting a baby in you. How could you? You don’t even realize the love confession his cock is professing to you.
“FUHHHH—take it!”
Enjin pumps thick ropes of his cum into your tummy as his body thrashes on top of yours. The primal intensity has you vibrating as another orgasm rips through your overstimulated and overworked pussy. Filled the brim, his spunk overflows, sploshing out of your pussy as he rocks his hips, urging his seed deeper to plant right in your womb.
In the afterglow, the two of you lie off-kilter in a tangled heap on the broken sofa. There’s blood rushing to your head— not the worst place for it, you think, all things considered. Enjin’s weight is heavy, his chest heaving into yours, warm and sticky as he wraps you in his arms.
Just as you feel you both might drift off like this, Enjin stirs. Flinching, you whimper as Enjin wills himself up, his cock sliding out of your pussy with a squelchy suctioning noise. Your knees part for him with zero resistance as he inspects his handiwork, peeling apart your battered pussy lips to reveal your dug out slit.
“Whewww,” Enjin whistles at the sight of the thick creampie glistening in your core. “All this cum your cute pussy pulled outta me—you’d think she was my jinki.”
Sober, you likely would have slapped him for referring to your pussy as his vital instrument. But ecstasy clouds your logic, so high off endorphins and other substances, you only giggle. It is kinda funny you suppose.
“Yeah—squirtin’ on command like that. Definitely an attack type.”
Spread open, the thick plug of spunk froths out of you. But Enjin simply tuts, pushing it right back in, not wanting to waste a single drop.
“Yeah, how about that, ’mma duel wielder! Yup, definitely gotta name ‘er now—what you thinkin’ I should call her, princess?”
Enjin sees the way your pretty cunny is twitching, and in his pussy drunk mind, it's an approval. The spasms that still quake through you are like tremors of Morse Code—your slutty pussy agreeing with him, begging for more. Flipping you over on your belly, Enjin is more than happy to fulfill any request of his new vital instrument.
“Got it! Cumbringer! The Umbreaker and The Cumbringer. Nice ring to ‘em, dont’cha think?”
Cumbringer!?
Later, you would definitely regret being so thoroughly fucked out of your mind you didn’t put a stop to this. Enjin is most definitely going to be insufferably proud of himself for the next 3-6 business weeks. He’d lord this over you and tease you with not-so-subtle hints around the rest of the cleaners.
Yet, as Enjin is swabbing his huge cock through your folds, you feel the ache of loss in your core, wanting to be filled again and you can’t seem to find the fucks to care—you just needed more of his dick, like…now.
Pleased with your compliance, Enjin thumbs the dips at the small of your back, perching your ass up so your back arches real nice.
“Trash Daddy’s gonna take real good care of Cumbringer from now on, too. Make ‘er live up to the name.”
When Enjin pushes into you again, the new angle has him bullying against your g-spot with even more intensity than before. Seeing the way you jolt, he holds back from going as deep this time to directly abuse the spot. Slick runs down your legs and despite how slippery the ruined leather cushions are beneath you, Enjin still holds you firm as his cock sloshes through your ruined pussy.
“Say, how much anima you think is in my nut, Princess?”
You don’t respond but Enjin, proving to have the stamina of a beast, feels like he should give you at least two more doses just to be sure.
⛓
Fading in and out of a euphoric stupor, you’re unsure how much time passes. Absolutely cockdrunk, at some point, you’d simply just surrendered. Your pussy clearly has zero complaints about being a jinki for Enjin’s cock and you are too dumb once you get a lil dick to stop him.
Somehow, you’ve ended up folded over the wide coffee table. It’s unstable beneath you, but Enjin doesn’t seem to care what he breaks when he’s fucking you. He only moved from the sofa when the back of it finally broke.
Straining, you think you hear voices but everything feels so far away and fuzzy. The room gets darker and you realize Enjin’s thrown his coat over you. Still sheathed deep inside you, Enjin’s cock plants lazy kisses to your womb as he speaks rather casually to someone.
Hmm, did he get a call? Is that Semiu?
Semiu is likely calling, wondering why you both haven’t shown up to happy hour yet—shit. There’s no way you’re making it in this condition; your limbs are toast. You can’t even move the weight of Enjin's bulky jacket off of you, the heavy material trapping you in the humidity of your own breath and sweat. But in a way, the warmth is comforting. Your cheek resting against the wood, you allow the tent of muggy heat and his cock moving languidly inside you to lull you into complacency— in your delirium, everything feels like a nice dream.
Yet Enjin is fully alert, a shit eating grin on his face as he stares down Semiu and Gris who had just walked in on Enjin shamelessly beating your doonies down. Enjin only spared your modesty by covering you up, but he has no qualms with either Gris or Semiu seeing him in all his glory and doesn’t even bother pulling out of you.
A fact that is painfully clear as he pats the pockets of his jacket draped over you for his cigs—he might as well smoke if he’s giving you a break.
“I win,” Semiu turns to Gris, hand out expectantly.
Semiu’s cool expression never changes but there is amusement in her eyes as Gris fishes into his pockets and places a stack of bills into her hand.
“Tsk, damn…” Gris shakes his head, although he’s not shocked.
The two of you are down so horrendously bad for each other that this should have happened long ago as far as everyone else was concerned. The tension has been at an unbearable level for those around you, the way the two of you picked at each other non-stop like a kid’s first crush.
Alas, you’re an airhead and Enjin is so stubborn he’s delusional. So the older Cleaner members couldn’t help, but place bets on when and where you and Enjin would finally slip between the sheets. Its a shame that you weren't in one of your beds right now--in between actual sheets--instead of the lounge becoming collateral damage.
“You know, after all the game you talked about winning your money back at poker tonight, Bro said you were a no-show because you knew you were gonna lose…” Gris eyes the boneless, quivering lump that is you under Enjin’s jacket.
Enjin really did a number on you. Your nonsensical babbles pouting for Enjin to ‘make sure to tell Semiu to bring you back some fries from the bar’ obviously means you have no idea that they are actually in the room.
“But it looks like you have your ‘ace in the hole' for an entirely different game.”
Enjin chortles. His hips stutter forward a bit too hard and you squeak in protest, he just hushes you.
“Awe, so you came back all this way to check-up on us? How sweet,” Enjin says sarcastically, taking a drag from his cigarette.
“Hardly. Rudo accidentally chugged an entire beer he thought was soda—then proceeded to throw it all up over Zanka,” Semiu says flatly.
Enjin attempts to hold back his laughter as Semiu continues with a sigh. She explains thatGris helped carry Rudo back, promptly putting his little blacked out ass to bed. Zanka locked himself in the bathroom immediately upon returning.
“Although they're sure to be occupied for the rest of the night, since the kids are back in the building you need to wrap this shit up Enjin—she looks like she could use the break anyway.”
Semiu casts a sympathetic look your way. She did warn you about Enjin though, so he was your mess to deal with now.
“Sure thing,” Enjin says, patting your form underneath his coat, “I’ve trained my new jinki well enough for tonight.”
Semiu takes one look at the absolutely diabolical grin on Enjin’s face and decides she's already had enough of his shit for the night.
She sighs again. “Just hurry it up, alright?”
Enjin gives Semiu a cheeky salute. Yet the second her back is turned, Enjin mimes a dramatic chef’s kiss to the air for Gris. Enjin’s eyes roll back like he’s just had the best meal of his life.
Gris snorts, shooting him a wink and a thumbs-up for a ‘job well done’ like a proud teammate before heading out of the room as well.
“One more thing.”
Semiu pauses in the doorway, hands resting on the double doors, surveying the crime scene-like state of the lounge. The sofa is toast, the coffee table’s on life support, and there's a growing puddle under you, spilling over to slowly drip off its edge onto the floor.
“If you’re just going to recklessly rawdog her, at least get her on the pill. Alice can sort that out tomorrow—right after you replace every piece of furniture you’ve both annihilated.”
Enjin simply shrugs, taking another drag of his cigarette.
“I suppose…we can stop by Alice’s too.”
Semiu just rolls her eyes, only to wrinkle her nose as a wave of stale air wafts by.
“And for the love of god—crack a window. Smells like fresh ass in here.”
Once the doors finally click shut, Enjin rips his jacket off of you and smiles. You’re still blissed out in lalaland while your pussy, Cumbringer, is clenching around him like she has one more go left in her.
Grabbing your arm, he pulls you up. Still sheathed inside you, he sits back on his knees, bringing you with him, your back pressed against his chest.
“Mmmm—*yawns* Was that Semiu on the call, Enj?”
Call? Oh, heh.
“Ha, yeah baby girl, just Semiu on the line,” Enjin lies too easily.
It’s for your own benefit though–no need to ruin your bliss with anything silly like embarrassment or shame from being walked-in on. Hell, unless Semiu says something, Enjin might be able to get away with not ever telling you.
“She said they ran outta fries though. I’ll get ya some later, yeah? Jus’ need Cumbringer to clock in one more time, Princess...”
Enjin rocks his hips with yours in a slow wave and your pout melts, no longer caring about the fries. Your head tips back onto his shoulder as he wraps his arms around you.
“Ah, mmmm, b-but—ngnh! She mentioned something about hotdogs and getting pills tomorrow? Is that a mission?”
Enjin hums to keep from laughing as he turns your face towards him. He smirks devilishly against your lips.
Distracting you with sweet chaste kisses, Enjin rubs gentle circles over your womb. You’re gonna be so fucking hot waddling around HQ in your slutty ass uniform, tits leaking and belly full with his brats.
The only pill he’d get from Alice would be a fertility pill.
“Nothing my slutty baby girl or my Cumbringer gotta worry about, Princess. Leave everything t’me.”
𝐚𝐧: ahh tysm for reading, especially if you are new to my writing. enjin brain rot is lethal. i needed to get this outta my system! jjk girlies forgive me for straying from my wip list and kinktober lol. definitely down to write more of him. i have a p2 and another enjin story (an AU) idea. but i have to focus on my jjk kinktober now! ♡
also, in case anyone is wondering—yes, reader's jinki is a labubu and yes, enjin just guilt tripped reader into growing him his own personal stash djhscjhdfj.
banner: mash up of official manga + rororogi mogera 'last mall' doujin panels.
yes, he loved his girlfriend, you, beyond the moon and back. but damn it were you shy.
he could place a kiss on your cheek and you’d immediately pull away as if his touch burned. and it hurt him a lot. gojo tried to be understanding, he knew this was a part of you and you obviously weren’t going to make your shy demeanor disappear overnight.
so, he’s going to help you out like the good boyfriend he is.
“shh sweets.” gojo cooed, slipping carefully into you. “let’s practice eye contact, okay? cmon, eyes on me.” he watched you struggle to stare up at him all while taking every inch of his shaven cock. yep, he came prepared with his shaved pubes.
your eyes fluttered open, looking up into his blue one’s hidden away by his snow white bangs.
“that’s it, good girl.” he finally bottomed out, standing straight up again, hands on your waist bringing you to the edge of the bed.
“feels big..” you mumbled embarrassed.
“because it is big, baby.” gojo chuckled, pulling all way out to his tip poking teasingly at your entrance. it was like that for a bit, eyes on each other before he slammed right back in. you let out a scream, arching your back, nails scraping at his biceps. he was pounding so deliciously painful in you. “yeah yeah scream all you want just keep your eyes on mine.”
“oh my god! oh my god ngh fuck satoru!” you couldn’t help but shut your eyes.
“hey you’re being louder than usual. good!” he chirped. the bastard had the audacity to smile so sweetly down at you all while he was fucking you like he hated you.
he moved your legs to rest on his shoulders, allowing him to hit deeper. that’s when he saw it, the bulge on your tummy. he would’ve missed it if it wasn’t for a singular sweat drop falling down in the middle of your abdomen.
“look at you.. you’re taking me so well. look baby, here out your hand..” gojo placed your hand on your belly to feel him inside you. “here!”
you whimpered, staring down at your stomach. “is that even safe?” you asked, voice trembling. “probably not.”
okay, eye contact is better now and you’re no longer afraid to be loud. next step, pda in public!
“i don’t think this is pda..” your voice was barely a whisper as your hand made its way to wrap itself around the base of his cock which was twitching like crazy, having its own pulse.
“public display of affection.. jerking me off is in that category” he bit his bottom lip hard enough to draw blood, being careful as to not let any sound out. the last thing he wanted was to get caught by his friends sitting across from the two of you in a restaurant.
this was definitely out of your comfort zone. it took hours to try and convince you to be handsy with him. “it’ll help you stop being so timid!” he said. “it’ll be fun!” he said.
“yes fuck..” gojo grumbled under his breath feeling your hand pick up the pace. your free hand was covering your cheek, elbow placed on the table. the blush spread on your face would be more than enough to expose your.. activities..
“close.. so close..” gojo gripped the edge of his seat before reaching his orgasm. his cum shot out landing on your hand. he discreetly handed a towel under the table for you, leaning in to kiss your temple. “you’ve gotten so brave, my love.”
a soft smile appeared on your lips.
“hey who the fuck nutted on my shoe?!” suguru gagged out.
told the nerd to film it and he exported inside me instead!
pairing — tech nerd!gojo x fem reader
synopsis : you crushed on him for months, watched him dodge every advance like you were malware. so you dressed up a little, played a little dumber—and now he’s got you spread out in pixels and moaning in surround sound. worst part? you kinda want him to do it again.
tags/cw — masturbation, degradation, praise kink, dacryphilia, marking, overstimulation, explicit language, filming, voyeurism, fingering, oral (f receiving), unprotected sex, creampie, squirting, rough sex, dirty talk, power dynamics, obsession, lingerie, virgin weeb satoru, questionable but effective way of seducing ur crush. 13k wc, 18+ only, minors DNI.
a/n : plz don't nitpick about how a fashion vlog shouldn't be like that bc that's the point. toru doesn't know the difference because all he watches is 2d girls
the compressor’s peaking again.
satoru squints at the waveform, drags the threshold down two decibels, then listens back to the same three-second clip of voiceover for the tenth time. it’s a podcast intro, some wannabe influencer droning about mindfulness. he doesn’t care. he’s just here to make it sound less like it was recorded in a bathroom.
“sounds like shit,” he mutters, even though it’s clean. crisp. perfectly balanced.
it doesn’t feel right. nothing ever does. he tweaks the bitrate, checks the export codec, wonders if he should build a custom ffmpeg preset. maybe write a quick script to batch clean all future files—something to shave off a few milliseconds of his life. his fingers hover over the keyboard, itching for efficiency, for control.
ping.
discord overlay glows in the corner of his ultrawide monitor, a neon-green intrusion on his meticulously organized desktop. he freezes. the notification pulses like a heartbeat.
you.
he stares at it, lets it sit there like it’s radioactive. doesn’t even remember keeping you added. your username—something stupid with a heart emoji—feels like a splinter under his skin. he should’ve purged his contacts months ago, but here you are, slipping through the cracks of his digital fortress.
hey. remember when u edited our project? can u help me trim some vids pls…
his jaw tightens. of course you’d ask now, at 2 a.m., when he’s neck-deep in audio plugins and caffeine. his fingers hover over the keyboard, poised to dismiss you.
“no,” he types, then erases it.
“what kind of vids,” he tries, but deletes that too. too eager. too curious.
after a solid twenty-five seconds of overthinking, he finally sends:
i guess. send what you have.
he leans back in his chair, the leather creaking under his weight. his room is a cave of glowing screens and scattered energy drink cans, the hum of his overclocked pc the only sound besides his own shallow breathing. he shouldn’t care. you’re just another art student, another distraction. but his pulse betrays him, thudding a little too hard in his throat.
flashback.exe
he hated group projects. despised them. a bunch of useless art students in overpriced streetwear, trying to make films with no understanding of pacing or continuity.
they’d fumble with premiere pro like it was rocket science, leaving him to clean up their shaky cuts and mismatched audio tracks. he always ended up doing 90% of the work, and he preferred it that way. control was his god, and he worshipped it.
but you were different.
not better. just... a different kind of stupid.
you showed up late to the editing suite, glitter pens spilling out of your bag, heart stickers plastered on your water bottle like a middle schooler’s diary. you called the lav mic a “weird nipple thing” and giggled when he glared at you. once, you spilled your lip gloss on the soundboard, leaving a sticky pink smear he had to scrub off with isopropyl alcohol. another time, you asked if uploading to drive made your data heavier, and he almost threw you out.
but.
you let him do whatever he wanted.
you didn’t hover or micromanage. you just sat there, cross-legged on a swivel chair, watching him cut scenes like it was magic. you leaned over his shoulder, close enough that he could feel the warmth of your breath, your wide eyes reflecting the glow of the timeline.
“whoa... you made it feel like a real movie,” you whispered, like he’d just parted the red sea.
you smelled like something artificial. strawberries, maybe, or some overpriced body mist from a mall kiosk. your hair was always tied with a ribbon—pink, blue, sometimes yellow, always obnoxiously bright.
he didn’t care.
he told himself he didn’t.
but he remembered. every fucking detail.
the zip file lands in his downloads with an obnoxious ka-chunk, snapping him out of the memory. he doesn’t rush. just opens it like it’s any other favor, like his heart isn’t clawing at his ribcage. the folder name stares back at him: “pls help <3”
typical.
he clicks it open, expecting shaky iphone clips of cafes and shopping hauls. maybe some cringe tiktok dance you think is cute. he’s ready to hate it, to scoff at your lack of framing or shitty lighting.
but then—
you appear on screen.
not just appear. you perform.
you’re biting your lip, laughing into the lens like it’s your lover. wearing something stupidly short—a skirt that barely qualifies as fabric, hugging your thighs like it’s painted on. you spin around in front of your mirror, the camera catching every angle, every curve, like you’re being filmed for someone else. someone who’d appreciate it.
you pose. cock your head. giggle. the sound is loud, breathy, smiling when you speak. “do you think this is too short?” you ask, tugging the hem of your skirt, your fingers lingering just a second too long.
he blinks.
backs the video up three seconds.
watches again.
your laugh echoes through his headphones, a little distorted, a little too close. he pretends he’s checking the audio, tells himself it’s for sync, that he’s just doing his job. but his eyes are glued to the screen, to the way your skirt rides up as you twirl, to the flash of skin that makes his breath catch.
he watches again.
his mouth is dry, his tongue heavy against his teeth. your skirt flips up higher this time, and you gasp—like you’re surprised, like you didn’t mean to show that much. but you don’t stop filming. don’t cover up. just... laugh, a sound that curls around his spine and sinks into his gut.
he doesn’t even realize his hand is moving until it’s there, slipping under the waistband of his sweatpants. his fingers brush against himself, and he hisses, the contact sharp and sudden. he’s already half-hard, his body betraying him before his brain can catch up. the room feels too warm, the hum of his pc too loud, but he doesn’t care. he can’t care.
he rewinds the clip again, pauses on the frame where you’re mid-spin, your skirt flared just enough to show the curve of your ass. his hand wraps around his cock, slow at first, tentative, like he’s testing how far he’ll let himself go. the texture of his own skin is rough, familiar, but it’s not enough. not when it’s you on the screen, laughing like you know he’s watching, like you’re daring him to lose control.
he strokes himself, a tight, deliberate rhythm, his thumb brushing over the tip where he’s already leaking. the sensation jolts him, makes his hips twitch in the chair.
he imagines it’s your hand, your fingers—small, soft, probably clumsy, but eager. he pictures you kneeling between his legs, looking up at him with those wide eyes, your lips parted like they are in the video, glossy and pink and begging to be kissed. or more.
the video plays on. you’re bending over now, adjusting your hair in the mirror, your skirt riding up to expose the thin strip of your underwear. he groans, low and guttural, his hand moving faster.
the sound of your voice—teasing, playful—fills his headphones, and he closes his eyes for a moment, letting it wash over him. “do you think this is too short?” you say again, and he wants to answer, wants to growl that it’s perfect, that you’re perfect, that he’d rip it off you if he could.
his grip tightens, his strokes growing erratic. he’s not gentle with himself—never is. it’s all pressure and friction, chasing the edge as fast as he can.
his free hand fumbles with the mouse, scrubbing the timeline back to the moment you gasp, to the split-second flash of your thighs. he loops it, the clip stuttering in time with his breathing, with the slick sound of his hand working himself over. his cock throbs, hot and heavy, and he imagines it’s you—your warmth, your wetness, the way you’d probably whimper if he touched you like this.
he’s close. too close.
his vision blurs at the edges, his pulse hammering in his ears. he shouldn’t be doing this, shouldn’t be jerking off to your stupid video like some desperate creep, but the shame only makes it worse, makes it sharper.
he pictures you catching him, walking in right now, seeing him with his pants down and his hand on his dick. would you laugh? would you blush? would you get on your knees and—
he comes with a choked gasp, his hips bucking up into his hand. it’s messy, spilling over his fingers, onto the hem of his shirt. his chest heaves, his head tilting back against the chair as the aftershocks ripple through him. your laugh loops in his headphones, oblivious to the wreck he’s become.
it’s filthy. it’s desperate.
ten minutes later, he’s cleaned himself up, his hands steady again as he trims the file like a good little editor. he cuts out the shaky parts, stabilizes the footage, adjusts the audio so your voice doesn’t clip. it’s clinical now, professional, like he didn’t just fall apart to the sight of you. he names it something sterile: “vlog_cut_1.mov.”
he exports it twice. once normally, for you. once... not. the second version is raw, unedited, every twirl and giggle preserved in crisp 4k. it gets copied to a different folder, buried in a directory labeled “shader_study_2022.” he tells himself it’s in case you need a re-edit. a backup. that’s all.
when you text back:
thank u!! lol i owe uuu :3
he stares at the message, his thumb hovering over the keyboard. his heart’s still racing, a faint tremor in his fingers.
he types “anytime :)” and erases it. sends:
np.
what he doesn’t say: he rewatched the part where you bend over six times. he had his dick in his hand by the second loop. he renamed the close-up to “test_render_asscloseup.mov” and hid it behind three layers of subfolders.
he doesn’t even like tiktok girls.
he’s into 2d, girls with big swords and bigger tits, drawn in sharp lines and impossible proportions. he once bought a dakimakura because the shipping came with a free pin, and it’s still shoved in his closet, one corner stained from a late-night mistake. real girls are messy, unpredictable, too much work. but now?
he’s thinking about the way your laugh dipped when you turned around, the way it caught in your throat like you were nervous. the way you looked into the lens like you knew someone was watching.
someone like him.
next day, you walk in like a fucking weapon.
pink fuzzy shrug, low-rise jeans that sit dangerously low on your hips, a sliver of stomach peeking out like it’s 2004. your hair’s up in a ribbon—pink, of course, swaying as you move. you’re all glitter and confidence, a walking distraction in a lecture hall full of tired students and flickering projectors.
he scoffs under his breath. “tacky.”
but his heart’s pounding, a traitor in his chest. his fingers twitch against the edge of his laptop, betraying the calm he’s trying to project. you slide into the seat two rows ahead and twist around, grinning like a cat, like you know something he doesn’t.
your eyes catch his for a split second, bright and teasing, and he forces himself to look away.
he opens his laptop, types random garbage into a terminal window—some half-baked python script he doesn’t even care about. he runs a fake compile just to feel busy, to drown out the way his blood is rushing too fast.
you lean over to whisper to the girl next to you, your laugh spilling out, loud and careless. your hair tosses, and he swears he catches the scent of your perfume drifting past in invisible waves. saccharine, overwhelming, like strawberries dipped in sugar syrup.
his brain short-circuits. he snaps his headphones on, the cord tangling in his haste. not to listen to music. not to block you out.
to replay your giggle.
he’d isolated the audio last night, cleaned it up with a high-pass filter, boosted the mids to make it crystal clear. exported it as a high-quality .wav, tucked it into a folder labeled “audio_ref.” he tells himself it’s for study, just good reference for future projects. but he loops it now, the sound of your laugh layered over faint lo-fi static he added for texture. it’s you, distilled into a three-second clip, filling his skull.
he closes his eyes and pretends you’re saying his name. satoru, you giggle, breathy and soft, like you’re leaning over his shoulder again, watching him work. satoru, you made it feel so real.
the lecture drones on, but he’s not listening. he’s lost in the rhythm of your voice, the way it dips and rises, the way it makes his skin feel too tight. he shifts in his seat, adjusts his hoodie, tries to ignore the heat pooling in his gut. he’s not supposed to want this. not supposed to want you.
but he does.
the thing about addiction is that it never announces itself.
no dramatic thunderclap. no internal monologue screaming, ah yes, now i am a pervert. it’s quiet. insidious. it sinks in like static, crackling at the edges of satoru’s brain until he’s not sure where his old self ends and this new, wretched version begins.
it’s not like he’s not already a pervert who gets off from pixels. this simply wasn’t his brand of perversion.
that night, he stayed up longer than he should’ve. stared at code for so long his ide crashed, the screen flickering to black as if it knew he was wasting his time. not that he got anything done.
he just kept switching tabs—your final cut in vlc, some useless bash script in vscode he pretended to care about, then back to your video, the timeline frozen on that twirl, that gasp. his fingers shook when he closed the laptop, but sleep never came.
and now it’s the next day. mid-afternoon. the sun is doing that thing where it turns his apartment into a blinding box of heat and regret. his ac hums like an old man, wheezing against the sticky air. he’s sprawled in his chair, one leg slung over the armrest, staring at the ceiling fan like it might tell him how to stop.
ping.
another discord notification. he doesn’t even flinch this time. your username glows, and the filename attached makes his stomach do a weird little roll: “try-on2_raw.mov”. his eyes linger on the heart emoji you’ve tacked onto the message, like it’s a personal invitation.
hiii! ty for the last edit, ur a lifesaver <3 can u check and trim this one too? i’m trying smth new but idk if it works… lmk what u think pls!!
he clicks download. no hesitation. doesn’t even pretend to care anymore.
the file loads into his editing software like second nature, the premiere pro interface blooming across his screen. muscle memory. routine.
he’s done this a hundred times—except never like this, never with his pulse hammering in his throat and his mouth already dry.
the video starts the same way as the last—handheld, messy lighting, your voice trailing in from offscreen as you fiddle with the camera angle. no mic, of course not. just raw cam audio, unpolished, real, every breath and rustle amplified. he leans closer, like proximity to the screen will make it less dangerous.
“okay—wait, hold on,” you mutter, slightly out of breath. there’s a plastic rustle, fabric scraping skin, the light jingle of a zipper. he catches the sound of your nails tapping the digicam accidentally, a faint clack-clack that makes him picture your fingers, probably painted some ridiculous color, fumbling in that endearing way you do.
“ugh… come on…” your voice drops, a frustrated huff, low and throaty. “mm—sorry! this one’s hard to pull up.”
then—zipper slides. metal on fabric, slow and deliberate, like it’s teasing him on purpose. you let out a sigh, long, slow, just a little too satisfied, like you’re savoring the release of pressure. the sound coils in his gut, tight and hot.
he freezes.
his mouse stays hovering over the playhead, the cursor trembling slightly. blood is already rushing south, his sweatpants tightening in a way he can’t ignore. his breath catches, shallow and sharp, and the worst part?
you giggle.
“probably got the wrong size,” you say, tugging the dress up higher. the hem catches on your thighs, rising indecently, the fabric clinging to your skin like it’s reluctant to let go. “don’t tell anyone i didn’t try it on in-store first.”
he swallows nothing. jaw tight. the room suddenly feels suffocating, the ac’s hum drowned out by the thud of his own pulse. your lip catches between your teeth, a flash of white against pink gloss, and the camera catches that too, lingers on it like it knows what it’s doing.
you glance at the lens, eyes half-lidded, like you’re waiting for approval, like you’re asking him directly—do you like this?
satoru’s fingers twitch.
one hand stays on the mouse, scrubbing the timeline back three seconds to hear that sigh again. the other hand moves before he can stop it, slipping under his waistband, brushing against the heat of his skin. he’s already hard, achingly so, the kind of hard that makes his head swim.
he wraps his fingers around himself, slow at first, testing, like he’s not sure he’s really doing this again. but the sound of your voice—breathy, teasing—loops in his headphones, and he’s gone.
he strokes himself, deliberate and tight, his grip almost punishing. the video plays on, and you’re stepping into frame now, the dress half-zipped, hugging your curves in a way that makes his throat burn. your thighs shift as you adjust the hem, and he imagines them under his hands, soft and warm, parting just for him.
his thumb swipes over the tip of his cock, slick with precum, and he groans, low and broken, the sound swallowed by the hum of his pc. he pictures your fingers instead, clumsy but eager, your nails grazing his skin as you try to keep up with his rhythm.
he’d guide you, show you how he likes it—fast, rough, no mercy.
you sigh again, and he speeds up, his hand moving in time with the rise and fall of your voice. “this one’s kinda tight,” you murmur, tugging at the neckline, and the fabric stretches, exposing the swell of your chest.
he wants to rip it off, wants to hear you gasp for real, not for the camera but for him. his strokes grow erratic, desperate, the slick sound of his hand filling the room, obscene and unstoppable.
he scrubs the timeline back again, pauses on the frame where your dress slips, where your underwear peeks out—a thin, lacy thing that makes his vision blur. he imagines pulling it aside, imagines the heat of you, the way you’d whimper if he pressed himself inside.
he’s close, too close, his hips twitching up into his hand. the video loops your giggle, that satisfied sigh, and he’s drowning in it, in you.
he pictures you catching him like this, walking into his apartment right now, seeing him with his pants down and his cock in his hand, flushed and leaking. would you laugh? would you blush? would you drop to your knees and let him finish on your lips, glossy and perfect and—
he comes with a muted groan, his head tipping back, eyes screwed shut as his release spills over his fingers, hot and messy. his breath shakes, a ragged exhale that leaves him hollow. the aftershocks pulse through him, and he slumps in his chair, the video still playing, your voice oblivious to the wreckage you’ve caused.
he pauses the frame. your mouth is mid-word, forming the shape of “oops,” lips parted just enough to make his chest ache. he wipes his hand on a paper towel from his desk, crumpled and stained from earlier sins. doesn’t look at himself. doesn’t think.
exports the file without touching a thing. names it “final_edit.mov.” then saves another copy, the raw footage, every sigh and rustle preserved. he names it “jesusfuckingchrist.mp4” and buries it in a folder labeled “misc_ref.”
he tries to normalize it.
“it’s just grading,” he mutters the next time he opens the project, the lie sour on his tongue. “just adjusting white balance.” but the playback bar hasn’t moved from your thighs. he doesn’t touch the colors. not really.
he zooms in under the excuse of checking “grain smoothing,” but it’s just your lip, caught between your teeth, your breath clipped at the edges like you’re holding back.
he tells himself he’s just learning.
every artist has their muse, right? except now he edits to your audio. he used to play podcasts, background noise to keep his brain from spiraling.
now? your breathing is layered into the timeline, a track he’s labeled “vox_ref.” he loops your laugh in reverse, lets it pan from left to right like it’s some surround sound experience.
“this is practice,” he whispers, dragging eq curves around nonsense, boosting the highs until your voice is sharp and intimate. “i’m experimenting with filters.”
right. filters. filters until your voice sounds like it’s right by his ear, like you’re whispering in bed, your breath warm against his skin. he plays a clip of you saying “do you like this one?” over and over, the words detached from context.
he doesn’t even care what you’re referring to anymore. he’s got that part memorized, the way your voice dips, soft and unsure, like you’re asking him to love you.
the next class is worse.
you walk past him in that fuzzy pink shrug thing, one sleeve slipping off your shoulder, and it’s like a bomb goes off in his chest. the fabric clings to you, soft and teasing, and he wants to grab it, pull it down, see how much skin you’ll let him have.
you lean down to plug your charger in, your jeans riding low—too low, the kind of low that makes him wonder how they’re even allowed on campus. he catches a glimpse of your underwear, a flash of lace, and his brain whites out.
he glares at his laptop, scoffs under his breath. “that outfit’s… desperate.” the word feels like a blade, sharp and mean, but it’s all he’s got to keep you at a distance.
your head tilts, innocent, eyes wide like you’re genuinely curious. “you think so?” you say it like you mean it, like you don’t already know the answer, like you haven’t watched your own footage and seen what he’s seen.
he shrugs, keeps scowling, doesn’t look at you. his fingers grip the edge of his laptop too hard, knuckles white. behind the screen, he’s got a paused frame of you licking lip gloss off your thumb, minimized in the corner. it’s been open since he got here.
his file structure is disintegrating. he used to name things with logic—timestamps, project codes, version numbers. now his desktop looks like a manifesto, a digital shrine to his unraveling. “vlog_tryon_final.mov.” “edit_3alt.mp4.” “fuckmeagain_laughcut.mov.” there’s a folder called “NOT work (unless)” that he doesn’t even open anymore, too afraid of what he’ll find.
he tries to draw a line, but it’s blurry. always blurry. he doesn’t know where the edit ends and obsession begins. when he dreams, he dreams about zippers—except they’re not zipzers. they’re your legs, parting slow and deliberate, your breath hitching as he pulls you closer.
a new text lights up his screen:
hey! idk if the last one looks good… should i redo it? it felt kinda awkward lol sorry T_T
you sound insecure, unsure, your words dripping with that self-conscious charm that makes his chest hurt. he stares at the message, his thumb hovering over the keyboard, his mind spiraling.
you don’t know, do you? you don’t know what you’re doing to him, how your voice alone is enough to make him hard again.
he types:
looks clean. don’t worry about it.
satoru watches the word clean sit there like a fucking lie. his dick twitches, traitor that it is.
he hates himself.
but he opens the raw file again. scrubs through, frame by frame, until he finds that timestamp—where you moan, soft and accidental, like you didn’t mean to let it slip. he watches it, his headphones sealing him in with the sound of you. he exports that single second, names it “moan_finalgodhelpme.mp4,” and tucks it away like a secret he’ll never confess.
the timeline sits open, your frozen frame staring back at him. he doesn’t close it. doesn’t want to.
it starts with static in his skull.
not the loud, electric kind that chokes you up or begs to be noticed. it’s quiet. a whir, like an old fan that never shuts off, humming behind his thoughts. when satoru drags his mouse across the screen and sees your name still on the folder, it buzzes—faint, familiar, a sickness with your scent.
he changes the name from “NOT work (unless)” to “ARCHIVE_21,” moves it to a different directory, pretends it’s work, or dead, or both. but the static doesn’t stop. it clings, sticky and warm, like your laugh looping in his headphones.
it doesn’t help.
not when he dreams in highlighter gloss and those half-bitten whines you make when stretching, your body arching just so. not when he wakes up rutting into damp sheets, mouthing your name like a damn prayer, his hips jerking against nothing. the shame burns, but it’s not enough to make him stop.
satoru’s trying.
really.
he takes up freelance gigs, edits wedding footage for some guy he hasn’t spoken to since second year. overlays cheesy filters, mutes the groom’s ugly laugh, syncs the vows to some overused acoustic track. it’s clean. respectable. sterile enough to make him itch, like he’s wearing someone else’s skin. but the folder’s still there, buried in his drive like it knows he’ll come back.
2:03 a.m.
his inbox pings, a sharp sound that cuts through the drone of his pc fans. your name lights up the screen, and his chest tightens before he even reads the message.
hiii satoru!! sorry for the late send, been sooo busy <3 can u take a look at this haul vid? i tried smth spicy but idk if it’s too much… lmk what u think pretty pls!!
march haul (raw).mp4
he knows he shouldn’t. there’s no logical reason, no business context, just the weight of your words—spicy, pretty pls—sinking into his gut. but his hands move on their own, clicking download, the progress bar filling like a fuse burning down.
click.
of course he does.
the video starts soft, your bedroom light diffused to a golden haze, casting shadows that dance across rumpled sheets. it looks like you’ve been tossing in them all day, the fabric creased and inviting.
you’re in lace—barely. something soft pink and flimsy, a slip of fabric that clings to your curves like it’s begging to be torn off.
your thigh’s out, one leg bent just enough to draw his eye, and the camera’s angled low, too low, like you meant to frame it this way.
“god, i hope this one fits…” your voice is breathy, a little strained, like you’re fighting the fabric. you adjust a strap, your fingers lingering on the lace, and your lip catches between your teeth, glossy and pink, a casual gesture that’s anything but. his breath stutters, a sharp inhale that burns his throat.
“oops, sorry—too much cleavage?” you laugh, not to yourself but at him.
he knows it.
his cock knows it, twitching against the seam of his sweatpants. the screen shakes as you set the camera on something unsteady—a stack of books, maybe—and it rocks just as you turn around, hips swaying, your ass hugged by that tiny thong, the lace cutting into your skin like a claim. you glance back over your shoulder, smirk poised like a dagger, eyes glinting in the soft light.
“i bet you’d pause right here, wouldn’t you?”
he does.
the video cuts mid-breath, and he doesn’t hear the silence. he’s frozen, hand halfway down, brain wiped clean. the frame lingers on your ass, the curve of it framed by lace, and his mouth is dry, his pulse hammering so loud it drowns out the static.
ping.
march haul (real).mp4
oops. wrong send lol. this is the real one!
his screen is still painted with the freeze-frame of your ass. his dick’s straining so hard it aches, a dull throb that makes him shift in his chair. he doesn’t respond, doesn’t move for a full minute, just stares at the message, the word oops taunting him. then—
he saves both files. drags them into “ARCHIVE_21” with a trembling cursor, his fingers clumsy on the trackpad. he opens the raw one again, slower this time, one hand on his lap, the other fisting his sheets until the fabric creaks.
you’re back on screen, adjusting the strap again, your laugh curling through his headphones like smoke. his hand slips under his waistband, and he’s already leaking, the tip slick and sensitive as he grips himself.
he strokes slow, deliberate, savoring the friction, but his mind’s elsewhere—on the hentai he’s spent years jerking off to, the doujins with dog-eared pages and cum-stained corners.
he pictures you like those girls, bent over and begging, your lace thong pushed to the side as he fucks you from behind, your moans louder, needier, than anything you’ve let slip on camera.
he imagines pinning you to those rumpled sheets, your thighs trembling under his hands, your ass bouncing with every thrust. no teasing giggles, no coy glances—just you, fucked out and whimpering, his name on your lips as he buries himself deep, so deep you can’t think.
his hand speeds up, the slick sound obscene in the quiet of his room. he scrubs the timeline back, pauses on the moment you turn, your smirk sharp and knowing.
he wants to wipe it off, wants to fuck you until you’re too wrecked to smile, until you’re clawing at the sheets and sobbing his name. he imagines your cunt, tight and wet, gripping him as he pounds into you, the lace of your thong rubbing raw against his skin.
it’s not enough to watch you anymore, not enough to stroke himself to your voice—he wants to ruin you, wants to feel you break under him, wants to make you his in a way those 2d girls never could.
he cums with a low, breathy whisper of your name, his hips jerking up into his hand. it’s intense, almost painful, spilling over his fingers and onto the hem of his shirt.
his chest heaves, his vision blurring as he slumps back, the video still playing, your laugh oblivious to the mess he’s become. he opens it again, doesn’t touch himself this time—just watches, memorizes, eyes glassy and mouth parted.
at one point, he swears he moans with you, a soft sound that slips out unbidden, his body betraying him even when he’s spent. when he edits the “real” file, he’s a machine. no stutters, no slips, just sharp keystrokes and surgical cuts, trimming shaky frames and boosting your voice until it’s crisp.
the guilt claws at him, a dull ache in his chest, but it only makes the next orgasm worse—and better. he exports it, names it “haul_march_final.mov,” and saves the raw file to a new subfolder: “stills_ref.” he doesn’t name the second copy. doesn’t need to. it’s just for him.
he plays it cool in class. “wow. another fit straight outta your grandma’s closet,” he scoffs as you pass, voice dripping with mockery, lips curling into something lazy and mean.
but his gaze flickers—just once, low and quick, like he’s checking for danger. and there it is. a flash of soft pink lace against the curve of your thigh as you shift your bag higher up your shoulder. just a sliver. deliberate.
he knows that lace. knows it from the raw footage, from the way it hugged your skin under golden light. his smirk falters for half a second, a crack in his armor.
you turn your head, slow as syrup, and smile at him over your shoulder. it’s airy, innocent, ditzy enough to play dumb, poisonous enough to feel like a threat. “mm? that bad, huh?” your voice is light, but your eyes linger a moment too long, sharp and knowing, like you’re peeling him open.
you take your seat two rows away, crossing one leg over the other with careful grace. your skirt rides up, just enough to show the edge of that lace again, and your fingers toy absentmindedly with the hem, brushing the fabric like it’s a game.
he doesn’t blink.
he knows what’s under that skirt, knows the way that lace bites into your skin when you move just like that. he’s seen it in soft lighting, tangled with shadows and sighs. he knows, and you know, and neither of you say a word.
he can’t breathe.
his hand trembles as he grips his pen, scrawling nonsense on the corner of his notes—random numbers, jagged lines, anything to keep his fingers busy.
someone’s asking a question about identity and performance, something about how we present ourselves versus how we wish to be perceived, and satoru’s already halfway to standing.
“sorry. washroom.” his voice cracks halfway through the lie, too sharp, too rushed.
satoru stumbles into the men’s room like he’s escaping a crime scene, the door clicking shut behind him. palm flat against cold tile, forehead pressed to the inside of his wrist, he tries to breathe, tries to think of anything else—code, deadlines, the wedding edit he’s behind on.
but it’s you.
always you. your smile, your laugh, the lace peeking out like a taunt.
he’s already hard, already leaking, the front of his jeans tight and unforgiving. he fumbles with the button, shoves them down just enough, and grips himself, his hand shaking as he strokes.
he closes his eyes and sees you—not the you in class, not the you playing dumb, but the you from his fantasies, the you he’s built from hentai panels and late-night desperation. he imagines you on your knees, lace thong pulled down, your cunt glistening as he fucks you against the bathroom sink.
no giggles, no teasing—just raw, desperate need, your moans echoing off the tiles as he slams into you, his hands bruising your hips, your body arching to take him deeper.
he wants you messy, wants you marked, wants to fill you until you’re dripping, until you’re his in a way that’s permanent.
he strokes faster, his breath hitching, his teeth sinking into his knuckles to muffle the groan clawing up his throat. he cums hard, too fast, his knees buckling as it spills over his hand, hot and shameful. he shakes, gasping, his forehead slick against the tile, and thinks of lace. thinks of lip gloss. thinks of your voice saying “oops” like it’s a sin.
it doesn’t take long for his desktop to become an altar.
the background’s still you, a freeze-frame from the first video, your lip gloss shimmering and fingers caught mid-twist in your hair. he tells himself it’s temporary, just a visual reference.
some nights, he replays a single frame just to watch your mouth form the word “fuck,” slows it down, isolates the syllables, pretends you’re saying his name instead.
the worst part?
you’re still pretending nothing’s changed. still calling them “favors,” still sending content like it’s work, like it’s nothing.
but your outfits are shorter, your giggles stick to the air longer, your eyes linger like you’re testing something. and when you purr, “you’re sooo good at this, satoru,” with that saccharine lilt, your voice curling around his name like a caress, he bites the inside of his cheek just to keep quiet. fists the sheets at night and prays.
he moans your name in the dark, face hot with shame, and hates how much he wants you to hear it.
satoru’s become sleep-deprived, dark smudges nesting beneath his eyes like fingerprints left behind by guilt or obsession or both. he wears his glasses more lately, less out of need and more as a buffer between him and the world—between him and you.
the lenses catch the glow of his new triple-monitor setup, a sleek beast he told himself was for coding, for editing, for multitasking. not for keeping your videos looping on the side monitor while he pretends to work on the main one. not for that at all.
your folder’s pinned in quick access, a permanent fixture in his file explorer. he keeps it open in the background at all times, a digital pulse that hums alongside his pc fans. second nature now, like breathing or wanting. not unlike a shrine.
in class, he pretends to take notes, his stylus scratching nonsense on his tablet. he’s not. he’s watching a gif on his phone, hidden under the desk—a loop of your tongue dragging slow across lip gloss, eyes soft with focus like you’re painting yourself pretty just for him. the gif’s only three seconds, but he’s memorized every frame, every flicker of your lashes. his thumb swipes to replay it, again, again, until his vision blurs.
ctrl+shift+eject brain.exe.
three days pass, and you haven’t messaged. he checks your chat thread more than he breathes—opens, closes, re-opens, scrolling through your old texts like they’ll reveal something new. every flicker of hope is a false start, a phantom ping that makes his chest lurch. he’s pathetic, he knows it, but knowing doesn’t stop the itch.
then:
ping.
april haul (suits).mov
hii satoru!! new haul vid for u to check <3 tried some swimsuits this time, hope it’s not too boring to trim hehe. lmk what u think!!”
he nearly drops his phone, his thumb smudging the screen as he fumbles to download. his new setup hums to life, the main monitor flashing with code he hasn’t touched in hours, the side monitor already open to your folder.
he drags the file into premiere, the timeline blooming across the screen, but his eyes are on the raw video, already playing on the right monitor, your voice spilling through his headphones like honey.
the video’s different this time. the camera’s lower, like it’s been left on a desk or shelf, pointing slightly upward to frame you from your knees to just above your head. your bed makes a cozy blur in the background, sheets tangled like an invitation.
you’re in a bikini top that isn’t trying very hard to stay on, thin strings knotted loosely at your neck and back, the fabric barely containing you. “mmm. does this scream summer, or slut?” you giggle, feigned innocence like frosting over heat, your voice curling around the words like you know exactly what they’ll do to him.
you play with the strings at your chest, tugging, adjusting, your fingers brushing the swell of your breasts. then, softer, breathier, to the lens: “baby, help me pick…”
baby.
it breaks him all over again, a crack that runs straight through his chest. his cock twitches, already hard, straining against his boxers.
everything after that gets softer, lazier, dangerous in how intimate it feels. there’s no performative energy now—just casual, candid seduction, your movements slow, like you’re not hurrying for anyone. like you know exactly who’s watching and how long he’ll linger.
when you shrug a dress off your shoulders, you sigh, the sound catching in your throat. when you twist to adjust a strap, you hum, low and absentminded. and when you struggle with a clasp at your back, your fingers fumbling, you moan—soft, unintentional, a sound that slips out like it surprised even you.
satoru’s thumb slams the spacebar, pausing the video, rewinding three seconds to hear it again. he watches the way your lips part, the way your brows twitch, the way your body shifts like you’re chasing the sensation.
he’s already leaking, his boxers damp as he shoves them down, his hand wrapping around himself. the side monitor loops the raw footage, your moan playing over and over, while the main monitor holds the paused frame of your parted lips. he strokes slow at first, his grip tight, his thumb swiping over the tip where he’s slick and sensitive.
his mind slips to the doujins he’s hoarded, the hentai he’s spent years chasing—the girls with flushed cheeks and desperate eyes, fucked raw and begging for more. but now it’s you, not some inked fantasy, and it’s so much filthier.
he imagines you sprawled across your bed, that bikini top ripped off, your thighs spread wide as he fucks you deep, relentless, your cunt clenching around him as you sob his name. no teasing, no giggles—just you, wrecked and dripping, your nails clawing his back as he takes you again and again, each thrust harder, messier, until you’re nothing but his.
his hand speeds up, the slick sound loud in his room, mixing with your looped moan. he wants you pinned beneath him, wants to feel you squirm, wants to fuck you until the bed creaks and your voice breaks, until you’re begging like those hentai girls, your glossed lips trembling as you say his name—satoru, please, more.
he imagines filling you, his cum leaking down your thighs, your body marked by him in ways he can’t unsee. it’s not enough to watch, not enough to stroke—he wants to own you, wants to make you his in every way those 2d fantasies taught him to crave.
he cums hard, forehead pressed to his desk, a low groan tearing from his throat as it spills over his hand, his keyboard, the edge of his new setup. his breath is ragged, like he’s run a marathon, his glasses fogging slightly as he gasps.
the side monitor still plays, your voice oblivious, your moan looping like a hymn. he doesn’t stop the video, just slumps back, spent and shaking, and watches again, his hand twitching like it’s not done.
it doesn’t take long for his room to reek of sweat and sin.
he edits shirtless now, sometimes in boxers, always hard, always leaking. every file’s renamed with trembling hands: “wifey_take7.mov.” “wifey_raw.mp4.”
he syncs your sighs to his lo-fi playlist, turns it into a lullaby, falls asleep to the sound of your breath. sometimes he slows your voice just to hear “baby” dragged out into velvet, makes gifs of your hands skimming your hips, kisses the screen when he’s drunk enough to forget shame.
you, on the other hand, don’t break character.
in class, you chew your pen and lean forward, the arch of your spine exact, your cleavage subtle—barely a tease, just enough to make his throat tighten. he looks away with a clenched jaw, adjusts himself under the desk, twice, his jeans unforgiving.
you whisper to a friend and giggle, and he lipreads, thinks he sees the words “can’t wait,” but maybe he’s hallucinating, maybe not. it doesn’t matter.
he starts responding to the clips aloud.
“fuck yes, that one.” “spin again, baby.” sometimes he mumbles your name like a prayer, sometimes he chokes it into his pillow. every orgasm has your name carved into it, a brand he can’t erase.
one night, he opens a file to edit, drags it into premiere, but he doesn’t touch it. just watches, headphones in, barely breathing. not a content creator now, not a student, not even a man—just a creature of need, and you his ritual, his muse, his goddess.
the screen shows you adjusting the straps of a silky babydoll, the lighting warm, your thighs bare, half-tucked under you as you sit prettily at the edge of your bed.
“okay, so this one’s… like, totally giving ‘come to bed’ energy, right?” you giggle, voice light, teeth sinking into your glossed lip as you bounce once, soft and natural, the fabric barely covering your chest.
satoru groans low in his throat, not even trying to hide it. “it’s giving bend over,” he mutters, lips twitching, his side monitor looping the raw footage, his main screen frozen on your smile. “fuck, look at you…”
you reach behind you, struggle with the clasp, wiggle your shoulders like you’re teasing whoever’s behind the camera. “oof. that’s tight… should i size up?” a breathy laugh follows, your sigh melting into it.
he licks his lips, your audio crystal-clear in his headphones. you’re right there, talking to him. “nah, baby,” he croons, eyes fixed on the curve of your spine as you turn. “tight’s perfect. keeps the goods in place.”
you blow a kiss at the lens. “hope you’re not bored yet,” you say with a wink. “i saved the cutest for last…”
you bend off-frame, your ass peeking just above the edge of the bed, round and inviting in cotton panties with lace trim, and when you rise again, your hands hold something sheer and tiny. “tadaaa,” you whisper, eyes glinting with mischief. “this one’s for my favorite viewer.”
00:05:46—satoru slams the shortcut, timestamp saved. a second later, he screenshots, then again, then again, frame by frame, until he finds the exact one where your lip’s caught between your teeth and your ass is still halfway in the air.
“fucking perfect,” he mutters, breath uneven. he pulls the image up on his main screen, zooms in, sharpens it, runs it through noise reduction. the side monitor loops the raw video, your voice sweet and teasing, while the right monitor plays a gif of your earlier moan, your lips parted in that soft, accidental sound.
his hand’s already moving, shoving his boxers down, his cock springing free, hard and leaking like it’s been waiting for this.
he grips himself, rough and urgent, no pretense of patience. the new setup’s perfect—your video on the side, his code on the main screen like he’s working, but it’s all you, every pixel, every sound.
he strokes in time with your giggle, his eyes flicking between the gif of your moan and the screenshot of your ass, his mind spiraling into the filthiest corners of his hentai-soaked brain.
he imagines you on that bed, face down, ass up, the babydoll hiked to your waist as he fucks you so hard the headboard cracks. he wants you screaming, wants your cunt pulsing around him, wants to pull your hair and make you look at him as he fills you, over and over, until you’re a mess, until you’re his completely.
his strokes are frantic, his breath hitching, his hips bucking into his hand. he pictures you tied to the bed, like that one doujin he read last month, your wrists bound with those same bikini strings, your thighs trembling as he fucks you through one orgasm into the next.
he wants to cum inside you, wants to watch it drip out, wants to push it back in with his fingers and make you lick them clean. it’s not enough to jerk off anymore, not enough to dream—he wants to break you, wants to make you real, wants to fuck you until you’re as addicted to him as he is to you.
he cums with a choked growl, his head tipping back, glasses slipping down his nose as it spills over his hand, his desk, the sticky mess splattering his keyboard.
he’s shaking, gasping, his chest heaving as the side monitor loops your voice, your “baby” purring like a mantra. his wrist’s sticky, his room a haze of sweat and shame, but he doesn’t care. he’s not even really here.
you’re everywhere now—three monitors, three altars, your image burned into his retinas. he’d worship on his knees if you asked.
the next day, another file:
april haul (closeups).mp4
sorry! idk if this one’s helpful but i liked the shots hehe
he doesn’t unzip his pants. doesn’t need to. he’s already throbbing from the inside out, his body reacting to your name alone. he clicks, watches, kneels, and whispers your name like a benediction, the static in his skull louder than ever.
it starts with a ping.
innocuous. a single pixel shift on the main monitor mid-code, just as satoru’s debugging a script for a deadline he already missed. his side monitor hums with your last video, paused on that frame where your lip’s caught between your teeth, and the third monitor’s open to a half-finished render he hasn’t touched in days. he glances lazily at the notification, expecting another reminder from suguru to shower or eat—
but no. it’s you.
hey… do u do filming too?
his fingers freeze. heart jams, a dull thud in his chest. the cursor blinks, waiting, mocking. he doesn’t think. doesn’t breathe. his glasses slip down his nose, and he doesn’t fix them. the words burn into his retinas, and his cock twitches before he can process why.
yeah. totally. what kind of shoot?
he sends it, his thumb trembling over the enter key. no reply. not for five whole minutes. the wait is a crucifixion, each second stretching into eternity. he keeps opening and closing the chat, rereading your words like they might shift into something dirtier, something more.
his triple-monitor setup glows, your frozen frame on the side monitor staring at him, lips parted, eyes glinting. he’s already leaking in his pants, a damp spot spreading against his thigh.
then:
just a casual thing. home setup. come over?
he reads it twice. three times. his breath catches, sharp and shallow, like he’s been punched. come over. your dorm. your space. he’s hard, achingly so, his boxers tight and unforgiving. he doesn’t reply, just slams his laptop shut, grabs his camera bag, and stumbles out the door.
he shows up twenty minutes later, barely remembered to wear deodorant, definitely forgot his dignity. his high-end sony alpha mirrorless—loaded with a lens that costs more than most people’s rent—bounces against his chest as he knocks. his palms are slick, his glasses fogging slightly from the heat of his own nerves.
you open the door with a giggle, wrapped in a pastel pink robe that might as well be air. it clings to the curve of your waist, parts at the thigh, revealing soft skin that makes his throat burn. your hair’s still damp, sticking to your collarbones, and the scent of vanilla lotion hits him like a drug. “thanks for coming! i’m kinda nervous…”
he wants to bark out same, but his jaw locks. he swallows instead, the motion too loud in his ears. “no problem.” his voice is gravel, like he’s choking on his own want. he steps inside, and your dorm swallows him whole—warm, cutesy, a pastel fever dream of plush throw pillows, fairy lights, and a pink velvet couch that looks too soft, too inviting.
he’s already imagining you bent over it, your robe hiked up, your moans echoing off the walls. it smells like you sprayed your strawberry perfume over every surface, dizzying, suffocating. his glasses fog again.
he sets up the tripod with shaking hands, the sony’s weight grounding him just enough to keep from falling apart. you bounce around the living room, humming, fluffing pillows on the couch, fixing your gloss in a heart-shaped mirror propped against a shelf.
“does this lighting make me look washed out?” you ask, stepping back, tilting your head. then you bend to adjust a lamp, and your robe parts just enough to reveal the gentle curve of your ass, bare except for a sliver of lace.
he sees. pretends he didn’t. fumbles the lens cap, twice, the plastic clattering to the floor. his face burns, but he keeps his eyes on the camera, adjusting settings he doesn’t need to touch.
you brush past him again and again, your bare arm glancing his, silk whispering across his knuckles when you pass. he smells shampoo in the air, thick and sweet, and it’s you, all you, sinking into his lungs. “you nervous?” you tease, voice light, a giggle curling at the edges.
he scoffs, wiping his palm against his jeans, the denim rough against his slick skin. “pfft. nah. i’ve filmed worse.” a lie, bold and brittle, his voice too tight to sell it.
“worse than me?” you pout, stepping closer, close enough that he can feel the warmth of your breath. “ouch.”
“i didn’t say that.” his voice cracks, a hairline fracture. he’s too aware of you, of the way your robe slips an inch, of the way your eyes glint like you’re playing with him.
you tilt your head, wide-eyed, all fake innocence. “sooo… you have filmed pretty girls before?”
he falters, breath stuttering in his chest. he’s a virgin, hasn’t touched a girl in years, hasn’t wanted to—not when hentai’s been enough, when doujins have been his only lovers. but you’re real, and you’re here, and you’re breaking him.
“no one like you,” he says, unfiltered, raw, the words slipping out before he can stop them.
your lips curl, slow and sweet, a smile that says i know. “hm. figured.”
you disappear into your bedroom for a few minutes, the door clicking shut. he pretends to adjust the white balance, tweaking settings on the sony that are already perfect, but really he’s staring at the door like it owes him salvation.
his cock’s throbbing, a dull ache that won’t quit, and he shifts, trying to ease the pressure. the living room feels too small, the pink couch too soft, the fairy lights too intimate. he’s imagining you sprawled across that couch, your robe gone, your thighs spread, his camera capturing every gasp.
the door opens. you emerge. lingerie set, pale and sheer, a mini skirt that barely qualifies, lip gloss freshly reapplied. you look like a doll, saccharine and sinful, every curve a taunt. “can you help me zip this?” you turn, bare back exposed, the zipper halfway up, your spine a perfect line that begs to be touched.
he steps forward, too close, his exhale brushing your shoulder. his fingers graze your skin—soft, warm, real—and you shiver, a small, deliberate tremor. he pulls the zipper up with trembling hands, the metal catching once, his breathing uneven. the distance between you shatters into nothing, the air thick with static.
“you’re doing this on purpose,” he rasps, low in your ear, his voice rough with want.
“doing what?” you whisper, fake innocence thick as honey, your head tilting just enough to catch his eye.
you look back at him, lashes fluttering, lips parted, glossy and pink. he breaks.
“fuck.”
he grabs you, his hands rough on your hips, your mouths crashing together—teeth, tongue, gasps. your lip gloss smears against his cheek, sweet and sticky, and he groans into the kiss, devouring you.
you moan into his mouth, legs wrapping around his hips as he lifts you onto the counter, the edge biting into your thighs. you’re silk and heat and sin beneath his hands, and he’s forgotten everything else—his camera, his code, his shame. only you exist now.
you feel his hard-on through his jeans, pressed against your thighs, and he’s panting, his breath stuttering against your skin as he kisses down your jaw, your neck, the ridge of your spine. his mouth is everywhere, like he’s starved, like he’s trying to memorize you with his tongue.
his glasses slip down, and he grins against your collarbone. “need to get a better look,” he mutters, a flimsy excuse to lean closer, until the fog of his breath warms your skin. he bites your collarbone, hard, groaning when he leaves a mark. “wanna see that in playback.”
he drops to his knees without hesitation, a virgin’s worship, reverence born from years of hentai and nothing else. his fingers dig into your thighs, spreading them wide, and he groans like he’s just found salvation. he runs his tongue along the inner part first, slow and teasing, so close to the lace of your panties but not touching what you want.
you try to close your legs, but he forces them open, his grip bruising, his mouth finding the wet spot through the fabric. “fuck, you’re soaked,” he growls, voice muffled, his tongue dragging heavy and slow, the lace rough against your clit. “been wet for me this whole time, huh? fuckin’ tease.”
you whimper, hips bucking, and he moans into you, the vibration making you gasp. he licks through the panties, relentless, his glasses slipping halfway down his nose but he doesn’t care.
“you taste better than i dreamed,” he says, his voice hoarse, hentai dialogue spilling out like it’s natural. he sucks at the fabric, tongue pressing harder, and you’re trembling, your hands fisting his hair as you grind against his face. he’s messy, desperate, his moans louder than yours, like he’s the one about to cum. you do, hard, a cry tearing from your throat as you shudder against his mouth, and he doesn’t stop, lapping at the soaked lace like it’s his last meal.
he presses his cheek to your thigh, sticky and glistening, looking up at you with glassy eyes. “first one’s mine,” he says, grinding his hips into the floor, his jeans tight with his own need. you don’t think he even realizes he’s doing it. he spreads you open with his fingers, peeling the panties aside, watching your hole twitch with a hunger that makes his mouth water.
“look at that,” he murmurs, almost to himself, his voice dripping with awe. “fuckin’ perfect.” he slides two fingers in, slow at first, then deeper, curling them just right, like he’s memorized every doujin panel that showed him how. “shit—i’ve seen this in hentai but it’s better. fuck, it’s real.”
his fingers pump, slick and steady, and you’re moaning, head thrown back, the counter digging into your hips. he adds a third, stretching you, his free hand jerking himself through his jeans, matching the pace of his fingers inside you. “so tight, baby. you’re gonna feel so good around my cock.”
he spits on your pussy, a quick, filthy gesture, his eyes locked on yours as it drips down. “they never show that part right in hentai. had to test it myself.” you moan, loud and broken, and he moans louder, his fingers slipping out with a wet squelch. he licks them clean, slow, eyes fluttering shut like he’s savoring you. “fuck—want it all.”
he stands, trembling, his jeans tented painfully. “can i?” his voice is small, almost pleading, a crack in his bravado. you nod, and he fumbles with his belt, shoving his jeans down just enough. he lines himself up, his cock thick and leaking, the tip brushing your entrance. “you’re so warm—holy shit—you’re squeezing me—fuck—”
he slides in, slow at first, gasping as you take him, your cunt tight and slick around him. he’s a virgin, but he knows this, knows the rhythm from years of jerking off to scenes just like this. he freezes, trying not to cum, his glasses fogging as he pants. you clench down, deliberate, and he slaps your thigh, a quick, sharp sting that earns him a whine.
“don’t—fuck, don’t do that yet.”
he pulls out, just to slam back in, harder, the counter creaking under you. his rhythm’s sloppy, desperate, but he finds it, each thrust deeper, rougher. “look at you,” he growls, his voice pure filth, hentai dialogue spilling free. “taking my cock like a good little slut. you love this, don’t you? fuckin’ made for me.” he licks the tears running down your cheek, his tongue hot and greedy. “crying already? baby, i’m not even close to done.”
you moan his name, and he loses it, his thrusts turning frantic, messy, like he’s trying to ruin you. “film it. show me what you see,” you gasp, and he fumbles for his phone, almost dropping it with how hard he’s shaking.
the camera app opens in a blur of fingers, then steadies, the lens catching you spread wide beneath him, thighs trembling, pussy stuffed full of his cock. he holds it there, watching the way you flutter around him, his breath ragged. “watch this later and see how ruined you look, baby,” he pants, voice hoarse, wild.
he leans in, still recording, whispering filth against your ear. “that’s right. take it. cry for me. i want you loud.” his other hand drags the mic closer, the sony’s external recorder capturing every slick thrust, every broken sob, every wet squelch, loud and obscene.
he fucks you harder, the counter shaking, your tits bouncing with each thrust. “gonna fuck you on every piece of furniture in here,” he growls, his voice low, unhinged. “that couch? gonna bend you over it. that table? gonna spread you wide. your bed? gonna fill you till you’re screaming.”
you clench around him, and he groans, his hips stuttering. “fuck, you like that? you want me to wreck you everywhere, don’t you?” you nod, gasping, and he slaps your thigh again, harder, leaving a red mark. “say it, baby. tell me you want it.”
“i want it,” you whimper, voice breaking, and he grins, feral, his thrusts turning punishing. you cum again, a shuddering mess, your cry echoing in the mic as your cunt pulses around him, slick dripping down your thighs. he doesn’t stop, doesn’t slow, his cock throbbing as he fucks you through it.
“gonna fill you up,” he pants, his voice cracking, hentai fantasies spilling out. “gonna cum so deep you’ll feel me for days. you want that, don’t you? want my cum dripping out of you?”
you nod, moaning, and he loses it, slamming into you one last time as he cums, a guttural groan tearing from his throat. it’s hot, messy, spilling inside you, and he keeps thrusting, shallow and desperate, like he’s trying to push it deeper.
satoru doesn’t stop.
in fact, he lifts you, his arms wrapping under your thighs like you’re weightless, his cock still buried inside you, slick and pulsing. your head lolls against his shoulder, your breath hot against his neck, and he groans, low and guttural, as he carries you toward your bedroom.
the air shifts as he crosses the threshold, your perfume hitting him harder here—floral and sugary, the same scent that clings to your pillow, your wrist, your everything. it’s thicker in this room, curling around him like a trap, and he kicks the door shut behind him, the click loud in the quiet.
he pushes you toward the vanity, your back meeting the cool glass of the mirror with a soft thud. he bends you over it, slow and deliberate, his hands guiding your hips until your cheek presses against the surface, your breath fogging the reflection.
“look at you,” he groans, angling his phone to capture the scene—your flushed face, your glossed lips parted, your eyes half-lidded in the mirror as you whine in embarassment.
“pretty little thing, still trying to act innocent.” his voice is rough, edged with hunger, and he shifts his hips, thrusting shallowly, keeping you pinned, reaching for your lip gloss.
you mumble something, a weak protest or plea, but he shuts it up with a swipe of your lip gloss across your mouth, his hand trembling as he paints your lips pink, the applicator slick and messy.
“perfect,” he says, pulling back just enough to admire the shine, the way it catches the light. then he pushes in again, deeper, and you both moan, the sound mingling in the air, caught by the sony’s mic still recording from the tripod in the corner.
he kisses you messily—gloss smearing, lips hungry, teeth clashing as he grinds his hips, slow and torturous, never breaking the rhythm. the camera stays on, the phone propped against a perfume bottle, capturing every gasp, every shudder.
“taste so fuckin’ good,” he mutters against your mouth, his tongue chasing the sticky sweetness. “gonna kiss you till you’re dripping everywhere.”
satoru lays you on the bed next, gentle but urgent, his hands shaking as he props his phone against a stack of books on your nightstand, the camera app open, framing you perfectly—your body sprawled across the pastel sheets, thighs parted, lingerie barely clinging to your skin, the sheer fabric of your top stretched tight over your chest, the mini skirt hiked up to expose the lace of your panties.
he climbs over you, his glasses slipping down his nose, and pushes your legs up, hooking them over his shoulders, the angle forcing you open, vulnerable.
“fuck, you feel like heaven,” he says, voice cracking, almost reverent, as he slides back inside you, slow and deep, the heat of you pulling a groan from his throat. “i’m never gonna stop, baby.”
each thrust is deliberate, his hips rolling to hit that spot that makes you arch, your nails raking down his arms, leaving red trails he’ll stare at later.
he kisses you through it, his mouth sloppy and desperate, swallowing your moans like they’re his lifeline. the bed creaks under you, the fairy lights casting a soft glow over your tear-streaked face, and he’s lost in it, in the way you clench around him, so tight it’s like you’re made for him.
“so fuckin’ perfect,” he pants, his lips brushing your ear, his breath hot and uneven. “taking my cock like you were born for it.”
he tugs at the straps of your lingerie top, pulling it down until your tits spill free, the sheer fabric catching under them, and he groans, his mouth latching onto a nipple, sucking hard until you whimper, your hips bucking against him.
but it doesn’t last—he needs more, needs to see you break in ways he’s only imagined in the dark of his room, his hand on his cock and your videos on loop.
he pulls out, his dick slick and throbbing, and grabs your hips, flipping you with a low grunt. he drags you up by the waist, positioning you on your knees, your ass high, your face pressed into the sheets, the skirt still bunched around your hips. his hand slides up your spine, pushing your chest down, arching you just right, and he yanks the lace panties to the side, not bothering to take them off.
“this is what you get for teasing me all these days,” he growls, his voice unhinged, as he lines himself up and thrusts in, hard and deep, the slap of skin sharp in the quiet room.
you whimper, muffled against the pillow, and he fucks harder, each thrust rocking you forward, the bedframe rattling, your moans spilling free despite the fabric. his phone’s still recording, propped precariously, catching every angle—your arched back, your trembling thighs, the way his cock disappears into you with every brutal snap of his hips.
“look at that pussy,” he says, his free hand gripping your ass, spreading you open for the camera. “so greedy, swallowing me whole. you love this, don’t you?” he tugs your hair, pulling your head back, forcing your cries to echo. “louder, baby. let the whole fuckin’ dorm hear you.”
he slows, just to torment you, his hips grinding deep, making you squirm, your overstimulated body shaking under him. you’re teary, sobs catching in your throat, but he doesn’t care—he wants you loud, wants you broken. he leans down, his chest pressed to your back, and bites your shoulder, hard enough to leave a mark.
“cry for me,” he whispers, his voice rough, his hand slipping around to pinch your nipple, twisting until you gasp. “wanna hear you fall apart.” he pulls out, leaving you empty, and you whine, a desperate, keening sound that makes him smirk.
“patience, princess,” he mocks, slapping your ass lightly, the sting making you clench around nothing.
satoru guides you up, turning you to face him, and pushes you back onto the bed, climbing over you. “wanna see you ride me,” he says, lying back against the headboard, his hands gripping your hips as you straddle him. he tugs the skirt off completely, tossing it aside, leaving you in just the stretched-out lingerie top and soaked panties.
“bounce,” he growls, his eyes locked on where you sink down onto him, slow and deliberate, your cunt stretching around him as you take him inch by inch. “show the camera how you fuck me.”
his phone’s angled to catch it all—your tits bouncing, still half-caught in the sheer fabric, your thighs trembling, the way you gasp every time you drop down, taking him to the hilt.
you move, your hips rolling, your hands braced on his chest, and he’s sweating, his glasses slipping, his breath ragged. he doesn’t let you slow, his hands lifting you, slamming you back down, making you take him deeper. “that’s it,” he says, voice hoarse, his fingers digging into your ass, leaving bruises. “fuck yourself on my cock. show me how bad you need it.”
you’re sobbing now, tears streaming down your cheeks, but you keep going, your moans loud and broken, your body shaking from the overstimulation. he reaches up, ripping the lingerie top off completely, the fabric tearing with a sharp sound, and gropes your tits, squeezing hard, his thumbs brushing your nipples until you shudder.
“these are mine now,” he says, his voice pure filth. “gonna mark ‘em up so you can’t hide.”
he’s close, too close, but he’s not done.
he pushes you off, gentle but firm, and stands, pulling you with him toward the full-length mirror by your closet. he spins you, pressing your chest to the glass, your hands splaying against it, your tear-streaked reflection staring back.
he kicks your legs apart, his cock nudging your entrance, and slides in, slow and deep, his breath hot against your ear. “look at you,” he says, his lips brushing your neck, his hands caging you against the mirror. “look at my cock ruining your pussy.”
he thrusts, slow at first, watching your reflection—your tears, your drool, your gloss-smeared lips, the way your body shakes with every snap of his hips. “you wanted a nerd? this nerd’s gonna fuckin’ break you.”
he fucks you harder, the mirror rattling, your moans bouncing off the walls, loud enough to wake the neighbors. “so fuckin’ pretty,” he pants, one hand slipping to your clit, rubbing messy, relentless circles. “gonna cum all over my cock, aren’t you? gonna make a mess for me?”
you nod, sobbing, your body trembling, and he slaps your ass, the sting sharp, making you clench around him. “say it, baby. tell me you’re mine.”
“i’m yours,” you gasp, voice breaking, tears streaming, and he cums with a raw groan, spilling inside you, hot and thick, his hips stuttering as he rides it out.
he doesn’t pull out, doesn’t stop, his cock still hard, still twitching as he fucks his cum deeper, the slick sound obscene. “not done,” he mutters, his glasses fogged, his voice wrecked. “gonna make you cum again.”
he keeps going, relentless, his thrusts slower but deeper, each one pushing his cum back inside, making you shake. his fingers on your clit are merciless, circling fast, and you’re oversensitive, your body convulsing, your moans turning to desperate cries. “satoru—fuck—too much—” you sob.
he only slaps your thigh, sharp and stinging, and leans in, his lips grazing your ear. “too much? nah, princess, you can take it. wanna feel you squirt for me.”
he angles his hips, hitting that spot that makes your vision blur, and you’re gone, your body locking up as you cum, a gush of wet heat soaking his cock, dripping down your thighs, pooling on the floor. he groans, loud and broken, his hips jerking as he cums again, another hot rush filling you, spilling out around him.
“fuck—look at that mess,” he pants, his hand smearing the slick between your legs, rubbing it into your skin. “all for me.”
but he’s not done. he pulls you back to the bed, laying you on your side, one leg hooked over his arm as he slides back in, his cock still hard, slick with your cum and his. “one more,” he begs, his voice cracking, his glasses crooked. “gimme one more, baby. need to feel you again.”
he thrusts slow, deep, his hand slipping between your legs to tease your oversensitive clit, and you’re crying, tears streaming, your body shaking from the intensity. he bites your neck, leaving marks, and whispers, “love it when you cry for me. so fuckin’ loud, just how i like it.”
he shifts, rolling you onto your stomach, keeping you pinned as he fucks you into the mattress, his hand pressing your face into the sheets. “gonna cum all over you,” he growls, his thrusts turning sloppy, desperate. “gonna fill you up till you’re leaking me for days.”
you cum again, a shuddering, broken mess, your sobs muffled against the pillow, your body convulsing as you squirt again, weaker but still enough to soak the sheets. he cums with you, a third time, his groan hoarse, his hips stuttering as he spills inside you, the mess dripping out, pooling under you.
“fuck—baby—” he gasps, his voice wrecked, his body shaking as he collapses against you, his glasses falling off completely, clattering to the floor.
“mine now,” he whispers, hoarse and ruined, his forehead pressed to your back, his breath hot and uneven. “you’re mine now.”
you nod, too spent to speak, your body limp, your reflection in the mirror a blur of tears and gloss and him, the phone still recording every ragged breath, every whispered “fuck” as he pulls you closer, not letting go.
but then silence swells, heavy and slow, filling the room like a fog. the air’s thick with the aftermath—sweat, cum, and the lingering sweetness of your perfume, still clinging to the sheets, to him.
satoru’s hands tremble where they hold you, one slipping down to fumble with his phone, stopping the recording with a clumsy tap, the other pressing flat against your stomach, grounding him, grounding you. your breaths are too loud, ragged and uneven, syncing in the quiet like a metronome.
he leans away slightly, just enough to grab a towel from the edge of your bed, awkward in the afterglow like he just realized he desecrated a temple. his glasses are gone, lost somewhere in the mess of sheets, and his hair’s a disaster, sticking to his forehead, damp with sweat.
“shit,” he mutters, voice barely above a whisper, too quiet for the boy who was growling filth ten minutes ago. “did i—i mean. that wasn’t too much, right?” there’s a crack in his tone, a flicker of panic, like he’s replaying every thrust, every slap, every sobbed moan he pulled from you.
you don’t answer at first, too dazed, too wrung out, your body still humming from the overstimulation, your thighs sticky and trembling.
your silence makes him spiral.
“fuck, i knew it. i pushed too hard. i got carried away—i was recording—fuck—i didn’t even ask—” his words tumble out, frantic, his hand raking through his hair as he sits up, eyes wide, searching your face for any sign of regret.
you turn to face him, slow and sore, your cheek pillowed against your arm, the motion making your body ache in the best way. your eyes are still wet, lashes clumped with tears, lips kiss-bruised and sticky with half-worn gloss, swollen from his teeth. you stare at him—this boy, this dork, with his mussed-up hair and the panicked look of someone who just lived out a lifelong fantasy and now doesn’t know what to do with it.
“i’m okay,” you say, your voice shredded, raw from screaming his name. “jesus, i’m so okay.”
he exhales, a shaky rush of air, like he’s been holding it in for hours. he collapses back against you, burying his face in your neck, his lips brushing the bite mark he left earlier. “fuck, you scared me,” he mumbles, his voice muffled, warm against your skin. then, quieter, almost unhinged: “we just speedran my entire hentai folder.”
you laugh, a weak, breathy sound that bubbles up despite the ache in your ribs. “i know.”
“i didn’t even know i could,” he says, his voice small, like he’s confessing a sin. “i haven’t even done that in vr.”
you snort, the sound catching in your throat. “nerd.”
he groans, but it’s not annoyed—it’s mortified, the kind of sound that comes from knowing he’s exposed himself completely. “i’m never gonna recover from this. i glossed you like a fuckin’ bratz doll. i glossed you.” his hand gestures vaguely at your lips, still shiny and smeared, and you laugh again, the sound softer now, your body too tired for anything more.
you roll over fully, tugging him down into the blankets with you, the pastel sheets tangling around your legs. he follows like a kicked puppy, his head resting on your chest, his breath warm against your skin. you can feel his heart still racing, his body still trembling from the high.
“i just,” you mumble, your voice barely audible, “wanted you to notice me. back during the group project, you never looked at me. just your laptop. even when i wore that stupid short skirt.”
he goes silent, his fingers pausing where they’re tracing lazy circles on your hip. then, in a voice so small it barely carries: “…you wore that for me?”
you nod, your cheek brushing his hair.
he lets out the tiniest, most violated gasp, like you’ve just rewritten his entire reality. “i thought you were just one of those girls who always looked hot. like, default setting.” his voice cracks on the last word, and you can’t help the teasing smile that tugs at your lips.
“no,” you say, your tone playful despite the exhaustion. “i was trying to seduce the dumbass with the mecha desktop background.”
he muffles a sob into your chest, half-laugh, half-groan, his arms tightening around you. “i love mecha…” he says, like it’s the most tragic thing in the world, and you hum, stroking his hair, your fingers catching in the sweaty strands.
“i know.”
a long pause settles over you, the kind that feels like it could stretch forever. the fairy lights twinkle softly, casting shadows across the room, and your perfume lingers, mixing with the musk of sex. his breathing slows, but he doesn’t let go, his body still pressed to yours like he’s afraid you’ll vanish.
then he lifts his head, his eyes serious, stripped of the wild edge they had before. “can i… hold you properly? not like—y’know—breeding press. like, real holding.” his cheeks flush, like he’s embarrassed to admit he wants something soft after all that.
“you already folded me in half like a love letter,” you whisper, but you shift into his arms anyway, letting him pull you close. he wraps around you, tight, needy, his hands trembling like he’s still processing you’re real, not just pixels on a screen. his hold is desperate, like he’s trying to memorize the shape of you, every curve, every soft inch, in case this never happens again.
“don’t make fun of me,” he says, his voice muffled against your shoulder. “i think my crush on you just speedran into obsession.” there’s a rawness to it, a confession that feels too big for the quiet, but it lands soft, like he’s finally letting it out.
“you’re the one who begged for one more while crying into my shoulder,” you tease, your voice barely above a whisper, your fingers tracing the line of his jaw.
“stop,” he groans, burying his face deeper, his arms tightening like he could squeeze the embarrassment out of himself. “i’m gonna die.”
you press a kiss to his forehead, slow and deliberate, your lips lingering on his sweaty skin. “you’re not gonna die,” you say, your tone soft but firm. “you’re gonna eat me out on friday and wear your glasses while you do it.”
he whimpers, a pathetic, needy sound, his hips twitching involuntarily against your thigh. “say less,” he mumbles, his voice wrecked, but there’s a spark in it, like you’ve just lit something in him again. you giggle, wrapping your leg around his waist, pulling him closer, your skin sticking to his in the humid air.
and in the quiet, as you’re both drifting off—sore, sticky, still catching your breath—he says it again. not ruined this time, not even possessive. just low. certain. like he’s already planning his next sin.
“mine.”
you don’t answer. just smile into the pillow, heart pounding. because maybe you are. and maybe you’ll let him prove it again.
especially once he finds out what cosplay you ordered last week.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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Warnings. NSFW🔞 MATURE content, smelly college au nerdjo, HE SUCKS HIS OWN DICK, childhood friends, accidental breeding, virginity loss, voyeurism, idiots in love. Part 1 but you don’t rly need to read it.
“Honey,” SelfSucker!Gojo’s mom pauses her conversation with your mother to call to you from the stove, “will you go get Toru down here?”
A few minutes ago his mother called for him to come down from his room because dinner would be ready soon but he hasn’t, despite shouting that he’d be down soon.
“That boy is always playing that animal game on his cpu,” she tuts, making your mother chuckle. You think she’s datedly referring to Digimon, but you’re no expert on things like that— not compared to nerdy Satoru anyway.
Every Friday since you were toddlers, you, Satoru, and your mothers eat dinner together while your fathers go off to wherever. They tell their husbands it’s to catch a break every now and then, but it’s really for your mothers to gossip and drink wine all night while the ‘kids,’ you and Satoru, keep each other company. Many, many Friday dinners later, and their house feels like a second home to you.
You pause your movie and stand from the couch, humming a polite affirmation to the request. You know dinner likely won’t be ready anytime soon since both moms always get distracted, but you still heed her call and begin walking up the stairs to relay the message.
You pass pictures hung along the walls as you make your way down the hall, some portraying Satoru’s little family along the years, a few of your mothers, and too many of you and Satoru as children.
Satoru’s door. The ‘No boys allowed’ sign that 15 year old Satoru deemed hilarious and profoundly clever still hangs crooked on his door. The idea of a girl other than yourself and his mother ever crossing this threshold voluntarily is a stretch, considering his less than subtle lack of hygiene and messy tendencies.
You don’t knock before opening his door since he’s —more often than not— slouched over his bright monitor and keyboard with bulky headphones on full blast.
The stuffy, unventilated air of his room fans your face as you swing the door open and begin your automated message, “Your mom wants—”
You stall immediately, your bored eyes widen drastically when you catch sight of Satoru, who’s not in his usual spot at his desk.
He’s attempting to suck his own dick, to put it bluntly. The incredibly tall man is curled in on himself atop his messy Pokémon sheets like an armadillo, ass up. His deeply hued pink, lengthy dick is hanging over his own open mouth while his lanky hands push into his mid back in attempt to stretch it enough to get his tip past his lips.
He’s immediately and visibly panicked at your sudden presence. His reaction plays in less than half a second: His desperate tongue snaps back into his mouth, retreating from its endeavor at uniting with his sensitive tip. Owlish blue eyes lock on you, fast, as his brows knit together to show off utter embarrassment. You gasp sharply, surprise still stuck on your face, when he falls off of his bed and onto the floor awkwardly.
“Y-You— knock! You have to—you have to knock!” He’s shouting at you as he poorly recovers from his tumble, making sure to shove his sweatpants back up before standing up with a stumble.
His panicked, confrontational voice directed at you makes you feel defensive and just as frenzied.
“Sorry! Sor— I never knock— I never— sorry!” you defensively squawk, yanking the door shut mid yap as if giving him privacy now will do anything.
The sign on his door topples to the ground with the strength behind your swing. Your face burns dangerously hot as you scramble to pick it up and fumble it back onto the hook before racing away from his room.
You almost trip hurrying down the stairs and sink into the couch, seeking solace in a throw blanket you pull up to your nose with your knees to your chest.
“He coming?”
You almost choke. Your eyes snap away from the tv screen that feels much further away than before, over to Satoru’s mother who’s looking at you in question, casually.
“W-What?”
She cooly repeats her question, “is Toru coming down?”
“Oh— yeah, he’s— I think so,” you nod aimlessly before turning back to stare blankly at the tv. You honestly aren’t sure if he’s coming down or not, considering.
Satoru’s mother nods and returns her attention to plating dinner with your mother.
A few minutes later, you gulp as you hear muffled footsteps coming down the stairs.
You don’t dare to openly glance at him as Satoru’s mom acknowledges his arrival.
“Look who finally decided to bless us with his presence,” you hear her tease him rhetorically, followed by your mother asking Mrs. Gojo what serving utensils she wants to use.
Satoru doesn’t say anything as your moms chatter on, but you can assume based on the noise that he’s grabbing some glasses for drinks to help out.
You’re just so distracted with the movie you absolutely are watching, that you definitely don’t notice when Satoru’s heavy gaze focuses in on the side of your head. That’s what you’re pretending anyways. You don’t even have to look to feel it, but it’s brief, like he’s hoping you don’t notice his peek. It’s half of a second of observation that affirms to him that you are just going to ignore and ‘forget’ what you saw.
Dinner is filled with your mothers cackling to each other about some reality romance tv show while you avidly avoid any possible eye contact with Satoru. There’s a clear, awkward tension in the air as you sit beside him and poke at your food, but your moms aren’t perceptive enough of your dynamic to notice.
You help out after dinner, picking up plates to take to the sink and Satoru’s already making an obvious move to go back upstairs.
“No, no, no you don’t mister,” Mrs Gojo chides, making him pause and slowly turn his head to look at his mother with the lenses of his bulky glasses gleaming, blocking the sight of his eyes. “Help out and then you two can watch your little movie.”
She says it as though Satoru was just trying to skip cleaning so he can watch a movie with you sooner, when that can’t be further from the truth and you both know it. You haven’t held up that- movie after dinner- tradition since you were twelve. Satoru grumbles to himself, but inevitably starts helping.
Eventually, one thing leads to another and you’re washing dishes while Satoru dries beside you. Other than the running water, you can distantly hear your mother’s boisterous laughing and loud chatter coming from upstairs in Mrs. Gojo’s room where they drink wine and girl talk every Friday after dinner.
As you wash a plate, you notice the suds are growing less and less. You need more soap. You glance over at the bottle that’s closer to Satoru than yourself.
“Could you—”
He almost drops the bowl in his hand. “I wasn’t doing anything— ! I just— I just had a scratch on my back and— and I know what it looked like but it wasn’t anything weird or something.” Satoru interrupts you, nervously like the defense has been waiting at the tip of his tongue. His hands are shaking where they grip the drying cloth, an incessant squeak can be heard throughout his speech from drying the bowl that’s already much too dry, frantically.
You pause washing to blink up at him.
“Uh—” you clear your throat and point to the bottle, “I was gonna ask if you could hand me the soap.”
A beat of silence. His cheeks are flaming pink and his lanky torso is tight, straighter than his usual slouch.
“Oh.”
He awkwardly wraps his long fingers around the bottle and squeezes some soap onto your sponge.
You gulp at the silence and continue washing, eyeing the few dishes you have left.
“I—” you begin, eyes locked onto the sudsy dish, “I’m sorry for just—for just coming in without knocking. —Whatever you were doing.”
You continue.
“It’s just, I never knock. I just thought— I never knock and— fuck I don’t know— sorry.” You’re not trying to make an excuse but you feel the need to defend yourself after seeing what you did, like it’s your fault.
In the many years you’ve known Satoru, it was never a problem when you’d barge into his room without warning. He didn’t seem to care, until now. Clearly you lost the silent memo that privacy was necessary now.
He clears his throat and uses an awkward hand to shove his glasses up, instinctively. “I know. I accept your apology, but you don’t— you don’t really need to say sorry. I was just scratching my back anyways.”
You hum a quick, high-pitched affirmation, side eye flicking at him briefly. Right.
You finally finish up. Satoru awkwardly stands in place, watching you dry your hands as if he’s not sure when or how he should make his leave.
You glance at him and speak hesitantly, “Wanna— um, watch a movie?”
You’re almost expecting socially stunted Satoru to bluntly tell you no and leave. Instead, he nods in one harsh affirmation— like a soldier formally addressing their colonel.
“Sure. Yes. I wanna.”
You huff in amusement when he doesn’t make any move to lead in his own house.
His socked feet shuffle behind you until you’re plopping down onto the living room couch.
Satoru throws in the DVD that’s worn from your past uses without having to ask you what you want to watch as you adjust to get comfortable on the sofa.
Then, he scratches the back of his head lazily as he moves towards the light switches and turns them off so the large TV is the only source of dim light fluttering over the living room. It’s like he’s on autopilot because when you were young, you’d always beg Satoru to get up and turn the lights off as you watch your movie together so you didn’t have to.
The couch dips as he sits beside you, he likely didn’t even think twice about it because he’s not leaving too much space between you— not that you mind.
You’ve practically had this movie memorized by now, and your thoughts drift to more interesting things as it drones on.
You tilt your head towards him and part your lips, just to hesitate and brush it off. You think it was subtle enough to slide past Satoru’s perception but you’re wrong.
Satoru blinks repeatedly, his gaze flickering from you to the screen and back.
“What?”
“What?” You repeat, feigning ignorance.
“You were gonna say something,” he points out. Anyone else would get the hint and give up, but not Satoru.
You shrug, “Just thinking, I don’t know.”
He angles his body to face you a bit more, his leg bending and the couch adjusts with his weight.
“About what?”
You exhale and glance at his obvious focus that’s alternated completely from the movie, to you. Satoru has seen you go through your aggressive side part phase, the time you got grounded for a month at fifteen and ugly cried while you screamed for an hour, and the entire year you truly believed you were a vampire and would scream in agony any time the sun touched your skin. He’s seen some shit, and vise versa.
It’s not too difficult to abandon the movie and turn your body and attention towards him with intent to indulge your curiosities.
“Have—,” you glance at the opening of the living room that leads to the stairs where your mothers are and lower your voice a bit, “Have you actually done it before?”
“Done.. what?” He blinks at you, confused.
“You know,” you murmur shyly, whispering the next part, “sucked your own dick.”
Satoru eyes widen and he freezes. “I- I don’t— I don’t—what are you— I’d never—”
You shove his oddly sturdy shoulder and your cheeks warm. “Come on, Satoru. I saw you.”
His hands protectively slap over his flustered face, glasses and all like it’s his last defensive measure. He’s murmuring to himself, but it comes out as muffled noises. You wouldn’t be surprised if he was calling you stupid defensively.
“Hey.” You poke his hand but he doesn’t budge.
You huff, slightly amused, and after a beat of stillness, you gently pry two of his fingers away until it uncovers an eye.
“Look, I’m not judging you, okay?” you explain, and then shrug, “I’m just curious. It’s not like I’ll tell anyone.”
His adams apple bobs. He slowly places his long hands into his lap.
“Curious— um— about what, exactly?” His white lashes flutter as his eyes travel from his fidgeting hands to your face.
You chew on your bottom lip as your eyes flick to the side, thinking briefly.
“Have you ever succeeded?” You question eagerly and in a hushed tone.
“Like— it looked like,” you clear your throat, “you couldn’t reach.”
He glances over his shoulder at the entryway to the stairs to confirm you’re alone before pushing his glasses up.
“You won’t tell anyone?”
You shake your head and pull his hand up to force his long pinky to curl around yours. He can already tell you’re trying to pinky swear the way you used to when you were kids, with kisses.
“Swear,” you say definitively before twisting your interlocked hands until his fist is in front of you. You press your soft lips against it. He stops breathing.
Satoru’s in shock until you gesture dramatically for him to hurry, snapping him out of it enough to awkwardly press his puckered lips to your hand.
You smile into his fist at the sight of your locked-in promise, noses close to brushing, and pull your hand away.
You adjust in your seat enthusiastically, scooting closer to him until your knees are brushing his as you both sit with criss crossed legs.
“Now spill.”
He nods with a swallow, scratching the side of his head.
“It reaches,” he confirms with pink tinting his cheeks, “not all the way, but— enough.”
You inhale deeply while blinking, amusement and intrigue sitting on your chest as you process.
“Like your— uh— tip goes in?”
His eyes flick to the left briefly. “Just about.”
“Woah,” you exhale, “you’re flexable.”
He shrugs, “I think it’s because I’m so— long?”
Your brows raise and your eyes can’t help but trail languidly down to his lap.
He immediately shakes his head. “No, no, no I meant my body— my back, my stomach. Not my penis.”
“Oh.” You press your lips together to poorly hide your amusement and his face drops into a deeper red.
“We’re missing the movie—”
“So you suck on the tip or lick it?” You interrupt him curiously as if he didn’t even say anything.
“Uh— sucking hurts my neck so only for half a second,” he rubs the back of his neck, “so— so mostly licking.”
“Does it actually feel good?” You’re analyzing his every facial expression, intrigue hiding a splash of arousal. Every question feels more extensive than the last, and his heart is thrashing.
Satoru abruptly drops his face into the head rest cushion beside him and groans into it. His system is going into overdrive.
You huff a laugh. You’re not used to seeing him in this position, genuinely embarrassed having been caught in such a vulnerable state. Satoru is usually mean before he’s ever embarrassed or shy.
“I’m waiting,” you prod in a sing song voice and he slightly whines before sitting back up— slouching— but still.
“Do I have to answer that?” Despite his glasses, you can tell his gaze is down and off to the side.
“Absolutely.” You nod definitively with a proud tight- lipped smile, as if what you say, goes. Suddenly, he feels like his younger self being bossed around by you everywhere you two went.
“I don’t want to,” he mutters stubbornly under his breath.
“Come on,” you whine annoyingly, pushing even closer to him until your knees are slightly overlapping his shins, “I wanna know. It’s just me.”
“Yeah, it’s just you. And you’re a girl.”
You squint at him and lean back a bit. “What does that mean?”
“That this feels— wrong— weird—I don’t want to be talking to you about this,” he mumbles with a hint of irritation.
“Just because I don’t have a dick, doesn’t mean—”
He shakes his head, immediately and cuts you off with an authoritative ‘nuh uh,’ and you let out an amused scoff.
“What?” You urge him to explain, curiously. “Come on, why is it any different with me?”
“Because you’re hot. Seriously?” He grumbles and rolls his eyes at you. “And you saw me trying to suck on my own penis and your face when you walked in—” he ends the sentence with a groan, face falling right into his hands.
Honestly, you already thought he was a little weird before you caught him self sucking, but you’d never admit that and potentially hurt the smelly, awkward boy for no reason. You certainly didn’t know he cared what you thought of him, considering he’s usually unapologetically himself. Apparently, he does care what his childhood friend thinks.
“We all do weird things sometimes, that doesn’t make you weird.”
He shakes his head, face still shoved into his hands. “Not you.”
You huff through your nose, “I didn’t know you had so many opinions about me, Satoru.”
“I don’t. It’s a logical analysis from a scientific perspective. I have eyes.” His tone is more nasally than normal due to his face in his palms.
“You don’t know what I do when I’m alone. Me being weird or not is irrelevant,” you say looking down at his fluffy head that’s a bit greasy, “I get horny too.”
In a split second, his head shoot’s up desperately, almost knocking the back of it into your face on the way.
You don’t think you’ve ever seen Satoru sit up so straight in his life. You’re forced to look up at him now, reminding you of how tall he really is. His glasses were left behind when he jolted up, and you can suddenly see the full intensity of his wide crystal blue eyes piercing into you with full focus.
You slightly adjust in your seat, borderline uncomfortable under that sharp gaze that’s roaming your entire persona as if he’s a computer collecting every piece of data in your soul at a high speed. Those eyes used to scare you straight out of bed with a scream when you were small and having little sleepovers with him— they still give you chills.
“You do?”
You cower a bit, not expecting such a reaction to what you thought was an obvious fact. “Um— yeah? Of course I do,” you murmur, brows furrowing.
He swallows and slides a pillow into his lap, gripping it.
You glance down at it. You blink at it. You glance back up at him.
“Did that make you hard..?” you slowly ask, voicing the obvious in hesitancy.
“A little.”
“Okay,” you pause, “why?”
He pushes up his glasses. “Because I thought about your vagina being wet. And then I started speculating about what your vagina looks like. And then how it tastes, because online—”
“Satoru,” you quickly interrupt him, flustered, pushing a palm to his lips, “shut up.”
He blinks and nods, making you take your hand off of his lips hesitantly. He reaches under the pillow and, you assume, adjusts his boner.
“Okay,” you change the subject, shaking your head of the imaginary vision of his hardening cock, “We’re getting off track. Don’t avoid the question.”
He rubs an eye, like it’s sore from having been using his glasses for so long before they fell off.
“It feels good enough,” he mumbles, spine already returning to his natural slouch, “but I have to kinda— like— focus.”
“On what?”
“On anything but the fact that I’m sucking dick, what do you think?”
You accidentally let a snort pass, and he sighs deeply to himself.
“Sorry sorry,” you shake your head, holding back a laugh.
“Are you done yet?” He murmurs in a whiny tone, eager to stop answering questions.
“Has it ever made you cum? And do you like— bust in your mouth? Or all over your face?”
Satoru suddenly bursts into a coughing fit, choking on his own spit and your brows furrow in concern.
“You okay?”
He nods as he coughs, brushing off your concern as you rub his back soothingly and briefly. He gasps for air as the fit calms.
“I’m fine,” he massages his throat and glances back at the opening to the stairs, “why do you want to know that?”
“I’m curious.” You shrug, although you’re ignoring the subtle throb in your clit.
“Curious about my cum.” He says it like it’s more of a statement than a question.
“What? No,” you defend yourself quickly, “No, I mean— kinda but— No, stop it. Don’t twist my words.”
Now, he snickers, wiping his nose against his sleeve.
“Shut up,” you shake your head with a small smile, pushing his shoulder. “Answer, freak.”
He chews on the inside of his cheek, “It’s not like I mean to cum on my face. It just happens.”
You can’t help but drop your jaw in astonishment, unable to ignore the tingle in your lower abdomen.
He whines, “stop,” as he grabs your jaw with warm, shaky fingers and manually closes your mouth.
You gulp, subconsciously grabbing a few of his fingers from your face and pulling them down to your lap to hold onto like you need it to ground you. You’re not holding his hand, you’re more so awkwardly grabbing parts of it. Satoru glances at the connection, but you don’t seem to notice that you’re even holding it because you’re so focused on his words.
“So you’ve,” you blink rapidly, “tasted your own cum?”
He chews off a chunk of his inner lip and grumbles under his breath, “Yeah, I wish I didn’t— tastes nasty.”
“Like what?”
“You know wha—” Satoru almost slipped and confessed that you’ve tasted his cum before. On that fucking strawberry donut. You tilt your head at him, wondering why he stopped talking.
He clears his throat. “Skip.”
You blink. “Skip?”
He nods, definitively. “Skip.”
You squint at him for a beat, he doesn’t budge. You move on.
“Okay, How many times have you done it?”
He exhales in thought and shrugs. He holds up two fingers.
“Why did you do it in the first place? Like what was going through your mind?”
“Uh— That my hand doesn’t feel that good anymore.” He scratches his chest with the hand you’re not keeping prisoner in your lap.
You hum a short confirmation, huffing at his reasoning, and adjust his hand so it’s palm up. You silently ponder as you begin to trace his skin absently, the lines and ridges. Goosebumps race up his veiny, pale arm.
“You know, when a guy gets tired of their hand,” you smile in amusement, “I don’t think their first thought is their own mouth.”
He shakes his head. “Every guy has done it or tried to do it at least once,” he defends, “and if they say they haven’t, they’re lying.”
You giggle and he can’t help but breathe a little laugh with you.
“Still, why not just ask a girl out from class or something?” You continue to trace down his long fingers.
He snorts loudly and wipes his nose against his sleeve again. “Yeah, right.”
You glance up at him with furrowed brows, “Huh? I’m serious. Why not?”
He sniffs and shrugs, “I dunno. Whenever I’m around, they just..” he trails off.
You blink. “They just what?”
He looks down at your fingers trialing his palm. “Go away from wherever I am.” He doesn’t seem bothered, just stating facts.
You hum, tongue prodding your teeth in thought for a beat. You imagine it has something to do with his smell, his unkempt appearance, and honest-to-a-fault demeanor— he’s unapproachable. Even you’re guilty of this too, and you know it.
He continues in the face of your silence. “I’m not stupid, okay? I can tell girls don’t like me, I just— I don’t know why.”
An opportunity arises.
“Maybe,” you place his hand back down and coincidentally into your lap. He tries not to react to the fact that his palm happened to land on top of your clothed, warm inner thigh, “Maybe, I could help you with that— I mean, if you want.”
He blinks at you. “Help me with— help me with girls?”
You shrug. “Yeah, why not. Girls.”
He’s silent for once with his eyes trained down to your lap, and you tilt your head at his hesitancy.
“If you’re so desperate that you literally shove your own dick in your throat then what do u have to lose, huh?” You’re teasing him, clearly getting off on this new advancement in your ‘friendship.’ His face jolts into the human embodiment of an exclamation point.
He explodes, “It doesn’t even reach my throat, stupid— I don’t shove anything down my throat. I knew I shouldn’t have told you!”
You can’t hold back the laughter that bursts out of you before he even finishes speaking. You clasp your hand over your mouth but it continues to spill out. Satoru refuses to take his hand off of your inner thigh, even despite the embarrassing topic of conversation, because game is game, but he does use the other to cover his one of his hot ears because he just knows they’re probably the deepest shade of red.
“How exactly are you going to help me?”
Just as Satoru grumbles the question, both of your fathers waltz in. “Hey kids.”
Satoru jumps in place like he’s been caught, ripping his hand away from your thigh so dramatically that it makes each of your father’s brows quirk. You hadn’t even heard them open the front door.
You hide an amused smile at Satoru’s reaction and rise to your feet.
“You ready to go?” Your father asks, and you nod as Satoru’s father ruffles his son’s hair briefly in greetings. Though you just live next door, you still like to walk back with your dad.
As your father walks over to the front door, knowing your mother will likely stay longer, Satoru’s father walks upstairs to greet his wife. You bend down to whisper into Satoru’s ear.
“I’ll come over next Friday when my classes end.” You flick his forehead with a teasing grin and he rubs the injury with a grimace as you walk away. “Bye!” you shout just before his front door slams shut behind you.
Friday. 3:05 pm.
You let yourself into the Gojo front door with the key copy you received years ago.
Mrs. Gojo chirps, “Oh hi honey! Toru and the others are upstairs,” as you pass her to get to the stairs.
You pause at the bottom of the stairs and blink at her. “Others?”
She hums and nods her head with a smile before continuing to sort through her documents at the kitchen table.
You curiously climb the stairs and the closer you get to Satoru’s door, the sounds under it grow louder. Definitely more voices than just Satoru’s, as well as the loud music of a video game playing.
You stop yourself before you just barge in, again, and choose to knock instead.
Satoru’s voice answers your knock. “We don’t need anymore snacks, mom! We have chips and—”
You push open the door and the sight of you, instead of his mother, makes him shut his mouth.
Satoru and two other fellow college boys sit on the carpeted floor, facing his flatscreen hanging on the wall, playing some kind of mortal kombat style game with their sides to you. Bags of chips, drinks, video game cd cases, and controllers litter the floor around them.
Satoru is the only one looking at you while the other boys mash their controllers with focus on the game as their characters fight against one another.
Satoru pushes his glasses up instinctively as he says your name, even though they’re already pressing deeply against his face. “What are you doing here?”
Your name in Satoru’s mouth makes the boys turn their heads to look at you. Their jaws drop at the sight of a girl.
You give the- blunt as ever- Satoru a look and sigh. “I told you last Friday that I’d be coming over next Friday. It’s next Friday.”
“Oh yeah,” he scratches the back of his head. “Okay, come in then.”
You step inside before closing the door behind you.
“You gonna introduce me or what?” you ask as you drop your bag onto the floor and sit. They’re in a half circle; Satoru faces you while the other two are half turned towards you and half on the tv.
“Yeah— okay,” he says awkwardly. He gestures at the long, jet black haired one sporting a very uncoordinated, greasy bun on his head. “This is Suguru.”
Suguru peeks at you while continuing to expertly mash buttons on the controller. “Hi,” he says in a tone that seems naturally soft.
Satoru gestures at the blonde one with a long side part covering half of his face next. “That’s Kento.”
Kento looks at you and stops playing to raise his hand briefly in greetings.
You give them a polite smile. “Nice to meet you.”
They both seem a bit geeky, exactly the type you expected Satoru to be friends with. They probably met playing an online game or something. There’s a very specific musky smell in this room.
“So,” Suguru begins teasingly as he concentrates on the game, “she your girlfriend, Gojo?”
Kento scoffs lowly at the idea.
“Nope,” Satoru says freely, throwing a chip into his mouth to rudely chew while he speaks, “she’s lived next door since we were like two and our moms are friends.”
“Have you guys kissed?” Suguru easily questions before taking a sip of his soda while his other hand continues to operate his controller.
“No way in hell,” Kento answers the question meant for Satoru in a matter of fact way, “Gojo kissing a girl like that is ridiculous.” Kento glances at you briefly.
Your brows raise and you huff to yourself. You almost expected them to be shy and quiet but they’re talking about you like you’re not right in front of them. You can tell they don’t have bad intentions, they’re just a bit socially unorthodox.
“Actually,” you butt in casually, reaching over to snatch a chip from the bag in front of Satoru, “we kissed when we were six.”
Suguru and Kento ‘oo’ simultaneously without taking focus from their game, slightly monotoned and unfazed.
“Hey, you’re a girl,” Suguru murmurs, “What's it like being able to see boobs any time you want? Does it ever get old?”
The chip making its way into Satoru’s mouth delays and falls to the floor as his eyes lock on you.
“You can’t just ask a girl about her boobs five seconds after meeting her.” Kento’s tone is judgmental but you can tell he’s just as curious if you’ll answer as the others are, just better at hiding it.
You take a deep breath. “It’s okay. Umm— the boring answer is I’m pretty used to them, they’re just part of my body. But, I won’t deny that half the time I pass a mirror in my house I lift my shirt and look at them. I think every girl does.”
“Really? You flash yourself?” Satoru questions, flabbergasted at this information. The other boys completely desert their controllers and tilt their bodies to face you with criss crossed legs and a matching ring of Cheeto-type dust around their mouths.
You shrug.
“What’s it like seeing a dick all the time?” you counter and pop a chip into your mouth.
“Gross, probably.” Suguru says, making you chuckle.
All of their eyes comically trail down to your chest at the same time— as if you can’t literally see them do it.
“You’re so lucky,” Satoru murmurs.
“Do you—” Kento clears his throat, “nevermind.”
Suguru’s mouth opens and closes, like he’s hesitating to say something.
You sigh. “Get it over with. Come on.”
Satoru blinks up at you, finally breaking his eye contact with your tits. “What?”
“Ask your questions, it’s fine. Hurry up.”
Their eyes light up like dominos.
“We can’t just—” Kento begins, as the voice of reason, but is cut off by Suguru who doesn’t give a fuck.
“Do your nipples get hard when you’re horny?” Suguru asks eagerly, not wasting a moment.
“They usually just react to cold temperatures, but sometimes when I get a tingle or something, they get hard, sure.”
Satoru’s mouth hangs open, mouth-breathing. Kento gulps and Suguru breathes out a ‘sick.’
“Does— um— does it feel good when they get sucked on?” Kento timidly asks, a pink tint to his cheeks. He keeps his head tilted down a bit, a shy habit, but he’s still staring at your chest with the eye that’s not covered by his bang.
You can’t help but slightly grin in amusement. “Depends on the girl and her sensitivity. But yeah, I’d say it does. It’s kind of comforting.”
You wouldn’t be surprised if they were to drool. There are obvious tents in each of their pants.
You’re playing the ‘bored, pretty girl casually answering horny, ridiculous questions like an angel’ part well but your abdomen tingles seeing Satoru use a long, veiny hand to pull at the uncomfortably tight fabric over his hard cock to adjust.
“Do you ever,” the skin between Satoru’s brows slightly pinch and his eyes flick up at you while his friends ogle your breasts, “play with them?”
“Jesus,” you snicker with amusement and tease, “you guys are so horny.”
“Yeah, do you pinch your nipples or flick them?” Suguru adds on to Satoru’s inquiry, as if he didn’t even hear your remark.
“Is it possible to suck on your own nipples?” Kento’s question follows Suguru’s quickly. Their eyes are practically swirling and you swear you can see their heads spinning.
It doesn’t end there. They don’t even wait for an answer between slurred questions. You’ve had to have already missed more than ten of them. You can’t help but tune it out eventually, lidded eyes blinking at the ceiling as they ask every diabolical thing you could think of back to back without leaving room for a reply.
You sigh.
In one fell swoop, you yank your shirt up to your collarbones, successfully shutting them up.
Their eyes turn into large, bulging hearts that boing like a spring and their tongues roll out onto the floor while steam comes from the top of their heads.
Things like, ‘holy shit,’ ‘oh fuck,’ and even, ‘holy bazingas,” bounce through the air as your bare tits glow within their perspective.
“No more questions,” you decide, making all of them nod eagerly. They’d probably agree to anything you say right now.
“Woah. They’re so— they’re so beautiful,” Satoru whines, glasses wildly crooked on his face as they all subconsciously start crawling towards you.
“I think I’m dying,” Kento breathes before slurping a bit of drool that threatened to escape his lips. “Is this heaven?”
“My mouth is so empty,” Suguru groans, licking and smacking his lips.
Thankfully, they stop crawling when they’re close enough to get a better look but not so close that you can feel their breath on your skin. It’s not hard to conclude that this is the first time they’re seeing tits in real life.
Your lips press together as you hold back a laugh, but when your eyes meet Satoru’s face, your expression falters. He looks wrecked, pinched brows, cheeks and ears a deep red, messy glasses, wet swollen lips, and glazed eyes— he looks sexy. You’re apparently finding out many interesting things about yourself, ever since you saw him in armadillo mode.
“Okay, shows over.” You lower your shirt, and their heads comically tilt lower and lower until the material is covering your entire torso once again and the sides of their faces are smooshed on the floor.
Just then, a knock at Satoru’s door comes, followed by his mother asking if you guys want more snacks.
She opens the door and the two boys hop up to their feet, scrambling.
“I— I gotta go home,” Kento says frantically before grabbing his bag and placing it over his crotch. “It was really nice to meet you. Thank you— um— for— yeah. Okay bye,” he stutters to you on his way out.
“Oh yeah, me too. My mom is expecting me for dinner.” Suguru nods quickly and scrambles to follow Kento out, pulling the hem of his baggy shirt down until it covers his boner. “Thanks— you’re cool— yeah thank you,” he says to you on his way.
Satoru’s mom looks a bit confused with a plate of apples in hand as she let them pass her to leave. “Okay, bye boys! Be safe driving home!” she shouts after them.
The front door slams behind them and she turns to you. “You want some apples, honey?”
“Oh, sure. Thanks, Mrs. Gojo,” you say politely and she smiles as she places the plate down on Satoru’s desk.
She brushes her hands together and rests them onto her hips as she stands in the doorway. “I have to say, it’s so nice to see you two together again. Just shout if you need me.”
“Okay, thanks.” Satoru has always been polite to his mother.
“Of course.” She smiles at her son before leaving, shutting the door behind herself.
You take a beat to look around his room as Satoru fixes his crooked glasses with a balled up blanket in his lap he must have grabbed when his friends were leaving. Action figures, comics, video games, the usual. It looks eerily similar to when you used to hangout with him everyday after school when you were younger.
You glance at him, you can’t see his eyes clearly from this angle due to a gleam on his lenses.
“Are you thinking about how badly you want me to go so you can put your dick in your mouth again?”
“Wow, that was fast,” he says bluntly and flicks something in the carpet absentmindedly, “I thought for sure it’d take a full sixty seconds before you made the first penis joke.”
“Was debating between that and a Where’s Waldo one. Sorry, I’ll be quicker next time.”
“Oh thank god,” he sarcastically says.
You obnoxiously lay back on his carpet, eyeing the ceiling as if there’s something interesting up there.
“I didn’t think you’d actually come,” he sniffles loudly, telling the whole room that he has mucus. You sit up just as quickly as you laid down.
“Yeah, well,” you sigh deeply and lean back on your palms, “couldn’t abandon a friend in need, could I?”
He deadpans at you. “And.. why am I in need again?”
“Wahh— I’m horny and girls hate me,” you mock his deep, blunt tone as you bring your fists to your eyes to dramatically act like you’re crying, “I have to fuck my own face to cum because my hand sucks— wahh.”
Satoru is not amused. “So, you came here to flash my friends and bully me.”
“Woah woah, just giving you a little recap, Satoru, don’t get your Pokémon panties in a twist.” You point at him dramatically with a squint in your eye, “and hello? I flashed you too, you’re very welcome.”
He pushes up his glasses. “I see your point. I’ve come to the conclusion that I can agree that what you did was very generous. Carry on.”
“Oh, good.” Your sarcasm is laced with amusement. “Anyways, back to what I was saying.”
You lean over and pop another chip into your mouth.
“I’ll let you fuck me.”
For a second, all that can be heard is the muffled munch of the snack in your mouth and the background music from the abandoned video game.
“What?” Satoru enunciates each letter in the word drastically. “What— What did you just say?”
“Oh sorry, when two people love each other very much—”
“Shut up,” Satoru interrupts your obvious teasing by throwing one of his plushies at you.
You catch it with a laugh and hold it in your lap like you’d asked him for it in the first place.
“Are you being serious?” He questions you hesitantly, aware of how poorly he is at speaking with and understanding women.
“Mhm,” you affirm, casually with a nod.
His brows furrow and he almost looks around his own room for cameras like he must be getting punked right now.
Slowly he asks, “Why?”
You chew on your lower lip as you hum in thought, eyes trailing the ceiling, briefly.
You land on, “I want to help you.”
He looks at you with skeptical, squinted eyes.
You sigh.
“Look,” you regard him genuinely, “all jokes aside, when I saw you doing what you were doing, and then when you were telling me why you do it in the first place, I just felt like, I don’t know, I wanted to help you.”
“So, I’m a charity case?” He questions insinuatingly, making you sigh in slight frustration with yourself for not expressing your feelings correctly.
“No. It’s more like—” you chew on your lip as you gather your thoughts, “I wanna be useful to you. Remember when we were younger and my ice cream fell on the floor because that annoying kid kept pinching me and you gave me yours? And then when I asked you why, you said that you have to take care of the people you love?”
Satoru’s eyes bulge and his lips part. “You’re in love with me?”
You deadpan at him. “Really? Thats what you got from that?”
“You literally just said you love me and that’s why you want to let me have intercourse with you,” he passionately defends his conclusion, like he’s trying to show you logic.
“Oh my god you’re gonna make me say it,” you sigh to yourself, “Fine. Of course I love you Satoru, I’ve loved you since I was like five. I’m not confessing my love for you, okay? It’s like a childhood friend love, like—”
Satoru interrupts you quickly with a long pointed, accusing finger. “Don’t you dare say family after you just said you want me to put my penis in you.”
You rub your eyes briefly in frustration with your pointer finger and thumb. “My point is, I care about you and I don’t want you to suffer with a hard dick. I have your solution between my legs, so, here.”
“No,” Satoru immediately denies, “Intercourse is a two person activity where both parties have a desire for it. I don’t want you to just give me your vagina to use like a fricken fleshlight because you feel bad for me.” —No matter how much he might want to.
Your brows raise and your speak slowly. “You’re worried that I don’t want it?”
“Obviously?” He looks at you like you’re stupid.
“Satoru, there’s a reason I’m not just offering you a handjob,” you huff and shake your head, amused that he’s worried about you, “I want it.”
“You do?” He asks you like you’re crazy and not even aware of what you’re saying, loudly and enunciated dramatically.
“I do,” You confirm, definitively.
“Like, you’re attracted to me?”
You squint at his overall appearance for a beat and then crawl up to him until your nose is brushing his sweaty neck, making him jerk back hesitantly, but ultimately allowing you to get way too close.
“What are you—”
You take a big sniff of his skin and he shuts his mouth with an alarmed expression. You take a few more inhales of different patches of skin on his neck and then sit back down, criss crossing your legs in front of him with your knees overlapping his shins like last Friday.
“Yeah,” you nod absolutely, as if you’re speaking to yourself, eagerly, “I definitely want you inside of me.” What you aren’t saying is that his musky smell, the one you usually avoid getting a whiff of, is now triggering a primal response within your reproductive system.
“Holy shit,” he breathes under his breath, chills racing down his spine. “You want me inside of you.”
“Are you attracted to me, Satoru?” You repeat his question back at him, a little smile and tilt to your head.
“Um,” he picks up your hand, “do you want to feel it?”
He tosses the blanket in his lap to the side, exposing his hard on.
“Your dick?”
“My attraction for you,” he corrects.
You nod.
He lays your palm flat on his warm, beating chest, making your brows raise in surprise.
His heart is thumping at a steady pace, a little fast, but it’s to be expected with you so close to him.
“This is,” you blink, “your heart.”
He nods. His heart picks up pace and you can feel the rise and fall of his breath.
“The blood that it’s circulating,” he uses a large hand to guide yours on a slow journey down his hard chest, “is reacting to the ventral tegmental area of my brain.”
Your eyes are locked onto his hand on top of yours, silently gasping when it reaches his tent. You don’t miss the deep ridges of yummy abs on the way down either.
“And it sends that blood,” he lets out a barely noticeable grunt, ‘guh,’ under his breath when your hand caresses his bulge, “here.”
My attraction for you starts within my heart.
You can’t help but let out a sharp breath, an airy, amused scoff, despite the little tingle in your own heart. “Oh, wow, you’re good. I underestimated you, you little geek.”
He doesn’t answer you, just gives you proud twitch at the corner of his lips. He’s breathing heavy, hazy eyes already lidded in pleasure, simply due to your warm hand on his clothed cock.
“You’re so hard,” you breathe as you gently squeeze around the stiff base, making him grip the carpet beside him, “You already thinking about how it’ll feel to be inside me?”
He groans, tossing his head back. “Of course I am. Can we do it now?” He looks at you with impatience and then down at your lap, “Are you lubricated?”
You grin at him, “Am I lubricated?”
“Yeah, it’s a word in the dictionary, stupid.” His grumble is a little too breathy to be cruel. The insult makes you nostalgic, it was practically your assigned nickname when you were kids.
“Maybe you should try Urban Dictionary,” you tease, hand still resting casually on his bulge like its normal, “because wet is what us regular earthlings use.”
“Okay,” he speaks bluntly, “Are you wet?”
You shrug. “I might be.”
He squints at you. “What do you mean might? You have to be properly prepared before we can do this.”
“You know what? Yeah, you’re right. And now that you mention it,” you say like a performance, “I know exactly what will ‘properly prepare’ me.”
“Okay,” he says expectantly and slightly suspicious, “What?”
Satoru almost throws a fit when you take your hand away from his cock and lean back on your hands.
“I want you to self suck again and I want to watch.”
You must have learned that phrase online in the time you’ve been apart since last Friday, but that’s not why his face scrunches up in judgmental confusion.
“What? No fucking way,” he immediately denies passionately, “Are you serious?”
“I barely got to see it before,” you whine, leaning towards him with your hands up in prayer and an exaggerated pout on your face, “Please?”
“That’s what’s gonna make you wet?” He’s in disbelief.
You shrug, dropping your hands. “Something about it is hot. Don’t judge, self sucker.”
Is this what girls are into?
“You think putting my own penis in my mouth is hot?” he asks you judgmentally, overly enunciating as to get his point across, “Why??”
You sigh, glancing up at the ceiling in thought.
“I don’t know. Something about the desperation you have to feel to do something like that,” you bite your lip and flick your gaze down at his bulging tent, “Like you’d do anything to feel the pleasure of a blowjob.”
Oh. Okay, no. It’s just you that’s this weird.
“I don’t even know what to say right n—” he cuts his own astonished remark off, “You’re a freak, you know that? Like you’re weird.”
You huff and shove his shoulder. “You’re the dick sucker.”
“Getting off on watching it is worse,” he shakes his head at you, but he’s unable to hold back a flicker of a smile.
“Oh c’mon,” you tilt your head at him, “seeing you feel good makes me horny, doesn’t that do anything to you?”
He knows you know the answer to that, if his cock jumping at your words says anything.
“Then why can’t it be in your mouth and not mine?” He grumbles, trying to avoid your powerful stare— the one where you make your eyes all big and gleamy; you’ve been manipulating him with that look since you were young.
You light up seeing his resistance breaking down by the second, your words coming out quicker now.
“You don’t have to do it for a long time, I just wanna see you actually lick the tip,” you gush, as if begging at a fast pace will make him more likely to agree.
He rubs his nose against his sleeve and glances at the closed door with a sigh. “Okay.”
“Yes,” you say to yourself in victory as you thrust your elbow downward with your hand in a fist. Satoru deadpans.
You stare at him expectantly with a smiling bite to your lower lip.
Satoru sniffs and nudges your knee that’s on top of his leg. “You have to back up a little.”
“Oh,” you chirp, scooting back a tad so that your knees aren’t touching.
Satoru’s awkwardly maneuvers his lanky body to lie on his back, and you’re facing his side. You stop him.
“Wait, you have to actually walk me through how you’re doing this.”
He turns his head to blink at you. “You’re such a freak. How do I know you’re not just messing with me and I’m doing this for nothing? I’m not—”
You sigh, sharply, and with determination, you lean down and shove your face onto his.
Your lips connect abruptly, and Satoru gasps as his hands twitch, mid air. A peck. Your lips stick together as they part, making a ‘chu’ sound before you begin to lay multiple dense pecks onto his. He’s fighting to return the kisses with panicked hums, not understanding why you’re doing it but too enthralled to care.
You finish it off with one long, pressurized kiss, even shaking your head back and forth a few times to really imprint the feeling onto his nerves before pulling away just enough.
“You kissed me,” Satoru breathes, clearly trying to process what just happened. He doesn’t get far though, because you start laying wet, open mouthed kisses onto his jaw and down to his neck where you start suckling on it. Satoru’s making all kinds of hisses and gasps. His desperate hips jerk into the air instinctively in one harsh movement.
You slide your lips off after one final self indulgent lick to his protruding Adam’s apple and he’s exhaling audibly in euphoria.
“It’s not for nothing. Please show me how you do it,” you beg him in a soft tone, brows pinched. You nudge your nose into his like a cat yearning to bond, and he just melts.
He nods and lets out a shaky ‘okay’ as you lean back to watch with an excited smile.
He gently takes his glasses off and folds them, eyes blinking and squinting to adjust briefly.
“Why are you taking your glasses off?”
He glances at you as he places them aside. “I don’t want to get them dirty,” he explains and clears his throat.
You lick your lips and nod, enjoying the topic of conversation too much.
“It’s kinda hard to,” he grunts as he kicks off of the ground with one leg to push both over his head, “do this part.”
You’re sort of astonished at how he’s able to put such a long body into this position.
“Uh— I’m gonna take my penis out now,” he glances at you awkwardly but you just nod encouragingly.
He pulls his sweatpants down enough to let his cock hang out and keep his balls and ass within the confines of the material. He places his focus on the act itself so he doesn’t psyche himself out of this ridiculous situation. His true eyes are on the prize, he’d do anything to fuck your pussy.
Seeing his cock this close up is a whole nother experience compared to the panic of barging into his room and happening upon it. It’s a light pink color, and it’s quite lengthy as it bobs over his face. It gets thicker towards the middle and up to the tip, sort of flared— as if it’s begging to be encased inside something. It feels as though it’s already anticipating his warm mouth.
“Just— just a lick, right?” He asks you, face a deeper pink than his dick is.
You hum an eager confirmation and he sighs to himself in slight preparation.
He uses two hands to nudge at his back and his tip slowly reaches down to brush his lips.
He drops his jaw and hesitates to let his tongue out. But ultimately, he slowly slides it out and you can see the muscles in his tongue twitch as he gives the top side of his tip a nice, wet lap— incidentally collecting a small dribble of pre.
“Did that feel good?” You quickly question, biting your lower lip with observant eyes.
He swallows. “A little. Can I stop now?”
“Does sucking feel better?” You ask instead, and he releases the pressure he’s pushing into his back just a bit so he can answer you more comfortably.
“I guess, but not really, I can tell it’s my own mouth.”
“I have an idea,” you scooch in closer, “try sucking.”
Despite this being kind of lame compared to the idea of you stimulating him instead or the promise of sex, it’s clearly entertaining you so he pushes into his straining spine again until his desperate tip greets his mouth again. Satoru has stuck his dick inside of crazier things in weirder situations just to get off, this is nothing.
He opens his mouth wide enough to allow his cock inside and sucks his lips closed around half of the tip. His white lashes softly flutter shut at the dull tingle growing through his dick.
His eyes shoot right back open when he feels a long, warm, wet sensation run across his mid shaft. You start licking at his reactive cock like an eager kitten, making that dull tingle erupt into much more as bitter pre oozes into his mouth in reaction. His wide eyes roll in pleasure once he realizes you aren’t stopping and he uses his tongue to suck a little better at his cock head, unable to resist the need for more stimulation.
When your tongue starts wetly tracing the edge of his tip where it enters his mouth, even licking at his lips a little, he can feel his balls tighten up. He thinks he can handle it, hold back his orgasm, but then you latch onto the side of his upper dick and suckle.
He doesn’t want to cum in his own mouth so he eases the tension his hands are putting on his back to let the tip slide out but not enough to pull his legs back and lay flat because he doesn’t want to lose the pleasure your mouth is giving him. “Wait— hng!— I’m gonna cum!”
You hum happily and, faster than he can blink, your warm mouth is enveloping his entire throbbing tip. His abs clench and his eyebrows shoot up with tension, moaning loudly with parted lips as you slide your tongue all around his sensitive skin. He’s never felt anything like this, it’s not even comparable.
You’re coaxing his cum to build and build, and Satoru swears with a burst of excitement within his chest that he’s finally going to ejaculate inside of a woman’s mouth. That is, until you suddenly let his cock go with a pop and the next thing he knows, cum is shooting all over his face. His cock spasms and pleasure bursts all the way into his toes, he’s overwhelmed by it for a long blissful moment.
Pure bliss until he comes down enough to realize that warm splooge is streaking down his cheeks, forehead, nose, and chin. He slowly maneuvers himself to lay flat and blinks at the ceiling for a beat. He’s about to sit up and do the whole irritated-at-you thing, but then your thighs are suddenly on either side of his hips with only your shirt and panties on, sweatpants no where to be found, only soft bare legs. He gasps.
“That was so fucking hot,” you groan as you quickly shove your panties to the side and ease down enough to rest your warm, wet labia against the bottom of his soft, twitching dick.
He hisses in sensitivity, hands shooting to grip your thighs to cope as he tilt his head up to look at you. You’re a little blurry without his glasses but he can still see how flustered you look.
“Think you can get hard again?” You ask, out of breath as you begin to slowly grind your pussy against him with eager hands on his chest.
He groans in overstimulation, “Oh god— wha—? I don’t know— oh fuuuck.” His fingers tighten around the flesh of your flexing thighs.
“I have cum all over my face,” he groans, refusing to make you get off of him because he’d rather die, but still complaining about it.
“It’s okay,” you say quickly and lean down and begin to lick the cum off of his face casually, making him slightly grimace.
“Just grab a shirt,” he basically slurs when your licking abruptly stops and you pull back enough to look him in the face.
Your hands are on either side of his head now, hips unfortunately stopping all movement, and you’re suddenly blinking at him like you’re realizing something.
“Oh my god,” you slowly express, a disbelieving smile on your lips, “you came all over that fucking donut! I knew you were acting weird, you sick freak.”
His eyes widen and he doesn’t even know what to say, you clearly recognize the taste enough to place it, so he just blurts, “What are you talking about?”
“Why didn’t you stop me?” You still question him with furrowed brows, not buying his feigned ignorance, “Your mom was right there!”
“I don’t— but, you said it tasted good! And you only took one bite.”
You huff and shake your head. And then you lean down to lick a long lap up his cheek, gathering a bit of very bitter cum on your taste buds. You swallow it and press your lips to his ear, “You’re lucky I’m throbbing because otherwise, there’s no way I’d fuck you knowing that, you pervert.”
Whether that’s a lie or not, doesn’t matter, all Satoru can hear is the subtle squelch of your pussy lips rubbing against his hardening cock as you begin to grind again.
His toes curl and twitch. He breathes, “You made me cum— agh!— on my face, we’re— we’re even.”
You huff and sit back up while your hips work. “Fine. We’re even.”
He brings a shaky hand over to his discarded glasses and throws them back on before yanking the hem of your shirt up enough to see your pussy.
“Ohhh my goodness gracious,” his voice shakes but he’s very sturdy in his words, astounded by the sight of pretty pussy in real life— especially those folds against his own penis, the folds connected to his beautiful childhood friend.
He can’t help but eagerly buck his hips once, making you gasp at the direct hit to your clit and grip onto his shirt over his chest.
“You’ve never had sex before, right? You’re a virgin?” You breathe out, humping increasing in speed.
His mouth hangs open. “Never. Mhm, yeah, virgin.” He nods quickly.
You lean in and your lips brush his as you speak. “I’m gonna be your first, baby?” you egg him on.
He whines into your mouth. “I always— I always suspected you would.”
“What?” You breathe in amusement, pressing a kiss to his jawline, “Why?”
“Because,” he moans beautifully as you suck on his earlobe, “You’re the only girl that talks to me.”
You lean back and jut your bottom lip out into a dramatic pout. “Aww, so it’s not because you’ve been in love with me since we were kids? You’re breaking my heart.”
“No,” he hisses when his tip almost gets caught on your entrance that seems to be attempting to suck him in every time it passes by, “I’ve definitely been in love with you since we were kids.”
Your hips stutter to a painful stop and you blink at him, playful expression slightly faltering. You can barely tell when Satoru is joking, the ease and blunt manner of the way he speaks doesn’t help.
“Wait, are you being serious?”
He sits up to lean back on his elbows and nods. “I thought you knew that.”
“How could I know that?” you ask him like he’s an idiot, “The most you say to me in a week is that I have something in my teeth.”
He sniffles his runny nose obnoxiously, like always. “Because you do. And, you don’t talk to me either,” he says factually and defends himself.
“That’s—,” you exhale sharply, reaching down to grip his base, ignoring his little ‘guh!’ as you raise your hips a bit, “because we got older and— I don’t know— grew apart.”
You rub his head against your opening and his eyes lock onto the movement like it’s glowing gold. Drool dribbles out of the corner of his lips. “Holy shit. It’s finally— ngh!— happening. You’re finally going to have sex— oh my god— it’s so soft. It’s so slimy, woah.” He’s talking to himself like a little weirdo, but you don’t mind, it’s actually creating more slick to join the rest.
You bite your lip and slowly push down against his head until it pops in with a painful little stretch.
You hiss out a strained, “Fuck,” and Satoru pushes through his overwhelming desire to just moan and whine and succumb to his own pleasure like a limp fish to ask you, “Are you okay? Does— hahh— does it hurt?”
You nod with a shaky exhale, eyes closed in concentration. “A little, your tip is— mm— almost as big as your head is.”
You’re clearly not in enough pain to ignore an opportunity to tease him, it seems. You take a deep breath and attempt to calm your muscles.
But then, your head snaps down to make sense of the sudden stimulation against your clit to see Satoru’s long lanky fingers rubbing it sloppily. “Oh— mm!” Your abdomen and thighs clench as you grip his shirt harshly, breathing choppy.
“Does that help? Your clitoris should ease the pain,” Satoru bluntly expresses with clear concern, focus flicking from your clit to your expression, “I read it.”
You whine and grab onto his wrist connected to the lanky fingers moving in a ‘dj’ motion against your ultra sensitive skin. “Try— hah— little circles.”
He immediately complies with upmost focus, fingertips and knuckles rotating. “Like that?”
You moan and your cunt answers his question for you, squeezing his tip nicely. Before he knows it, you’re dropping all the way down till he feels your plushy cervix kissing his slit. It feels like you just punched him in the gut with how abrupt the feeling of being enveloped whole is.
“Oh god, holy shit! You’re so wet and tight and,” he’s wailing like an animal in the jaws of a predator and he’s physically unable to stop himself from gripping the carpet harshly to ground himself, “it’s bumpy inside, the perfect— perfect balance between—ngh— stimulation and plushy, soft, gooey— ahh it’s like clouds.”
“Yeah? Keep going Toru.” You’re clearly trying to mock his ramble but your tone is anything but a tease as you sit still, cockwarming him with reactive walls.
He’s lucky that he busted recently because he wouldn’t have been able to last this long otherwise, movement or not. But you’re fighting your own battle too. You’re so full, there’s a pang of radiating pain pinching your cervix that refuses to stretch to make room for Satoru’s lengthy cock and you’re trying your hardest to hold on until your body adjusts the way it’s meant to.
“Fuck!” You blurt after a long moment of trying to push down the feeling overwhelm, “I don’t think I can do it. It’s— It’s too much. It hurts.” You’re speaking in a completely genuine way for once, not even a small teasing comment about why his dick has to be so long; he can tell you’re actually scared.
Satoru immediately sits up and grabs onto your waist, eyes flicking over your expression quickly. “It hurts?” he repeats softly, clearly concerned and attempting to console you, “Okay, breathe. You’re okay, I’m here, I’m with you, I’ve got you. Your body can stretch, it’s made to stretch for this.”
You take a deep breath and nod as he speaks, brows pinched as you attempt to hold your focus on his coos and not the invading, pulsing flesh within you.
“I can feel you twitching,” you whine, head thrown back briefly, “stop it.”
“I can’t control it,” Satoru defends, using his thumbs to gently rub circles into your waist, over your shirt.
“It’s your dick,” you whimper, dropping to rest your forehead onto his shoulder, “Tell it to stop hurting me.”
He hums, entertaining your words and the next thing you know, a lanky hand is snaking under your shirt to lay flat and warm on your lower tummy.
“Stop hurting her,” Satoru scolds his mounted penis, “Or I swear I’m gonna take you out of this amazing, warm little pussy and you’ll go right back into your boxers. You hear me?”
Your pussy involuntarily convulses around him, hearing him indulge your little sillies in such an oddly sexy way. You both breathe out a groan at the delicious feeling.
You lift your head, breathing heavily with lidded, hazy eyes. “That helped,” you mumble as you shove your lips onto his eagerly, nudging his head back slightly at the force and making him hum.
He locks his lightly dry lips onto your soft ones as immediate as possible, not allowing the risk of missing out on your sweet pecks like before when he could barely keep up.
But this isn’t a peck, you’re tilting your head, side to side as your lips smooch, keeping them interlocked between ‘chu’s.’
Your eyes peek open because, your intuition was right, his intensely blue irises are staring at you through his lenses. You unlatch as you push his shoulder, lightly, not keen on accidentally making his hips jolt. “Why are your eyes open? Close them while we kiss,” you scold, feeling a light heat rise within your cheeks.
He licks his lips to taste you instinctively. “What’s wrong with that? I want to look at you, you’re pretty.”
You roll your eyes half heartedly and slide your hands onto his shoulders to hold. “Open your mouth.”
You don’t give him a chance to respond because you’re shoving your wet tongue into his mouth, making him moan directly into yours. His hands tremble around your waist as they tighten their grip, using all of his will power to not listen to instinct and rut up into you.
“Wait wait—” he says between licks and you know he’s scared to accidentally hurt you.
You shake your head and hum a denial. “It’s okay, you won’t,” you breathe before latching back on.
He tastes like lingering traces of sugary soda and a hint of tic-tacs, but mostly like natural saliva. His tongue is sloppy and a bit odd in how it meets yours, but it’s his and you can’t help but desire for more of it as it lathers and lathes yours.
“Okay,” you pull back impatiently, “Let’s fuck.”
“Fuck— fuck,” Satoru grunts frantically, face clenching, “don’t say that, I’m gonna ejaculate too quick.”
“No, you won’t,” you soothe him, almost like you’re speaking it into existence, ignoring the instinct to make fun of his word choice.
He whines, but then gathers his determination and nods. “Okay, okay— mhm— should I move?”
You shake your head. “No, me first.”
You softly raise your hips, using your knees on either side of his body for grounding, until half of him is glistening and exposed. His mouth hangs open and his eyes have glazed over where they lock onto your connection.
You take a deep breath and drop all of your weight down until he’s sliding right back into his little nook within you. “Nngh..!” he moans on impact, brows pinching aggressively into a defensive pout. “Was that okay? Are you okay? Did it hurt? Because I think you stretched a little more—”
You cut him off by rubbing your nose into his with closed eyes, humming in affection as you squeeze his shoulders lightly. “I’m okay,” you dismiss, resting your forehead on his, “How does it feel? Good?”
“You,” he pauses to shakily breathe out deeply and slowly as his hands start massaging your waist in primal instinct, “You feel like heaven. I love you.”
You huff and lean away with an amused look. “Tell me when you’re about to cum,” you warn him suddenly, and you don’t leave any room for him to answer because your hips begin to ride. His thick head is immediately slamming against all of the sensitive parts inside you, nudging your g-spot deliberately with each embrace.
“Oh shiiiit,” his voice undulates with the pace of your thrusts, and his glasses are already lying crooked on his face due to the recoil his body is taking. “Oh my god— nngh! oh!”
“Yeah?” you breathe out with pinched brows, “Does my pussy feel better than— mmh!— your mouth, Satoru?”
His eyes are threatening to roll continuously, but he’s trying so hard to keep them straight and on your blissed out face. “Your pussy is— oh fuck— so much better. I want to live inside of you— please keep going.”
“I’m not stopping, I’m not stopping.” You’re cooing at him, sloppily, and as if you’re desperate for more, you transition to start bouncing. The impact of the change in positioning and the force of gravity aiding in your movement makes Satoru absolutely keen. His toes curl and his abdomen clenches painfully. The squelch of your connection is the most beautiful thing he’s ever heard and felt.
“Oh no, oh no,” Satoru grits pleadingly and his surprisingly strong hold on your waist subconsciously tightens to the point that it’s tough to continue to bounce through it at the velocity you are. “I’m gonna cum— I’m gonna cum— I can’t hold it.”
“Are you sure? Right now?” You question him through moans with hope that he’ll be able to hold it.
“I’m sure! Fuck! Don’t get off, just stop moving.” He’s biting his lower lip so hard that he could very well bite it clean off.
You stop at the next bounce, whining like you’ve been stabbed once you settle. His cock whimpers within you too, like it’s threatening to bust at any moment, begging to make this amazing place inside you it’s new home, decorated with little Toru’s DNA and a welcome mat. His dick doesn’t have to know English for Satoru to know that it won’t be accepting anything less than your pussy from now on; he can say goodbye to the makeshift pocket pussy made out of a Pringles can, gloves, and tissues already dusting in his cabinet.
“What’s wrong? Are you gonna cum?” you question, you were already preparing to hop off and jerk him onto your face or into your mouth.
He gulps between deep breaths, trying to catch it and calm down. He massages your hips and waist and ribs, up and down, affectionately. “I don’t wanna cum until you do,” he explains with a gleam of a heart within his eyes. “How do I do that?”
You smile and exhale deeply at his question. “I don’t think I can cum unless you do something to my clit.”
It’s obvious to the both of you that he won’t be able to maintain that if you start bouncing again.
“Oh!” You grab onto him reactively when he suddenly flips you over onto your back with his large hand protecting the back of your skull and the other wrapped around your back.
You let out a gasping moan at the new angle the second your back hits the carpet when his cock wetly sinks all the way back into you. Gravity. “Oh,” you whimper at how deep he is, socked feet and thighs twitching mid air beside his ribs.
His breath fans your face, hands on either side of your head. He’s holding himself together, brows drawn in. “I’m gonna make you orgasm,” he pledges to you like a knight on his knees, eyes digging their way into yours.
“You are?” Your response shakes out airily as he falls down to rest on his forearms beside your head, face inches from yours and white hair leaning down with gravity. His boxers are showing over the expanse of his covered ass and his sweatpants are halfway down as he lies in between your bloomed legs.
He nods with determination as he shoves his glasses up, but they fall back to the lower part of his bridge just as fast. “Can I start humping?” His intention within that geeky phrasing is so pure that your heart can’t help but flutter into little butterflies.
You lift your head at a snails pace, eyes refusing to stray from his pink lips until you connect in a soft, caress of a kiss. “Go ahead,” you smile into his mouth.
Yearning for the life between your thighs, forced to pull the distance just to regain closeness again, his hips gradually pull back until he’s almost completely gone, and then he’s thrusting back inside, experimentally.
Your lips part with the drive of it in perfect synchronicity, sharing the experience of deriving pleasure from one another with a shiver.
He repeats it, this time brisker, and his eyes roll. “Oh that’s so good,” he expresses, and getting lost in the sauce, his isolated thrusts turn into a sloppy, inexperienced pace of its own, your legs brunting the force with every collision. You’re sucking him in with every draw back and milking him when he’s fully seated.
His soggy cock sadly slips out when his focus flickers and his desperate hips lose direction; pleasure like this is blinding for an eager virgin. He takes the opportunity to breathe and recenter, slouching down to press his forehead to your collarbones as his bobbing cock jumps and pulses in yearning over your sloppy pussy.
You rub the back of his head soothingly while the other kneads his alarmingly muscular back.
He exhales against your skin. “‘M still gonna make you cum,” he mumbles and you hum with a warm smile, eyeing the ceiling as you soothe him. “Just need a second.”
“Take a second,” you hum and lazily rub the inside of your calf against his side. “But I’m so empty,” you whisper against the top of his head like you’re casting a sultry spell, “and so ‘lubricated.’ It would be such a shame if your cock didn’t fill that space inside of my gooey—”
“Jesus fuuck,” he moans and shivers, whining at your words that seem to be just fucking right. He picks his head up to level with yours again, “Okay, okay. I’m good. I’m ready.”
He reaches down without looking, grasping his shaft to lead it back into you. He pokes your lower hole and you squeak, “Wrong hole! Higher— higher, Satoru.”
“Oh,” he breathes a huff into your face, a geeky smile on his lips.
He pokes your clit. “Too high. You need some help, Satoru?” You’re teasing him, but you’d still gladly do it for him if he needed you to.
He shakes his head and you nudge his glasses up for him before they potentially fall all the way off. “I got it, I got it.” He sticks his tongue out of the corner of his lips in concentration as he takes his hand off of his cock to search for your pussy, blindly.
Your abdomen clenches inward in a jolting fashion when he lays his long fingers over the entirety of your pussy. “Just need to see where..” he trails off with focus, eyes locked on nothing in particular over your head.
His bony fingers start pawing, groping, and spreading your folds, probing them like he’s trying to memorize the anatomy. Your hips and abdomen muscles are jerking with his rough touch, letting out a few whines as you writhe. “What are you doing?”
“There it is,” he breathes, ignoring your gasp as his fingers poke at the clenching entrance to your insides, “See, baby? Got it.”
He hurriedly shoves his dick into you to the hilt, while he still remembers where it’s at, with a deep, loud, throaty exhale of relief you’d only hear from a forty year old man. Your hands snap to grip his back, nails pushing into the cloth as your spine arches into him. “Satoru— nngh!” you groan in shock at the sudden impaling of your guts.
“Yeahh,” he sighs, nudging your face to the side with his to nose at your neck, “My name, keep saying that.”
Your jaw drops as he brutally begins to thrust deeper than before, like he’s stabbing you with every hit, he sucks and licks at the side of your neck unsteadily. He reaches between your bodies and finds your beating clit while you squeak on every thrust like you’re a sharp-teethed dog’s stuffed squeaky toy.
You can literally feel the tendons in his forearm undulate against your tummy as he swipes electricity through your clit and into your legs, down to your curling toes. Now that he’s destroying you, it’s clear that previously, inexperienced Satoru was striving to grasp an understanding of holding a steady pace before he could attempt at multitasking his focus onto your clit as well.
He pulls back from your neck to search your expression with upmost curiosity. He can see the clear change in your every expression at the new advancement. “Ohh, oh— that feels good, huh?” He’s almost taunting you and cooing at you simultaneously.
You nod eagerly as your arms scramble to wrap under his arms to hold onto his sweaty shoulder blades from behind for balance; since he’s so tall, you have to reach a bit. The gymnastics your mind would have to go through to tease him back is shut off and being bypassed completely as he manipulates an orgasm to appear within the distance.
“Little magic button,” Satoru huffs as drool seeps out of the corner of your parted lips, moaning like you’re being hurt.
“I’m gonna cum,” you warn him, nodding again like it’s your job, “don’t change pace. Don’t stop— please.” He hisses when your nails start clawing down his back muscles, but he couldn’t care less about pain right now, there’s a wicked, domintating look of euphoria on his face.
“Cum, please, cum— I need you to cum. I’m not stopping,” he confirms into your ear before slobbering all over it. He’s been holding back the need to burst within you for too long already but he’d sooner pull out and continue to rub at you in hope of maintaining the build of your peak and then diving back in when his high dissipates than cum before you.
“Oh my god, it’s happening!” You cum with a shuddering, pathetic whine that turns into a silent cry, overwhelmed by the burst of white love and the piercing of his teeth into your soft neck.
He’s in bliss knowing he’s finally pushing you over the edge, but the feeling of your cunt squeezing in convulsions he’s only read online about happening when a woman experiences an orgasm and her body instinctively goes through the primal motions of milking the penis within of all the sperm it can offer, he falls over the edge. He wouldn’t have been able to cut off his high even if he yanked himself out this very second.
His hips slam one last jack hammer as deep into your cunt as as he can penetrate before he holds still in your guts, making you, ‘guh!’ like you’ve been stabbed.
“Thank you! I’m sorry— fuuck! Thank you!”
He can’t help but abandon your clit as he falls of the cliff, though you don’t even need it anymore. That first spurt of cum travels through his convulsing cock and shoots into your cervix, bullseye. His leg muscles shake as he repeats those slurs of gratitude and apologies into the skin of your cheek with slobbery, drooling lips.
You can feel the violent pulses of his cock, indicating he’s spurting cum into your tummy, but all you can do is hold onto him in a deep embrace as you catch your breath, coming to the conclusion of your orgasm.
You’re spent. He groans as his lips smear down your cheek, over your jaw and then down to tuck his face into your neck, leaving a trail of drool in their wake. Suddenly, his extremely tense body turns to heavy deadweight and drops fully on top of you. He’s now a starfish, arms and legs flailed out while his softening cock is still snug inside your continually massaging, convulsing walls. He’s sweating and you can smell his specific musk more potently, though most of you is instinctively comforted and weirdly domestically affected by it.
“Satoru,” you whine and writhe underneath him, air knocked out of you due to the 300 pound fish on top of you, “you’re heavy.”
Satoru blurts a tired noise, making you groan and squeeze your legs together around his hips.
He noses at your neck and starts kitten licking it, making your insides squeeze and twist around his sensitive cock. His ass clenches. “Oh! Oh! Tight!” he hisses as if he’s touched a hot surface but refuses to pull out.
“It’s your— ngh— fault,” you mewl, hitting his back weakly. “Don’t lick me like that!”
He lethargically pulls his face out of your neck to smirk at you. “I made you cum so hard.” Proud. Cocky. Borderline sexy— and then he ruins it by sniffling with obvious mucus.
You squint at him accusingly. “And you came inside me.”
He huffs nervously and shoves his glasses up. “Yeah.. I’m sorry.”
You sigh. “You know I can’t take plan b, right?”
He blinks at you and his face pales a bit. “W-What? Why? I can buy it— ”
“Because it’s really bad for your body,” you flick his forehead, “I told you to tell me when you were going to cum for a reason, stupid.”
“Fuck.” He drops his forehead down onto the carpet beside yours. His, already half hard, cock twitches against your walls.
A long pause. You’re almost suspecting that he’s turned on by the idea of impregnating you.
He lifts his head, brows pinched. “We’re having a baby?”
“No, Satoru.” You sigh and rub the top of his head comfortingly, “I’m not ovulating so hopefully it just.. doesn’t stick.”
He immediately shakes his head as if that just won’t do. “No, it’s gonna stick. Gojo sperm always makes it home on the first try.”
You blink and your face screws up as you attempt to process his words. “What are you talking about? How could you possibly know that?”
“My dad told me when I hit puberty,” he adjusts his body so he can lean on his forearms and you both emit a soft sound at the incidental movement down below, “Grandpa told him the same thing. He was a first try baby, my dad was too, and so was I. All boys too.”
He grabs onto the sides of your head in a caress, then sniffles causally and smiles down at you like he didn’t just drop a bomb on you— more accurately, inside of you.
“Satoru,” you say his name like it should trigger some kind of common sense in this scenario, “We are not having a child while we’re still in college and live with our parents.”
“Your intentions don’t change the very real science of my sperm traveling within your uterus, right now.. You know that, right?”
You grab onto his biceps and glare at him while his dick is still plugging your cunt that’s filled to the brim with Gojo sperm. “I’m not joking. I am not getting pregnant Satoru— I mean fuck! We just had sex for the very first time ever.”
He leans down and smooshes his arrogant lips to yours, ignoring your fists hitting his arms stubbornly. His tone lowers to a whisper as he speaks against your lips.
“Does that mean we’re gonna have sex again?”
“Oh my god, I need to get out of here,” you start squirming and shoving at his chest futilely, “I can’t believe I let you put your dick in me.”
“Okay, okay. Look, it’s useless to worry about hypotheticals,” Satoru calms you logically and gives you a serious look. “Okay? We’re okay. You’re okay.”
You exhale and nod, minutely, hands stilling against his chest.
He leans in close your lips, breath mingling. “Your insides feel so fucking good. I wanna stay in here forever.” He slides his tongue against the seam of your lips before kissing them like it’s natural.
“Yeah?” you hum into it with hands sliding down to his chest and bumpy abs and then up again. Satoru is weirdly muscular and eerily strong, a sleeper build if you will. You hadn’t realized due to the continuous long sleeves and pants covering him— he also usually wears the same clothes everyday since he barely does laundry unless his mother does it.
You squeak when you feel his cock begin to stretch your insides out as it hardens. “You’re already hard again??”
“I told you,” he muffles into your mouth, refusing to part ways enough to speak coherently, “Gojo anatomy is just different.”
He leans down and starts licking your neck like an affectionate cat, again. “I’m never gonna be able to look your dad in the eyes again.” You cringe at the idea of Satoru’s father being a good cum shot.
“Hey,” he nips at your neck with sharp teeth, making you hiss, “you’re not allowed to think about anyone’s penis but mine right now.”
“Why do you say it like that?” You giggle as his nibbles tickle your skin and you mock his tone dramatically, making it extra nasally, “Penis.”
“That is it’s proper title.” He pulls away to eye you with judgement, like you’re the stupid one.
“I don’t think I’ve heard you say cock once.” You snicker at him, grinning in amusement as you eye his expression. “Say it.”
“Cock.”
You blink.
You giggle.
You mock him, quietly. “Cock.”
“Oh yeah? Okay, how about this,” he hums and his voice drops into a warm, sultry embrace, “I’m gonna fuck my cock into your fucking heavenly cunt. What’s one more load, hmm?”
The tingles that spark in your abdomen suddenly erupt into an explosion and you let out a shuddering gasp when Satoru suddenly starts grinding thoroughly into you again with a fully erect ‘cock.’
Maybe walking in on your childhood friend sucking his own dick was meant to be <3
theartofmadeline
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gummygunk
pixelskylines
