Tensei天生

"Hayakawa,"

You tug at the base of Aki's sleeve, fingers sticky from sweets n' sugar, now wiped on the expensive fabric of his suit jacket. He completely ignores you, eyes trained to the person ahead of you both in line-- flicking between them and the menu above the cashier's head, numerous fancy treats and coffees and drinks scribbled out neatly in chalk. You make a noise low in your throat, bringing your other hand up to your lips to lick the sweetness from the pads of your fingers, pink tongue darting out to dance across sensitive fingertips.

Once the man before you receives his order and steps out of line Aki steps up to the ordering counter, you stumbling behind him-- failing a step-- as you weren't really paying attention. He orders only a drink for himself, something with a big fancy Italian (or was it French?) name that you couldn't bother to remember, only to be slightly irritated by the fact he didn't get you anything. You had 'misbehaved' during a mission prior in the day, but that probably has nothing to do with the fact that Aki is, unusually, ignoring you and not buying you your own matching treat along with his own.

Aki finds you both a round table in a small, secluded, but comfortable, area in the back of the café and places down his fancy coffee. You move to take a sip, but he slides it away from you.

Grumbling, you plop yourself down in the seat, adjusting to get comfortable on the fluffy cushion.

Comfortable, or at least, comfortable to you, silence is broken by Aki's voice cutting through the air with an edge so sharp it's comparable to his sword.

"Did I say you could sit?"

"wha-"

"Get up."

"Hey, I don't remember you being the boss of m--"

"That is exactly what I am. Now get up, before I force you up. I'm not asking you again."

You swallow a thick lump in your throat, pausing for a moment as you stare up at Hayakawa through furrowed brows. Licking the inside of your cheek, you obey, hesitantly standing, using the chair as leverage.

Aki doesn't utter a word as he extends his hand out to you, and you don't either as you place your palm in his. Squeezing tight, he pulls you along, back, back, further and further, all the way to the single-person bathroom tucked in the well-kept corners of the café. He locks the door shut with a click.

Your gaze drifts over the muscles in his back through the luxury fabric of his suit as he rolls his sleeves up to his elbows, not now concerned for potential wrinkles.

You open your mouth to speak, but in one moment, his back is facing you, shoulders squared and tense, and in the next, he's whipped around to face you-- stepping forwards to where there's barely an inch between your bodies, his warm breath fanning your cheeks.

Your cheeks, tinted pink, now warm with the weight of his palms.

"Aki--"

"You really just say whatever you want, huh?"

Aki slips his thumb between your lips. The taste of clean, black leather and cigarette butts drift across your taste buds, a faded, almost faint taste, much gentler compared to the rough play of his thumb with your tongue. He tuts when you make a noise of confusion, his thumb pad pressing down on the pink little thing, now slick and shiny with spit that coats his digit and your lips, now dribbling down your chin.

"You don't do it because you want to. You don't do it on purpose. You sass me because you're too stupid to understand that you're not the one making the rules here."

You squirm and whine in his hold, trembling thighs coming up to squeeze distance between the two of you, but Aki's much stronger than you are.

"You're just a dumb little boy who doesn't know how to shut his sloppy little mouth, huh? Aren't you?"

Aki slips his fingers from your lips, allowing you time to answer. You lick up the drool that's coated the edges of your mouth and chin, lower lip trembling as you glare at him with watery eyes.

"I'm not dumb--"

Aki's hand spanks your thigh. Hard. A resounding 'slap!' reverberates through the small bathroom along with a high-pitched mewl that slips from your lips.

"Don't take that tone with me. Apologize. If you know what's good for you."

"I-I'm sorry, I'm s-sorry--"

"I don't think you're being sincere."

Aki suddenly and aggressively palms at the bulge in your dress pants, squeezing firmly enough that your thighs instinctively clamp shut around his wrist.

"If you were being sincere, you'd stop talking. You'd shut up, you'd sit still, and you'd take what I have to give you."

He squeezes at your cock once more, now fully hard and aching and straining against the tight fabric of your dress pants. He toys with the hem of your pants, the pad of his thumb brushing the soft skin of your waist before slipping lower, traveling over something he recognizes with the unmistakable texture of lace, and he scoffs, muttering something under his breath about 'behavior' and 'attitude'.

Suddenly, Aki leans down to whisper in your ear-- voice low and rough, whispering in such a way that can only be described as authoritative.

"You listen to me, and you listen good, Because I am not repeating myself. Do you understand?"

You nod, frantically.

"Good. Now, you're gonna hump my palm, a--"

"What? no, I-"

"I wasn't done. You're going to hump my palm, and you're going to thank me. You're going to thank me for being so lenient, and you're going to apologize for being such a bratty little bitch. Do you understand?"

Before you can reply, Aki brings up his free hand to roughly grab at your chin and squish your cheeks, shaking- no, more so jerking your head back and fourth- as a show of strength. "Don't even answer. Just get to it. Hurry, before I change my mind."

You try. You really do, but it's so hard to naturally fall into a rythym when Aki's squeezing your face and forcing you to make such strict eye contact. The movement of your hips is akward and tense, coming from a place of raw obedience more so than pleasure. But he doesn't really seem to care. not for now, at least.

"Thank you... T-Tha--"

"You really pissed me off today. You should be glad. Be glad I'm not doing something much worse, something much more painful to you."

"Mmhg-"

"Now, what were you thanking me for?"

He cups and squeezes at your bulge, a mangled gasp ripping itself from your throat as your back arches off the brick wall. You tip your head back, hips rolling into the pleasurable sensation-- before-- before he squeezes hard, hard enough to hurt, and subconsciously, you jerk your hips away in pain.

"Thank you f-for-- For being lenient, a-ahk!-"

"Don't stop."

"F...ffor being l-leniant... And... And I'm so-orry, m'sorry for being a brat..."

"A bratty what?"

"...A bratty... little b-bitch..."

Aki lets out a loud sigh, dropping his head into your shoulder, ignoring the way you flinch when he does. He admires the bracketed view of your bodies, the view of his palms pressed firm to your small bulge.

He squeezes your cock in his hand, thumb gently tracing over the fabric of your suit pants, the sensation barely there. He uses his grip on your dick to push you up, up, onto your tippy toes, and he can't help the little moan that drifts from his lips when your hands move to frantically grip at his shoulders. He eases up from rough squeezes to gently grinding his palms against your sensitive cock, letting your trembling thighs relax as you hesitantly grind down onto his hand.

Then, he pulls away.

Pushing himself off the wall, he turns away from you to adjust his sleeves and straighten his coat.

"What..? You're just gonna leave me with a ha-"

Aki cranes his neck to look back at you, his gaze stern and authoritative, and you instantly shut up.

"If there's one thing you should've learned from this entire experience, it's that you're not in the position to mouth off at me. Be quiet. Or do I have to remind you?"

"...No, Aki..."

To be completely, unfiltered, absolutely and a hundred percent truthful,

Yuuji can be kind of scary like this.

Scary-- scary when he's focused, and calculated, and so insanely devoted and concentrated on something that nothing can stop him. In any other scenario you would've been less afraid, maybe more-so-appalled, giggle, and give him some sort of sweet treat or maybe simple affection as a reward later on for working so diligently on something.

But in this scenario, with Yuuji between your spread legs, thick, callused fingers dragging against the gummy slick walls of your hole, with his free hand expertly stroking up and down and up and down the shaft of your cock, it's a bit hard (no pun intended) not to be scared.

"Yu-uji, s'-- knock it off, s'not g-gonna... nuthin's gunna..."

"Shhh,"

Yuuji gently kisses the tips of his fingers against your swollen sweet spot, a small groan fluttering from his lips as he watches your spine bow and your toes curl.

"I got this. Y'don't believe me, baby?" His words come out slurred and hot, mingling with the sounds of your moans and whines. "Have I ever failed you when it comes t'..."

Yuuji presses a warm, sloppy, wet kiss to the sensitive tip of your cock, practically making out with the poor swollen thing before sucking hard, then pulling off with a filthy slurp followed by a loud 'pop!'.

"...makin' you feel good? Hm? Baby? My baby?"

All you can do in response is whine. Yuuji isn't wrong, and you both know this. It's just...

A few hours ago, everything was perfectly fine. You guys hadn't had sex in a few days, and besides getting handsy here and there, Yuuji seemed fine. In absolute mint condition, if anything. And then, miraculously, he just happened to scroll across some stupid reddit post talking about men squirting. And instead of behaving like any rational person, and just continuing to read through the strings of posts and comments, he just immediately decides that using you as his personal guinea pig is the best course of action.

So, you've been sitting here, legs forced open over the width of Yuuji's shoulders, fluttering hole stuffed with fingers with your poor cock forced to come for what's been maybe the fourth time tonight. in the past hour and a half.

You've tried everything just to try and get a break. You've squirmed, you've kicked, you've cried, you've tried to physically get up off the bed and crawl away, but nothing seems to work. It's just... nothing seemed to get through that thick skull of his.

You can't say you'd like to completely stop, but a break... a break would be nice.

While he's so dead set on making you squirt, you're adamant nothing is going to happen.

You let your head drop back, hips jerking and rolling uncontrollably when he angles his fingers and thrusts right into your prostate, his other hand wrapped around the base of your cock-- rough thumbpad gently petting the seam of your balls.

"Hm."

You let your eyes flutter shut, letting out a little moan of relief when Yuuji's free hand gently releases your cock. Your hips buck at the loss of stimulation, but ultimately, you're relieved. You let your thighs open wide and fall lax, unbothered to how absolutely debauched and utterly lewd you might look from Yuuji's point of view. Not that he'd care, anyways.

Lidded eyes watch the way your puffy rim swallows up the thick of his fingers, drooling and soft and oh-so-warm-- and, suddenly,

Yuuji gets an idea.

"Baby... baby," Yuuji practically purrs. Hesitantly, you lift your head to look down at him.

"'Need y'to be really, really good for me, okay? yeah?"

Yuuji tuts and coos when you drop your head back with a whine, thighs trembling and beginning to shut before he wrenches them open again.

"Oh, don't be like that, babe. S'just... just sit still, and I'll make you feel really good, okay? really good. Jus'..."

Yuuji doesn't wait for a reply-- instead, he spreads your thighs wide for easier access, slips his digits in just right and angles them so they dip against the soft of your sweet spot, and settles the thumb of his free hand against the silky skin of your perineum. Your cock twitches and jerks, dribbles of precome swelling at the tip in little pretty pearls.

He starts with light little taps, then small, tight circles-- then lastly, progresses to firm but gentle up and down petting motions against your perineum-- a weird, indescribably good feeling coiling deep in your gut and causing you to squirm. Meanwhile, his fingers lavish attention on your sweet spot from the inside as well, causing that same delicious feeling to intensify what feels like a thousand times more.

it feels so weird.

You try to buck away from the feeling but Yuuji just shushes you and applies a fraction more of pressure, not letting you escape the onslaught of weird, weird, so fucking weird but undeniably good sensation.

... Suddenly, another odd... but new sensation settles. Not in your tummy this time, but in your bladder.

"Yuu-- Yuuji, Yuuji--"

"Hmm?"

"G-Get it out-- get them o-out, need'ta, need t'pee, I th-ink, need--"

"No, no, sweetheart. You don't need to pee. S'not pee. It's working, you're close. S'okay, jus' let it happen, 'kay?"

Yuuji leans forwards to kiss you, his eyes fluttering shut, but you crane your neck away before he can land a successful kiss-- which, he grumbles at.

"I'm s-serious Yuuji, I ne-ed to pee, m'not fuckin' a-around--"

"Shut up n' listen to me, baby,"

And you do. Save for the occasional incoherent whines and cries.

So you sit there and take it. Just... just take it, despite this overwhelming pressure in your bladder, despite the waves of pleasure rolling off your spine, despite the over sensitivity of your hole and your cock and your body just begging for a break.

And you're so distracted by your own thoughts that when you do (finally fucking) squirt, it hits you hard. Really hard.

With a mangled shout your body curls in on itself, hands scrambling for Yuuji's shoulders as you try to force him away from you-- yet, he keeps up his gentle ministrations alllll the way through your orgasm.

It's like-- It's like that pressure in your bladder releases itself in a way that feels so fucking good, your sloppy, messy hole fluttering and clenching tight around his still pumping fingers, the muscles in your tummy tightening and contracting in such a satisfying way as you experience what doesn't feel... quite like an orgasm, but something different, and just as intense.

Something wet, something clear, but not quite as thick and sticky as come, but not pee-- shoots from your cock in messy spurts, soaking Yuuji's wrist and the sheets and leaving a little puddle on your tummy.

"O-Oh fuck, fu-uck--"

"Told you that'd feel good, hm?"

Gasping and heaving, you barely manage the beginnings of a sentence before your eyes flutter shut and you immediately pass out.

"K-Kuna... S-- S'kuna--!"

You writhe in Sukuna's grip, hips twisting and squirming this way and that as you try to escape from the onslaught of filthy pleasure. Sukuna chuckles, deep and low in his throat, big, big hands tightening their grip on your arms. A second pair, just as callused and big as the other, knead the pliant flesh of your thighs, squeezing and molding and playing in a way that's sure to leave finger-shaped bruises.

You're held firmly over Sukuna's belly, thighs stretched wide around his thick waist, aching and trembling in his strict grip. his upper pair of hands squeeze at your forearms, keeping them pinned tight to your torso, your smaller hands clenched into fist at your sides, nails digging into your palms and leaving pink little crescent-shaped marks. Sukuna's tongue, his tummy tongue, laps at your sopping wet pussy like a starved dog-- fat and warm and impossibly good as it licks a fat stripe from your hole all the way to the apex of your folds.

He's had you like this for what has probably been hours now-- sucking and slurping at your poor, raw pussy, now swollen and pink from overstimulation. A slick, sticky mess of come and spit soak your thighs, his tongue, and both of your tummies-- you've been milked for all your worth-- body shaking and trembling as mewls of pleasure and pleads drip from your shaky lips in an endless stream, much like the constant pour of cream wrung from your sensitive little boypussy.

"What's wrong, boy? You were so needy for my attention, what changed?"

"Ghhk-- guh, ah-- GAH--!"

Sukuna's tongue presses flat against your swollen clit, grinding and rubbing with a pressure so strong it forces your back into a deep arch-- your neck tight as you throw your head back with a mangled shriek, adam's apple strained against the soft skin and bobbing when you violently swallow before dropping your head, exhausted heaves and moans fluttering from between grit teeth.

Sukuna gently shakes you after a moment, a reminder that he'd asked you a question. You slightly lift your head to look up at him through your lashes, eyes struggling not to cross and roll back with pleasure, teeth grit and eyebrows pinched together.

"It's t-too much-- Your-- Y-your tongue-- huff, hah--"

Sukuna hums, eyes flittering down to your abused cunt. His tongue lavishes attention on your plump folds, squirming and writhing against your ruined hole.

"M-My pussy, it's too sensitive, please, P-please--! can't take a-anymore--!"

"Hm. Well,"

His tongue dips into your entrance and you instinctively flinch and tense, Sukuna's hands trailing a path down and up your thighs before curving over your hips to rest on your lower belly. Your eyes widen as his thumbs trace the swollen lips of your pussy-- His left thumb applies pressure at the apex of your cunt, pulling back the hood of your clit and exposing the puffy pink bud to the heated air.

"You wanna know what I think?"

"'Kuna, please, 'K-Kuna, please please p-please pleaseplease--"

"I think it's pretty rude that y'wanna lie t'me about what this sweet little cunt craves."

"M-Mercy, MERCY---!"

Sukuna's tongue slurps a stripe up to your bare clit, swirling and grinding and lavishing attention on the cute little bud. You squeal, body curling in on itself as you try to twist away from the overwhelming pleasure, a spurt of come dripping from your swollen pussy, fat clit twitching against his tongue.

"Look at him. He's creaming all over my tongue, makin' such a fuckin' mess," Sukuna coos, words slurred between pursed lips and a clenched jaw, talking more to your cunt than you as he sucks in a breath through his teeth.

You whine, loud- fat tears rolling down your cheeks in globs, dripping onto his toned torso.

"G-Gonna come, fuck, gonna-- hnngh, Guh-- Gonna--" "Again?"

You growl low in your throat in response, voice broken and strangled as it claws its way up your throat. Your thighs violently tremble, hands shaking as your moans grow constant and higher in pitch and volume. Your puffy pussy clenches against his slobbering tongue, the callused pad of his thumb coming down to pet at your aching clit.

You sputter out a broken mantra of 'please', and 'gonna come', and 'can't take it', drool slipping from the corners of your lips as you nearly shout in pleasure. Sukuna licks one fat, filthy stripe up your dripping pussy, his thumb grinds against your throbbing clit-- once, twice-- before you're fucking squirting all over his tongue and fingers.

You scream when you come, exhausted body threatening to give as your eyes cross and roll back so aggressively that it aches. your jaw hangs slack, essence gushing from your fucked-out cunt. Your eyes flutter shut, droplets of drool and tears and sweat dripping down your chin as you heave.

"Wow, what a mess," Sukuna purrs, dragging a thumb through your folds, humming when you tense and shudder. Sukuna's right hand comes up to cradle your chin, cooing when you rest your face against his thick palm.

"How about just a few more, huh? It kinda looks t'me like this greedy little boypussy can't get enough."

"Denji-Chan,”

Your voice is sweet and teasing, dipping into the delicate canal of his ears and tickling the sensitive skin in a way comparable to the softest feather imaginable. Hearing his own name uttered from such tender lips sends a pleasured shiver up his spine. 

Both your arms are wrapped around his shoulders, pink lips just barely grazing the shell of his ear as soft breaths flutter and trail through the blonde hairs decorating his nape.

See, when Aki had told him that he’d be picking up one of his buddies from their work and letting them stay the night, he wasn’t expecting this. He was expecting maybe some salary-dude as proper and organized as Aki, or maybe if he was lucky enough a sweet girl who works at maybe a convenience store or a coffee shop nearby. What he was not expecting was a pretty– no. Downright gorgeous dude with flirtation skills he could only dream of acquiring from some sort of host club ten-fifteen minutes away or so.

 Aki had explained to him at some point or other that when you called him you were a drunk, sobbing mess, complaining about how awful your life is and how all the cabs keep driving past and you don’t feel like catching a train and that you’re cold. Most of it kind of went one ear and out the other, though.

So now he’s sitting here on Aki’s couch, a bishōnen wrapped around his neck while Aki and Power are fast asleep in their respective rooms. Your shirt is slipping off your shoulder and at some point he caught a glimpse of some sort of lacy bra pulled snug to your rather soft looking pectorals.

“Denji-chan,” You whine, once more, and Denji physically has to repress a groan.

“Pay attention t’me… c’mon,”

Denji has to reason with himself– practically remind himself that he’s not gay. That he has a goal. And that goal is not achievable with another man. Even with a man as gorgeous as yourself. He also tells himself— that ‘the stripper does not actually like him’ – and that you’re probably just too drunk to realize that you’re off the clock. You’re drunk. So drunk. He can’t do this.

Even though Denji refuses to lay a hand on you, he thinks to himself– well, what’s the harm in stealing a few glances? He’s not disrespecting you, or anything. And he’s definitely still straight. Still straight, even when you’re bringing your soft thigh up to rest over his lap and his eyes linger on the velvety skin for just a moment longer than they should– when he gets a whiff of whatever sugary cologne you’re wearing and it makes him feel just a little bit warmer. Even when he watches a droplet of sweat drip down the column of your throat and he has to swallow down the urge to lean forwards and lick it away, to sink his sharp teeth into the flesh of your nape and free his hardening dick from his pants and just pump into you like there’s no tomorrow.

Denji thinks that last thought must've been intrusive or something.

And the next few that come after that– the next few thoughts after that- imagining how soft your lips are, or how nice and warm your hands would be running up and down his bare back.

So, when you finally go limp in Denji’s arms, he’s a bit relieved. Relieved that now those intrusive thoughts could stop, and that you’re now finally asleep, since it is like… 2:38 AM, and that he can now put you down because it was getting kinda hot.

Your chest rises with each and every steady, slow, breath, Denji quietly slipping out from your arms and laying you down on the couch, fishing a blanket from the basket beneath the coffee table– a thin light one, so you’re still nice and cool– and draping it over your relaxed body.

Denji rubs the back of his neck, observing your lax body.

…What's that word again? He thinks. What is it… Bilingual?

If you could think of any word to describe this situation, you would immediately think of ‘unfair’.

Or maybe ‘cruel’, or ‘unnecessary’, or ‘perverse’, or ‘over-the-top’, or ‘mean’, or ‘fucking-bullshit’— that last one is two words, but who cares?

You’re currently bent over your club-leaders lap, pants and boxers drawn down to your knees, nails digging in to the fabric of the couch he’s sat and you’re splayed across, ass and trembling thighs bright red and way too sensitive, tears threatening your waterline and toes curled in your shoes. 

And, fuck, it’s so embarrassing. Not only could you easily just… overpower him due to him being way shorter than you, but it’s only been like… seven minutes and you’re already about to cry like a little bitch.

‘If you can’t handle the heat stay out of the kitchen’, is what he said, mocking and poking at you, something about biting off more than you could chew, suffering the consequences of your actions. 

And is it really the consequences of your actions? You’ve always been care-free. Akemi knew this. Always aloof, always fluttering through every room, every mind you enter. You’ve never once given thought or even dedicated time to a specific one-or-another, whether that be a person, or a task, a deadline, or … anything. You’ve always just been that way. Akemi knew this. 

So is it really your fault that you skip out clients all the time? Is it really your fault when everyone who wants to see you is just so boring and unattractive, so much so that it almost feels like mercy dropping your ‘appointments’? Mercy on yourself, at least. There’s a reason all the morons at this school have to arrange sex with members of a sex club. They’re so fucking bad at it. Is that really your fault?

Maybe it is. Maybe you could tough up and take it, literally, and just stomach the boringness. The below average sex. Missing out on hanging out with the other club members when they aren’t busy. Maybe cooking, or playing video games, or going for a walk or something.

And you have to admit— that one week you did really well, like, astonishingly well, actually dedicated time to something you were supposed to do for once, and Akemi not only praised you, but rewarded you… it was really nice. He’s good at what he does. No wonder he’s the club president. 

And as you lay over his lap, rear stinging in sharp pain, that memory tugs at the back of your mind— regret pulling at the rope right behind it. 

“—ou, right?”

Akemi’s voice rips you out of your thoughts, bright and cheery, and it takes you a moment to register that he had asked you a question. A moment too late. You can’t hold back the mangled cry that rips itself from your throat as he slaps his hand down on your already raw ass with a loud ‘clap!’, legs instinctively jerking in reflex. Your undone belt jingles in the loop of your slacks as they slip down to your ankles due to the restless movement.

“Come on. Not even paying attention while I’m actively punishing you. Don’t you care?”

He hums, small fingers rubbing circles into your bright red, raw skin. You wince and he notices, a cruel smile tugging at his lips.

“S-shut up,” you murmur, dropping your head into the cushions of the couch. His thumb stills on your soft skin, eyes narrowed at the back of your head as he listens to what you have to say next. You suck in air through your teeth, licking up a little droplet of drool that slipped from your lips.

“This is s-stupid. I didn’t even skip t-that many p—- o-ow, OW! Ah— hah, ow, nnAHHnn—!”

Akemi pinches at the sensitive skin of your ass before delivering a harsh spank— much, much harder than all the others, enough to leave his own hand red— watching with brows furrowed in anger as you sob and mewl and whimper. 

“People love you. You should be grateful.” Akemi’s tone drops, the seriousness in his voice leaving your legs weak as you squeeze your eyes shut. 

“I don’t know how they do, because you are so fucking annoying. You piss me off, so. Fucking. Much.” He punctuates the end of his sentence with three harsh spanks, kneading your flesh in his hands like a sensitive, pretty putty. Your legs jerk up and he brings his hand off your plump ass to shove them back down, before scooting his hips forwards and spreading your thighs.

The room is silent, save for your occasional soft whimpers and held-back cries as he stares at your weeping cock as its lain in his lap. He watches as it twitches and drools, your thighs shaking as you resist the urge to cross your ankles and lock them shut.

He reaches down with both hands to spread you open, eyes narrowing as your whole body jerks, exposed skin flinching under his gaze. He clicks his tongue and dips his thumb between your cheeks to rub small circles against the twitching rim of your sensitive hole, cooing as it gradually relaxes under his fingertip.

“Look at you,” he hums, finger pressing into the warm, wet entrance, with little to no resistance, before slipping back out with a lewd ‘pop!’. 

“What a pretty little cock. What an adorable little hole.”

He pauses for a moment, listening with sharp ears in the silence for any noises you might make.

“Too bad you’re such a bratty little whore. What cute little bits, wasted on somebody like you.”

He brings his hand up, up, before yanking it back down again at a speed so high you barely register it, before he’s slapping the exposed skin of your hole and just nearly grazing your balls. Your whole body jumps with a strangled shout before he’s slipping two fingers into your already wet heat, hooking rough fingertips into gummy walls— not waiting for you to adjust before setting a brutal pace.

“If you just, behaved,” Akemi sighs, fingertips kissing your sensitive prostate. You mewl and squirm, legs twitching and kicking as your lower half rings with pleasure, his left hand slipping under the hem of your shirt, lifting it up to your shoulder blades and exposing your lower back to him. “This wouldn’t be happening. So many more people would ask to see you. Can you imagine that? You have the face for it. So many people already love you. Adore you. Why not make it everybody?” He hums.

“H-haaah, aahnnh— n-no..—!” 

“You wouldn’t be here, bent over my lap, being forced to take everything I’m giving you. You could be with Itome, or Shikatani, or any of the other club members, getting exactly what you want. Or I could’ve been giving you a reward. But no. Instead we’re here, wasting time, all because you can’t do what you're told.”

You sniffle, a quiet, shaky whine drifting from your lips upon hearing his words. An apology bubbles in your throat, almost tempted to beg for forgiveness. Tell him you won’t ever do it again, you won’t ever misbehave. Beg him to be gentle with you. Have mercy… almost. 

Your hands grip at the cushions below you, forehead digging into the soft fabric, body jerking as Akemi upholds his brutal thrusts. Your hole flutters around his fingers, either from pleasure or the pure shame bubbling in your tummy, unable to hold back the pathetic whine that worms its way from between your teeth. 

“It’s almost like you enjoy being punished.” He hums.

Akemi thrusts his fingers, once, twice, before he’s curling his fingertips to brutally dig into your prostate. A strangled cry is ripped from your throat, your back arching uncontrollably as you push your upper half off the couch, almost stumbling out of Akemi’s lap before he catches you, and shoves you back down with his free hand. He slowly, painstakingly grinds his fingers into your sensitive prostate, your tummy muscles twitching and contracting so violently that it begins to ache. Drool slips from between your lips and a single tear drips from your eye, vision now blurred from the droplets pooling on your waterline.

“I-I don’t,” 

“Then why is your pretty cock drooling all over my lap, huh?”

He slowly drags his digits out of your hole to flick at the leaking tip of your cock, giggling as you yelp and flinch in his grasp. You suck in air through your teeth and growl, opening your mouth to reply, only to be interrupted by your own cries and gasps. Trying to speak once more, you’re only able to manage a single syllable before Akemi squeezes the shaft of your cock hard enough to make you shriek. Frustration claws up your throat and you grit your teeth. 

For the past few fucking hours, Akemi has done nothing but accuse you, embarrass you, hurt you, and make fun of you. For just a few little mistakes, you’ve been sitting here over his lap and enduring this straight-up torture while he sits there and giggles and laughs and leers at your sensitive, sweet body like sugary candy. You’ve had enough, face flushed and limbs shaking as you squeeze your watering eyes shut, voice cracked and whiny as you give him the most attitude you can muster while he’s hurting your poor cock.

“B-Because— because you’re fucking f-fingering me! And you’ve got your tiny l-little fucking baby hands all over my a-ass! God, a-am— ughn— am I j-just supposed to sit here like a s-statue? Unmoving w-while you— y-you do whatever the fuck you’re d-doing?”

You swallow the thick lump in your throat, panting through grit teeth as all that welled-up anger and frustration bubbles its way up your throat and spills from your lips. It takes you a moment to realize just what you said (knowing you said something full of attitude, but not quite as rude), and when you do, Akemi’s silent. His ministrations have paused and he’s removed his hands from your cock entirely, and as much as you want to turn around and look at him, you can’t. Because you know he’ll get angry. 

You breathe with shaky little gasps, half of your face pressed to the cushion of the couch and hidden by your hands as you nervously chew on the tips of your fingers. A moment passes, another, then a hot minute, before you’re speaking out of the cracks in between your fingers.

 “…I-I’m sor—-“

“Save it.”

You shut up immediately, silent, until Akemi’s grabbing you by the back of your neck and forcing you up.

You wince at the feeling of the soft cushions against your raw ass, hands scrambling to support yourself against the armrest of the couch. Akemi stands, knocking your trembling legs off his lap, which you pull to your chest in an act of covering yourself up. You look up at him through wet lashes, half tempted to reach for his hand when he pushes himself away from you and towards the storage drawers in the back of the room. 

He comes back holding a multitude of items, items which he doesn’t allow you to see— placing them on the table before he blocks your field of vision, snapping his fingers in your face when you look away for a moment. 

He’s grabbing an item off the table, reaching behind you to bind your hands together with leather cuffs behind your back. He does the same with your ankles, knees still pressed to your chest, before he’s spreading them open with both hands, and tightening the chain before connecting the two together, leaving you unable to move your legs out of their bent position. 

He leans back on his haunches, admiring his work. Completely silent all the while.

He reaches back over to the table, grabbing two of the toys he’d decided on when he was looking through the club’s well equipped storage. You’ve been too afraid to look, eyes trained on him before he’s holding the toys up in front of your face to give you a good look. A small, pink, bullet vibrator and a red dildo roughly two times bigger than your own cock. Not too large— considering how you’re not very impressively sized in the first place— but slightly larger than Akemi’s, which is enough to cause a panic to stir within you. 

He smiles when he sees the look of fear flash in your eyes, one hand delicately placing itself on your chest as the other reaches down between your legs, slipping two fingers in your hole and pumping them in and out, before reaching for the little bullet vibrator. He presses the small thing against your hole, applying gentle pressure until it slips inside with a lewd ‘pop!’, a small gasp fluttering from your lips as he pushes it in with two fingers. He leans forwards, his eyes searching yours as he reaches for the dildo with the same hand.

He watches with lidded eyes as he presses the tip to your ass before pushing it forwards, forcing your hole to accommodate the firm silicone. You're slick and wet and you swallow the thick cock much more easily than you’d like to admit, but it takes you a moment despite that— your jaw falling slack into a silent ‘o’, tummy muscles contracting and tensing as your limbs twitch and jerk. Tears blur your eyes and one, hot and fat, rolls down your cheek to drop onto your chest. Your brows furrow and you can’t hold back the mangled moan that rips itself from your throat, thighs beginning to tremble before you’re not even halfway through swallowing the cock down to its base. 

“A-aahn, Akemi— t-too big—-!”

“Shhhh.”

He bottoms out with a chuckle that fades into a shallow breath, tapping the base of the dildo with his pointer finger, watching you squeeze your eyes shut and mewling at the sensation of something so deep, something so big resting so comfortably inside of you.  

With his now free hand, Akemi fiddles with the small remote of the bullet vibrator— now pressed snug to your sweet spot— before immediately clicking it to its highest setting. You lurch forwards with a shout before he’s pushing you back down with the hand on your chest, trailing it down your tummy and cooing when your spine arches at the sensation. He leans down, your drooling lips only an inch away from his as he loosely wraps a hand around the base of your cock, lazily stroking at the sensitive flesh.

“G-gah— nnnh, ah, a-ah—!”

“You’ll learn this time, I know you will.” 

Akemi’s voice is quiet and low, lazy blue eyes gazing into yours before he’s pulling his hands away, interlocking them behind his back. 

“And if you don’t, I’ll keep trying. Over, and over, and over again. I’ll keep pumping it into you, drilling your stupid little brain and your silly, slutty, hole until all you can think about is following my rules. Until just the thought of disobeying me makes you flinch and beg for forgiveness.” 

Akemi leans a bit closer, almost as if he’s about to kiss you, and you lean forwards expectantly, soft, parted lips waiting for his kiss—

“And if you don’t learn this time, next time will be much worse.”

— before suddenly he’s pulling himself away, standing up and turning his back to you.

“Ah— Akemi? Ak-Akemi? Wh-what are you—“

“I’ve got business to attend to, sorry.” 

Akemi doesn’t even spare you a glance before he begins to walk away, towards the exit of the club room, sliding the door open and letting you bask in the golden lights of the setting sun.

“Y-you can’t leave,” you sob, aching body twisting and struggling to escape your binds, to reach out and touch him, but to no avail. Akemi stands and waits, listening for your reply. “You c-can’t leave me he-here— what i-if I— nngh—! o-overnight? U-until Yuri Sen—Senpai finds me in the m-morning?” Your voice trembles, wobbly and needy and soft. “I’ll— I-I’ll be achy, a-and my back will hurt, my legs— my l-legs will go numb, n’I— you— you can’t l-leave me here, Akemi,” you mewl, lower lip trembling just as much as your thighs. The never ending, overstimulating pleasure burns hot and makes it difficult for you to string together proper sentences, let alone think, cock drooling and twitching as you nibble at your lip, unable to control the moans and whines that slip their way from your lips. 

“P-please— already h-hurts, already—“

“Shush. What is it people say, hm… you made your bed, now lie in it?” Akemi giggles, taking a step out the door.

"What? No, ew! I don’t submit to anyone! I do what I want, and nobody can stop me!” You shoot back at Gojo’s accusation, giggling as he, Getou, and Shoko watch in a mix of embarrassment and awe as you climb atop the Auditorium’s stage, take a proud stance, and loudly announce to the other students in the Auditorium what you have just told Gojo. 

Embarrassment turns to humor as Gojo climbs atop the stage with you, Shoko unable to contain her laughter as Getou stands, as quietly entertained as ever, watching his friends feed into your reckless behavior.

You’ve always been like this— despite having good, no— amazing grades and coming from a rather rich and disciplined family, you’ve always been disobedient— misbehaving in public, speaking out of turn, talking about taboo or funny things a bit too loud, and generally a little silly. Never in a malicious way, or in a way that was anything more than slightly irritating or unhumorous. 

Or, everyone knew you to be that way, at least. Getou knows better than that. He knows better than anybody. He remembers, too, just exactly how obedient you can be.

———————————————————

“Open your mouth, let me see,”

You pant, licking at the fronts of your silky white teeth before dropping your jaw slack to give Getou the view he’s asking for.

Your inner maw is coated in a thick, gooey glaze of Getou’s come, slicking your teeth and dripping off your pink tongue in globs, glossing your lips in a way comparable to an expensive lip gloss before it dribbles down your chin to drip on the floor. Your throat is slicked and lubed with the same warm cream, messy and sticky and much more comfortable than you would’ve imagined. 

Getou lets out a pleased hum before he extends his left hand forwards, cradling your chin in his hand before he dips his thumb between your lips, the pad of his digit pushing down on your tongue and causing you to gag slightly, tears pricking your waterline as you flutter your eyelashes. 

“Mhm… gorgeous,” He murmurs, watching with lidded eyes glazed in arousal as you physically melt at the praise. He observes you for a moment before stretching his arms up in the air, palms extended to the heavens, before he leans back into the comfortable fabric of his satin sheets, propping himself up by his elbows. You sit on the floor between his spread thighs, obediently, unable to rip your eyes off the sight before you.

His half-hard cock lays over his toned thighs, which are dusted with soft, black hair. The pretty pink tip of his cock is dribbling with the remnants of his come, drooling over his thigh and leaving a glazed, shiny path where it traveled down the curve of his firm flesh. You can’t see his taint from the way his balls are laid over and hiding the sensitive spot, but you can see the way the plump of his ass is pressed down on the silk of his sheets, squished against his mattress and providing very satisfying visuals.

Getou can’t help but smile at the awe-struck look in your eye, before lifting his hand to crook his finger and beckon you over.

“Come. Come here, come straddle my waist.” And you obediently obey, climbing the bed in rushed, almost clumsy movements to meet his request. Shaking thighs embrace the thin of his waist, less firm and more soft and plump than his own. Thick, calloused hands travel up the sides of the pliable flesh, stopping at your hips to play with the hem of the lacy thin fabric he’d requested you wear before hand, or more specifically during the day. 

(It was torture— the lace constantly rubbed and stimulated the sensitive tip of your cock as you attempted to preform mundane everyday tasks.)

He pulls the panties taught between your ass cheeks and you have to physically tense to stop yourself from falling forwards, the apples of your cheeks dusting pink in embarrassment. Getou clicks his tongue, his hands traveling down to knead at the plush round of your ass.

“Look at that, beautiful,” he moans, fingers digging into the flesh of your ass in rough squeezes that are sure to leave bruises. He hooks his thumb in the slip of fabric between your thighs, pulling it to the side and exposing your cock with a gentle coo. It’s hard and drooling and aching so badly it hurts, twitching at the slight stimulation and giving Getou a grasp of just how excited you are, and just how patient you’ve been. 

He looks up at you and tilts his head, lips curled into a gentle smile at the sight of you waiting in anticipation. You shift your hips impatiently. You want to beg, you want to plead, you want to do anything to make him touch you, but you don’t. You are well behaved, you are patient. You know he’ll give you what you want eventually, no matter how painfully long you have to wait.

Speaking of waiting— Getou’s hand firmly wraps itself around the base of your cock, finally, and you can’t hold back the little sigh of pleasure that flutters from your lips. He squeezes and tugs firmly enough that it pulls your hips forwards, flushed pink cock twitching in his grip. “Does that feel good?” He hums, looking up at you through his lashes before focusing his gaze back on your cock. “Tell me it feels good, sweetheart.”

“F-feels so good, so g-good— feels— h-hah, feeeels….” You drool, thighs shaking with the effort of holding yourself up, hands curled into fists at your sides. He brings his thumb up to swipe at the slit of your cock, a little squeal pulling itself from your throat as you struggle not to squeeze your eyes shut and throw your head back. He applies even pressure and squeezes as he strokes slowly up and down the shaft of your pretty dick, pearls of sweet pre swelling at the sensitive tip.

Getou squeezes your cock tight in his warm fist, adorable tip peeking out from between the snug grip of his thumb and fingers. He cranes his neck forwards, pressing a sloppy wet smooch to the sensitive pink head of your cock, smirking as the sweet symphony of pleasured whimpers drift from your spit-slicked lips to his ears. He can fucking hear you grit your teeth with the effort of holding back, the effort of containing the wanton noises and urges that take every fiber in your body to control. He opens his maw to lick a fat stripe against the tip of your cock using the flat of his tongue, chuckling when you squeeze your eyes shut and bite your lip.

“Oh pretty baby,” he coos, “I’ve made you wait far too long, huh? You’re so sensitive, so close already.” He pumps his fist up and down the shaft of your cock, thumb extending to smooth along the veins running down the underside of your girth. “Mmh, I bet it’s from sitting down there on your knees with my dick weighing down your tongue for so long without any stimulation. Am I right, sweetheart? Does hearing how good you’re making me feel with that warm little mouth of yours get you all hard and needy? I’m sorry, baby. I’m sorry.”

You nod feverishly, drool slipping from your lips and dribbling down your chin. Getou openly chuckles at the sight, increasing the pace of his fist around your cock. “It’s okay, you can move your hips. Go ahead,” he whispers, and all you can muster in reply is a needy, high-pitched shout. With shaky arms, you plant your fist on either side of his head and lean forwards, humping into his fists with stuttered, shaky thrusts. He doesn’t remember telling you that you could adjust your position and lean over him like this, but you’re usually so obedient, that this time, he’ll let it slide. He knows you get caught up in the hot troughs of pleasure here and there, so, he’ll remind you to apologize after this thick fog has left your head.

His grip is firm and his strength is keeping you from thrusting too erratically, and but all keeps you in place, letting you feel the pleasure stir without worrying about losing too much control. You pant and moan and mewl, eyes squeezed shut with occasional tears escaping to roll down your cheeks. You grit your teeth and seethe, swollen cock twitching and throbbing in his tight grip. 

“Oh, baby, why the tears? It’s okay, you’re doing good, you’re doing perfect.” Getou purrs, squeezing tight around the head of your cock. “Do you wanna talk? Go ahead, sweetheart, it’s okay. Talk. Tell me what you need.”

You swallow down the thick lump in your throat, nodding feverishly. “Yes, y-yes— gghhk— please, p-please can I— c-can I cum? Please? G-Getou— please—“ 

Getou gently shushes you and you immediately quit talking, staring down at him with silent, pleading eyes blurred with tears, eyebrows knitted tight and bottom lip quivering in anticipation. He hums, low in his throat, his free hand reaching for one of yours— brushing his fingertips over your knuckles before coaxing your hand to relax, entertaining his fingers with yours and squeezing your smaller hand in his own.

“Yes. Yes, you can. You’ve been so good for me, angel. Go ahead.” 

And your orgasm hits you almost instantly. It takes one more stroke, one more twist of his wrist, one more skilled squeeze as he pumps up the shaft of your cock before it’s milked of all it’s worth. Sweet, creamy ropes of white spurt from your cock in bursts, the pleasure traveling up your body in waves and creating a dense fog so thick in your mind you practically lose control. Fat globs of tears roll down the apples of your cheeks, thighs and hands shaking over the intensity of it all. 

Your come lands in beautiful strokes over Getou’s lips, chin, hand and collarbone, painting a beautiful picture painted simply by the hands of the gods, and nothing less. Getou lets his lips part, pink tongue slightly lolling over his bottom lip, to catch any cream that may, fortunately for him, land in his waiting mouth. 

He continues to pump at your cock and guide you through your orgasm, strokes slow and gentle as your whines and mewls decrease in volume and intensity. He’s speaking to you, you can hear it, but you can’t quite process what he’s saying. You won’t be able to until you come down from whatever cloud you’ve been lifted to. 

He gives you a moment before he’s using both hands to lower you down to his chest, his right hand wrapping around your shoulder while his left gathers both your legs and adjusts them, laying your thighs down over his hips, mindful of your sensitive, twitching cock. He pets your shoulder in gentle strokes, letting you hiccup and mewl into his chest. 

“What a sweet boy. Good boy. Pretty baby,” he praises, leaning his head back and letting his eyes fall shut. “Did that feel good? You certainly made me feel good.” He chuckles when all you can muster is a weak nod and moan in reply. He brings his left hand up to wipe at the tears collecting on your cheeks, cooing when you instinctively lean into his hand. “What a sensitive little thing, huh? All these tears just from fucking my fist. Mmh, so adorable. I can’t get over just how small you look in my hands.” 

You manage a weak groan, embarrassed but too tired to really do anything about it. He hums, seemingly in agreement, before craning his neck down to press a sweet kiss to your forehead. 

“I’ll let you sleep. I’ll clean you up and give you a bath when you wake up, yeah? Such a well behaved boy.”

——————————————————

With a loud bang, you’ve tumbled off the stage, Gojo following after you as you scramble to run away from him. Others stare in annoyance or general confusion as Gojo chases you around the Gym, both of you laughing and shrieking and stumbling over your own feet. 

Shoko and Getou exchange looks for a moment, a small smile creeping into Getou’s lips. 

You might not act like it, but Getou has plenty of his own sweet memories to prove your obedience.

Your breath hitches as you finish up your last rep, wanting nothing more than to throw the 15 pound dumbbell on the squishy gym mats beneath your feet— choosing the responsible route instead, as you can feel your sensei’s eyes on you— and placing the dumbbell back on the rack. 

You sigh and instinctively move to flex and feel up your biceps. Slightly larger than the average guy, sure, but nothing comparable to any sort of body builder and definitely not as noticeable. And your biceps pale in comparison to your sensei’s biceps. Or, all of your muscles, for that matter. 

Speaking of your sensei, Shouta— or, uh, Aizawa— makes his way beside you, placing his right arm on your left bicep, telling you to flex, and squeezing his fingertips around the muscle, feeling it up, prodding around. 

“You’re doing good,” He murmurs, his eyes flicking to yours, his posture slightly hunched as he tilts his head down to speak to you. “Hm. But…” 

Aizawa licks at the inside of his cheek, his hand lingering on your bicep but no longer physically inspecting it. He brings his right hand down to his side in exchange for lifting his left to your back, thumbs dipping into some of the achy knots right along your spine before traveling their way up, sliding and prodding into the muscles on your back before finding the base of your neck and giving it a firm squeeze. He keeps his hand there for a moment before letting go, his gaze now drooped to your thighs, clad under vintage Adidas workout shorts. 

“You’ve been skipping your leg workouts, haven’t you?”

You slouch and sigh, defeated, a soft chuckle drifting from Aizawa’s lips as his palm thuds firmly against your back in a knowing pat. 

“Is it that obvious?” You whine and he nods. 

“Yeah, especially to me. We both know you slack, boy. I told you, I should come with you to every workout. And I was right.” 

You both know he’s right. He always is. You do slack, but you try not to. It’s actually, less slacking, more so being stuck neck-deep in work and being too exhausted to even think of working out after slaving away all day. Even now you’re beginning to feel exhaustion lick at your fingertips— you took over a shift for one of your coworkers (who you don’t even like. Why did you do that?), and today’s workout was slightly more demanding per Aizawa’s request, due to skipping previous workouts, and the soft, dim lights of the Gym and the silent atmosphere with the lack of other people is lulling your tired body to sleep. 

“Don’t fall asleep now,” Aizawa drawls, noticing, of course— always noticing.

“What? You think I’m gonna let you off just because you’re tired? No, you’re doing your leg workout today.” You groan and he chuckles at you, slapping a hand on your back. “Maybe if you didn’t slack this wouldn’t be an issue.”

“I wasn’t slacking, Sh— A-Aizawa sensei!” You groan, trotting up besides him as he walks away and towards another one of the exercise machines. “I was just busy, swear it. I wouldn’t dream of skipping a workout.” You murmur the last part sarcastically, crossing your arms over your chest, staring at yourself in one of the mirrors adorning the wall. You flex your biceps over your chest before turning your attention back to Aizawa, who’s staring down at the gym machine you both are standing in front of. A hip adductor machine.

You swallow thickly, the room suddenly feeling slightly hotter than it was just a moment ago. This is the reason you’ve been avoiding doing leg workouts with Aizawa. It was already hard enough ‘containing’ yourself during arm and core workouts, but a leg workout? With him watching you? Close to impossible. He’s staring at you now, expectantly, mimicking you by crossing his arms over his chest and cocking his hip.  

“Well? Are you gonna sit down and get to work, or what?” He’s looking at you with an eyebrow raised now, most likely getting suspicious as to why you’re getting so nervous about using a stupid adductor machine. You flick your eyes to the side to look at him and then back at the machine, before building up enough courage to speak.

“Uh, y-yeah, yeah, … sorry.” You cough up a reply, a slight tremor wracking your legs as you squat to sit in the machine. You reach down for the handlebars, gripping them so tightly that your knuckles turn white and you swear you can feel the blunt of your nails poking into your palm, and sit with your legs closed for as long as Aizawa will let you before adjusting the machine. You watch with baited breath as he kneels down to adjust it. Your feet are planted firmly on the foot pads as Aizawa reaches for the bottom adjustment pin. 

Now, you were already struggling to hide your pretty obvious excitement from Aizawa just when he was feeling up your muscles. But when he adjusts the range of motion to spread your thighs to a nearly 180 degree angle, you kind of lose your grip. 

“Sensei, that’s—“ You cough and nearly choke on your own spit, letting go of the handlebars with flailing hands to try and reach for the bottom adjustment pin. “T-that’s too much! Not necessary!” You stammer, letting out a small noise of protest as he grumbles in response. 

“You’ll be fine. I already made you do double reps because you skipped a day, I’m sure you can take a little bit of stretch.” Aizawa hums, very much to your dismay. He delivers a quick pat to your thigh, the callused skin of his palm against the soft plump of your thigh, before he pushes himself up out of his crouching position next to you to set the weight of the machine to maybe around … fifteen, or … or maybe twenty? Twenty five? The weight of the machine wasn’t necessarily your main concern right now. What was your main concern was the absolute raging tent you were pitching in your pants right now, and desperately trying to hide. 

Aizawa turns back to face you only to see you already in the middle of a rep, thighs squeezed shut and face burning red no matter how much you try to hide it, and he chuckles at the sight. 

“Wow, someone’s excited to do their leg workout.” He chortles. And for a moment you think he’s talking about your boner. When you stare at him in blank confusion and shock, he does a brief hand motion down to your mid-rep position.

“A-ah, ah, yeah. Haha. Excited. Yeah.”

You murmur and he rolls his eyes with nonverbal reply. The silence stretches on for a moment, your eyes wide and focused on anything in the room but him or your lap, your mind racing with thoughts about you, Aizawa, the possible embarrassment, the definite embarrassment, if he’ll notice, if he won’t, what he’ll say … will he be disgusted? Will he pretend it isn’t there? Will he help? No, no. Definitely not. Absolutely not, he wouldn’t, right? He wouldn’t?

It takes Aizawa snapping his fingers in your face to gain your attention again. Once your eyes are on him he points down to your lap before crossing his arms again. A bead of sweat rolls down your temple as you murmur in reply. 

You squeeze your eyes shut, clench the handle bars as hard as possible in sweaty palms before relaxing your thighs, letting the machine spread your bent legs to about a one sixty - one seventy degree angle. The air that was so overbearingly hot just a few moments ago is now cold and in between your spread thighs, leaving you exposed and incredibly nervous. Your thighs tremor as you try to close them again, small bursts of warm pleasure tickling your nerves like pop rocks, the thin fabric of your workout shorts spread taut across your cock which is straining quite noticeably against your boxers and your shorts. It’s obvious. Painfully obvious. And it takes every fiber in your body not to buck your hips before you can get in a third rep. Holding that rep position for so long earlier had almost taken all of the energy out of you.  

You don’t know where Aizawa is looking right now, and honestly? You don’t want to. You take your eyes off the floor to look up at him in a side eye and almost sob in glee. He’s staring at his phone. You can’t help but want to get on your knees and thank whichever beautiful, merciful god is blessing you at this very moment. You’re so distracted by this moment of peace, that you don’t notice Aizawa’s looking back at you once more. 

“You’re holding your rep position again,” He points out, his gaze flicking from you back to whatever videos he’s scrolling through on his phone right now. It takes a moment of silence before he’s sighing and tapping his thumb on his phone screen, pausing the video, and putting his phone in his back pocket.

You’re so fucked.

He puts a hand on your knee, which is now near-violently trembling from holding rep position for so long, and bends down at the waist to look you in the eyes. He’s giving you some bullshit pep talk, or maybe scolding you, or— or whatever. But you don’t care. All you can focus on is the warmth of his hand on your bare knee. The feel of his rough skin contradicting the soft smoothness of your own. The calluses of his hands, if … if they’re so rough now, how would they feel on the most sensitive parts of you? Would you still feel that delicious texture when his fingers are wrapped around your cock? How would the—

“C’mon. Do I have to watch you just to make sure you get it done? Do a rep.”

You are so fucked.

You stammer, murmuring out a quick apology and whipping your head back down to the floor — when did you even look up?— so fast that you’re lucky you didn’t get whiplash, ripping your gaze from Aizawa’s hand. And you’re nervous. So fucking nervous. 

And after another quick scolding from Aizawa and a strangled apology from your behalf, you relax your thighs to do another rep. Your hands shaking. Sweat rolling down your chin. Aizawa’s eyes trained on you. Your torso. Your thighs. Your forearms. Your lap. Your legs getting spread by the machine.

And fuck, it feels so much worse than it looks. Or maybe, more realistically, better. 

In the last few moments, your wandering imagination had caused the tent in your pants to become even more prominent than it already was. The fabric of your shorts stretches so tight right over the sensitive tip of your cock that it takes almost every fiber and all the willpower in your body not to moan when your thighs keep stretching further and further apart. 

You can’t stop your hips from bucking this time, twitching so high in the air that Aizawa would have to be an utter idiot not to notice. And Aizawa is not an idiot. You squeeze your eyes shut and grit your teeth close to grinding as burning hot pleasure licks its way up your abdomen, the muscles in your tummy clenching and contracting as your cock twitches in your shorts. The sensitive tip gets caught on a fold of fabric and causes you to whine. Your jaw drops as you let out a strangled gasp high in your throat, not being able to summon enough strength— anymore strength— to finish the rep. And with Aizawa watching you squirm in such a sensitive state of body, it’s all the much harder.

You sit there, panting, face burning red, dripping with sweat, back arched and thighs spread with tears on your waterline— and obviously, a raging hard fucking erection. 

Your head lulls and droops as you look up at Aizawa through your lashes, little mangled whines making their way from between your lips. Your thighs are shaking now, your hips twitching up up up and chasing the pleasure that’s wracking through your body in waves.

“M-m’sorry Aizawa sensei,” you croon as he crosses his arms and stares down at you. “I-I… I’m … embarrassed, I—“

“So this is why you’ve been skipping leg workouts with me, huh?” He hums, cutting off the apologies that where about to tumble from your lips. He bends down at the hip to meet your gaze, his right hand resting against his knee and giving him balance while his left comes up to cup your face and squeeze your cheeks, puffing up your lips which are shiny and slick with drool and sweat (and maybe tears).

“Y’know, you didn’t have to exhaust yourself by holding reps trying to hide your hard-on.” He teases, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips as you whine, closing your eyes and trying to turn your head away in embarrassment only to be stopped by his hand.

“Why didn’t you just tell me? We could’ve been done with the hip adductor by now.” He grumbles, causing you to freeze. What did he mean by that? You’re staring up at him, completely dumbfounded by his comment, before he’s crouching down in front of you (thankfully, there’s just enough space between your legs and the front of the machine), or more so, in between your spread thighs. With your hard-on right in his face. 

Your jaw is slack and your eyes are as wide as plates. You never, ever would’ve dreamed a hot guy would be willing to even get this close to you. Much less your sensei. The sight of him crouched between your legs is enough itself to make you cum, the visuals shooting blood straight to your already swollen cock. Aizawa turns his head and reaches behind him for a moment to set the weight of the machine to its highest setting, effectively keeping your legs spread. He puts either hand on both of your thighs and watches with lidded eyes as your cock twitches and jumps in its restraints.

“Is this okay?” He murmurs, his voice thick and low. You swallow the lump in your throat and nod.

“Words, baby, words.”

“Y-yeah, yeah this fine. It’s— it’s god. Good. It’s— it’s good. Gre-great.” You croak.

He chuckles at the display of your nervousness and trickles his fingers up your sensitive inner thigh. You jerk and already you’re moaning, suddenly thankful for the empty Gym as he thumbs the seam of where your shorts meet your skin. 

“Soft skin. Y’know, I noticed you shave.” He drawls, leaning in to press his nose right at where your thigh meets your bulge. Your dick twitches against his warm cheek, his stubble apparent and rough through the softness of your shorts. “Smell so good too. Fuck, this must hurt, hm? You’ve been hard for… shit, maybe more than half an hour, yeah?” He murmurs against your thigh, his right hand still stroking the hem of your shorts while his left index finger comes up to gently trace a feather-light line from your taint to the tip of your cock, sending shudders through your whole body.

“Yeah, s’… yeah,” You slur, nodding mindlessly along with his words. 

“Yeah? Want me too make you feel better?”

“Y-yes, please, sensei,” 

“All right.”

You gasp as he pulls back, arching your hips forward as much as possible, your body instinctively chasing his warmth. He leans back on his haunches, thinking for a moment about just how he’s gonna get your shorts off, get you exposed enough to where he can do what he wants. ‘And while this is kind of sexy in the heat of the moment,’ he thinks, ‘this is going to be incredibly inconvenient later.’ Before digging his fingers in, careful of your sensitive parts, and ripping a hole in your shorts, then repeating the process with your boxers. This gets a startled gurgle out of you, and you instinctively move to close your thighs— but the weight of the machine is much too strong for you.

Aizawa chuckles when your cock is exposed to him. When usually, you’d be embarrassed, you’re too far gone to care— and just giggle along too. 

Not too much smaller than average, but definitely not, by any means, special. In size, at least. ‘Cute’ and ‘pretty’ in every definition of the word, wet and shiny with a sheen of pre and sweat, small little beads of white forming at the swollen pink tip only to drip down to trace a vein right on the underside of your dick. Well kept and pretty— Aizawa knows he can take you all in one gulp— watching and cooing as your balls draw up and your cock twitches.

“Pretty,” is the only thought going through Aizawa’s head and he’s okay with voicing that. Obviously, you’re okay with it too, a sloppy giggle making its way from your lips as your shoulders jump and the muscles in your tummy contract. Aizawa leans forward, lips a breath away from where you need him most. 

“Do you know that? How pretty you are? How pretty this dick is?” He coos, opening his mouth to press the flat of his tongue right on the underside of your cock. The sensation is hot and warm and good and immediate, bolts of pleasure shooting up your spine as you arch your back, a wanton moan tumbling from your lips as your thighs shake in pleasure.  

“P-pretty, s’pretty, s’— oh… o-oh, ohh fuck, fu-uck,”

You lose your voice as he takes more of you in his mouth, his tongue dancing along the underside of your tip before he hollows his cheeks and literally sucks your dick. Your thighs jolt and you moan so loud it sounds more like a shout than anything else.

Aizawa’s left hand comes up to press against your belly, the warm expanse of his palm grounding against the overwhelming pleasure that’s zapping your nerves. His right moves to slip below you and between the slip of your ass, slick and warm from the copious amounts of pre dribbling from your drooling cock. His middle finger pokes at your entrance, circling the soft skin with a gentle touch before sliding down to your taint— dipping down on the smooth, sensitive skin. 

“Fuck— fuck! Oh fuck—“ You sob and your hips twitch and buck upwards, unsure of weather to push into the sensation or pull away. With Aizawa’s mouth on your cock, and his fingers teasing your ass, it’s pretty difficult to think. 

Aizawa pulls off your cock and you’re glad for the moment of rest before he’s wrapping the fingers of his left hand around the base of your cock— squeezing with gentle pressure, preventing you from cumming. His right hand maneuvers beneath you, his ring and middle finger slipping in the tight of your ass and hooking against gummy pink walls, callused fingertips reaching for the most sensitive parts in you. 

“Does this feel good? Do you feel good?” And all you can do is babble mindlessly in reply, nodding your head as your thighs shake and your hole clenches tight around his fingers. He blows a stream of cold air on the tip of your cock before picking up the pre that’s swelling at the slit, pressing a sloppy wet kiss there that leaves a mixture of his saliva and your own essence slobbered over the swollen, pink skin. 

“Yeah? Y’know how much better it would feel if it was my dick in that pretty ass instead of my fingers? Huh?” He emphasizes his point by thrusting the tip of his fingers into your G-spot, watching with sultry eyes as you flinch and moan from the stimulation. Slowly, he drags his fingers out— callused and rough against the velvet of your skin— before enthusiastically pushing back in at the perfect angle, his fingertips kissing your sweet spot over and over and over again.

“Yeah, yeeaaah, yeah you do. Uh huh. Bet you think about it alllll the time.” He coos, his voice laced with condescension. “I think about it too, Yeah. Those late nights after workouts, where I’m all alone in my bed, all hot n’ bothered with only you on my mind? I think about how you’d feel, squirming and moaning, wrapped around my cock. Stuffed full. To the brim. The wet sounds of that sweet ass swallowing me whole, fuck, how you’d look fuckin—“

“A-Aizawa!” You practically scream his name, and he can’t hide the chuckle that rises from his throat. He murmurs out a quick apology, leaning in to press a sweet kiss to the plump of your tummy. 

“C-close, close, really cl—… really close, Aizawa, s-sensei, please—“ you choke and sputter, chest heaving and breaths shaky and uneven, broken up by high-pitched moans and whimpers. Your cock twitches in Aizawa’s hand and your balls begin to draw up, hole clenching and stuttering around his thick, warm fingers. “P-please, please pleasepleaseplease, sen-sensei, p-please,” 

Aizawa hums and smiles up at you, licking the backs of his teeth as he thinks for a moment. 

He releases the gentle pressure he had around the base of your cock, instead, wrapping his whole hand around and stroking in slow, sensual motions. His fingers angle to thrust deeper and harder into your sweet spot, the paces of each hand of his differing— and honestly, if your brain wasn’t leaking from your dick right now, you’d think it’s impressive. 

“Sure.”

And that’s all you need to let go.

Screaming out mixtures of his name, ‘thank you’s, pleads, and mewls of pleasure, you finally hit your peak. Your thighs tremble as your orgasm rolls over you in waves, hot and overbearing as your nerve endings are shot and you’re so oversensitive, and Aizawa’s hand is still milking your cock and his fingers still haven’t came to a stop inside you and it’s too much now, it’s drawn out for too long, it’s too good, it feels to good— please, you can’t take it, you can’t—

“Shh, shhh, I know. It’s okay. I know.” Aizawa hums as you come to, his hands finally stopping their motions— both now warm and steady on their original (and to you, respective) places back on your thighs. You’re panting, blinking stupidly, each breathless exhale followed by a mewl of overstimulation. 

“Was that your first time? Shit— you made a mess.” He whispers, not able to stop the smile tugging at his lips as you pull your head forwards to look down at him in confusion. But once your eyes finally re-focus, you see it. Aizawa was right— you certainly did make a mess. Thick ropes of white are dripping down Aizawa’s chin, over his lips, matching with the mess decorating your thighs and tummy. 

At the sight of the mess you made, even after it all, you can’t help but feel a little heat rise up your cheeks. But before you can stutter out an apology, Aizawa’s already licking your cream off his lips, bringing his left hand up to collect the globs on his chin and cheeks that his tongue can’t reach, before cleaning off his fingers with his tongue. He stands up, groaning deep — and certainly not without a few pops from his knees and back— bulge straining right in front of your face.

“I-I can help you,” you stammer, eyes locked to the thick bulge in his pants, subconsciously licking your teeth and lips, jaw slack as you pant and flick your gaze to look up at him through lidded eyes. You re-adjust your position on the adductor machine and reach down with your left hand to fumble with the bottom adjuster, spreading your thighs the tiniest bit wider, letting him watch as your cock twitches, blood flowing once more to your half-hard cock at a speed that’s actually pretty impressive. You lean back, puffing out your chest, chin tucked as you pant, arching your back to give him a bit of visuals. “Please, A-Aizawa sensei,”

He stares down at you for a moment, hands on his hips before he chuckles and lets out a little puff of air out of his nose. He steps forwards, feet about shoulder width apart, and reaches down to untie the strings of his gym shorts. “Has anyone ever told you how adorable you are when you beg?”

You can’t help but giggle at the praise, left hand coming up to rest on his waistband as your right slips down to wrap around the base of your cock with shaky hands. Shouta frees his cock from his waistband and it’s something straight out of a porn mag. It’s thick, and long, maybe about 7 inches if that’s even fucking possible, and absolutely handsome. The tip is an attractive pinkish-tan, with a nice, broad shaft, with well-trimmed and overall taken care of hairs decorating the base. A plump vein runs up the underside, one you want to tease and nip and trace with your tongue. Shouta lowers his boxers just right under his shaft, giving you the perfect framed view. He chuckles as you stare, slowly moving his hips back and forth in a waving motion and watching as your eyes follow.

“Something catch’ your eye?” He coos, and your cock twitches in your hand. You squeeze your dick and moan, tummy already twisting in pleasurable knots watching him stand in front of you with his dick out. His right hand comes down to your cheek, thumb gently coaxing your lips open, the pad of his thumb grazing your tongue. His other hand holds the base of his cock steady as he takes a small step closer, the tip of his dick now barely an inch from your lips.

“Stick your tongue out,” he commands, panting, his lips twinging into a smile as you obey. He taps the sensitive tip of his cock against your tongue before letting his tip slip the full way in, groaning deep as you wrap your lips around the sensitive skin. His pre is salty and musky on your tongue, thick and already coating your teeth in a way that would usually be uncomfortable, but now, you’re convinced it’s the hottest thing in the entire fucking world. 

Shouta smells just as good as he tastes— a mix of the natural smell of skin, sweat, and musk, combined with the heady scent of his forest-like cologne, decorated by the tiniest hint of vanilla. Both of his strong, thick hands find their respective places in the side of your face, his thumbs smoothing over your cheeks, his left hand tucking a hair behind your ear before resuming its position.

He slowly thrusts his cock deeper in the wet cavern of your mouth, mindful of your teeth, a whole-body shudder shooting up his spine as you slide your tongue along the underside of his cock, coming up to lick at the sensitive underside of his tip. Your own hand strokes at an uncontrolled, messy pace most unlike Shouta’s at your cock, thumb occasionally coming up to rub at the sensitive tip, smearing pre along your slit as you buck up into your hand, moaning like a whore around his cock. He bottoms out and it forces you to breathe through your nose, as difficult as it is with your face pressed into the hairs at his lower tummy.

But god, if you suffocate now, you would die the happiest man on planet fucking earth.

He slowly pulls back out and you can’t control the wanton moan that slips from your lip, squeezing your cock tight in your hand as your hips thrust up to meet the tight grip. 

“Look at you, moaning like a s-slut like you’re about to get off from sucking my dick. Sexiest fucking moans— hah, So ffffucking hot,” Shouta groans from between grit teeth, thrusting back down into your throat. You swallow around his cock and he barks out a mix between a moan and a chuckle, throwing his head back to expose the column of his throat. Your own sweeter, high-pitched mewls and moans get lost in the mix with his as the speed of hus pace increases, fucking your mouth at a steady, deep rhythm.

“God, ah, fuck, look so fucking cute fisting your cock like that, h-hah,” He moans, your eyes meeting his as your gaze flutters up to look at him through your lashes.  Shouta bottoms out and your throat constricts around his cock as he moans, grinding against your face with slow rolls of his hips. You mewl and can’t help but arch your back, fist coming up to squeeze around the sensitive tip of your cock— your chest heaving and thighs shaking as you come close to a second orgasm.

Shouta thrusts his cock deep down your throat one more time before pulling out, using his right hand to hold your head still as his left works his cock. He holds his tip right over your bottom lip and squeezes with each upwards stroke, hips chasing his fist as his stomach curls and twists in pleasure. You sit with your thighs spread and your back arched, sticking out your tongue for Shouta to paint, stroking your dick at a pace almost three times faster than Shouta.

“L-look so fucking hot, so fucking hot, h-hah, oh, fuck,” Shouta moans, biting his bottom lip so hard it leaves indents that he traces with his tongue. “Gonna cum, fuck, gonna cum. G-gonna cum right on that pretty fucking face, yeah?” 

You mewl, left hand coming up to rest on Shouta’s hip as your right squeezes at the base of your cock, desperate to hit your peak at the same time as Shouta. “P-please, yes, f-fuck, please,” You slur, squeezing your cock in a slow, upwards stroke, bucking your hips as your fist reaches the tip. “T-taste so good, s’so good, wan’ it, want it bad, S-sensei,” 

Shouta lets out a deep chuckle that fades into a moan, increasing his pace and giving one, two, three more strokes before he’s reaching his peak. He groans as he cums, dick twitching as his cum coats your lips, chin, tongue, and cheeks. With shaky hands you release your grip on your cock, fucking the oversensitive tip up into your fist as you cum for the second time this night. 

Shouta brushes one of your hairs behind your ear and swipes up a drop of spend off your cheek before dipping his tongue in your mouth, cooing when you close your lips around his digit and lick it clean. “What a handsome boy,” He murmurs, tilting his head as he looks down at you, bathing in the afterglow of your orgasm. Shouta’s chest is heaving and his cheeks are pink, his hair framing his face and sticking due to sweat, the above-lights of the gym framing his head like a halo.

Shouta’s cum is dripping down your chin and your own is covering your thighs and hand, your soft, sensitive cock twitching pink and swollen in your grip, eyes half lidded and your thighs have been stretched so wide for so long that they’re beginning to ache. Shouta leans down to brush a few hairs out of your face, holding your cheeks in his hand before he leans in to press a sweet kiss to your lips.

His tongue licks the seam and slips into your mouth as soon as you give him access, warm and welcoming with the lingering taste of himself. He pulls away with a small ‘smack!’ Only to connect your lips once more, not pulling away for a moment later until he’s had his fill.

He licks his lips once he’s done, letting you lean back on the adductor machine as he sets the bottom adjuster back to its original position, your thighs sore and trembling now that nothing's holding them open. 

“Did I d-do— ahnh, did I-I do good? S-Sensei?” You croon and he combs a hand through your hair, slipping his cock back in his pants before resting his hand on the back of your head and pulling you in for a hug.

Shouta doesn’t care about how a mix of cum, sweat, tears and droll wipe off in his shirt as you press your face to his tummy, wrapping your arms around his waist and humming as you inhale as much of his scent as your lungs can hold.

“Better than good,” he coos, playing with the hairs on the back of your neck.