Blue polish

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♡・moth・・she/her・・24・・canadian・・[n]sfw blog・♡

sagittarius ✶ sukuna&choso? yeah i know a thing or two ✶ good vibes only here

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MDNI-ish frat!Kuna x reader

Sukuna spots you from across the room and his jaw clenches.

Some dickhead, khaki shorts, backwards cap, the whole douchebag starter pack, leaning into your space like a leech.

You're smiling of course, that polite little smile you do when you're too sweet to tell someone to fuck off, too shy and polite for your own good.

Oh, absolutely the fuck not.

He strides towards you both, walking past some drunk couple grinding against the wall, stepping over someone's abandoned solo cup. No rush, he's got all the time in the world to make this entertaining, for him at least.

You on the other hand, are trying to catch your breath from the stuffy air when some guy slides up next to you with that icky look in his eyes.

"Hey," he leans against the counter space next to you. "Haven't seen you around before, you new?"

You blink, caught off-guard by the sudden, unwanted interaction. "Uh, no, I—"

"Because I definitely would've remembered a face like yours." He's got this grin plastered on, the kind that probably works on other, but it only makes you want to roll your eyes at how cheesy (cringy) he's being.

"Thanks, I guess?" You shift your weight, scanning around for an escape route, or hoping to maybe find a glimpse of the pink haired psycho you so happen to be dating.

Where the fuck is Sukuna when you need him?

And of course the guy beside you doesn't take a hint. Instead, he steps closer, breathing onto you that beer breath that he's somehow proudly owning. "Let me get you a drink. What're you having?"

"I'm good, actually—"

"C'mon, don't be like that." His hand reaches out to your arm, you're about this close to telling him to walk away when;

"What a pull." The statement is full of sarcasm with just the right amount of mockery laced to it, just to tie the whole thing up.

Before the guy can even turn around, Sukuna's already there, wrapping an arm around the guy's shoulders like they're old buddies, all friendly and giddy. The smile on Sukuna's face is dangerous, giving the him false hope, and making your stomach do that little pleasant flip when you lock eyes with him.

"Bro, what—"

"No, I mean it." Sukuna's grin is all teeth, his canines showing proudly, looking absolutely hot and mean. His fingers dig into the guy's shoulder just a little too hard. "Shooting your shot with her? That's ambitious as hell." He leans in, voice dropping low as if about to give him a piece of advice.

"Do you mind?" The guy isn't moving, his eyes darting between you and Sukuna with a very annoyed frown growing on his face, mad that his 'pull' attempt isn't going as planned.

"If I'm being real with you, I don't think you can manage all that," He gestures vaguely in your direction. His eyes are gleaming with that familiar cockiness, that smugness that makes your stomach do gymnastics even when you're annoyed with him. "it doesn't look like it, but she's a lil' crazy." He whispers the last part, throwing you that devilish wink of his.

The guy's face goes through about five different emotions in two seconds—confusion, realization, and finally embarrassment.

The guy blinks. "Uh—"

You're biting back a smile, arms crossed, watching as your scary boyfriend do his magic.

"Wait, are you—" the guy starts.

Sukuna doesn't let him finish, dropping his arm and turning fully towards you now, eyes scanning you with that familiar mischief. It takes him exactly two steps to reach you, his hand coming up to cup your jaw, thumb pressing into the soft skin of your already flushed cheek, tilting your face up.

"Hey, baby," he hums with a softness that contradict any of the previous act before sliding his lips against yours.

It's sweet, but definitely not the gentle type of sweet, it's unnecessarily filthy.

His tongue slides against yours immediately, getting a taste of his previously forgotten coorse light and the cinnamon gum he's always chewing. His other hand finds your waist, fingers digging into your hip, pulling you flush against him so you can feel every inch of him, quit literally every sinfully hard inch.

You gasp into his mouth but he swallows it whole, deepening the kiss until your knees go weak beneath you. His tongue quit literally fucks into your mouth, giving the bozo a proper show, a little kudo Sukuna grants him for having the guts to try you.

Sukuna cracks one eye open mid way locking eyes with the dude, making sure he was still there, and of course he was, frozen, face red and weirdly turned on?

Sukuna pulls back just enough to peek over at him fully, lips still moving against yours shamelessly, tongue still sliding against your own. Slowly, since being petty is his second nature, he raises his middle finger.

The smirk that spreads across his face is absolutely shit-eating and awfully too proud.

The guy stammers something, finally breaking eye contact with Sukuna before practically tripping over himself trying to leave.

You pull away first with a light slap to his chest, trying to catch your breath. Sukuna on the other side is laughing, eyes hooded, his hooded eyes looking at you too lustfully considering you're still standing in a crowded kitchen.

"You're ridiculous," you breathe, but you're smiling nonetheless.

"Yeah?" he grins. "Think he enjoyed that? He's definitely peeping tom type."

You can only roll your eyes at him, you liked it, having the scary dog privilege wherever you went, with a touch of drama queen blood thrown into the mix.

He slowly slides his index into the loop of your jeans, his thumb pressing right over the hem, ghosting over your skin.

"Now c'mon, the party's boring anyway."

You let him pull you toward the stairs with the hook he had on you, catching the way he glances back once to make sure the guy saw you both.

Always gotta give a petty little show doesn't he?

a little blurb i wrote a while back, life’s chaos rn but it should get better! F1 Sukuna coming next week

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@uzmacchiato for the borders<3

F1 driver Sukuna and his personal assistant who sets up meetings for him and his schedule and follows him around in the most cute (and fitting) outfits! like yknow skirts dresses heels…

one day he just can’t resist, it’s been a long and annoying day of handling Gojo and his team and seeing his pretty little helper in heels and thigh high stockings under those cloths being all professional? well a tan fit and pink haired man such as Sukuna just cant resist! (taking her in said stockings and heels) -3• <3

MDNI; (18+) shameless choso, oral f!receiving (so unedited)

Choso, your reliable plug for the past six months, owner of the most nervous eyes you've ever witnessed, as well as possessor of a crush so obvious it's almost pathetic, the pro at making everything so unnecessarily awkward with you. The kind of awkward where he fumbles your cash, voice cracking mid-sentence, he can barely look at you without his pale cheeks flushing pink for crying out loud.

You've grown fond of it, honestly. It's kinda cute.

You remember the first time you really noticed how bad he had it for you. Some house party a few months back, with one too many shots of cheap vodka in your system, Choso didn’t know it at the time, but it was bad news for him. He'd been nursing the same beer all night, standing in the corner of the crowded room like he was trying to blend into the wallpaper.

"Choso!" you called out, stumbling over to him with a grin that was definitely too wide for the setting. "Didn't know you came to these things!"

He'd frozen like a deer in headlights, beer bottle halfway to his lips. "I—uh—my brother dragged me." as if these parties weren't the place he made most of his profit.

You just hummed, way too buzzed by whatever was in your system, drunk-you had zero impulse control and honestly, you just thought he looked so goddamn kissable. So you grabbed his shoulder for balance and planted a kiss right on his cheek. Just a quick, simple peck that probably smelled absurdly like vodka.

The man had turned the color of a tomato by now, stopped breathing altogether for a solid five seconds.

"You're sweet, you know that?" you'd told him at some point later into the party, words slurring just slightly. Your hand had found its way to his bicep, giving it a squeeze to feel the hidden muscles under his oversized hoodie. "Really sweet., why don't you have a girlfriend?"

He'd made a sound somewhere between a whimper and a laugh. "I—that's, I don't know?"

"Such a gentleman too." You'd been grinning like the devil, enjoying this man's torture way too much. "Bet you'd treat someone real nice, hm Cho?"

His eyes had gone wide and glassy, darting everywhere except your face. Poor thing looked like he might pass out, combust? Maybe both honestly.

"Hold my drink for me?" You handed him your red solo cup, darting to the bathroom without waiting for an answer.

What you didn't see was the way Choso stood there in the corner of that packed living room, completely still, staring down at that cup, at the lip gloss stain on the rim to be precis, the exact spot where your mouth had been last.

He'd looked around, almost guilty, checking if anyone was watching. Then, slowly, he rotated the cup in his hands until that mark was facing him. His thumb brushing over it, smudging it slightly.

This was pathetic, this was so pathetic. But he couldn't help himself—he brought the cup to his own lips, positioning it so his mouth touched the exact same spot yours had been moments before.

He'd taken the smallest sip, his tired eyes fluttering closed like he was trying some sweet expensive wine instead of shitty party liquor.

When you came back you'd just taken it and kept talking like nothing happened, completely oblivious to the fact that this man had just had what was probably a religious experience with your backwash.

Yeah, he had it bad.

The next time you saw him was at another party two weeks later, you'd texted him earlier asking if he could meet you there with your usual, and of course he'd agreed with an embarrassing number of thumbs-up emojis.

You found him in the kitchen, looking just as out of place as always, backpack slung over one shoulder, hair up in those usual messy buns, dark hued eyes scanning the room, obviously looking for you.

"My savior," you declared, wrapping an arm around his shoulders, making him go rigid under your touch, but he didn't pull away, why would he anyways? You were so close he could practically taste your perfume.

He fumbled in his bag, handing you your stuff with shaky hands. "It's, um—same as always—"

"You know what?" The idea hit you with the perfect clarity that three White Claws provided. You leaned against the sticky counter, grin spreading on your lips as you approached his ear. "What if instead of paying you... I gave you a kiss?"

You were joking, well mostly. The kind of joke that was maybe twenty percent serious, the type you try out just to see the outcome really.

But that got his brain fizzing. "I—what—you—"

"I'm kidding, Cho—"

"Yes."

The word came out so fast you barely had time to process it. Almost too desperate, and waaay too sincere.

"...Yeah?"

He nodded, his head working overtime to not run away completely from the situation. "Yeah."

Well. Fuck.

You'd expected him to stammer, to backtrack, for this to turn into something awkward and maybe funny? Not for him to agree like you'd just offered him water in the desert.

"Guess we have a deal."

You meant for it to be quick, a peck, just like at the last party, payment rendered and done.

But the second your lips touched his, Choso made this sound—this soft, whiny little noise in the back of his throat, while his hands came up to cup your face as if he finally got ahold of that precious treasure everyone's been chasing after.

Then he kissed you, really kissed you. Deep, messy and starved. His tongue slid against yours with the subtle retractions that left you enough space to gasp out for some air, your fingers twisting in his shirt to pull him closer in response.

Soon you were dragging him through the packed house until you found a free corner in the living room, half-hidden behind a dying fiddle-leaf fig and a speaker that was threatening everyone's hearing.

The second you stopped, Choso was on you again. Backing you against the wall, one hand braced beside your head, while the other slid to your waist, he couldn't help himself. He's been dreaming of this, he might be a reserved mess, but he wasn't letting that one go.

"Y'taste good," he mumbled against your lips, barely pulling back enough to speak.

His confidence was surprising, or maybe it wasn't confidence at all, maybe it was just his desperation dressed up as it. His mouth moved against yours like he'd been studying, he'd actually thought about it so many times that now that it was happening, muscle memory just took over.

And fuck, he was good at it. Sloppy in the best way, these needy little sounds of his vibrated against your lips. When you tried to catch your breath, he chased your mouth, tilting your chin up with his thumb to get a better angle.

"Cho—" you started, but he cut you off with tongue sweeping against your bottom lip with this filthy slowness that made your knees weak, when you gasped against him, he swallowed the sound right back up, pressing you harder against the wall. His hips rolling forward, you could feel how hard he was through his jeans, he was completely shameless.

Your hands found their way into his hair—that dark, messy hair you'd been so curious about, giving it a little tug that had his eyes rolling back with a throaty groan.

"Fuck," you breathed against his mouth. "Choso—"

One party turned into two, two turned into a regular thing. Kisses became heated makeouts, and soon became hands under clothes in dark corners. Every single time, Choso looked at you like you were giving him his biweekly hit, just enough to keep the addiction going.

Then came the first time he got you off, his fingers working wonders between your legs in his car after a party, your hand clamped over your mouth to stay quiet, very much aware of all the people who were technically too drunk to even notice.

His eyes went dark when you came, lips parted and jaw slack as he watched you squirm on the backseat of his car. He brought his fingers to his mouth after almost instantly, tasting you on his tongue with the lewdest moan, almost on the edge of a whine.

His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, hair hanging in two loose buns from your miserable attempt at taking control. The makeup he had around his eyes slightly smudged, but in just the right way, a hot fucking mess.

And shit did that get your head spinning.

Plus, you never had to pay for anything ever again, the boy was completely and utterly whipped for you, and knowing he managed to make you feel good, was enough of a payment for him.

You were a winner in this honesty, having someone sooo willing to make you feel good, then getting good stock afterwards?

Heaven really.

"Wanna go in the car?" he'd whisper against your neck at parties, his hand sliding up your thigh. "Y’order’s there, made it extra special this time." His eyes scanned your face, with that same worried look he always held, as if you would deny him. “I’ll do it the way you like it please.”

And he meant it. You could see it in the way he'd drop to his knees for you in bathroom stalls, in his car, in his bedroom, anywhere honestly. The way he'd work you over with his mouth all over, paired with his fingers like it was his sole purpose in life, getting you off got him off.

Your pleasure was the only payment he'd ever need.

Now, a month later, your third orgasm’s building impossibly fast on the heels of the second, on his couch—well, technically his face, your knees digging into the soft cushion on either sides of his head, your shirt rucked up and panties discarded somewhere on his floor.

"Choso—baby—too much—" You let out a breathless laugh as you looked down at the dark haired man. Your thighs were shaking over him, the throbbing between your legs awfully obvious against his tongue.

He pulls back just enough to speak, lips shiny and swollen. "One more." His pupils are blown wide, his hair undone from the previous messy makeout. "S’not payed in full yet. Now sit.”

"You're insane—" The words dissolve into a moan as he seals his mouth over your clit once more, acting like a fucking rose toy, sucking and flicking his tongue right onto your abused bundle of nerve, your vision going white for a second.

He hums against you, the vibration making you jerk up, which only resulted in his hands sliding from your thighs to your ass, pulling you down harder against his face. Like he wants to drown in you, plus honestly, he'd die happy if it were the case.

"Shtop hovering," his words are muffled and slurred against your dripping core. "wasting it all—"

Your hand flies to the back of the couch, while the other tangles in his hair, either pulling him in or pushing him away, you’re not even sure yourself honestly, but that didn’t matter considering how loudly he moaned against the touch, the sound almost pathetic and muffled badly against your pussy.

"There—right there—fuck, Cho—"

He doesn’t let go, his tongue working you with single-minded focus. His hand leaving your ass, that’s when you realize with a jolt of heat that he's touching himself. Getting off on this, on you completely falling apart above him.

That does it, the sight of Choso so desperate, so turned on and straining just from eating you out, so much he can't help but touch himself to catch some relief—

You come with a cry that's probably too loud for the neighbouring apartments, shaking thighs clamping around his head as pleasure rolls almost painfully through you.

He works you through it, kissing your inner thighs as he drew small circles on your goosebump covered skin as you shake and gasp above him.

“Did so good.” He praises, reaching for the joint that was resting above his ear and bringing it to your mouth with a proud grin.

You’ll forever praise yourself for coming up with this payment plan.

yummy plug choso for a good start of the week

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@uzmacchiato for the borders<3

👀👀

there’s more ways then just humor.. a little jester can pleasure her king yknow yknow…

King!Sukuna x Jester!Reader —Based on this scrumptious request <3

MDNI; power imbalance, giving head, degrading, somewhat public

The throne room echoes with nothing but the dying crackle of torchlight. Your latest jest, something about a monk and a cursed spirit, lands with all the grace of a corpse hitting stone.

King Ryomen Sukuna stares down at you from his throne, his eyes burning holes into your head, but there's also that mischievous, almost amused glint in his eyes. The one that always came before someone gets eviscerated, hung, or lost in the depth of the castle's dungeon.

"That's it?" His voice rumbles through the throne room. "That's what you call entertainment, fool?"

Around the periphery of the throne room, servants continue their work; polishing armor, arranging scrolls. They don't look directly at you, they wouldn't dare look in Sukuna's direction except if they were compelled to, yet you can feel their attention, everyone knew when the king's jester failed.

You swallow hard, the bells on your cap jingling softly as you shift your weight. The painted smile on your face suddenly feeling overwhelming under his daggered glare.

"My King—"

"Pathetic." He cuts you off with a wave of his clawed hand, lifting his chin up at you. "I've seen corpses with more wit. Tell me, jester—did you practice being this terrible, or does it come with the bells?"

Something shifts in your chest, it's a risk, an awfully dangerous risk.

But you take it, you drop to your knees without a second thought.

The sound of your body hitting the stone floor echoes through the hall, Sukuna's eyebrows raise—his crimson eyes widening with genuine delight.

"Oh?" His grin widens. "Have something else to offer?"

"Perhaps," you hum, crawling forward until you're positioned right between his spread thighs, shaking hands sliding up the thick muscle of his legs, "there are other ways I can entertain my king."

His laugh is rich, genuinely amused. "Bold little thing, aren't you? Finally figured out you're god awful at telling jokes?"

A servant near the far wall drops something, probably from your bold gesture, catching Sukuna’s attention for a second.

"I live to serve." Your fingers work at the leather of his pants, looking up at him through your pretty painted lashes. "Let me prove my worth, my lord. I've disappointed with my comedy, let me demonstrate what better use this mouth has."

"I hope so, for your sake at least," he muses, reaching down to flick one of the bells on your cap. "As of now what a terrible jester you are. Worst I've ever had walk my halls."

His hand moves making you flinch, to you, or rather towards your hat. His fingers curl around the pointed tip of your jester's cap, gripping the fabric with his claws digging in, only to yank your head back so he can have a better look at your miserably painted face.

"You think you can handle me, jester?" His voice drops to, the singing tune from previously’s gone. "You think that fool’s throat of yours can take what I'll give it?"

"Yes," you breathe, meaning it. "I wouldn’t want to waste your time anymore than I’ve already did my Lord."

He releases his grip on your hat just long enough for you to free his cock, surprisingly already half-hard and growing harder under your gloved touch. The sheer size of it makes your breath catch, your thighs clenching together beneath your motley skirts.

He leans back against the throne, spreading his legs wider, one hand draped lazily over the armrest while the other rests on his thigh, blood eyes looking down at you with a very amused shine to them. The stance of a king waiting to be entertained.

"Well then," he drawls, cocking his head to the side. "Show me what you've got, Jester. Let's see if you have any talent at all."

You don't need to be told twice.

Your red painted lips part, tongue extending enough the swipe at the tip before taking him into your mouth at your own pace. The bells on your cap jingle softly as you work him deeper, watching his expression shift.

"I see," he hisses, but he's still laughing, entirely too pleased with the scene unraveling before him. "Look at you, finally found your calling, hmm? Should've had you on your knees from the start instead of wasting my time with those godawful jokes."

You hollow your cheeks, sucking just the tip, rewarding you with a groan from his Majesty himself. One hand braces against his muscled thigh, the other wrapped around the bottom of his length as you badly tried to work him deeper, jaw already aching from the stretch.

Oh but he won’t be gentle.

His hand hand finds it’s way to your cap, fingers tightening around the sharp point and your hair from underneath it, and he pulls.

Using it like a handle to force you down further, cock hitting the back of your throat and making you gag from the sudden intrusion. The bells jingle frantically with the movement, ringing through the hall with the wet sounds of your throat. Drool spills down your chin, tears pricking at your eyes, but you don't pull away, don’t want to. Even if you wanted to, you simply can’t pull away.

"Choking on your King like the desperate little thing, is that what you're actually good at? Seems the fool has harlot tendencies.” He seems unfazed, laughing at his own words.

You try to make some sound of agreement, but all that comes out is a wet, garbled "mmph—" as he thrusts deeper.

"What was that?" He teases, pulling you off just enough to let you gasp, makeup starting to drool down your face. "Can't hear you over the sound of you finally doing something right."

Your throat convulses around him as he pushes back in, the sensation of your throat clenching around him makes him curse—filthy and entirely too pleased.

The bells jingle with every movement. A humiliating soundtrack.

"That's it," he pants, grip tightening on the fabric. "Who knew my worst jester would make the best cock sleeve?"

Spit and pre-cum drip down your chin, your makeup runs in dark streaks down your cheeks. You're an obscene mess for your majesty, but you know just how good you’re doing by from the way his eyes darken and roll back with every flick of your tongue.

"Hah—good girl," the praise sends a jolt of pleasure straight to your core despite the degradation. "Finally earning your keep. You're going to swallow every drop I give you. Understood? Consider it payment for all those shit jests."

You can't speak, but your eyes, watery and way too pleading let’s him know just how bad you want to please him. Your hands working overtime, twisting, pulling, desperately trying to give him that bliss he deserves.

His pace turns frantic, both hands now grip your jester's cap, using it as handles to control you completely, chasing his own pleasure while you struggle and gag and drool around him.

The bells from your outfit create a frantic rhythm. Your jaw aches, your throat burns, your knees scream against the stone floor.

It's perfect.

"Fuck—" His hips stutter, and then he's coming with a low groan that echoes through the chamber, with a euphoric like hitch at the end.

Hot, thick cum floods your mouth and throat, some spilling out, dripping messily down your chin and neck, staining the collar of your motley.

He holds you there by your hat until he's completely satisfied, until every last drop has been wrung from him, and only then does he release the fabric.

You collapse back on your heels, gasping for air. Your jester's cap sits crooked on your head, bells hanging limply.

For a long moment, there's only the sound of your ragged breathing and his satisfied exhale. The quiet shuffle of servants pretending they weren't paying attention, some probably even got some enjoyment from this little show.

You wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, smearing paint and cum and spit across your face, and look up at him with a proud grin.

"Better than my jokes, my lord?"

Sukuna stares down at your disheveled, filthy self, kneeling at his feet with that ridiculous hat askew—and he laughs, a genuine, delighted laugh at that.

"Much better." He reaches down to straighten your cap almost mockingly. "Congratulations, jester. You've finally found something you're not completely terrible at."

He leans back in his throne, looking thoroughly satisfied, gesturing lazily at the servants as he fixes himself back up. "Hopefully you all paid attention, my little fool here just gave their best performance yet."

You bow your head, bells jingling softly, heat flooding your cheeks at the sudden awareness of the few people circling the room.

"I live to serve, my king."

"Oh, you'll be serving plenty from now on," his voice drips with amusement, "Though, do keep trying with the jokes—watching you fail is almost as entertaining as this."

oh boy do i love me a little jester x royalty, also two updates in a week whaaat

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@uzmacchiato for the borders:)

hallelujah ineeeed🤧

MDNI: handjob, hand kink

Satoru walks in the salon, slapping his black credit card onto the counter without even asking for the price, since he honestly didn’t care, only thing that mattered to him was that his beautiful partner got pampered the way they deserved. The nail tech doesn't even blink anymore when you both walk in, this being the second appointment that Satoru had booked already this month.

"Almond shape," he says, leaning against the counter with that smile full of charm. "aaand, that color." He points to a deep red in the color display, the kind that looks like expensive wine or blood under certain lighting and depending on where your mind’s at. Not the baby pink you'd suggested, and of course not the cute lavender that's trending everywhere.

"I’m paying, least you could do is let me choose," he says in his defence when you raise an eyebrow at him, but how could you stay annoyed when he looks like that; crisp white button-up with the sleeves rolled to his forearms, clean-pressed pants that probably cost more than the average person's rent to get done, and those rectangular glasses perched on his nose that make him look like some gorgeously hot executive who just stepped out of a boardroom.

This whole look right now screamed rich dad who coaches his kid's soccer team and makes all the other parents want to be him or do him. He's even got that confident which made every word he said sound like the best, genuine idea for some reason.

He catches you staring from over the lens and grins wider, pushing back up those same glasses with two fingers. That alone shouldn’t have made your knees week like it just did.

You settle into the salon chair, and of course he sits beside you, watching the tech work with that look that's frankly a little too intense for a nail appointment. He's making sure the way she shapes each nail turns out the exact way he envisioned it, even nodded in approval as the red lacquer goes on glossy and dark. When she adds the top coat, he actually leans forward while pulling his glasses down for a better view (as if he wasn’t seeing them in 6D already).

"Make sure they're extra smooth," he tells her, you honestly have to bite your lip to keep from laughing.

He's not slick. He's never been slick about this.

And after each appointment, you find out just how not slick he is.

"Let me see," Satoru breathes, catching your wrist the moment you're alone and back at his place. He brings your hand up to his face, examining those almond-shaped nails like they're precious gems, or even as a piece of art he just neatly completed. The red looks almost black in the dim bedroom light, his thumb brushes against the smooth surface with an approving hum.

He sits back on the edge of the bed, thighs spread, button-up hanging open to reveal the lean muscle of his chest and stomach. His belt is still threaded through the loops of his dress pants, the expensive fabric pulling tight over the obvious bulge straining against it.

"Come here," he nearly he breathes out, chest heaving already just from the sight of you.

You step between his legs, and his hands immediately find your hips, pulling you closer so that his chin nearly touched your chest as he looks up at you. But you push him back gently, sinking to your knees instead, the sharp inhale he takes as he watches you go down is delicious.

Your newly manicured fingers work at his belt first, the leather easily slides free while Satoru watches you work on him with straight up hunger. You pop the button of his pants, then drag the zipper down slowly, looking up at him through thick lashes, he’s how you imagined he’d look right about now, lips parted with his tongue sticking out from concentration, pupils blown wide and that red blush creeping up his neck and ears.

"You're killing me," he mutters.

"Impatient," you hum, but you're just as eager.

You reach into the open fly, fingers wrapping around him through the thin fabric of his boxers, his throbbing length already twitching against your palm. You take this opportunity and drag your nails with the lightest of pressure against his strained bulge.

A sharp, broken gasp tears from his throat, his hips jerking up trying to chase the feeling, his hands fly to grip the edge of the bed, knuckles going white as he wrapped his fingers around the bedsheet.

"Fuck—" The word comes out strangled, nearing a pained moan, and when you glance up at him his eyes are squeezed shut, jaw clenched so tight you can see it working overtime, head thrown back making his white hair fall away from his forehead.

"Too much?" you ask innocently, dragging your nails back down the length of him through the fabric.

"No—god, never too much." He forces his eyes open, and the look he gives you is beautifully wrecked. "please do it again."

Of course you comply, although slower this time, letting each glossy red nail catch and drag against the fabric and the bulging veins visible through the fabric, tracing the outline of him through his boxers. The fabric is already damp at the tip, a dark spot spreading where he's shamelessly leaking.

"You like that?" you purr, and he nods frantically, beyond words now, his breathing coming in short, almost pathetic gasps.

"Feel so fucking good,—ah—" You scratch lightly again, this time reaching the hem of his boxers and sliding the tip of your fingers in, making his whole body shudders.

You slowly reach in further, pulling his cock out into the cool air of the bedroom, the sight of those glossy red nails against his heated pale skin makes the heat growing between your legs intensify, your thighs pressing together.

Satoru groans, a long filthy groan, his head tipping back as your fingers circle the tip properly for the first time tonight.

You get it now, the visual of your pretty manicured fingers wrapped around him, the contrast of that deep red against his flushed skin. He mostly seemed to enjoy the way those smooth, but still slightly sharp tips felt when you dragged them along the underside of his shaft, twitching up and slapping his toned stomach each time you reached the bottom.

"You're so obvious," you laugh lightly as you wrap your hand around him fully, starting with slooow strokes.

"Hah— what’bout it," he pants, his hips moving up into your grip, his eyes are locked on your hand, on those perfect nails he chose himself. "y’look so fucking good, worth every—ah—every penny."

You tighten your grip, pumping him faster now, letting your nails drag along his skin with each downstroke. Pre-cum beads at his tip? when there was enough you used your thumb to spread it around, making everything slick and glossy, with a lil’extra help from your spit.

"Making a mess," you fake whined, twisting your wrist on the upstroke once you reached his reddened tip, making his abs clench with a broken moan. "Getting my pretty new nails all dirty ‘Toru."

"Shit am I? M’so sorry but —ngh," he babbles, his cock throbbing in your grip as you squeeze him lightly, his swollen tip leaking more with every word. "but I wanna see my cum all over those —fuck— those pretty nails, baby, please—"

You add your other hand to the party, one working his shaft while the other cups his balls, rolling them gently as those manicured nails scrape lightly against the thin sensitive skin there.

His whole body jerks, a broken moan tearing from his throat as he forces his eyes open to look at you through wet white lashes.

"Close, 'm so fucking close," he whines, you can feel him pulsing, getting harder, thicker in your grip. "Don't stop sweets, don't—ah, fuck—"

Satoru looks like he might come from the sight alone.

"Next time I want stiletto," he gasps out, already planning the next appointment as you drag your thumb along the bottom of his cock. "Sharper, add a few —ngh!— swarovskis on them—"

He comes with your name on his lips and a broken gasp as his cum paints those pretty red nails white, dripping down your fingers and onto his flushed skim. His eyes glazed over as he watches you stroke him dry, leaking over those pretty hands of yours, mesmerized by his own creation.

Before you can fully process his orgasm he's already reaching for his phone, pulling up the salon's booking app.

“Baby, how’bout we add a pedicure to your appointment?”

can’t wait to be writing smut on the side of the beach this summer

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MDNI: based on this request <3 :dry humping, satoru being somewhat needy

Click.

Satoru's eyes snapped open, that devastating blue gaze zeroing in on you with laser focus. "Did you just—"

"No idea what you're talking about." You're already pulling your phone close to your chest, grinning like you've gotten away with one of your best coup.

But you absolutely haven’t.

"Liar," he drawls, and before you can even think about scrambling away, his hand shoots out and plucks your phone right out of your grasp without any type of struggle. "Let's see what we have here, hmm?"

"Satoru, give it back—"

He's holding it high above his head, that insufferable smirk spreading across his face as he lounges back against the pillows. The bastard looks like some kind of god reclining on a cloud, his grey sweatpants hanging low on his hips with his shirt messily ridden up from sleep, white hair mussed up and looking absolutely edible.

Which is exactly why you took the photo in the first place, this was truly a sight to keep in memory.

"Come and get it if y’want it so bad," he sing-songs, waving your phone tauntingly.

You narrow your eyes. "You're such a child."

"And you're a little creep, taking photos of me while I'm sleeping." His grin widens. "What were you gonna do with that, huh? Add it to your collection?"

Heat floods your cheeks. You didn’t have an official collection, no, but you should consider it at this point with the hundreds of pics you had of your boyfriend. "I don't have one"

"Sure you don't." He's enjoying this far too much, the smug asshole.

Fine.

You shift onto your knees, eyeing the distance between you and your phone. He's got his arm stretched up, and even lying down, his reach is annoyingly long, but you're not about to let him win this.

"You asked for this," you mutter, reaching up toward the phone.

He just laughs as you stretch, your body arching upward. "Getting desperate, are we?"

"Satoru, I swear—"

You're climbing onto his lap, your knees settle on either side of his hips, your focus is entirely on that phone dangling above you—so close, just a little higher—

"Oh, come on—" you huff, stretching upward. Your chest is pressed against him as you reach up, but you barely notice, too focused on your poor phone.

He could only laugh at your failing attempt, pushing his hair back with his free hand. "What's wrong? Can't reach?"

You rock forward on his lap, using the momentum to push yourself higher. Your fingers brush the edge of the phone case.

His breath hitches, his smirk faltering slightly, but of course you don't notice.

You freeze for a split second, then push up again, grinding against him as you stretch. So close.

"You can—" His voice comes out strained. "You can do better than that."

You glance down at him, confused by his tone but assumed that he was just being his usual taunting self. "Oh, I'll show you better—"

You shift your weight to have a better grounding, rocking against his lap as you make another grab for the phone. The angle gives you more height, more reach, just as you're about to touch it your swing gets complete disturbed by Satoru’s loud, obnoxious, moan.

You stop immediately, hands dropping to his chest as concern floods through you. "Wait—Satoru, are you okay? Did I hurt you?"

That's when you feel it.

Oh.

He's hard—achingly hard—pressed right up against you through his sweatpants, hot and throbbing beneath you, and suddenly his breathlessness made perfect sense.

"Well shit,” He lets out a tight laugh, cheeks flushed red as his free hand comes up to grip your hip, keeping you pressed right on him. "D-Don’t stop—" His hips buck up, seeking that tasty friction. "M'so close already—"

Your face is burning, feeling yourself getting worked up from his lewd expression only. "Are you for real—"

"Don't you dare stop now." He warns, that infamous Gojo Satoru, always so in control—reduced to this trembling hard mess beneath you all because you wiggled a bit on his lap.

"I didn't mean to—" you stammer, but his grip on your hip tightens, keeping you firmly in place, your phone now hanging loosely in his hand.

"Sure you didn’t." That grin returns, still very devastating despite the flush spreading up his neck now. His eyes are half-lidded, pupils blown wide and making sure to look at all of you. "Just a little more?"

"Satoru—"

He rocks his hips up against you, and you gasp at the delicious friction, so so close yet so far. "Come on baby, you can’t keep grinding that perfect ass like that right on my and—fuck—"

His head falls back against the pillow as you shift slightly, your body responding as your mind tries to catch up.

Both his hands grip your hip now, your phone long forgotten somewhere on the bed, guiding you into a slow roll against him. "There you go, just like that—"

You bite your lip trying to suppress a whimper, and his grin turns absolutely feral.

"That's my girl." His voice drops with a whine. "Keep going, please." He’s looking at you with those puppy eyes, a glint of dare shining through.

Your hands are still braced against his chest, clenching around the fabric of his black shirt; you can feel his heart hammering beneath your palms. He's completely at your mercy despite his cocky attitude, which is honestly no surprise to you.

You roll your hips deliberately this time, grinding down onto his throbbing length with purpose, tearing a low groan from his throat.

"Yes—god, just like that," His fingers dig into your hips, guiding your movements as his hips buck up to meet you. "Don't stop, don't you fucking stop— come’ere"

His hand slides up under your shirt from behind, palm hot against your bare skin as he yanks you down flush against him.

"fuck, right there—"

The angle shifts and suddenly he's grinding directly against your core. The sudden shift had you panting over him, catching your clit just right through your pyjamas.

"That's it, baby, grind on my cock just like that—" Both hands grip you possessively now—one still beneath your shirt, nails dragging down your spine, making sure to keep your body pressed against him, the other digging bruises into your hip as he rocks you against him with desperate, filthy strokes. "Hah…you feel so fucking good—"

He buries his face in the crook of your neck, mouth opening and dragging against your skin, tongue laving over the sensitive flesh before his teeth scrape and bite. "Fuck you look good with those—hah—"

You can already feel the bruises forming—deep purple proof of his tiny obsession with you.

"Satoru—oh god—"

Your fingers twist in his shirt, holding on as he grinds you down harder. The friction is absolutely maddening, you can feel it now—the wet spot forming on his sweatpants, hot and slick where his cock is leaking through the fabric.

"Say it again—" He groans against your neck, sucking another bruise right below your ear. "Say my name again baby please.”

You roll your hips to counter his thrusts, giving him right back what he’s been giving you.

“‘Toru, need more–“

You feel him throb against you, hands and arms holding you down on him like a body pillow. "Fuck—keep doing that—"

The hand under your shirt slides around to your front, grabbing, groping, anything he can reach. "So fucking perfect—ngh—gonna come—" The wet heat of his bulge is absolutely sinful even through layers of fabric.

"Gonna make me—shit—" His teeth sink into your shoulder as his whole body goes buckles beneath you. "Sweets oh fuck—"

You feel him pulse against your sensitive core, your own hips never stopping their long and steady strokes, his cock jerking as he spills into his sweatpants with a long, broken moan muffled against your skin. "Yes—fuck yes—keep going—hah—"

He’s rolling his hips against yours in contrast, smearing his mess everywhere—being extremely bold absolutely filthy about it. He's twitching against you, soaking through the fabric as he rides it out.

"Fuck—" He's gasping, trembling, still clutching you against him like a support plushie.

His chest heaves against yours, breath coming in ragged pants against your neck. You can feel his heart absolutely hammering, matching the frantic rhythm of your own.

"Fucking hell sweets," he breathes, his grip on you loosens just slightly, hands sliding down to rest more gently on your hips.

He lifts his head from your neck, those blue eyes unfocused and hazy, still drunk on his release until his eyes land on yours. "What?"

"My phone." You're already patting around the rumpled sheets beside him, trying to ignore the mess between your thighs and the way he's still half-hard beneath you. "Where'd you drop it?"

"You're—" He lets out an incredulous laugh, head falling back against the pillow. "You're asking about your phone right now?"

"Yes?" You shift off his lap, and he makes a wounded sound at the loss of contact.

"Unbelievable." But he's grinning now, that satisfied cat-like expression as he watches you search. "I just came in my pants because of you and you're worried about your phone?"

Your fingers close around it, wedged between the pillow and headboard. "Found it!"

"Of course you did." He's propped up on his elbows now, watching you with pure amusement. "What's so important that you—"

Click.

His jaw drops. "Did you just take another picture?"

You're already scrambling off the bed, phone clutched protectively to your chest this time. "Payment for not helping me finish, you gentlemen."

"Oh, you think you're clever—" He's already moving, swinging his legs off the bed despite the obvious obstacle. "Get back here—"

But you're already halfway to the door, laughing as you hear him stumble—still shaky-legged and sensitive, cursing under his breath in the process.

idk why i struggled so much with this but i did ahhh, i might be going through a writer's block (i hope not cuz holy shit)

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