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Your Secret Admirer ; A Valentine's Day Special

feat. TA! Nanami, Frat Boy! Sukuna, Dealer! Toji, Art Major! Choso, Valedictorian! Geto, Swim Captain! Gojo.

“My Orchid,” The letter began; flowery paper crinkling. “There’s so many things I’ve been dying to tell you.” Your tongue darts out to wet your lips: “But I don’t think you’re ready yet.”

You’ve been receiving love letters under your dorm room door from a secret admirer. They arrive sporadically—just cute confessions complimenting your hair, the way you smell, the small details about you no one else notices. As time passes, the short, sweet messages culminate into the latest—and steamiest—letter yet, confessing everything they want to do to you. You go mad. Desperate to uncover the culprit, you’re willing to do anything to find them; even if that means sleeping with the six most irresistible guys on campus.

cw: fem! reader, she/her pronouns, mentions of alcohol/weed, unprotected sex, fingering, cream pie, pussy-eating, squirting, slight voyeurism, multiple orgasms, marathon sex, reader loses their virginity (gego), virginity is a social construct, threesome (gego), spanking (nanami), domming (sukuna), ropeplay/shibari (sukuna), bdsm-ish sex (sukuna), sex toys (sukuna), car sex (toji), one single use of the word slut (toji), biting (choso), allusions to a prey/predator dynamic (choso), implied virgin! choso, premature ejaculation (choso)... i hope that covers everything lol

ac: happy valentine's day ! please give me your thoughts in the comments, reblogs are always appreciated ! hugs xx

wc: 16.2k

It was a random Tuesday morning when you found your first letter. You were running late to class that day—your cardigan already slipping off your shoulder after just putting it on. Both ankle socks were dirty from the day before, hair neglected and tangled from a rough night’s sleep. You skipped on one foot to slip your shoe on while locating your calculus textbook in tandem. You heard the crinkle beneath your toes before you felt it. You paused, your frantic rush coming to an abrupt stop. You planted your lifted foot before moving the other, a soft crumple following the action and revealing a neatly folded piece of notepaper. The stationary was unfamiliar to your eyes. You didn’t inspect it for long. Bending over to pick it up, you placed it into your pants pocket before sliding on your other shoe and taking off for class.

You didn’t open it until your next down time and what you found you were not expecting. The smooth paper caressed your finger tips as you unfolded the neatly pleated note. Each methodical fold held reason behind it, not a single crease without intention.

“My Orchid,”

The letter opened and the entire library stilled with you. You weren’t sure what to expect, but it definitely wasn’t this.

“I’ve been wanting to tell you how I’ve felt about you for some time.”

Your throat dries, a hard swallow following up the sensation.

“But I’m terrified you won’t feel the same; and I don’t know what I would do if I lost you.”

The quiet wooshing of the fan above you became deafening. A student coughed nearby and you jumped in response. What the hell is this?

“So for now, I’ll write you these letters every time I want to tell you.”

“With Love,

Yours”

You thought it had to be a joke. Just someone from your dorm toying with people’s feelings to ease the ache of boredom—but more letters followed the first. They complimented things about you that you hadn’t even noticed about yourself. Like:

“I love the way your nose crinkles when you laugh too hard.”

Other notes waxed poetics about you in a way that should have been unsettling if it wasn’t so heart-clenchingly romantic.

“You smell like the first rain of spring. Your smile feels like the sun after a bitter cold.”

You found yourself looking forward to each new letter that came; somehow always appearing during the time you were away—or asleep. It was almost like they knew your exact schedule. What time you woke, when you would be in class, and the exact moment your eyes shut at night.

The letters began to consume you. It was an obsession you couldn’t fight no matter how hard you tried. Each line of ink fed your curiosity. Each declaration quenched a primal thirst, but not without consequence; the wait between each note became more and more unbearable and every time you opened another it just left you craving more. Like a beast starved.

Somehow you managed to hold on—until the latest letter placed under your door. This time you heard the note sliding under the crack; the hushed pfft sound of paper crinkling causing you to fly out of bed. You crossed your bedroom in just two steps, swinging your door open so violently the knob struck the adjacent wall. You didn’t even notice, too occupied with frantically scanning the halls. They were barren, devoid of any sign of life and you let out a groan—you were so close to catching them red handed. So close, yet just out of reach. You sauntered back into your room, begrudgingly picking up the latest update from your secret admirer; and what you found threw whatever semblance of control you had right out the window.

“My Orchid,”

It began like always. The nickname grew on you more and more each passing day.

“I’m sorry for what I’m about to say.”

“Don’t be,” you respond aloud without thinking.

“I need you.”

Your breath hitches. The usual airy strokes were now dark—you could tell from the blown out ink that he was pressing on the paper too hard. Like he was unable to restrain himself any longer.

“You walked past me today; I smelled the sweetness of your shampoo and it’s lingered in my nostrils ever since. And I’ve been so hard. Forgive me, but it hurts. It hurts how much I need you... Would you let me have you?”

You’re nodding at the parchment between your shaky hands. A new line begins:

“All of you?”

It’s toe-curling how he’s saying too much but not enough. He’s dancing around the topic, telling you his desires without giving you the details you craved. This type of teasing was dangerous. His words spoke to you, leaving you lingering on each tantalizing syllable.

He wanted you. Not just you—all of you. The unrestrained cursive melted your resolve. For good this time.

“Would you give me that? Allow me to devour what doesn’t belong to me? Would you grant an undeserving man like me the right to consume you? Forgive me. You probably hate me.”

Never a more untrue word had been spoken. You wouldn’t just allow him to, you would beg him to.

“Please, don’t hate me, little orchid.”

“Yours.”

Valedictorian! Geto and Swim Captain! Gojo

From that day forth you were like a corpse upright, somewhere between the dead and the living. A cold sheen of sweat dewed your paling skin, your eyes dulled in contemplation. Your friends were the first to notice the alarming changes.

You almost didn’t hear him over the cacophony of sound in your university’s cafeteria. “You gonna eat that?” Gojo asks, hungrily eyeing the dessert on your tray. You shake your head weakly, pushing it forward for him to swipe. The sweetness of the treat spreads across his tastebuds and he hums in ecstasy.

“You good?” your more observant friend asks.

“I’m fine,” you tell him, all though you can hear just how unconvincing you sound. “Really, Suguru,” you add for good measure. His fox-like eyes squint at you, offended by the obvious lie.

“Spit it out already,” your white-haired friend says, bored. Licking a dollop of cream off his thumb before continuing, “You’re not convincing anyone.”

“I’m just… distracted.” The two boys look at each other before turning to you, clearly unimpressed with your response. You felt bad, keeping this little secret from your two closest friends. You just didn’t want to burden them with your lame relationship drama. If you could even call it that.

Satoru and Suguru were the two golden boys of your campus: both conquering their field of interest respectfully. Satoru was the captain of your swim team—his backstroke broke the school’s longest held record, earning him the deserving title of Riptide. He was unstoppable among the chlorine, dragging down the competition with minimal effort. He conquered every stroke he attempted, breaking records and dreams left and right. He was a machine—no a god—who conquered the water like he created it himself. As deadly as any shark. His insane wingspan was perfect for propelling his body through the waves and his never ending muscles broke through the surface of any pool effortlessly.

His skill and incredibly good looks (you had to admit the latter was true, albeit begrudgingly) turned the swim team into the talk of the campus. No longer was football the only sport people cared about; the entire campus flooded the student section of every game. The sea of signs boasting Gojo as ‘Riptide’ made it almost impossible to watch his heats. Suguru and you were always stuck to suffer in the nosebleed sections, forced to hear your peers' thirst over your fondest friend. Satoru held no qualms about feeding into it too, showing off for the crowd that came just for him. He would pose between each set, muscles flexing for the barrage of camera flashes that followed his every movement. The pool supplied an endless amount of dewy droplets that dripped down the crevices of his abs, down down down his perfect body. Even in that ridiculous speedo, with his swim cap on too tight, pulling his eyebrows back—his bright blue goggles coming down to cover his matching eyes; you had to admit he looked utterly flawless. And when he would finish his final lap 20 whole seconds before everyone else, the room would burst into cheers. Satoru threw his goggles and cap onto the pool side, a faint imprint left by his goggles never failing to surround his cerulean eyes, a cocky smile tagging along; it was nauseating to look at. He was nauseating to look at.

Satoru alone earned the school thousands in merch sales. People from towns over flocked to buy shirts with his number on them, selling them out in mere hours. There was never a time where he wasn’t mentioned somewhere in the school’s newspaper, nor did they pass up the opportunity to put him on the cover of every school pamphlet. His face was unavoidable. His ego stood no chance.

Similarly, there was your friend Suguru Geto—all though he was infinitely more humble. Named valedictorian of your large high school, Geto was on the path to follow that up at your even larger university. He was a part of every club, even ones you had never heard of. Dominating robotics, debate, chess, student government, science outreach, and probably even more that you didn’t know like it was no sweat off his back. You honestly weren’t sure how he kept up with any of it; but he did so flawlessly. Everyone knew him too since he wasn’t just a nerd—he was worse—a hot nerd, with a personality to match. He was extremely conversationable, able to get along with anyone and willing to try anything. His name was in the paper just as much as Satoru’s. Never-ending columns glazed his academic ability, with multiple mentions of his irresistibly good looks for good measure. His dorm was filled to the brim with offer letters, he told you, with promises of free tuition, free food, free room and board. Hell, some of these universities would probably pay for someone to rub his feet and hand feed him grapes if that meant his presence, and grades would grace their campus for even a semester. But Suguru was content by Satoru’s side and if people thought they looked good standing alone, then standing side by side was enough to make anyone short circuit.

They were the golden boys of your university and you had to admit, that title was most definitely earned.

A series of loud snaps steal your attention. “Earth to weirdo,” Gojo scoffs, his dexterous fingers just inches from your face. “There she is,” he says as your eyes begin to focus.

“Where did you go?” Suguru inquires, concern etched in his features.

“Sorry,” you breathe, adjusting in your seat.

“Dear gooood,” Satoru drags out the vowel, “Just tell us what’s wrong. I’m getting bored,” he pouts, his chin digging into the palm of his hand. You swallow roughly, taking a shaky breath as you decide how to breach the topic.

“I.. uh,” you begin, a bead of sweat tickling your brow. Suguru’s hand reaches out to check your head, feeling for any sign of a fever. You pull away, a blush flaring across your cheeks. “I’m fine,” you croak out. The two of them don’t look anymore convinced. “I’ve just… been receiving these notes,” the two of them hesitantly nod, like they’re following but confused as to where it’s going. “From like… a secret admirer,” you bow your head when the words leave your lips and Satoru barks out a laugh.

“First time?” he smirks knowingly. Of course these two wouldn’t get it, you thought. They probably receive a new confession every day. While Satoru looks amused, Suguru is intrigued; leaning in and listening intently.

“Go on,” he says, hushing Satoru beside him.

“He’s been writing them for sometime now,” you pause, unsure on just how much you want to admit. The words dance on your tongue, and you consider the consequences of confessing everything. You swallow your pride, deciding it’s best to be completely honest. “And well, last night I heard him drop off the most recent one-”

“Where?” You’re cut off by Suguru, who’s staring at you intensely.

“Under the door of my dorm,” you supply. His eyes zero in but he remains silent, urging you to continue. “I didn’t see him,” you continue, “but… the note was more… intense.” You emphasize and Satoru is once again biting back a laugh.

“Let me get this straight: you’ve been acting like this because you’re horny?” You’re a stuttering mess at his accusation, tied between trying to keep up your facade while knowing your efforts were in vain. They could read you like a book.

“I’ve just never received something like-well like that,” your entire body is on fire at the admission.

“Do you have any idea who it could be?” Geto asks, sincerely. You look up at him and are met by his dark eyes, calculating something you’re unsure of. You shake your head meekly.

“No idea.”

“I know a way you could figure it out,” Gojo says, cockily. He stretches in between thoughts, his arms reaching up to the sky. He leans, and a soft sigh leaves his lips when he targets the correct muscle. “Ahhhhh~ you could just fuck a bunch of guys. Surely you’d be able to tell when you fuck the right one,” he suggests making you choke.

“I can’t-”

“Honestly, that’s probably not a bad idea,” Suguru thinks aloud, stroking his chin in thought.

“You can’t be serious, Suguru,” you choke. No way someone as intelligent as him thought that was a viable option… right?

“It’s as good of an idea as any,” Satoru adds, basking in Suguru’s agreement.

“There’s only one problem,” you grumble. The two boys look at you quizzically, black and white hair swimming in your vision. “I’ve never slept with anyone.”

The two grin in tandem, Suguru a little better at hiding it then the blue-eyed troll beside him.

“That’s an easy fix.”

﹏

And that’s how you find yourself in Suguru’s dorm room—the two boys eyeing your naked body hungrily. Suguru wasn’t kidding, his room held a ridiculous amount of offer letters. You’re not even sure why he kept them if he wasn’t planning on going. Perhaps it was an ego thing?

“If I knew you looked this good under your clothes, you would’ve lost your virginity a long time ago,” Satoru promises above you, licking his lips. Attempting to cover yourself would only be in vain, both boys were determined to devour you whole—leaving no part of you untouched. You shiver at his words and Suguru pinches your hardened nipple when the opportunity arises. You squeal, reaching up to grab his solid forearm but his wrist stays put, massaging your areola.

“Be easy on her, Satoru,” he affectionately muses, rolling your nipple between his fingers, “Our poor little friend isn’t used to all this attention.”

“Good,” Satoru cuts off his raven haired friend, “Kinda pisses me off thinking about anyone else seeing her this way.” For your sanity, you’re choosing to chop up this newfound possessiveness to a heat of the moment thing, and not something they mean literally.

“Isn’t that why we’re doing this?” Suguru’s eyebrow quirks, his tone is lighthearted, but you think you see something darker swimming behind his eyes.

“Hmmph!” Satoru whines, falling down on the bed beside you. The twin mattress is barely enough room for you, with Satoru beside you, you’re forced to squish up against his chest. His shoulder knocks against the wall as he gets comfortable, jostling you around with him. He ruts his nose into your neck once he’s comfortable, tucking his chin into the crevice and taking a deep sniff. “Well, we don’t have to share…” Satoru considers. You shake your head, determined to stay focused.

“I need to find my mystery man,” you argue, a childish pout leaking through the cracks of your otherwise nervous exterior.

“D’you realllllly?” Satoru sing-songs. He’s smiling, but something about it feels off. You feel something hard rut against your leg and you don’t have to wonder what it is for long because Satoru sighs in your ear. “No more talking about him,” he pouts, thumb coming up to toy with your bottom lip and you agree to drop it. “Kiss me,” he whines, pulling at your cheeks and you let him. He captures your lips in a sweltering kiss, tongue immediately bullying its way into your mouth. He dominates your tongue upon entrance, tackling it with his own, swirling his muscle along your molars like your mouth is something for him to claim.

“Satoruuu,” Suguru purrs in his usual fashion, massaging your inner thighs with his calloused hands. “What did I say about taking it easy?”

Satoru pulls away, tip twitching wildly in his pants from Suguru’s scolding. “Suguru, you’re soooo boring.” He relents anyways, returning to your lips with a more kinder approach. He peppers them with delicate kisses, distracting you from Suguru’s hand inching closer to your core. His fingers walk along your folds, testing what he can get away with while Satoru distracts you with his lips. Your legs part without cue from Geto, your desires climbing with each soft thump of his fingertips.

“Good girl,” Geto coos and you buck, not used to him aiming his alluring praises at you.

Gojo’s white hairs tickle as they brush across your cheekbones, “Isn’t she?” he agrees. “Being so good for your best friends.” He lays back down against the pillow, cradling your head into his collar as his hand slides down your torso. He relishes in your soft, pliable skin. Dexterous fingers squish your bare chest. His cheeks puff out, fish lips kissing the air as he makes sound effects for each squeeze of your chest. He’s hypnotized by what he’s doing, Suguru also, watching the boy beside you play with your boobs like a child would with his action figures. You would ask him the hell he’s doing but Suguru’s fingers are already dipping into your center, testing the waters, making you arch into Gojo at the feeling.

“Fuck, Satoru. Our friend is so wet for us,” he notes and Gojo moans in your ear.

“Ahhh~ I love virgins,” he teases, sucking your nipple into his mouth and giving it a nibble. “They’re always so quick to squirt too,” he adds after pulling away and Suguru slides a single digit into your pussy. It slurrrrps him right in, the taut ring granting him immediate access.

“I don’t think she even needs any preparation,” Suguru chuckles, amazed at how easily his middle finger sank right in. He wiggles it around, and you feel it knocking at the spot right behind your clit. You lose your breath, shaking against Gojo who’s holding you still.

“We’ll still give it to her,” Gojo says simply. “She deserves it, doesn’t she?” Geto hums in agreement. The two of them watch as Geto fucks you on his finger, the gentle schlick schlick schlick of your wet walls is music to their ears. When he pulls his finger out, a string of your slick comes with it and both boys groan simultaneously. “I want to eat her out,” Gojo announces, shimmying out from under you and pushing Geto out of the way. Geto scoffs but lets him, using the opportunity to take off his clothes. Gojo sinks down until he’s eye level with your cunt; legs hanging off the end of Geto’s campus issued bed. “If you feel like you’re gonna pee, don’t hold back. ‘Kay?” He prefaces, before diving in. His tongue angles directly for your clit and your hips jump from off the bed.

“Oh my god,” you moan, unprepared for the foreign feeling happening below. “Oh my god…”

“That’s right,” Suguru groans, palming his cock over his boxers, watching his best friend feast on your folds. “Tell us how good it feels,” he urges before pulling his cock fully out. You can’t help but look at it, the long curve leading to his sweetly purple tip. A single bead of pre dribbling out in response. He strokes it slowly, gripping the base roughly when it starts to feel a little too good.

“S-So good,” you mewl, hand coming down to grip into the white hair at your torso. Gojos eating you like he’s in a race, lapping at your bud and sloshing around his spit. The noises are revolting, utterly embarrassing but Suguru looks like he could come from the sound alone. He’s bullying your clitoris, paying no mind to the overstimulation he’s causing his inexperienced friend. Determined to make you squirt.

He pulls away briefly, a breathy, “Suguru,” leaving his lips and like he knew exactly what he was asking—Geto is right as his side—fingers entering the mix and expertly angling between the chaos below. Right where you needed him. Two fingers attempt to slip past your entrance but they suffer from some pushback.

“Satoru, spit,” Suguru commands, and Gojo pulls back, an incident wad of saliva leaves his lips, aiming right for his fingers at your vulgar hole. Geto tries again, Gojo’s lubrication giving him just enough leeway to bully his way in. You throw your head back, the soft pillow behind you catching it as Geto knocks, knocks, knocks on your g-spot. Satoru’s tongue works you, leaving you panting with each expert swivel and the two of them feel it before you do. “Go on baby,” Suguru encourages, and you’re confused what he could be talking about.

“C’mooooonn,” Satoru pleads, whipping his head back and forth, flicking your clit at rapid speeds. It’s then you feel it, that odd striking sensation on what you assume to be your bladder.

“OOoh~” you start to try and crawl away but Gojo’s already prepared for that, hands flying to grab your waist before you can even think about it. “Guys…. I’m gonna,” you try to warn them that you’re gonna pee, but both of them only go faster. You’re desperately tugging on Gojo’s hair, trying to peel him off of you but he stays put, eating you like a man possessed.

“Don’t be scared. Soak my face baby please. You know I like getting wet,” your mouth hangs open, Gojo wants you to pee on him? You decide that you’ve warned them properly enough, it’s their fault for whatever comes next. Your toes curl as you let go, a guttural cry leaving your lips as a strange sensation wracks through you. You squirt into Gojo’s waiting mouth, earning you a satisfied groan as he laps it all. Geto’s fingers pull out and you’re geysering now, coating Satoru as he angles his face to take it all. He didn’t think it was possible to get this hard, but you sure proved him wrong.

“Get off,” Geto commands, cock rock hard and itching to sink into your hole while it’s still twitching. Gojo’s chest heaves as he stands up, your mess still dripping from his face. He’s got a wild look in his eyes, smiling like a kid in a candy store as Geto slots between your legs. “I won’t last long,” he tells you and you nod weakly. You’re limp when he grabs your waist, trying to plunge straight in. He throws his head back, your pussy giving his heavy tip a hard time. He massages your sides with his thumbs. “Tell me if it hurts.”

“Maybe wait a moment,” you ask him once his tip pushes through the initial ring.

“Of course.” He stills as promised. You breathe through the tight pinch, closing your eyes. “We’ll take it slow,” he tells you. “One inch at a time.”

“I’ll count,” Gojo volunteers, now naked and sitting down on the bed beside you. He watches intently as your tight hole twitches on his best friend’s cock. “You’re at one so far,” he encourages, “Just seven more to go!”

“Seven more?!”

“I’m nine,” he boasts and you choke on your spit. “So you better take him well—I’m next.”

“Satoru,” Suguru scolds, shaking his head at him. Almost as if to say, ‘not helping’. “Am I okay to move?” he asks, and you nod weakly.

“Two,” Gojo says, entranced as your cunt swallows yet another inch. Just as promised, Geto pauses for each one, and Satoru keeps track of them. You suck in more and more of him, and Suguru has to imagine the saddest shit his brain can conjure up to stop him from prematurely cumming. “Eight,” Gojo sighs out, almost like it’s his own cock that’s now fully inside you.

“Am I ok to move?” Geto asks. You nod, feeling impossibly full. Before today, you barely managed two of your own fingers and now you’re taking all eight inches of Geto’s cock. The realization made your head spin. You weren’t sure how you’d ever be satisfied after today; not that Geto and Gojo didn’t seem entirely content with keeping you all to themselves…

Geto experimentally pulls out and you wince at the loss before he slides right back in. Without all the stopping and starting, his dick feels impossibly longer than before and you shudder. He pulls straight out again, both boys watching his length reappear, covered in your dew, before disappearing back inside. A barely noticeable bulge forming in your lower stomach. “Oh,” is all you can say. He’s pulling back out, his tip gracing each individual ridge as he passes through your walls. Back in again, his tip kissing your cervix once more. Back out: it was really starting to feel good. Back in: Satoru was sweating at the sight. Back out again. Cock fully saturated in your slick. Back in again, making you arch off the mattress. “Suguru, please,” you’re whining now. For what exactly? You’re not sure, but thankfully your experienced friend knows exactly what you need. He pulls your legs up, bending them and pushing them into your stomach. His head hits a whole new spot inside you and you sigh, body relaxing at the new found pleasure. He slides out faster now, in and out at a speed that leaves you mewling.

“M’ gonna,” he warns and that’s all he gives you before finishing inside; claiming you with a spidery web of jizz.

Satoru wastes no time, “My turn, my turn,” he chants. His cock stands tall and impossibly angry but you’re so gone it doesn’t matter at this point—more concerned with how empty you’re starting to feel. Gojo takes your legs and completely folds you in on yourself, pressing you into the perfect position to make Geto’s cum take before sliding right in. “Fuck!” he hollers, knowing exactly why Geto came so quickly now. You were piping hot and just tight enough to make him lose his mind. You’re babbling nonsense by the time Gojo gets to you. He gives you not just what you want, but what you need. Each time his cock pulls out of your pulsing hole, more and more of Geto’s cum lathers up and tangles into Satoru’s white pubes. He’s absolutely pounding into you, not holding back any of his nine inches; Suguru having primed you perfectly for his massive, veiny inches. “Take it. Take this cock,” he jabbers, “It’s yours… all yours. You just have to say the word, pretty girl.” His cerulean eyes looked frenzied, white hair plastered across his forehead as he pummeled away at your poor, soddened pussy. “Please.. want you to…” he murmurs, hand reaching to slap down on your clit. He rubs it in mean circles, all nine of his inches sliding in and out at a punishing rate. “You’re gonna cum,” he says, and you’re not sure if it’s because he wants you to or because you’re actually going to—but you do. Your pussy twitches around him and he hollers. “Haaah~ Give it to me, you can do it.” You shake beneath him, tensing as your climax takes you. “Yeaaaahh,” he coos when he feels it, still not slowing down. “This pussy s‘gonna remember me.” You’re not even listening, far too out of it but he continues regardless. “She’s gonna remember Satoru Gojo—Oh!” he follows you, whimpering when his orgasm hits him and he buries his cock as deep as it will go, pushing you so hard into the mattress you’re surprised you don’t go right through. “Ahhh~ right there,” he coos, “Don’t be shy, take it all f’me,” you feel his hot load take root in you, snuggling up against your walls as his cock spits out one final spurt. He pulls out once he’s content with how full he made you, his cum leaking out and dribbling down into your crack. The two boys stare in awe as they stand back to bask in their work. Fist bumping for good measure.

Teacher’s Assistant! Nanami

You’re pissed. Absolutely livid. Of course while you had been so wrapped up in this secret admirer drama, you didn’t have much time to focus on your academics, and your grades began to suffer because of it. In one class most of all: Introduction to Creative Writing. The insane amount of essays your professor had been assigning was unparalleled. And of course, his dick of an assistant who was in charge of grading them wasn’t going easy on you. He had been the thorn in your side all semester, preventing you from that ‘A’ you so desperately wanted. Coupled with your recent distraction, you would be lucky if you passed the class at all at this point. It was ridiculous, you were good at English; there was no way you deserved the shit he was dishing you.

Perhaps you had seriously lost your mind, or maybe sleeping with the two hottest guys on campus gave a boost to your confidence at levels unseen before, but you decided to take matters into your own hands. You stormed into the little nook and cranny he called his office; tucked into the unseen corner in the far back of the English department to threaten him, outside of his office hours.

“What the hell is this?!” your voice booms, hands shaking as you slam down your recent essay on his desk. The blond haired man didn’t so much as startle. His eyes squint down at your page, adjusting his glasses before answering.

“Looks like a D- to me,” he says calmly. Infuriatingly unbothered.

“Yeah, why?” you huff out, stomping your foot like a child—for good measure.

“I left notes, did you not read them?” he asks, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

You were seeing red, your body shook with unbridled rage. You thought getting laid would have soothed your nerves, instead it only seemed to have heightened them. Your audacity included. Really, you deserved to have campus security called on you, but something about you made Nanami pause. “No, I read them asshole,” you spit, “They’re bullshit.”

“Care to share what you disagreed with?” His quips were so quick, loaded up and aimed down sights before you even knew what you were going to say next. His composure left your blood boiling; a steady simmer just below your skin. He looked up at you from behind his glasses, hazel eyes giving away nothing. You noticed the button up he always wore fitting snugly against his muscles, more so than usual. What does a teacher’s assistant even need those for?

“You just made up reasons to deduct my grade,” you accuse and he’s quick to bite back.

“What leads you to believe that?” A sigh follows a brief pause. “Can I be frank?” he doesn’t wait for you to nod. “You’re throwing a lot of accusations my way, with no real evidence to back them up. Either get to the point, or get out of my office.” Your eye twitches, and he leans back in his seat, giving you a good view of the column of his throat. He folds his arms over himself, fingers drilling against the meat of his arms while he waits on you.

“Everyone else agrees, you’re far too harsh with your grading,” you say, voice evening out as you begin to sober up.

“You can’t improve without critique.”

You sigh, realizing you were losing this battle. What the hell were you even thinking?

“Just…. Never mind,” you begin, defeated and embarrassed. Tucking your tail between your legs you turn to leave.

“I have an idea,” he muses, interrupting your action. You look at him, silently urging him to continue. “There may be an option for extra credit.”

“I’ll do anything.”

“Anything?”

﹏

His cold, sterile hand grips the fat of your ass meanly, jiggling it with his sturdy palm before landing a swift smack to your already reddening cheeks. Your stomach tightens, bracing for yet another impact which he lands in quick succession to the first. You mewl, tears beading at the edge of your waterline.

“What does this have to do with raising my grade?” you hiccup. You certainly weren’t dense when he was offering you extra credit, you just didn’t think he was going to spank the attitude out of you first. His fingers massaged the warmed skin beneath them, contemplating his response.

“Learning a little humility is good for girls like you,” he grunts out. His foot wedges between yours, spreading them apart as he pulls up your skirt even further. “Y’gonna count f’me?” he inquires. Your eyes close as you prepare yourself for a new series of thwacks.

“One,” you wince.

“What was that one for?” he asks and you pause, unsure.

“I don’t know…” Thwack!

“Ouch!”

“Count,” he reminds you.

“Two… I don’t know,” you pout.

“The first one is for talking back.”

“Right….” you mutter under your breath. Thwaaaaack! “Three!”

“The second is for having the audacity to write such a half-assed essay,” he pinches your ass and you grovel. “The third is for wasting my time and making me grade that bullshit.” He pulls back and you hear the jingling of his belt buckle, followed by the sound of his dress pants dropping onto the ground below. The chink of metal hits the lineloum floor, echoing in his tiny office space. “You can do better than that,” he says, voice steady, his tone sweetening, “you’re the best student this year.” The sudden praise feels foreign to your ears and you push up off the desk a little.

“Really?” you ask, genuinely shocked by his admission. He nods matter-of-factly.

“What would I get from lying to you? I wouldn’t have bothered to leave comments on your essays otherwise.” You can tell he’s being honest from his tone alone, but when you look in his eyes they confirm it. “You’re special,” he coos. His nimble fingers attach to the buttons on his shirt, working his way down each one. Your mouth feels dry as you watch behind your shoulder. The strip tease in front of you puts you in a trance, and you lick your lips as more and more skin is revealed. First comes his pecs, then the ridged expanse of his abs, and now just below his belly button. A line of light blonde hair trails down to the bulge behind his briefs that leaves you drooling. He slides the shirt completely off, throwing it onto the floor.

“Continue being good for me.” You ignore his veiledly disguised threat before he falls to his knees, hooking a single digit around the gusset of your panties, pulling them to the side. You weren’t prepared for his mouth to latch onto your lips from behind, meanly sucking at the puffy skin. You grip the edge of the desk, huffing out a sharp breath in surprise.

“I thought this was my extra credit assignment,” you manage to spit out, eyes rolling back as the kitten licks on your eager folds send you reeling. He’s nothing but methodical as he maps out your pussy on his tongue—shockwaves of anticipation causing your hole to twitch beneath his strong muscle. He teases the tight ring at the entrance of your cunt, the hand holding your panties spreading your cheeks apart, tightening its grasp.

He pulls back, only slightly, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Well- Ahhh,” you keen at a well aimed attack, back arching off the desk. “I thought you’d want me to…” you trail off, realizing the blond man behind you wasn’t paying a lick of attention to your words. He eats you out like a champ, punching his tongue against your engorged clit. An imagined: ding, ding, ding! Rings out in the air, naming his tongue the undisputed champion of your cunt. You don’t last long in round one, shaking as he devours you whole. His frenzied tongue is joined by his manicured fingers, two long digits swirling around your clit as he fucks you on his tongue. “Dear god-” you get out. Your cunt is drooling on him, each drip of ecstasy coating his jaw. You feel his ice cold fingers pick up speed, the delicious friction throwing you into round two, leaving you in rough shape for what’s to come as you twitch on the desk below. “Nanamin-” you wail and he pulls back.

A nasty ‘ptui’ sounds out, a fat wad of spit latching onto your folds. “You may call me Sir,” he grunts, pushing around the saliva mixed with your juices along the velvety rind of your cunt with just this thumb. The lace of your panties slip from his grasp, settling back between your lips. He doesn’t audibly react, but you can tell he’s had enough from the way he tears it open, both hands gripping the gusset and riiiiiiip-ing it in two. He doesn’t bother to remove the access fabric, continuing to eat around it—uninterrupted now.

“F-fuck!” You can’t help but cry out. You’re way too drunk on his tongue to be mad about your favorite pair now dangling off of you.

He’s pulling back once more to scold you, “Quiet. Your professor is in his office.” Your eyes bug-out at his admission, blown out pupils now wide with worry.

“You mean he’s here?!” You hiccup, a delicious curl of his fingers sends you doubling over onto the desk. “Nngh- we can’t,” you insist. The idea of being caught by none other than your professor is a sobering thought. Your pussy tightens on his tongue nonetheless.

He pulls out of you, and you can’t help but be slightly disappointed—but it’s for the best really. He makes a move to stand, and you’re about to follow suit before his long shaft swooshes out of his briefs and sliiiiiides past the ridge of your hole effortlessly, sinking down until his tip is scratching your cervix. He lets out a long groan above you, satisfied with all his hard work. He wastes no time sliding out, just to slide right back into the deepest part of you. His tip causes the ridges of your entrance to expand each time he pulls completely out, accommodating his girth perfectly for him to fit back in. He’s silent as he works, the loud slosh, slosh, squelch, of your cunt feels as loud as a freight train knowing your professor is just a few doors down. “Sir, please,” you cry out, voice just above a whisper.

“You want me to stop?” he asks, drilling into you regardless, the fat of your ass clapping against his torso. Your slick is clinging to his thighs, hydrating his porcelain skin with your essence, his body wracking with the pleasure your pulsating walls are giving him. You don’t answer, because you know what you should say is not what you want to say. Nanami picks up on this too, continuing to rut regardless.

Fwap, fwap, fwap! Your chest drags against the desk at the rhythm of his hips pounding into you. You feel it before you hear him, the all too familiar twitch of his cock making you see stars. “M’ gonna,” he begins and he doesn’t have to finish the thought because you’re already squeezing around him—begging to feel his release painting your walls. “Nrrgh. Just a little longer,” his voice is ten octaves lower than before. His dick pets the inside of your cunt, coaxing it to cum with him and you’re a victim of your impulses. Walls immediately tightening at the first sign of your orgasm, you don’t have time to warn him before you’re convulsing on the desk. “Fuck, oh fuck.” He cums in you, webs of semen clinging to your spongy walls as your orgasm milks him dry. He falls down onto you, caging you in as you’re left breathless underneath him.

“What’s my grade now, Sir?” you manage to joke under his crushing weight.

He swallows, glasses slipping off his face. “A+.”

Frat Boy! Sukuna

You don’t know what the hell you’re doing here, and after this many drinks—you’re not sure how you even got here. You were at some frat party, dancing to the beat of whatever music they got playing at the Delta-Theta-What-The-Hell-Ever House and taking body shots off of the dumbest guys on campus. Alcohol flows through your veins, nerves firing from every drink you knock back. You can feel every bump of bass shaking the house, the cup in your hand sloshing around and wafting the sweet scent of pink whitney and lemonade into your nose. You tip it back, finishing the whole thing before heading to the kitchen for a refill.

“We need one more for spin the bottle!” You hear from the room over. Your feet decide before your brain does, turning on your heels and all but stumbling to find the source of the hooting and hollering. “Come, come!” a girl chants, patting the empty seat beside her. You oblige, sitting down. She pets your hair and you let her, the room spinning at just the right speed to make whatever this random stranger is doing to your scalp feel good.

“Spin, spin, spin!” you hear someone chant beside you. You’re melting into her ministrations, the delicate touch of her finger tips putting you on a whole other planet.

“D-Don’t stop,” you slur and she giggles.

“Woahhhh, feeling good, huh?” her breath tickles your ear and you find yourself laughing with her.

“Mhmm..” you nod.

You think you know what’s happening between rounds: someone spins a bottle, people cheer, and the two leave for the coat closet at the end of the room. You don’t pay much attention though, half asleep and drooling on the shoulder of the girl who took you under her wing. Sometime between the chaos she shakes you, her face coming into focus as she tells you, “It’s your turn,.” She’s giving you a thumbs up and the whole circle cheers. You stumble forward, pulling down your dress as you all but fall into the closet. A strong pair of arms catch you and the door behind you slams shut.

“Alright, let’s make this quick… you weren’t who I had in mind,” he says, coldly. You barely acknowledge him, too busy swaying as you attempt to keep yourself upright, despite the fact he’s holding onto you.

“Wait a minute.. I’ve seen you before,” he muses. “You’re Geto and Gojo’s friend? Aren’t you?”

You nod, eyes barely open.

“Holy shit,” he breathes. “You’re so fucking out of it.” He steadies you between his massive frame. “Didn’t anyone tell you getting this drunk at a frat house is dangerous?” You don’t respond, and he clicks his tongue. “I’m not into drunk girls,” he groans, throwing his head back in thought. He seems to groan at the realization of what needs to be done before opening the closet door. The room erupts in applause, what starts as cheers quickly becomes a steady flow of boos as they realize nothing took place. The man holding you barks something at them you don’t hear before heaving you over his shoulder. Your world is suddenly turned upside down and you can’t fight the girlish squeal that follows, making him roll his eyes. He carries you up the steps of the house effortlessly, kicking open a nearby door and throwing you down onto the bed. Your body bounces on the mattress, and you blindly reach out for him. Your hands don’t meet anything though, and the door he brought you through locks behind him. Curling around a pillow that smells musky and spicy and a little like cigarettes—you fall asleep quickly.

You wake with the worst headache of your life. The steady, pounding thrum beneath your skull is torturous. Your eyes struggle to open, the light peeking through the nearby curtain burning your retinas. You turn your head, only to freeze when you realize you’re not alone. He’s sitting at the end of the bed, watching you. Almost like he’s been there the whole time. You try to sit up, but the room tilts and suddenly you feel his large hand grasp your wrist. “Careful,” he grunts out, the mysterious man clearly unimpressed. You sniff, and you realize he smells just like the bed you’re laying on. Warm, musky…

“Oh my god… We didn’t-”

“Hell no,” he interrupts. “You were probably too drunk to remember, but I already told you: I don’t sleep with drunk girls, sweetheart.” You pause as you take in that information. Feeling brave, you attempt to sit up once more. “I wouldn’t do that,” he warns. He eases you back onto his bed and lingers for a moment, almost like he doesn’t believe you’ll stay down. “Give it more time. I’ll be back.”

You don’t remember drifting off, but you must’ve because when you wake, you finally feel some semblance of normalcy. You realize that your mouth feels dry, and you look around his room for some water. You don’t find any and you sit up, taking it slow out of fear from last time. You manage, and you stand up the same. Your feet quietly pad across his carpeted floor. You crack his bedroom door open, slipping out and down the stairs where you smell the most mouthwatering breakfast. You slink down the steps and sneak around the corner, staring into the kitchen only to find the man from earlier there. His back is turned to yours, the wide expanse of his broad shoulders hiding whatever he’s doing on the stove in front of him. You tiptoe up to the bar, sinking down onto an adjacent barstool. You note the thick, black ink that covers part of his body, and almost like he can feel your eyes on him he turns around. You cower under his mean glare; grasping for questions you want to ask but don’t know how.

“Who are you?” It's as good a start as any.

“Tch-” he clicks his tongue, turning around to flip the bacon sizzling in the pan in front of him. “You come to my party,” he points the spatula he’s holding at his chest, “sleep in my bed, and you don’t know who I am.”

“I’m sorry,” you begin.

“I know who you are,” he muses.

“You do?”

“Yeah… you’re Geto and Gojo’s little friend.”

“What’s my name?”

The hulk in front of you stills in thought before giving you a shrug. “You don’t know your own name?”

“You said you know who I am…” you mutter but he doesn’t dignify you with a response.

“I’m Sukuna,” he tells you, handing you a plate full of delicious food. Your mouth waters as you pick up the fork he supplied you. You chew through the stack of pancakes and he watches, scratching his bare chest while letting out a yawn.

“Are you gonna eat too?” you ask him, still chewing on a piece of bacon.

“Tch-” he scolds again, turning his nose up at your lack of manners. “No. I’m cutting,” he says matter-of-factly. You nod slowly, continuing to work your way through breakfast, finding it a little odd he made all of this just for you.

“What’s your name?” he asks. You give it to him after swallowing, and he seems pleased.

“So,” he begins, “Do you usually get that drunk at frat parties?”

“No. I don’t get that drunk, like anywhere…. I just-” you begin, about to tell him how stressed you’ve been over those notes but you stop yourself.

“Just?”

“I just needed a little stress relief.”

“There’s much better ways to relieve stress, sweetheart,” he tells you.

“Like what?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know.” You stare up at him, a little dumbfounded.

“I would… that’s why I asked.”

You're stuck in a stalemate, the two of you studying the other. “Fair enough,” he shrugs, “You’re sober now.”

﹏

“What in the Fifty Shades-” you say in disbelief. Naturally, you’re naked in his bed; waiting patiently for Sukuna to ‘relax you’ as promised. You really shouldn’t be surprised, but the Chapter President is freaked out to a T. You’re staring up at him, mouth gaping open as he unravels the rope that he pulled from the ‘toy box’ under his bed. You had watched as he picked his poison, siphoning through countless dildos, butt plugs, collars and paddles before settling on a simple rope.

“And just what do you plan on doing with that?”

“Patience,” is all he says. You’re a little reluctant at first, grumbling and snarling as he tries his hardest to ignore you. “Behave,” he finally snaps, in the middle of a complicated knot, something he called a ‘box tie’, meant to accentuate your breasts and restrain your arms behind you. “I should have started with a ball gag,” he mumbles out, and you don’t catch what he says.

“Speak up.”

“I’m saying,” he says, pulling you by your chin and you’re forced to swivel around, your arms properly restrained behind your back now. “I should have gagged you first,” he spits out. He’s losing his patience with you, unsure where this sudden attitude came from. “Are you always this bratty?” he asks and you think on it; behaving a little more so he can finish tightening up the rope.

“Just with you, I think,” you muse and your admission shouldn’t turn him on but it does.

“Oh?” His gruff voice is laced with amusement. He shoves you down on the bed before you have time to process it, and with no hands to catch you, you fall right on your face.

“Oww,” you grumble, the sheets below you muffling the sound.

“All right,” he starts, “My safe word is cucumber. Say it if you want me to stop.” Cucumber? Your eye twitches, what kind of safe word is that?

You can hear him rummaging through that damned box again and you turn your head so he can hear you properly, “You better fucking wash all those toys.” He doesn’t give you warning before a strong vibration hits your clit. You jump, trying to pull away but he grips the rope around your back, pulling you down onto it again. “Ooo- fuck,” you sigh out, accepting your fate and relaxing into the steady hum of the silicon toy on your clit.

“Of course I wash them,” he scolds. He watches your cute little nub twitch under the slim, pink toy. “That feel good?” You’re nodding into the sheets, drool beading at the corners of your mouth. “Wanna use your words?”

“Do I have to?” you sigh out, angling your eyes at him. His pink hair he usually slicks back to show off his undercut is now down around his eyes, chiseled jaw clenching and unclenching under your gaze. From here, he looked even bigger than usual. The heavy vein in his thick neck bulged. Your eyes trailed down until it opened up to the expanse of his chest. He wasn’t just large—this guy was fucking huge, and he was using this teensy, tiny toy that barely fit in his bear claw to work you up.

“If you wanna come, I suggest you do as I say,” he says simply.

You let out an uncommitted groan, closing your eyes before submitting to his request. “Yes. It does feel good.”

“Good girl, was that so hard?”

“Terribly,” you remark, a little too fast for his liking. He turns up the vibrator and your hips buck, the hand on your rope keeping you right where he wants you. You clench your thighs, trying to fight off the toy he has wedged between your legs but it’s no use. He’s hitting your sweet spot in the worst way, your cunt already clenching and unclenching around nothing.

“What’s this?” he observes, pushing the toy even harder between your folds making you cry out. “Gonna come already?” Your legs are shaking beneath you, using every last bit of strength to keep holding on.

“Over my dead body,” you grit out and he chuckles, a low, dark sound emitting from deep within his chest.

“You don’t wanna play this game…” he warns, keeping you steady on the toy.

“Why?” you question, already accepting just how dumb you sound right now.

“What’s the most amount of times you’ve cum in a single session?” he asks.

“I dunno….” You think the most amount of orgasms you’ve had was your first time with your best friends. “Like …two times,” you admit.

His laugh comes out louder than intended, but he just can’t help it. A hearty sound passing through his lips as he drank in your answer. “Just two?” he taunts.

“What’s wrong with two?” you question, audibly upset. You wiggle your ass, still far too aware of the vibration on your clit.

“Nothing’s wrong with two,” he sobers up, thinking to himself. “Just means I get to figure out just how many orgasms break you.” You gulp at his dark promise, the vibration against your clit finally catching up to you.

“Nrrgh, Fuck!” you cry out, your hole desperately trying to cling onto anything as you cum on the silicone.

“That’s right,” he coos, taking the opportunity to sodden the toy with your fluids, dragging it through your silky folds. “Good job. That’s one… Gonna be able to count the rest?” He mocks. He keeps you there, same toy, same position… just turns up the speed of the vibrator to a more punishing setting. The buzz dumbs your brain and you brace against the mattress beneath you. You're scared he intends to sizzle your clit clean off—shaking as another orgasm rapidly approaches.

“H-How are you doing that?” you cry out, your refractory period seemingly non-existent.

“You’ve got a lot to learn if this surprises you.” He changes the setting of the toy and your high turns into a simmer instead of a rolling boil. Quick little bursts of vibrations come out of the toy, a steady: Bzzz, Bzzz, Bzzz. You’re shaking all the same, wiggling your ass back and forth as you try to avoid the toy and chase your high at the same time. He turns it up once more, the new punishing intensity making you squeal. You don’t have time to prepare yourself for the orgasm that wracks over you. You’re dry heaving, desperately trying to brace yourself but without hands your orgasm feels just that more intense.

“Sukuna…” you heave, begging him for a break and the toy shuts off abruptly. You slump over in relief, his hand leaving the rope along your back. You catch your breath, your head is so foggy from back to back orgasms that you don’t even hear him fishing around his box of goodies. He pops open a bottle of lube, lathering up a rabbit dildo in the cool substance before prodding your hole with it. You gasp, coughing as he slides the tip in. The stretch is unbearable, you wince as he wiggles it around, loosening up your tense hole. “N-Not yet,” you beg.

“You still think you’re in charge?” He says simply, and you shut right up. The realization that he’s right leaves you feeling powerless, although at this point you think that’s exactly what you needed. Your body relaxes, letting him fully take control of your body and that’s when the toy begins to sink in, your cunt slurrrrrping the latter half right in. “There you go… good girl,” he finally praises and you can practically feel the new connections being formed in your brain. The toy stills in you, nothing happening until you feel it bobbing in your cunt. He’s batting at it with his cruel paw, the simple bounce of the toy in your tight hole elicits a mouth watering feeling. He teases you like this for a while and you do nothing but take it. You’d be close to falling asleep if not for the fact it felt soooo good. The heavy toy sat snug in your cunt for a while before Sukuna finally messed with the buttons on the other end. All of a sudden the dildo stirs to life, the toy stretching and shortening inside you, making you feel like you’re being pounded into.

“Hahh~” you react, tensing at the shock but relaxing back into the sensation once the novelty wore off.

“Good girl,” he praises again, hand coming to rub your back. “Told you I’d take care of you, didn’t I?” You nod, too deep under his spell to do anything else. Sukuna sits back, watching the toy lather up your spend, a juicy ring forming at the base. Lazily, he whips his cock out and begins stroking, watching you react to the toy doing all the heavy lifting. “You like that toy?” he asks and you nod, dumbly. “I have a creator code for 40% off,” he tells you and it should turn you off so much that this frat guy has his own code on a sex toy site but you can’t be fucked to question it.

“Pleathe,” you moan, muffled by his sheets. He presses another button and the toy only drills into you faster, a squelch squelch squelch, overtaking your shrill moans. The toys’ little bunny ears tickle your clit and you see stars. He’s stroking himself a little faster now, watching you let go on yet another one of his toys. You twitch, a sob bubbling just beneath the surface as you cum all over his toy. Frothy fluids continue to coat it but he doesn’t move to turn it off. “Sukuna,” you huff out, “Off. Please. Now.” He clicks his tongue, ignoring you as he presses yet another button. The toy begins to stutter between strokes, taking on an almost human-like rhythm. “Oh Fuck!” You’re leaning even harder against your face, the pressure against your cheeks distracting from the unrelenting jostle of the toy just a little. Your toes curl beneath you, and Sukuna seems hypnotized by your reaction, relishing in each little twitch and mewl. He does the unthinkable, pressing yet another button causing the toy to vibrate inside and out. You yelp, trying to run from what's stuffed deep inside you, crying due to the impossibility of it all. Sukuna thinks he’s never been any harder, watching as you fight against your restraints, the ropes digging into your plush skin—certaintly marking you for days after. You’re hiccuping, drooling and spewing out cries as you come again. There’s no slowing the toy down without Sukuna’s say so and you go mad at the realization. “Sukuna,” you heave, “Sukuna you have to turn it off,” you beg.

“Who says?” his gruff, unfriendly voice is an unwelcomed sound.

“Please, I can’t do this,” you shake, the toy giving you the beating of a lifetime; your clit and hole taking the brunt of his psychopathy.

“You got one more in you,” he pauses, “Remember the safe word: use it if you have to.”

“No, no!” You flop over in his bed, and the new position only worsens your overstimulation. You pull your knees up to your chest, the toy at least hitting a new spot inside you. You shake on his bed, hole sobbing and twitching but you don’t dare think to call out ‘cucumber’. Your clit must be bruised by now, the rabbit ears rubbing it raw. You’re convulsing on his bed when your next orgasm hits you. It’s not as strong as the rest, a little painful and entirely too overstimulating, but it has you arching into it nonetheless. Sukuna thankfully takes pity on you afterwards, pulling the toy out of you so you can catch your breath. “Holy fuck,” you cough, cum dribbling out of your hole. Your clit twitches wildly, like she’s still at war with that demon of a toy as you will your rapid heart beat to still.

“Last one,” Sukuna interrupts your recovery with his fat cock in your face. He’s thicker than any guy you’ve ever seen in porn. His mushroom tip is a mean color of red, warning you about his impossible girth, no doubt.

“No fucking way,” you start and he sinks straight in. No resistance. He’s being softer on your poor little pussy than you’d expect, dragging his cock against you steadily. He’s got your legs up around his head, sliding effortlessly in and out, in and out. Your hole grips him like a death vice, still not recovered from the four orgasms you’ve had. “‘Kuna,” your tongue lolls out and he turns his head to kiss your ankle.

“You’re ok. Look how good you’re taking me,” he coos. “Almost done baby, just one more,” he tells you and you’re shaking your head.

“I can’t-”

“You can,” he assures you, surprisingly soft. “I know you can. I wouldn’t give you anything you can’t handle, y’know that right?” His words pacify you and you continue to calm down from the soothing sound of his vocal chords. “Just a little longer,” he promises, a soft groan following his words as his cock buries itself into you.

Somehow you have just enough feeling down there that his warm, heavy inches are doing something to you. “Mmmm, you feel so much better than that toy.” You’re not lying, his cock was just what you needed to placate you. His cock starts twitching, hot spurts following and you sigh into it, your cunt weakly squeezing him as you follow. He bends you in half, leaning in to plant a soft kiss to your lips.

“Would you look at that… five s’your lucky number.”

Dealer! Toji

You’re practically vibrating on the walk to the red Dodge Charger Geto promised would be outside your dorm at this time. You would have never thought it would come to this, relying on some cheap marijuana to calm your nerves but here you were: walking to the car of the university’s skeeviest drug dealer Geto called on your behalf. Your heart rate picks up as it comes into view. The bass emitting from the vehicle shakes the chassis, and you’re certain it’s earning the attention of every campus security guard within a 30 mile radius by now. You wipe your sweaty palms on your jeans when you reach it, your hand coming up to weakly knock on the tinted window. You get no response, so you knock again. The window abruptly rolls down, just a crack. “What the fuck are you doin’? It’s unlocked,” your cheeks heat with embarrassment and you follow his instructions, slipping into the cloth passenger seat of his car. You’re greeted by the burliest man you've ever seen (next to Sukuna) sitting inches away from you in the driver’s seat. The black Harley tee he’s wearing hugs his body in all the right ways and your throat dries. He turns the music down a little, still scrolling on his phone—a large sigh leaving his lips when he looks up to see you. “Adderall?” he inquires and your mouth drops open.

“Sorry?” You ask, and he scoffs.

“Y’want adderall? Y’know.. to study? He’s obviously irritated with how unfamiliar you are. Your eyes focus on the cut on his lip when you answer.

“No… weed.”

“Really? Y’don’t look like the type,” he muses. You try not to think too hard about what he was implying as he lifts up the center console between you. “Hold out yer’ hand.” You obey and he places a baggy in your palm. Your skin tingles from the transfer of heat. You squeak out a thank you, moving to open the door. Before you can even tug the handle he grips the front of your shirt with such force you’re worried he might rip it clean off you. “Where the hell do ya’ think yer’ goin’?”

“Oh.. right,” your hand reaches for your pocket, a wallet sized bulge noticeably missing. You check the other, and you realize you don’t have your phone on you either. You’re shaking as you place the weed into his cupholder, stuttering out an apology. “Sorry… I’ve never done this before.”

His grip on you loosens as he takes in your pathetic state. “Clearly,” he grunts, but his features soften a bit. He studies you, his grip on your shirt not loosening any further, but also not tightening either. The air grows stuffy when you notice it—the darkening of his eyes. You recognize it all too well at this point. He licks his lips, tongue tracing that mouth watering scar. “Maybe there s’another way ya’ could pay for this doll. Y’into that?”

You nod, meekly.

“Use your words, ‘M not into fuckin’ girls who don’ know what they want.”

“Please,” you sigh out, leaning into the hand still tangled in your shirt before placing your lips onto his.

﹏

His fat fingers dig into the sides of your hips, bouncing you on his cock in the driver’s seat of his car. The bass shakes the interior as he fucks you with ferver—almost like he’s trying to break you. It’s rough and even a little painful, but it’s as good of a distraction as any. A ring of slick sticks to the base of his cock, wet slurps dampened by the douchey song he has playing through his bluetooth speakers—each mean poke to your cervix is made in time to the synth.

“Fuck!” he groans out. “Yer pussy’s speakin’ to me.” You don’t know how he could possibly hear it over that racket he calls a playlist but you keep the comment to yourself. He brings his hands up to the headrest, holding onto it and letting you ride him like a pro. At this point you feel like one too, mounting him like your life depended on it. You’re huffing with each slap of your torso meeting his—slick soaking through his sweatpants. His mean inches spear you, cock impossibly thick and meaty, damn near punishing you. “Yer fuckin’ me like ya’ hate me,” he notes, capturing your lips in a spit-ladened kiss. The faint line of that damned scar drives you crazy, hips faltering at the sensation. His hands reattach to your waist, keeping the rhythm that’s been driving you both crazy. “Don’t tire on me now,” he grunts meanly, dark eyes connecting with yours. You stare down at him, mouth open at the delicious feeling of all nine of his hot inches claiming you. He’s staring at you just as intensely, eager to watch you lose yourself on his dick. “Good girl. Keep takin’ me,” he praises, his baritone voice making your clit twitch. “Know just what yer doin’, don’t cha dollface,” he coos. You wouldn’t have taken him for a sweet-talker but you’re melting into him all the same. You’re pliant in his grasp and he uses that to his advantage, bouncing you like a ragdoll. His ginormous mitts grip your ass, angling you just slightly to make your clit grind down on the front of his torso. He’s using only a modicum of his strength but you stand a chance fighting against it. You're swallowing harshly, not sure how much longer you can take him bullying your hole; chest stuttering with every mean tug.

“Cummin’ already?” he asks, scoffing, but you can tell he’s not mad. In fact he looks more than ready to feel your walls grip every veiny inch. “Such a cute lil’ pussy, she’s not used to gettin’ beat up, huh?” God, he needs to shut up. His words go straight to your clit, giving you no need to stimulate it to build that sweltering tension you’ve grown to crave. He’s doing that with his solid torso regardless—dragging you down meanly, swiveling your hips whichever damn way he pleases to hear you mewl. “Yer a squirter, ain’t ya?” he accuses. “Go on, you’ve already soaked through my pants,” the accusation makes you falter, sending you over the edge; clit twitching as you ooze all over his cock. You’re cumming, giving him just what he wants and he has the audacity to speed up. Sickly sweet squirt tries its hardest to push his length out of its path, his fat cock plugging you up. He feels it too—hooking his strong arms under your thighs to pull you off him—giving him the perfect angle to watch. It ends up flooding out of your hole, drenching his lap in one large release. Your squirt waters the mean, twitching cock in his lap and he’s practically wheezing. “Fuck doll….”

If you thought you were getting away after that, you had another thing coming. He pulls you into the backseat of the car—determined to have you coat his entire interior by the time he was done with you. He’s gripping your hair in one fist, the other wrapped around your torso as he pounds into you from behind. The entire car is shaking now, not just from the bass but from Toji beating your pussy up. It’s so messy, he’s barely able to tell which hole he’s even in from how wet you are. You’re mewling all the same, arching into his touch. Each tug of your hair makes you clench around him and he groans hotly. You’re seeing stars, arms shaking trying to hold yourself up; grateful he’s doing that all on his own. “C’mon ‘Ma, gonna give me another?” His balls slap your clit and you think you just might; walls snuggly hugging his cock in anticipation. “I feel her… she’s tired but she’s managin’, huh?” He speaks to you so nasty, which is probably making you wetter than it should. “Squeezin’ me so tight despite how mean I’m bein’ with her. Such a slutty little pussy, ain’t she?” You try to collapse in on yourself from embarrassment but that mean grip in your hair doesn’t let you. “What, don’t like what I’m sayin’? She sure does… listen ta’her. Tell me ya’hear her.”

“I hear her…” you concede, a single fat tear drops from your eye and onto his seat.

“What she sayin’?”

“I don’t know,” you cry out, body shaking from trying to keep yourself together. You’re exhausted, and this lunatic sounds like he’s just getting started.

“Try a little harder, doll,” he untangles his hand from your hair before pulling out; both arms grabbing your legs and spreading you wide. He slots between them perfectly, lifting them off the seats and angling his cock against your hole. Your head hits the plush backseat and he tangles your legs around his back. He holds your hips up, forcing your back to curve before sinking right back in. He’s got you in a wheelbarrow position, picking back up to match that punishing speed from earlier once you’re situated. Your muscles ache from the unfamiliar position but the eroticism of it all has you clenching all the same. “She’s sayin’,” he reminds you, a mean snap of his hips making you squeal, “that I own this pussy.” You concede, it sure does feel like it at this point. You can practically feel him all the way in your throat. Shaking, another orgasm lines up and you choke out a sob.

“I’m-”

“Cummin’?” he finishes for you, “Go on, squirt on me one last time. I’m cummin’ too,” he growls, body tensing, each drag of his cock inside you egging you on. Your body shakes, accepting you can’t hold on any longer and you squirt—just like Toji asked. He rides out his high, slowing down and squeezing the fat of your ass as he finishes. His load bullies its way inside you, tangling with yours. When he finally pulls out your two fluids spill out, dripping down the both of you. “Nasty lil’ thing…” he observes, but he doesn’t sound disgusted, in fact, he sounds like he’s sad he has to let you go after this.

Art Major! Choso

You sit in the cavernous theater of your university’s art department, the school’s orchestra practicing below you for their upcoming concert. As winds and strings rise and fall together, you close your eyes, stilling at the almost painful sound. The music reminds you of how you feel so full, yet so hollow. The week granted you some of the best experiences of your life, yet something was still missing. You were starting to lose sight of the task at hand, self doubt peppering your thoughts. Perhaps he was just a joke, a mean prank pulled by one of the girls in your dorm. Now that you thought about it, your admirer had gone radio silent since you began looking for him. At the sobering realization, your arms come up to cradle yourself. You sulk alone in the dark theater, sinking into the plush seat beneath you.

You don’t leave until after the orchestra is long gone, taking to wandering the halls before the building closes. The pitter-patter of rain hits the windows with each step. You walk past countless rooms, away from instruments and past the computer labs, making your way towards the pottery wheels and then to the sea of easels. It’s then you see him: Choso. Your melancholy falters as you notice your friend. He’s hunched over a canvas, paintbrush in hand while he works with nothing but the moody light of dusk to accompany him. The two of you met in your first semester of freshman psychology together, bonding over your shared interests and all the countless projects you teamed up for. You hadn’t seen him in what felt like forever, and you’re endlessly grateful he appeared when you needed him the most.

“Boo!” He jumps from the puff of air tickling his ear. The hands gripping his shoulders feel him tense and subsequently relax.

“Don’t do that,” he says, although he’s smiling at you. The stool nearby becomes yours, pulling it next to him at the easel.

“Soooo… What are we painting?” you ask, hair falling in your face as you tilt your head to look at him.

“Well wouldn’t you like to know,” he teases and you laugh in tandem.

“Yes, I would. That’s why I asked.” Your voice is filtered, light and airy but restrained because for some reason you’re nervous. Stomach in knots over the unique tension lingering between you two. Has time really made you both this awkward? It wasn’t that long ago since you last talked. You clear your throat, eyes scanning the room as you consider what to talk about. “How are you?” is all you can think of.

“Fine,” he says. His breath stills with each flick of his wrist onto the canvas. “Et tu?” he inquires. Head turning to look at you, his dark brown eyes finally meet yours. Blue light swims across his pale face, the bags underneath his eyes more prominent in the twilight.

“Same as you.”

He nods, like he’s contemplating the truth behind your answer. Whatever he’s thinking he doesn't say out loud, instead, his lips purse in focus. He dips his brush onto his palette, bringing it up to dab it onto the page in front of him. “Lemme see,” you attempt to whine, but it comes out far too soft. A fragile hand reaches out to gently pull his back, getting a better look. “A flower,” you muse. You study it, turning to look at him once more. “I like it.”

His throat bobs from a prominent swallow. His mouth opens—quickly shutting as he decides not to continue with what he wanted to say. Instead he looks at you, his eyes doe-like and wide. “‘M doing a study,” he practically whispers.

“I thought you needed the object in front of you for a study,” you inquire.

“Usually. But I don’t need it for this flower.”

Your lip juts out, you tilt your head as you try to pinpoint the one in front of you. You’re at a loss when you finally ask him. “What’s this one?”

He doesn’t answer you at first, just dabs more paint on the end of his brush. It’s so quiet you can hear the bristles make contact with the scratchy canvas paper. Cobalt bleeds through the wide windows in front of you, the tables and stools taking on a similar hue. The AC suddenly kicks on, forgotten pencils roll along the ground and across the shadows that stretch behind you two. The sink at the end of the room dribbles out water, a soft plink plink plink chimes out as a lone cup in the deep basin catches the stray droplets. Half-finished canvases glow among the twilight and a shaky breath brings you back to the man beside you. “It’s an orchid.”

Your lip twitches and you smile nervously. “Really?” you muse, trying to sound unaffected. “D’you like orchids?” you ask. You nibble on your bottom lip, hands gripping the seat below you to steady yourself.

All he does is nod, continuing to paint wordlessly, infuriating you. Somehow, the brief moment you were sharing made you actually forget about your anonymous lover—of course he had to bring you back down to Earth. He notices the shaky breath that leaves your nose and he turns to you. He looks more shy than usual, like he’s scared you know something he doesn’t want you to. “Is that okay?” he whispers. You turn to him too, why wouldn’t that be? It wasn’t like he knew the torture you’d been putting yourself through, pent up and frustrated by some mystery guy you couldn’t even verify was real at this point.

“Why wouldn’t that be?” you croak out and his eyes begin to widen.

“I’m so sorry,” he begins, eyes widening in horror as he stumbles over his words to explain himself. “I shouldn’t have. It was wrong of me. I-” he runs a shaky hand through his hair and you’re looking up at him like he grew two heads. “It was totally messed up, I’m so, so sorry,” his lip quivers as you sit up straight.

It finally clicks: “Choso, you’ve been writing me those notes?” your eyes widen in disbelief, jaw going slack. The boy in front of you all but squirms, getting on his knees to beg for your forgiveness properly. He bows deeply at your feet, his form shaking under the weight of his self-loathing. You’re in shock as your friend since freshman year quivers beneath you and every single note, every miniscule confession floods through your head in an instant. “Choso. Please stand up,” you push out the words with no help from your empty lungs. He doesn’t obey and you’re forced to sit down beside him. “Choso, I’m not mad. Please look at me.” His back twitches, the sturdy expanse of it slowly coming out of view as he’s face to face with you. His cheeks are wet with tears.

“‘M sorry,” he rasps. Your heart feels like it’s beating out of your chest looking into the eyes of the culprit. He was right under your nose all along—really you should have known. No other guy would have been capable of writing like your secret admirer. No other guy, but Choso.

“I’m sorry,” you begin and his shoulders collapse in on themselves. He braces for rejection, the sting already burning his throat. “I should have known. I’m so stupid.” He shakes his head in disagreement, but he doesn’t interrupt. “I should have known the only guy capable of making me fall in love from just some words on a page had to be you.” He stills in realization, his eyes meeting yours. You look down at his lips, buttery soft and they’re oh so tempting.

“Do you mean…?”

“Choso, please don't make us wait any longer.”

﹏

A flurry of loose sketchbook pages and watercolors fly off a nearby table, Choso pushing them off to make room to lay you down. Slowly, he eases you onto the table. He treats you as if you were a flower, too scared to damage one of your fragile petals. He hovers above you, arms caging you in on either side.

“Are you sure about this?” he asks, brushing away a stray hair that fell onto your face. You bite your lip, nodding up at him. His knuckles trace the side of your face, trailing down and moving across your jawline. His featherlight strokes develop goosebumps in their wake, both of your shaky breaths intertwine as he takes his time with you. “I wanna show you just how much you mean to me,” he confesses and you nod, a little too enthusiastically. His breathy laugh swirls around your ears, calming your nerves just a little. “You’ll let me?” he asks, almost like he doesn’t believe you.

“Do I need to beg?”

“I wouldn’t be opposed," he admits, biting the inside of his cheek. You notice the purple paint on the side of his face from the action, and you reach up to dab at it with your thumb. When you pull it back, it’s still there, having completely dried. “Hmm?” he pulls back, looking at your spotless thumb. “Do I have paint on me?” he asks. You nod. “Oh, sorry,” he begins.

“Why?” your eyebrows furrow, and you're lost in his eyes. Big brown orbs look down at you, a needy pout evident on his lips. “It just gives me an idea,” you tell him.

“Do tell.” You turn your head away from his gaze, like you’re considering not sharing what you were thinking. “Nuh uh,” his steady fingers grip your cheeks, pulling you back to look at him. “Don’t shy away from me now. It’s too late for that,” he kids, but his pupils reveal a starving man. You didn’t know it, but you had just dangled the juiciest piece of meat in front of the world’s hungriest man. If you didn’t give him you—all of you—neither of you were making it out of that room alive.

“Why don’t you paint me?”

“Like one of my french girls?” he finishes for you, chuckling. You shake your head and move to sit up. He pulls back, giving you room; both of your knees dangling off the side of the table. You look around, searching for something before you find what you’re looking for. You grab a single collapsible tube of green paint. It’s crinkled with overuse but you twist off the cap and squeeze a dollop of pigment onto your pointer finger. You don’t hesitate to bring it up to his face, starting at his chin and trailing it down past the outline of his Adam's apple until you reach the hem of his shirt. A solid line of pine green now contrasting his alabaster skin.

“Paint me,” you say simply, smiling as your line bobs from a single, harsh swallow. He’s not entirely sure how he’s keeping his cool; probably due to the fact he’s waited far too long to have you, determined not to ruin it now.

“O-Okay,” he lets out a shaky breath. “Can I?” he asks, gripping the bottom of your shirt. You help him, dropping the fabric onto the floor below you—you don’t shy away from his gaze once it’s off, silently watching as he drinks you in. He savors your torso for a moment, eyes pausing at your bra clad chest before bending down, shakily picking up the pigments off the floor from earlier. He continues to shake as he twists off the cap of one of them, persimmon orange spurting out onto his pointer finger before he hesitantly brings it up. He dabs the color on your collarbone experimentally, dragging it along your skin towards the curve of your shoulder. The color fades off, and he drops the tube before fishing for another. Vermillion red tickles your bicep, followed by fuchsia pink along your cleavage.

“It tickles,” you note breathlessly, your voice not meaning to sound so sultry. He grabs another color: lemon yellow. He squeezes it directly onto your skin, just below your breast. He drops the tube, collecting the gloop of paint on his ring finger and trailing it down down down to your lower tummy. It freezes just below your belly button before he gets an idea. He picks up the red pigment once more, squeezing out a decent amount and smearing it on the hip above your belt loop. A series of swirls follow and you watch him curiously, waiting for him to pull away to reveal a single word in cursive.

“Orchid,” he tells you, even though you can see it. The calligraphy matches the one found in all those notes. His figure swims in your vision, silently observing. “D’you know why I chose that name?” You shake your head. “In most cultures, they represent elegance, beauty, strength,” he lectures, “...perfection. They’re able to thrive in even the darkest of depths. They’re the only flower that can grow underground,” he muses; a dark look flashes across his eyes. It leaves as fast as it came, and you note how they’re focused on the vermillion claim seeping into your hip bone. “Gifting an orchid to someone symbolizes passion—undying devotion,” he finishes. You suddenly feel exposed, a biting chill sweeps across the room and Choso takes note. “Sorry… I’m being a little intense,” he apologizes.

“Don’t apologize,” you whimper.

“Can I have you now?” He asks politely, although it comes out too fast. His patience wavering. “I don’t think I can hold back much longer.”

You nod and he kisses your warm skin; plump mouth featherlight along the column of your throat. Each touch promises to devour you; heavy hands claiming your body as his paint stained finger tips cradle your back, holding your chest taut against him. Your head is left dangling, eyes closed while his tongue slides up your jugular. The line of spit cools your scorching skin, all the way up to your gasping mouth. He fights the overwhelming desire to rut into you, in awe at the creature beneath him. He’s stripped you down to just your underwear—opting to keep his own clothes on; leaving you alone in your vulnerable state. “Cho-” you begin and he shushes you with a balmy smooch. He tastes like the fruity gum he favors, the same one he would always chew in class. His warm tongue pokes out, licking the seam of your lips and you let him in. Strong arms tighten around you; two tongues tousling as you both fight for control over the other’s. You think you’ve already fallen into his trap—sticky webs fastening around you: keeping you caged. He’s tenderizing you in the meantime, priming your flesh to accept all of him.

“You have no idea,” he begins, pausing to kiss your blushing lips, “how long-” a wet ‘chuuu’ sounds out, “I’ve been thinking about this.”

You nod: you have a pretty good idea all thanks to his own doing. He leads you down against the workstation, stray pages crinkling beneath you. Choso’s biting his lip, chest rising and falling steadily as he watches you before diving down and placing a chaste kiss to your breast. It's clear to you that he's restraining himself, an unspoken boundary keeping him chained as he cautiously pecks at the skin. “Choso, don’t hold back,” he pulls away from your thorax slowly, eyes peeking up at you. “I can take it,” you promise.

His entire body shudders, eyes darkening to a shade you didn’t know existed. “I shouldn’t.” He sounds pained.

“This is me begging,” you beseech, gripping onto his t-shirt for good measure. “The one and only time.” It’s a warning he concedes to, dipping his mouth low once more to slurp in the pebbled bud of your nipple. His hand comes up, ringed fingers thumbing against the other peak and you finally relax—but not for long. A sharp sting makes you gasp, looking down to see Choso pulling away from the spot where he marked you. Teeth-shaped ridges surround your nipple; his tongue swipes out, saliva swinging as he drools like a dog over you. You can do nothing but watch as he nibbles again and again, canines piercing your skin every so often making you jump. The best word to describe him would be hungry—starving eyes matching a ravenous mouth. You think you hear him growl into the fat of your breast, unsure if you're imagining it in the otherwise quiet studio. Night fell, darkening the room with nothing but a sliver of moonlight for you to see with. He looked like a vampire above you—a creature of darkness promising to make ruining you feel good. “I’m going to eat you now,” he says, not asking. He kisses all the way down your stomach, tongue trailing down south to your eager folds. Thick fingers grip your inner thighs, tearing them open and settling them between his head. His nose prods your clit, a long sniiiiiiiiiiff sounding out before you could even anticipate it.

“Choso!” You’re slack jawed, taken aback by the animalistic shudder than wracks through his body at your unadulterated scent.

“S-So good,” he comments. He’s only been able to dream about being this close to you. His tongue pokes out for an experimental lick and his first taste only confirms it: you were meant for him. His dark hair tickles your thighs as he plunges his tongue in further—slurping and suckling your folds through the thin barrier of your panties. You sit up, determined to watch and that gives him leeway to grab your ass and slide you further into his mouth. Your hips stutter at his tongue now hot against you, hand gripping his locks to stabilize yourself. He eats you like he has something to prove, massaging your folds and swirling the tip of his tongue against your clit.

“Slow down,” you hiccup. He ignores you, flicking your clit like it owes him money and running his muscled tongue up and down. He licks and licks and sucks until you’re shaking, leaning back on your hands to keep yourself upright. His fingers dig into your skin, preventing your thighs from crushing him as he keeps his brutal pace. Your stomach does flips watching the man beneath you enjoy his meal; tongue soaking your panties clean through, the barrier becoming almost unnoticeable. You jump from being able to feel him better but he doesn’t falter, punching his tongue further and further into you while his nose tickles your clit. He doesn’t stop until you’re about to cum, pulling away at the first sign leaving you a panting mess. “Cho-?” He stands up, slipping his dick out from beneath his pants, a pained look on his face. His long inches are dripping with precum as he strokes his cock tentatively. Without warning, a huge glob of ghostly white cum pools out of his tip and down the length of his cock. “Did you..?” you ask and he bites his lip, stroking himself slowly as more and more pour out onto his hand. It settles on you that he came from eating you out; so excited from hearing you about to cum that he started prematurely coming himself. With no stimulation. His chest is heaving when he looks at you, unsure what your reaction will be as you stare at the jizz on his hand.

“‘M sorry,” he begins, “I’m not done, I promise,” you can only nod at him as he focuses his attention back on you. The same cum-coated hand reaches down to enter your panties, playing with your folds and smearing his semen on your clit. His ring finger breaches your waiting hole, thick seed tagging along. His mouth attaches to yours once more, kissing you at the same pace he’s fingering you at—slow and sensual, making sure you feel all of it. His cock brushes against your thigh, surprisingly still hard as his finger slides in and out of you. He does this for a while, sloppily kissing you as his finger and cock rut in tandem. You’re a victim to his teasing. You arch into him, moaning softly into his mouth and he stops his ministrations, pressing his forehead to yours. “I don’t think I’m gonna last,” he sighs and you can’t fight the giggle that leaves you.

“You just came,” You remind him and he slots his head into the space between your neck and shoulders.

“I know….” he all but whines. Breath tickling you. “You’re squeezing my finger…” he explains, like it’s obvious.

“I’m not doing it on purpose.”

“I know, I know,” he concedes, pulling back to look at you. “You’re just so beautiful,” he can’t help but say, free hand coming to tuck a stray piece of hair from your face. You’re a blushing mess but you don’t respond. “Are you sure I can make love to you?” he asks for further reassurance, voice cracking, like it’s the most scandalous thing he’s said all night. You smile at him and his cock bounces.

“I already said yes. No more questions, Choso, just do it.” With this he grips his cock, slipping it past your panties and sandwiching it between your folds and the gusset of your underwear. A few experimental strokes has him holding onto you for support, knees buckling at the heat but he continues; tip kissing your clit so deliciously you feel dizzy. You hump into his cock as he ruts, the two of you stretching out your panties as he slides back and forth, the friction making your toes curl. “In, in,” you beg.

“Almost,” he swears, holding onto your hips to hump into you faster. His hot precum greets your twitching clit but he doesn’t stop, continuing to punch it with each buck of his hips. Your stomachs stuttering—cunt fluttering as he grinds with fervor. “Cho-” you beg and he finally silences you, pulling your panties to the side and sliding into your hole in one go. You groan, clawing his back but he pulls out after one stroke, going back to fucking your panties. “Please.” He’s focused as he alternates, giving you one to two good pumps before pulling out to slide between your folds. It becomes a rhythm for him, switching between teasing and fucking you until he’s about to cum again. You’re not sure why it’s working for you either, but each delicious roll of his hips into you, only to pull out, is getting you closer and closer to your edge. “I’m gonna,” you announce and he pushes you back against the table, fully sheathing himself into you, pounding in one steady rhythm. The otherwise quiet studio is alive with your wet pussy sucking in his inches, noisy plap plap plaps ringing out across the arts department. He pulls your legs up, keeping your ankles together with just one hand as he does his best to fuck you through it. His free thumb rubs circles on your clit, cock pummeling into you as you reach your climax. Your cunt tightens around him impossibly hard, death vice preventing him from pulling out again even if he wanted to and he’s cumming soon after you, burying himself deep with a throaty whine. He pulls out to watch his cum pool out of you, thick globs of his claim seeping onto the table beneath you. Still holding your legs, he scoops some up with his free hand and plunges it back inside you. Your cunt twitches in response, but he stuffs you until he’s satisfied. He leaves a brief, but sloppy kiss to your dripping hole, feeling secure now that you’re finally claimed with his seed before placing the bunched fabric of your panties back over you.

xx yuri-ful

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