Hey Hey

The cigarette smoke that lingers in the air fills your lungs, and you turn your head in your haze to find your boyfriend has the waist band of his sweats lowered beneath his balls. His cock is out, but not free — the tight grip he has it in looks near painful. He strokes in time with Shiu’s thrusts into you, taking into account each time he slows to pull back and look at the mess of need you must be. 

“Don’t look at me,” he grumbles when he notices your eyes on him. “You wanted this. Look at him.”

You feel like you’ve been caught red-handed, drooling over the sight of him fisting his leaky cock, but Shiu kisses your cheek and leans down to whisper in your ear before you can break your gaze away. “Don’t listen to him. He’s imagining he’s me. Keep watching him, let him know he’s only half the reason you’re this wet right now.”

Your skin warms. Despite Toji’s order, you keep watching him. A gentle flush, one that is so unlike your Toji, paints his face pink. He’s got his lip caught between his teeth, holding a groan in his muscled chest as he watches you and Shiu. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if you were being fucked silly, on your hands and knees like a whore — but no, Shiu is practically making love to you. 

Your lips part as you watch your boyfriend experience a surge of a million different feelings. Questions he isn’t sure he wants answered; do you prefer the stretch of Shiu’s cock to his? Do you like being worshipped like this? Will you say yes if he asks to make this a regular thing?

“I love you,” falls from your lips in a shaky moan. Though you say it softly, as if to meet only Shiu’s ears, your eyes are still on Toji. “Love how you feel inside of me.”

Toji’s eyes widen. His hand jerks faster, hips buck up a little from that self-made prison of an armchair. He doesn’t know if you’re talking to him or Shiu, and it’s about to send him over the edge. A part of him wants to leap up and pull Shiu off you; fill you with his own cock instead and flood your womb with his release. Another part of him wants to get behind Shiu and fuck into him; let him be the vessel between you that gets to know exactly how the two of you merge to ‘make love’. He’d fuck him deep and mean justs to get the message through to you.

But, the part of him that wants to keep his ass planted to the cuck chair and watch his girl take the load of his best friend wins out. 

“I’m gonna fucking—” he cracks, choking on his words as his hips stutter and cum shoots all over himself. His black shirt is soaked in the stuff, his fist covered, but he doesn’t stop.

Shiu pays him no mind. It’s hard when you feel this good, wrapped around his cock for the first, and likely only, time in his life. He’s dreamt of this, convincing Toji to share his score — he is his handler, after all. 

You want to come, but Shiu is taking his time bringing you to the peak. Usually Toji would just hike a hand around you and rub you ‘til you beg for mercy. Shiu, however, seems to like the way you squirm beneath him as he paws at your thighs, pushes them up against your body, and folds you into a mating press. 

The new depth he reaches inside of you is torturous. You feel so full, yet so unsated at the same time. You wonder how well you’d take them both; whether you’d stretch out to accommodate two cocks at once or if one would have to fill your mouth instead. You want to crawl over to Toji and lick his cock clean, taste something from him as you’re so full of another man. 

Another glance over at your boyfriend rewards you with the sight of his screwed-up face. His eyes are set on the spot Shiu fucks into you, and he strokes himself into overstimulation. Seems he won’t be left out for even a moment. 

“Fuck,” Shiu’s hips slam forward, skin slapping against skin in a heated rhythm. His chest heaves, and you can tell he’s about to cum — even with how overwhelmed your pussy is, you can feel him twitching inside. “I’m close.”

“Not inside,” Toji growls from his seat. That was his only rule going into this. That, and no butt stuff. Toji reserves your womb and ass for himself.

“I know, asshole,” Shiu grunts. His eyes roam your face once more with a soft (but elastic tight) smile on his face. “Want you to come first. On my cock; I’ll pull out after, okay?”

You can hardly nod. Once again, his fingers come down on your clit, wedged tightly between your moving bodies. He circles it, quick but gentle, and sends you absolutely dizzy with pleasure. You know Toji is still stroking himself as he watches you come undone; and you know he’s probably going to pull another orgasm or two out of you tonight to repair his ego. Your poor cunt.

Your orgasm washes over you quickly, and with enough pressure to force a loud, crying moan from your chest. Your legs shake, eyes squeezing shut as your head spins. You haven’t felt this good in… ever. 

Not just because of Shiu; but knowing Toji is watching. 

Your climax sends Shiu careening over the edge. He’s quick to pull out, leaving you feeling absolutely lost in your emptiness. He gives his cock a squeeze, as if to stall his orgasm, and looks you over hungrily before… pulling away?

Instead of shooting over your stomach or across your pretty face, Shiu leaps off the bed and makes his way over to Toji, whose eyes are wide as his best friend approaches. He’s not given much time to react before Shiu is taking the back of his head in one hand and feeding the tip of his cock past his lips with the other. Toji chokes on his surprise, and then on the load that Shiu releases into his mouth with a loud groan. 

Instinctively, he spits. Rivulets of cum drip from his lips, down his chin, and join the mess of his own cum on his stomach and cock. His eyes are wide, a little angry, but his surprise doesn’t stop Shiu from pulling back and leaning down to catch your boyfriend's lips in a very messy kiss. Cum and spit is passed between them, paired with loud groans that travel right from them to your still-buzzing clit. 

You watch from the bed with wide eyes, having just discovered something very interesting about yourself. 

You try not to close your eyes, in fear of meeting the memory of his cock sinking into you instead of the back of your lids. You feel guilty, despite Suguru’s adamant okay-ness with it all — you wouldn’t be driving forty minutes through the countryside to film a scene that Suguru didn’t see the fantasy in.

Satoru Gojo, a known name in the porn industry, got to fuck you stupid only a week ago. He had asked you out for drink after, and though you rejected him verbally, you’re starting to fear that your mind didn’t reject him in the same regard. You had come home that night to tell your boyfriend all about being hit-on by your co-star, and he had only laughed.

And then fucked you stupid, of course. It was when he was balls-deep inside of you when he got an email from Satoru’s agent with a shoot offer. He must have stalked your OnlyFans, found out who the man you rejected him to stay loyal to was. The offer was good, the best-paying job you have ever had; a threesome between Satoru and his new favourite love birds.

Suguru remembers Satoru like he’s last season: the winter that bled into you, his spring. They did a few films together, Satoru got a little too stuck in Suguru’s mind, and once their contracts were up, they never spoke again. Meeting you kept it from feeling like a breakup.

The rising sun makes him squint against the road, almost missing the turn off to the countryside estate you had been given directions to. The place is nice, big, and you’re starting to wonder just how widely distributed this porno will be if the producer is shelling out so much money for a whole estate to rent out for half a day.

“With how much they’re paying us, I didn’t expect there to be much left in the budget for more than a crack den,” Suguru chatters as he pulls in through the large paved driveway. 

“No kidding,” you hum. With this paycheck, you’d just be greedy looking for work in the next few months.

Suguru parks and undoes his seatbelt with a sideways glance in your direction. “We’re a bit early,” he notes. “But it can’t hurt to get a feel for the place, talk to our co-star for a minute.”

You smile. “Mhm. Talk.”

He eyes you with something tender, though it turns mischievous as he opens his door and steps out of the car. “Ready to get fucked for cash?”

You follow suit with a laugh, walking around the car to meet your boyfriend, who greets you with a pinch to your ass and a kiss to your temple. You’d recognise something poetic in the contrast of his actions if your mind wasn’t so preoccupied with what, or who, you’ll be doing together in only a few moments. 

Despite both being pornstars, you rarely take scenes together. Threesomes aren’t a frequent venture either, so this is something relatively untapped for the both of you. And though you’re sure it won’t jeopardise your relationship, you can’t help but entertain the crawling doubt that trickles in. Will Suguru really not mind sharing?

You aren’t sure what would feel worse; the thought of him getting overly jealous and cutting the scene short, or the thought of Suguru not minding in the slightest as he watches you get fucked by another man. A little possession never goes unappreciated on your end. 

“Hey,” Suguru’s silken voice brings you back to the now. “You okay? We can turn around and speed off into the sunset if you aren’t comfortable with this. You know that comes first always.”

You grin, shaking your head. “I’m good. Excited, even.”

Your boyfriend nods and leads the way to the front door. It’s closed, which is a little odd considering the production crew would usually be bustling around, coming in and out with equipment and such. You furrow your brow, and then have the thought to turn and scan the front of the estate.

Your car is the only one here.

“You checked the shoot time, right?” you ask.

“Yes, love.” Suguru tries the doorhandle only to find it locked. “Fuck. Maybe I should have triple checked.”

He presses a thick finger to the doorbell button and glances at you as the sound of an overly-upbeat chime echoes through the house. Maybe it’s the wrong place, too lavish to be true. Maybe it’s the wrong day, or—

The heavy wooden door swings open. Satoru Gojo stands behind it, looking between you and Suguru with a wide and knowing grin. He meets your eyes first, and then drops his gaze to take in the rest of you. Something soft flashes across his face — lust or appreciation, you aren’t sure — before he’s doing the same to Suguru and crossing his muscular arms over his chest. 

You forgot how tall he was. He takes up the doorframe as he leans against it, lips twitching upwards. 

“Long time no see, lovebirds. You’re just on time,” he chirps, stepping aside to let you in. “‘Scuse the mess, I just moved in.”

“This is your place?” you ask, appraising the lavish foyer as you walk in beside Suguru. 

“Mhm,” Satoru hums, and though you expect more of a cheeky lilt from him, his words are smooth. “The city is too busy for me. Plus, it saves me a dollar on renting out houses to film in if I can just do my shoots here, right?”

You can’t help but laugh. From the looks of his home, you doubt he’d think twice about renting a place out for a shoot — something makes you think he just wants you to see his house. What Satoru Gojo’s body can buy him.

The bedroom you end up in is stunning. A double bed with fluffy blankets thrown haphazardly over the top dominates the centre of the room. The walls are painted a warm, calming shade of grey, lit up by the flooding natural light that comes in through the floor-to-ceiling windows that span the left wall. There’s a tripod set up with a very expensive-looking camera pointed directly at the bed. Satoru points to it with a grin, “our camera crew.”

You furrow your brows, but Suguru speaks before you can. “It’s just us?”

Satoru nods, crossing his corded arms. “Yes. I did specify it was a private shoot, yaknow.”

Your boyfriend steps closer to your side. You can feel the heat from his body as he crosses his own arms, a mirror of Satoru. “I figured it was a private production,” he says slowly. “The email I got was from an agent, not you directly.”

Satoru looks unperturbed. “Course,” his voice is languid. “Ijichi handles all of my correspondence.”

He turns to the dresser and pulls two white envelopes from the top drawer. Your eyes linger a little too long on his slender fingers as he hands them over to you, one each. There’s an obscene amount of cash stacked neatly inside.

“As agreed, plus a little extra for the commute,” Satoru hums. “You can take it and go if this isn’t what you want. If it is, well…” he gestures to the bed. “I’m kinda dying here.”

You glance down at his insinuation to find he’s beyond hard. His sweats are tight and tented, and when you force your gaze away to instead look at Suguru, you find him staring as well. His brows are knitted together, though, and he looks far too deep in thought to be just staring at a boner. 

The silence in the room is deafening. You can feel the tension rising between the three of you, vibrating through the air and wrapping around your body. Suguru seems to have made his mind up, because when he turns to face you, it’s with an awfully familiar look on his face: desire.

“Thoughts, darling?”

There’s no point in pretending that you don’t still think about Satoru’s touch. This entire thing has been disorienting; you’re confused about everything — your feelings, career, sexual wants — and even now you’re torn.

Yet despite all of the questions swirling around in your head, as soon as your eyes land on Satoru again, you know you’d die without another taste. That feeling, the desire, the forethought of how he’d pant and whine for you to fuck him senseless — you’d do anything to achieve it.

This doesn’t feel like work anymore, not with the way these two men are looking at you. The camera isn’t even rolling yet, but you feel exposed and naked and on display just the same. 

So, without any grace, you pull away from your train of thought and turn to press your lips to Suguru’s in a searing kiss. The swift action has Satoru’s breath hitching at the sight.

Suguru kisses you back, of course, pulling you flush against him at the waist and groaning as Satoru spectates the meeting of your lips. You can feel him watching you, hard as a rock, and you focus on playing with the piercing through Suguru’s lip to stifle the moan lodged in your throat.

“Jeez. Didn’t know this was a cuckolding shoot,” Satoru’s voice is whiney over the sound of your smacking lips. “I wouldn’t mind it though, just… next time?”

You place a hand on the planes of Suguru’s chest as you end the kiss and turn your head to the white-haired pervert with heart-shaped pupils. Your grin is sweet and sultry; “next time, huh?”

You pull away, making a point not to glance at either of the men as you walk past them and crawl onto the bed. You turn, prop yourself up on your elbows, and tilt your head. Both Suguru and Satoru standing as your observers, or admirers, is a sight for sore eyes. 

It takes a moment of staring at you with a slack jaw for Satoru to finally spring into thought. He steps towards the camera pointed at the bed, and clears his throat as he fiddles around with it. He looks almost nervous — if there wasn’t such an excited gleam in his eyes, you’d think he’s getting cold feet. 

But you remember the way his eyes glossed when he pushed into you last time. How that golden confidence of his melted into carnal need with just one thrust of his hips. You know what you do to him. And god, does it feel amplified ten-fold with Suguru here.

And Suguru must know it too, because the second Satoru seems happy with the camera, he turns on his heel and takes his face in his large hands. Satoru lets out a small sound of alarm at the action, which is dizzying in its own right, but the true aphrodisiac comes as you watch Suguru crash their lips together into a lewd kiss. 

You didn’t know you’d like watching your boyfriend take charge with another man so much. Satoru moans desperately as Suguru’s tongue explores the recesses of his mouth, pulling away only to suck hungrily at the flesh of his lower lip. You watch both of them jolt their hips forward, meeting in the middle as they grind against each other with feverish need. When they break apart it’s only because they’ve run out of shared breath. 

“Missed me that much?” Satoru coos.

Suguru shuts him up with a firm thumb to his lips. “Don’t ruin it.”

You feel your stomach roil as you watch them, realising the camera is only pointed at you, capturing your lascivious reaction to their pairing. When your show ends, and they turn their eyes to you instead, you can only smile. 

Satoru laughs. “You are one lucky man, Sugu… I don’t know how you can do porn when you have such a pretty thing waiting for you at home. It’d ruin my performance.”

“I know,” Suguru says plainly. “You’ve never been good at multitasking, have you?”

“Harsh words,” Satoru pouts. “I can multitask just fine. Need me to prove it?” He plucks the camera from its tripod and points it at Suguru. “For example, I can fuck and film at the same time.”

“Can’t do it dressed,” you point out. Both men turn to find you already stripping yourself of your clothes. Satoru turns the camera onto you, capturing the revelation of your body with heavy-lidded eyes. You look into the lens and wonder just how many people are going to slip their hand beneath their waistband at the sight of you.

Once you’ve laid yourself bare, your naked skin feels electric. You reach your hands out and make grabby-hands at Satoru. “Pass the camera, it’s your turn.”

A glance between themselves, and then Satoru is leaning over the bed to slot the camera in your hands. It’s heavier than you’d thought, but feels nice and cooling against your otherwise sweaty palm. Satoru’s fingers brush yours, and he pulls away with a cough.

He mustn’t have noticed Suguru falling into place behind him, because when he straightens up and his back hits your boyfriend’s chest, Satoru gasps. You capture the blush on his cheeks as Suguru’s hands snake around his body to caress his chest.

Suguru has always been good at sparking intimacy. It’s why the porn he shoots is usually so artistic; he’s sensual. And Satoru, not for the first time, is an eager victim to his seduction. Suguru traces his fingers down his chest, reaching the hem of his shirt and lifting it upwards to unwrap his next meal. Satoru, feeling restless, lifts his arms to help speed the process. 

Now exposed, Satoru’s chest and torso are at the mercy of Suguru’s searing touch. Each trail of his fingers down his chest; each tweak over his sensitive nipples; each sloppy, open-mouthed kiss against the column of his neck… they all send Satoru spiralling. You study them both through the camera, watching as Suguru presses his lips against Satoru’s ear. 

His words are quiet enough that you know the camera won’t pick them up. You can hear them, though — only just. 

“You’re lucky I’m letting you touch her a second time,” he purrs. “You know, she hasn’t stopped thinking about your shoot. We watched it together the other night. I matched your pace, let her pretend it was you.”

You’re almost embarrassed by the confession, your skin warming even more, but Satoru’s eyes are wide and locked on yours in such a manner that you just can’t bring yourself to care what he knows. 

Suguru grins, catching your gaze over Satoru’s shoulder, and presses a kiss to his earlobe. “It brought me back, too,” he continues. “To when I got you to myself. You remember our films, right? You’re just like she is.”

Satoru nods, the tips of his ears turning red. His breathing is ragged and needy, and in a split-second he’s turning around and pressing his lips to Suguru’s again. Desperate hands lift at your boyfriends own shirt, thumbs brushing over his pierced nipples in their exploration. His jeans soon follow, and then so do Satoru’s sweats.

For a moment, it’s just the two of them again — bare besides their boxers, hands mapping each other out. Their lips connect hungrily, teeth clacking together, spit pushed from one mouth to the other. It’s gross and erotic and you’re so fucking wet just filming it.

When they part, it’s obvious even to the camera just how much heavier the air has gotten. Suguru turns your white-haired tryst and pushes him towards you on the bed. “Move your ass before I fuck that too.”

Satoru doesn’t blush like you expected he would. Instead, he grins. “That would be a big change from our usual shoots, don’t you think?” he sing-songs, eyebrows raising as he steps toward the bed. “Or maybe you don’t remember crying from how well I stretched you out? I sure do…”

This time, it’s Suguru’s turn to flush pink.

“I didn’t know you bottomed for him” you laugh out loud at the revelation, the camera shaking a little as you capture the glare Suguru gives Satoru. “That’s something I have got to see.”

“Ha,” Suguru climbs onto the bed and snatches the camera from you, settling on his knees as he points it down at your form. The fingers of his free hand ghost the skin of your stomach, making you shiver. “Next time, maybe.”

His boxers slip off easily enough, allowing his cock to spring free, poised and ready for your hand. The sound of Suguru’s moan as you wrap your fingers around his length is paired with the shuffle of Satoru climbing onto the bed too. He hovers above you for a moment, watching you stroke Suguru through the camera, before taking it from him with a grin. 

Satoru returns the camera to the stand and checks its positioning before climbing back onto the bed and settling himself just behind you. You turn to smile at him, and then gasp as he takes hold of your waist. He peers over your shoulder, to the sight of Suguru’s drooling cock in your hand, and then presses a kiss to the skin beneath your ear. 

“You know I’m fucking obsessed with you, right?” He purrs. “Haven’t stopped thinking about you. I dreamt of breaking you and your boyfriend up until I found out it was Sugu. Wanted you all to myself then, but I think I’m happy enough to share now… because god, I want to see your lips wrapped around his cock.”

“Mm,” you hum, turning your head to meet his gaze. “You haven’t even kissed me yet, and you’re making demands?”

Satoru smiles, his lips glossy and so perfect you could cry. “I want to taste him on you.”

His words light a fire in your core that licks ravenously through your body. You can’t help but oblige him, returning your gaze to sweet Suguru before dipping your head down and pressing a chaste kiss to the weeping tip of his cock. Suguru and Satoru both inhale sharply when you do, wetting your lips with your tongue and meeting his cock again. You draw lazy circles around his tip before closing your lips around the head and taking him into your mouth.

Satoru’s hand pushes down on your shoulder, forcing you to take Suguru a little deeper. Your moan betrays you, sending vibrations down his shaft that make him grunt and buck his hips forward. Satoru, still behind you, gently takes hold of your hips and manoeuvres you into a doggy-style position. Your fingers splay over Suguru’s thighs for purchase as Gojo lans over you. 

His chest presses against your back, skin-to-skin intimacy amplified by the feverish kisses he presses to the back of your neck, down to your shoulder blades, your spine. His kisses become hooter and wetter as he moves down to your waist, large hands playing with the flesh of your ass as he kisses a path down. You moan and shift against his grip, moving your hips in an effort to push yourself back against his boxer-clad erection. But Satoru only snaps you forward, and you choke a little as you’re forced to take Suguru’s cock even deeper down your throat. 

"Fuck," Suguru hisses, pretty purple eyes meeting yours as you look up. Drool glosses his length, slick and hot and heavy against your tongue when he finally gives you a moment to breathe. 

Your mouth immediately goes back to work again once your breathing steadies, hollowing out your cheeks and dragging him down, deeper, faster, more desperately. The receipt of pleasure etched into Suguru's tight face is enough to spur on your own needs, but you nearly choke when Satoru Gojo bites into the fat of your ass. Your back arches and you squirm and whine, but Satoru is relentless, licking over the indentations left behind as Suguru snaps his hips into your open mouth over and over again.

You barely have room to move before Satoru is pushing your knees apart with a strong hand, the heel of his palm firm against your ass as he spreads you open. He takes a moment, heavy breaths fan against your exposed slick, and you’re suddenly all too aware of yourself. You’d protest, tell him not to stare if your mouth wasn’t full with Suguru's heavy cock. You don’t even know why you’re embarrassed — you’re a pornstar, this is your job. 

Your thoughts melt into the bedsheets, however, when Satoru groans and connects his lips to your pussy. Stupid off the taste of you alone, he whines against your slick heat, enamoured. His tongue flicks over you, circling your clit repeatedly and making your insides burn. You moan, and it comes out muffled and breathless around Suguru's dick.

"You taste so fucking good," Satoru speaks against your cunt. One hand slips between your legs, running two fingers through your folds in collection of your arousal, whilst his other hand tugs down at his own boxers, pulling his cock free and growling against your pussy as he starts to stroke at himself. He pushes two fingers into you, easy with just how wet you are, and curls them in tandem with each pump of his cock.

Each thrust of his fingers pushes you just that little bit further onto Suguru's length. And you're thanking god that he's there, because without his muscled thighs to hold onto, you fear you’d be fucked too dizzy to keep yourself upright. You figure you must look a mess now, hair mussed and eyes bleary and drool coating your chin.

You feel pathetic with how quickly your orgasm crests. Satoru must feel it too, how you clench around your fingers, the subtle tremor in your thighs, because his tongue only speeds up in its assault.  He's still stroking himself, keeping you open and willing as he sucks your clit harshly from behind. Once you're right at the brink, teetering off the edge of ecstasy, Suguru pulls out of your mouth and leans down to crash his lips against yours. 

"Come," he orders into your mouth, tasting himself on your tongue. "Come for us, baby. Know you can."

You’re overwhelmed. Suguru’s rakish lips against yours, Satoru’s hungry lapping at your cunt. Before you can even try to present yourself for the camera, you’re cumming. You writhe, nails scraping against your boyfriend’s thighs until you can hardly draw breath.

“Holy shit.” Satoru’s breath comes out in a hitched sort of laughter as he pulls back, not bothering to wipe away the sheen of your lust that coats his mouth and chin. He makes a show of checking his pulse. “Holy shit.”

You’re still coming down from your climax as Suguru peppers feather-light kisses over your face. Satoru, feeling more hungry than doting, brings his two fingers to his own mouth, licking them clean. Suguru catches sight of the action and gently pulls back from you, something knowing in his eyes. You assume he’s going to redirect your head back to his cock, let you finish your job, but instead he tuts and nods his head to your shared tryst, who is still diligently working at tasting you some more on his fingers. 

“Think someone’s a little pussydrunk,” Suguru grins, and you do too at the sight of Satoru Gojo so blatantly desperate for more. Your eyes drift down to his cock, long and hard and weeping with precum. 

But you don’t want to neglect Suguru. You make a move to reach for his cock again, but he shakes his head gently. “But you didn’t finish.”

“Got other plans,” he nods subtly to Gojo. “How about we show our stalker here just how much better the real thing is?”

You grin, catching onto his drift, and watch over your shoulder as Satoru rolls his pretty blue eyes. “You know, I’ve had the real thing. From both of you.”

“Not at the same time,” Suguru shrugs. “And I know you’ve fucked your fist to the thought. Don’t lie.”

Satoru’s loaded remark gets stuck in his throat as Suguru pulls away from you entirely, though not without a gentle kiss to your forehead first. He stands by the bed, rolls his shoulders and nods to Satoru — “go on,” he gestures to you, still on your hands and knees. “Taste me on her lips.”

Satoru would probably blush if he weren’t so dedicated to the promise of a taste, because he’s got a hand under your stomach and is flipping you onto your back with ease in only half a second. You sigh at the reprieve of the strain on your hands and knees, and revel in how soft Satoru’s mattress is, when he’s collapsing on top of you with a strangled growl and his lips are meeting yours.

It’s a strange thing, to taste both Satoru, yourself, and Suguru at the same time. You taste Satoru in the way he kisses, hungry and listless, with knocking teeth and exploratory tongues. You taste Suguru in the remnants of his cock in your mouth, the precum that has coated your tongue, mixed with your saliva that now mixes with Gojo’s. And you taste yourself glossed on Satoru’s lips; your climax, the buildup of pleasure he had gifted you with both his mouth and fingers. A strange mix, maybe, but a perfect one nonetheless. You have to close your eyes to stop yourself from growing too dizzy, and also partly to stop yourself from worrying too hard — how are you meant to enjoy sex with anyone else now that you know how this tastes?

Satoru’s cock presses against the inside of your thigh; you can feel it pulsing. His arms box you in on either side, settled comfortably between your still-shaky legs. When he pulls back, a string of saliva connects your lips to his, and his eyes are darker than you remember. 

“Need you… to be inside of you. You’re so fucking—god, I can’t think…”

As if by instinct, your legs part further, allowing him the access he so craves. It’s a fluid movement, the way he moves one hand down to direct his cock to your slick folds. He rubs himself against you, his tip kissing your clit teasingly. You suck in a shaky breath between parted lips, and when he doesn’t hurry up despite his desperation, you feel like you could cry.

Suguru moves to kneel behind Satoru, running his long fingers gently down his back. Satoru’s head falls forward at the touch, and as your boyfriend’s hand runs lower and lower on his back, you realise exactly where this is going. 

“You’re gonna fuck her good,” Suguru purrs, graceful in his touch. “Because I’m going to help you. That okay?” He reaches back up to repeat the motion, brushing his knuckles down the curve of his spine until he reaches his tailbone. 

Satoru’s eyes are locked on yours as he answers. “Yeah. Yes. Please, god. Yes.”

Submitting yourself to Satoru feels… normal. As Suguru takes hold of either side of his waist and guides him forward into you, the stretch is searing. You remember just how hard it was to adjust to his size the first time, having to try and keep your face melted neutral for the cameras. You don't feel that same pressure now, despite Satoru still filming. You bite down on your lip.

"You're..." you try, words stuck in your throat as Suguru pushes Satoru's hips into yours a little more. "Please."

Satoru takes control of the pace, his breath hot and heavy on your cheek, his body moving in sync. You moan as he starts thrusting slowly in and out, stretching every muscle in your body as you get used to the feeling. With every thrust, you feel him getting harder and deeper within you, and his mouth dips down to trail along the sensitive skin on your neck. He's longer than Suguru, though not quite as thick, but he reaches depths that aren't typical for you. As he sheathes himself deeper and deeper inside of you, with the help of Suguru's hands on his waist, you slowly relax into the pleasure of his sweet push and pull.

Sweat beads at your skin as Satoru quickens the pace, pulling out and plunging back in again with unbridled whimpers as Suguru works on taking his fill. Your boyfriend, still gentle despite his current dominance, starts working Toru open with one of his fingers.

“Ah. Fuck.” Satoru's words are heady with need, the initial discomfort of Suguru's fingers pushing into his ass are quickly forgotten, replaced with a deep yearning for more sensation. It sends his hips snapping into yours, bottoming out inside of you at such depths you can't help but cry out. It's a symphony of wetness and gasps of air, each syllable punctuated by Satoru's frantic movements. Your body grows tighter and tighter around Satoru with every pass as he gets worked so beautifully by Suguru.

Your mind is clouded by everything Satoru has done to you and by the sheer force of him filling you with his cock and all that comes with it. You're completely and utterly lost in the moment, consumed by Satoru, who is consumed by Suguru, who is consumed in the pleasure of serving you both in turn. 

"More," Satoru is barely able to get the word out as he slams deeper and deeper inside of you. "Fuck, more."

And Suguru isn't one to deny a pretty thing like Satoru such pleasures; he's pulling his fingers out of him in seconds and replacing them with the head of his cock at his ass. Suguru is gentle, but unrelenting as he thrusts himself into Satoru in one fluid motion. 

The pressure is enough to prick tears at Satoru's pretty blue eyes. You reach up and swipe at his tears, collecting the salted liquid on your fingertips just to push them into Satoru’s mouth for him to taste his feelings. 

A moment is shared, a chance for Satoru to breathe the best he can, before he's testing the waters and pushing back a little, onto Suguru's cock, before thrusting his hips forward, into you. 

Suguru fucks you through Satoru — each thrust into him a thrust into you. He snaps his hips forward, probably a little harsher than need be, but who can blame him for retaining a little jealousy at just how cock-drunk you’re getting beneath Satoru? 

Satoru whines, moans, begs like a bitch as he’s filled to the brim. The stretch of Suguru’s cock paired with the warm tightness of you wrapped around him might just be what finally sends his heart into cardiac arrest. He fucks for a living and has still never felt this good. You’re almost worried he’ll collapse into you like this. 

Still, the sight is beautiful. Suguru works behind him, chasing his own pleasure with Satoru’s ass as he treats him like a sex toy to get you off with. God, you’re close.

“Gonna cum,” you whine, lips ghosting against Satoru’s. He nods, eyes locked onto yours. 

“M—fuck—me too. You have to let me cum inside, please.”

“You better,” Suguru cuts in, his voice biting from behind him. He thrusts sharply into Satoru, sending him keening forward into you. He drags over your g-spot just as Suguru hits his prostate in mirrored pleasure. “Fill her up, Satoru.”

You gasp as Satoru’s fingers dip down to rub frantic circles over your clit, tugging you closer and closer to orgasm with each knock of his hips into yours, and of Suguru’s into his. The room is filled with a chorus of moans and whines and desperate pleas for more, more, more. You know you’ll never come down from this height if you don’t cum soon, but before you can find purchase in your body and fall into bliss, Suguru is the first to cum. 

He buries his cock in Satoru’s ass, head dipping down to bite into the muscle of his shoulder as some sort of gag. He comes hard, squeezes his beautiful eyes shut in ecstasy as he shoots his load into the man between you. And the feeling of being filled in such ravaging volumes must be enough to send Satoru over the edge too, because he’s knitting his brows together and cumming ropes into you right after. 

You cum in turn, and it’s a full-body experience. Your legs tighten up as you cry out, nails digging into Satoru’s biceps as the world melts away and sensations start blurring together. You feel like you’ve been fucked stupid, hardly registering it as Satoru collapses forward against your chest. 

You catch the salty flavour of him as you suck in a lungful of air, already feeling sick at the thought of anyone else getting to mould to the length of Satoru Gojo. 

Suguru pulls out of him slowly, and you wipe at Satoru’s face with the pad of your thumb as it scrunches up in protest of the loss of stretch. Before he can truly call the scene over, though, Satoru leans down and presses a gentle kiss to your lips. It’s followed by another, and then another, and then a myriad more; all cut with a soft ‘thank you’ in between. 

When he pulls out of you, a gush of his cum follows. It spills from your aching pussy and onto the sheets beneath you, though Satoru doesn’t flinch at the prospect of laundry. He swipes his fingers though the mess he’s made of your cunt, smiling when you hiss at just how sensitive you are, and brings his cum-coated fingers to his mouth. His eyes don’t leave yours as he sucks his fingers clean of his own release.

Your stomach flips. Great, he’s fucked you lovestruck. 

“Satoru,” a clean voice cuts between you. Your head throbs as you turn it to see Suguru standing by the camera, his eyebrows raised in what looks like amusement. “It’s not even recording.”

Instead of being confused, Satoru looks sheepish. He flops down on the bed next to you and sighs. “Oh that thing? I stopped recording when I put it back on the stand. This,” he gestures between the three of you, “is just for me. I really wanted to get the two of you in bed.”

You meet Suguru’s gaze. Something passes between you. In a weird, probably unhealthy way; you both feel the exact same. This was never a scene for the cameras anyway — not when such strong feelings are involved.

“I’m not proposing marriage here,” Satoru huffs when he notices your silence. “I just… well, you enjoyed it. Right?”

Another moment of silence passes between you. Satoru sits up a little, gawking at the two of you. He looks like a club regular who’s adamant the strippers feelings for him are real. Neither you or Suguru can hold it in any longer, you both fall into a fit of laughter that Satoru joins hesitantly. 

“You’re cute, Satoru,” you hum, stretching out on his bed. “Maybe just cute enough to get our numbers.”

You’ve never seen a grown man look so much like a kid in a candy store. Maybe you’ll regret it in a week when he hasn’t let a night pass without a call to come over and fuck him silly.

Eh. You doubt it.

it was on a friday night that you had decided tonight was the night. you had sent clark the usual duck emoji, smirking as he had immediately seen the text. however, when you arrived home, it wasn't like usual. usually, upon sending the emoji, you'd pounce on him and drag him to the bedroom. tonight, however? radio silence. well, not quite, but that's it felt to clark. you didn't give him those bedroom eyes you usually did on nights you were feeling particularly needy, you insisted on taking a shower all by yourself (he almost crumbled at that) and after dinner, you lounged on the couch to watch a tv show without even asking him to follow you! you just did!

the thing about clark kent is, he's a gentleman through and through. his ma had raised him to be one, and for christ's sake, he was superman! how could he not be a gentleman? but, he sympathizes with himself, you can't spell gentlemna without man, and clark was a man before he was anything else. a very aroused and hopelssly in love man, at that.

he stands awkwardly in the doorway of the living room, staring at you. you noticed, of course, but this wasn't unusual. clark has always had sort of weird quirks—you had always found them endearing. "is something the matter, honey?" your sirupy voice cut through his stream of thought, and suddenly his eyes focus again, gaze meeting yours.

clark has his phone in hand, and he brings it up to look back at the duck emoji you had sent. duck meant sex. you wanted this. he can indulge. you want this.

he knows you do. you sent the text, and he feels like he can almost smell your arousal and it's driving him fucking insane because he just wants to dive in it and taste it and fuck you everywhere so the entire place smells like you and-

in the blink of an eye, his phone is abandonned and he's on you, lips smashed against yours. you barely have the time to react but you do, arms now hanging around his thick neck. his hand latches itself onto your cheeks, fingers pressing into both of them, urging you to open your mouth. as soon as you do, his tongue, which was inhumanely long, snaked into your cavern, exploring its depths. he moaned at the taste of your saliva, almost melting into you as if the flavor of you was his ultimate salvation.

noticing the lack of air filling your lungs, he pulled away, his eyes softening at the sight of you catching your breath. "c-clark... what's... whta's gotten into you?" you licked your lips, face flushed. he looks at you like a puppy begging for its treat. "the emoji... you sent the emoji but you didn't... i thought..." his mind is a rush, moving at a thousand miles per hour as his entire body is begging him to rip your clothes off and take you.

he gives up, his head falling into the crook of your neck. "i just... i really need to fuck you, sweetheart." and as he's confessing this, his hand is gliding towards the waistband of your bottoms, sliding swiftly underneath it.

you think you could ascend.

you bite your lip, rendered mute at the sheer tension of the moment. "i know you want it, baby..." he scoffs, eyes closed. "can smell it."

curse him for being such a dangerously hot and multi-abled alien.

his hand makes its way underneath your panties, finger running through your slit, collecting the slick you've been trying to keep to yourself for the past hour. "ah..." you let out a low sound, almost imperceptible but clark was so hyper-focused on you that the little moan made him shudder.

he uses his forearm to push himself upwards, his hand escaping your bottoms to rush up to his mouth, and when you look at him, you gasp, feeling your walls clench.

because clark has never looked this feral.

his eyes were half-lidded and impossibly dark, his adam's apple bobbing as he swallows your juices, eyes nearly rolling back at the taste. he moans, his cock twitching and growing inside his sweatpants.

"you're gonna give it t'me, right sweetie?" he asks in that low, sultry voice that he only allows himself to use when he'd rather die than not touch you.

the eager nod you gave him marked the moment you knew you were done for.

.

how long has it been? you don't know. you don't know anything, actually. your brain is fogged with how clark was pounding you into the fuzzy carpet, your eyes crossing when the buds running along his dick grazed against the ridges of your walls, the added sensation making you spasm. "f-ffuck-! clark- oh my god, ohmygod—" you can barely form a sentence, let alone link two words together when he knocks at your cervix, your tits bouncing in rhythm with every thrust.

and clark isn't even listening to you, his eyes laser-focused on the sight of his cock splitting you open repeatedly, a vein bulging on his forehead at his intense use of his x-ray vision. "look at that, b-baby... look..." and you don't even bother, too lost in the ecstasy. he sees it all though, the strings of your arousal clinging to his tip every time he pulls away, the ridged of your pussy hooking onto his buds, the contractions of your muscles.

he finally manages to pull his eyes away from the sight, only to be met with the even prettier, albeit messier sight of your fucked out face. tears and drool glossed your skin, your eyes rolled back nearly to the back of your skull, throwing your head back when clark's hips stutter against yours, a white-hot wave washing over him over the sight.

he stilled when his buds hardened and hooked onto your walls, pulling him impossibly deep as he shoots buckets worth of cum deep into your womb. "a-ah! holy sh- hmm, fffuck, baby- i- fuck!" he sobs, jerking down towards you and you moan at the feeling of him filling you up once more, droplets of his sweat dripping onto your buzzing skin.

despite his orgasm, he doesn't stop, "n-need m-moree- needa fill you up-! ah, fuck!" his voice jumps up an octave when his buds finally relax again, allowing him to keep pistoning into you. "d-don't stop, clark! please dont- oh-!" he suddenly grabs your thighs, throwing them over his shoulders before beeending down, succesfully folding you in half. his face is now slotted right in front of yours, and the eye contact is so intense you almost feel shy under his gaze.

a mating press. clark kent had you in a fucking mating press.

you get lost in his ocean blue eyes, barely able to keep the eye conatct when he fucks you almost like he hated you, digging in your pussy. "you're... you're so beautiful, honey... so fucking pretty- all f'me, yeah? all f'me?" you nod, hands pressing against the back of his head to bring him impossiby closer to you, "all for you, clarkie," you confirmed being hastily pressing his against you, imprisoning him in a feverish kiss. clark moans into your mouth, eyes closing. you jolt slightly when you feel a tear drip down on your cheek, peeling your eyes open to see clark crying.

he pulls away, gasping for air as his throat restricts. "i l-love you, love you s'much— need you so, ngh, so bad... wanna breed ya'..." he sobs, whimpering for you. seeing clark become such a slave to his love for you had an inescapable effect on you, and your orgasm was almost immediate. you came with a gasp, the pleasure being so heavy that your eyes had given up on their function, unfocusing and leaving you with the blurry image of clark's flushed expression. your back arched as cream dribbled out of your hole, creating a white ring around clark's base.

in the midst of your orgasm, he pulls out, making you whine for the few seconds your face isn't smushed against the carpet because in a matter of moments, your world tilted before you found yourself face down ass up for your boyfriend. he pressed a hand on your back, urging a deeper arch. "m'sorry baby, m'so sorry..." he apologizes for the his unceremonial behavior but his apologies fall on deaf ears as you couldn't be happier.

your hands clutch the fluff of the carpet when he slams back into you, kneading the flesh of your ass. "just... just need this. s'your fault for making me wait... so long.. to have you- ngh, gosh..." he's hypnotized by the rippling of your ass, and the way your back bends impossibly for a second each time he rams back inside you, pressing you further into the carpet.

with clark kent fucking you like that, you really don’t think you’re making it out alive.

well, your fault for trying to experiment on a poor, farm-grown kryptonian.

your moans are rhythmic, matching the pace of his hips. leaning in, he wraps an arm around you to squeeze your tits, massaging them and rubbing your hardened nipples. "so obedient..." his comment makes your walls flutter around his fat cock. he begins to roll his hips, not quite thrusting. he presses against you, making you drool. "nghhh... fffuuuck... love you... so much.. c-clark-!" you slurred, going crazy at the sensation of his buds hardening slowly again, hooking onto your insides.

"w-want your cum-! want you to b-breed me!" you egged him on, "yeah? y'want it, baby? oh gosh, i'm cumming, m'cummingm'cumming-" he gritted, spilling into you once more. "oh my god! oh god, sweetheart!" he whined, your name escaping him as his hips bucked again, releasing rope upon rope inside you. his orgasm triggered yours, drops of your release trickled down onto the carpet before his hand snaked down to your clit, rubbing furiously and suddenly an intense stream released itself onto the now soaked carpet, the intensity of both of your orgasms making the two of you collaspe in a heap.

he layed on top of you, both of you catching your breaths. "i feel so... sticky." he remarked, "shit... i ruined the carpet." you groaned, knitting your eyebrows together.

a silence settled in, before you broke it. "i'm glad my experiment worked." a beat passes before he reacts, "experiment?"

"i tried conditioning you into associating sex with the duck emoji. it worked."

clarks hums, choosing not to react any further.

a few days later, minutes after the end of your shift, you receive a text from clark.

a duck emoji.

He steps closer, slanting the large umbrella until you are entirely enclosed within his space, the clean scent of cedarwood and expensive starch instantly neutralizing the damp smell of the campus. "I was worried about you. Let’s get you out of the cold."

He doesn't ask how the exam went. He simply takes your heavy canvas backpack from your shoulder, his large, calloused hand wrapping around the straps with an easy, effortless strength that tells you he’s been waiting to do it all day.

When you get to his car, the passenger side is already warm, the heater set to a perfect, comfortable temperature. Sitting in the cup holder is a hot container of the specific ginger-pork soup from the deli near his apartment.

"I figured you would be hungry," he murmurs, closing your door gently before walking around to the driver's side.

You sit there as the car pulls out into the city traffic, the windshield wipers clicking a rhythmic, soothing pattern against the glass.

You look at the soup, then down at your own hands, and before you can even process the sudden, overwhelming relief of being taken care of, a hot tear slips down your cheek, followed by another.

Kento doesn't slam on the brakes, nor does he offer a clumsy, panicked speech. He simply keeps his left hand steady on the steering wheel, while his right hand moves across the center console, his long, warm fingers wrapping completely around your trembling hand. He squeezes once, a solid, anchoring pressure that lets you cry until the highway opens up.

"You worked hard," he says softly into the quiet car. "That is more than enough."

..............

The apartment is always quiet. Kento’s home is a reflection of the man himself, minimalist, organized, and deeply intentional. There are no dishes left in the sink, no loud televisions blaring, no unpredictable shifts in temperature. It is a sanctuary.

But the habit of being a burden is a hard thing to unlearn.

An hour later, you’re sitting on the edge of his plush cream sofa, your fingers nervously picking at the hem of one of his oversized navy sweaters.

He steps out of the kitchen, carrying two mugs of barley tea. He sets them on the table, his eyes instantly tracking the tense, curled-up posture of your shoulders.

"I can clean the kitchen," you say quickly, the words tumbling out before you can stop them. "I know I’m bothering you by staying over on a weeknight when you have that audit tomorrow. I'll get up early so I'm not in your way—"

He doesn't answer immediately. He slowly drops to one knee on the dark wood floor right in front of you, bringing himself down to your eye level.

He reaches up, his large, cool hands gently capturing your wrists, uncurling your frantic fingers from the sweater fabric and holding them steady within his palms.

"Who taught you," Kento asks, his hazel eyes locking onto yours with a sharp, heavy seriousness that makes your breath catch, "that existing requires an apology?"

You freeze, your lips parting but no sound coming out.

"You are not a project, Y/N," he says softly, his thumb tracing a slow, soothing circle against the inside of your wrist.

"You are not a chore that needs to be managed before I can rest. You don't have to earn kindness with me. Your presence in this space is entirely permitted, at any hour, under any condition."

The silence that follows is thick, but for the first time in months, it doesn't feel heavy. It feels like a space where you are allowed to simply take up room.

As the final semester bleeds into winter, you begin to realize that Kento’s love isn't something he speaks; it’s something he executes with a quiet, terrifying efficiency.

He is the man who always waits in the idling car until he hears the click of your apartment deadbolt before he drives away into the midnight fog.

He is the man whose glove compartment is a curated survival kit for your chaotic schedule, containing your specific brand of painkillers, spare hair ties, a portable charger, and the exact honey candies you like when your throat is dry from presentations.

You find yourself falling asleep everywhere around him.

You fall asleep in his home office while he’s quietly reviewing legal briefs, your head resting against his spare desk. You fall asleep thirty minutes into movie nights, your cheek pressed against his broad shoulder. You fall asleep in the car before he even exits the parking garage.

And he never wakes you.

Every single time, you wake up hours later to the realization that you’ve been lifted with a smooth, iron-clad carefulness and tucked securely into his bed.

The lights are always dimmed, the ambient temperature adjusted, and his heavy charcoal winter coat is always draped over your shoulders if you’ve fallen asleep on the move.

One evening, after a grocery run where you had mindlessly thrown three separate bags of sugary snacks into the cart out of pure stress, you look down to find him quietly adding fresh berries, spinach, and a high-end iron supplement beside your items.

"You'll thank me later," he murmurs, his face entirely serious as he checks the expiration date on a carton of milk.

"Probably," you laugh softly, leaning your head against his upper arm for a split second, feeling the immense, solid warmth of him.

Later that night, you’re sitting on the living room rug, your legs stretched out under his low table, watching him read a financial journal under the soft amber light of the floor lamp.

He’s wearing his reading glasses, his shirt collar unbuttoned by two notches, his large hand rhythmically turning the pages with a slow, deliberate slowness.

You look at the quiet room, the steady rise and fall of his chest, and the total absence of chaos in your mind.

You used to think love was supposed to be exciting, a series of high-stakes dramas and reckless fires that left you burnt out and breathless.

But as you look at Kento, you realize that excitement is a young, unstable thing.

What you actually needed was this. You needed the quiet hours. You needed the certainty that someone was holding the perimeter so you could finally close your eyes.

"Kento," you call out quietly.

He doesn't look up immediately, but his hand pauses on the edge of the page. "Yes?"

"Nothing," you whisper, sliding down further against the couch cushions, a small, breathtakingly content smile touching your lips. "Just... thank you."

A very small, nearly imperceptible smile tugs at the corner of his mouth behind his journal. He adjusts his glasses, his voice dropping into that low, protective rumble that makes your whole world feel safe.

"Go to sleep, Y/N. I’ll wake you when it’s time."

Thank you for reading till last. I'm working on another fic right now, that's why I almost forgot to post here.