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ѕυммαяу： ♡ having a sex dream about your best friend is incredibly embarrassing but when he drags the information out of you and delivers something better than your dreams, it's hard to remember why you were feeling that way. . .
Having a sex dream about your best friend—Gojo Satoru—was not on your bingo card for this year but it happened and the result of it is you avoiding any and all eye contact with him. This would be significantly easier if he wasn’t always hanging around you, it would also be easier if his favourite pastime wasn’t invading your personal space.
Your odd behaviour must’ve reached a breaking point for him because he’s sat next to you on your couch, pouting out, “Why are you being so weird?”
“I’m not,” you deny despite your very obvious weird behaviour, still not properly looking at him.
Suddenly, his head is on your lap, eyes analysing your reaction to him, “You’re a bad liar.”
“Wha– What are you doing?” He has you fumbling and it only embarrasses you further. “Get off me.”
“Tell me why you’ve been avoiding me or I’ll literally never get off you, in fact… I will only get closer,” one of his hands moves to grab at your waist but you slap him away.
His head weighted on your thighs has you remembering your explicit dream of him and you can’t help but grow a few degrees warmer in temperature. “I can’t tell you.”
Gojo frowns at that and you hate how you’re noticing just how attractive he is even though he’s growing annoyed, “It involves me directly, but you can’t tell me?”
“That’s right,” you cement, like it shouldn’t even be an issue.
He sits up again and stares at you dead on, “Tell me or I’ll tell all our friends about… the incident.”
A small breath of disbelief leaving you, “You wouldn’t dare.”
“Try me,” his eyes stern, he’s completely serious.
You try bargaining, “It’s not that deep, Satoru… give me another week or two and I’ll be completely over it.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“So, you’re blackmailing me?!”
“I wouldn’t call it that, that’s such an ugly word,” he shakes his head.
Your brow raises at him, “What would you call it then?”
“I don’t know but not that,” he shrugs easily.
“You’re so annoying, I can’t believe I even—” you cut yourself off, realising you were about to freely give away that you couldn’t believe you had a sex dream about him. It’s frustrating that it was such a good dream too because he’s so annoying in real life.
Despite you stopping yourself, he clings to your words, “‘You can’t believe you even’ what?”
Playing dumb is your only defence but to be fair, you aren’t entirely convinced you’re playing anymore, “I don’t know.”
He stares at you for a moment before speaking again, “Okay, well, I’m calling it blackmail now, I’m officially blackmailing you.”
“Evil, evil man,” you accuse.
He motions at himself with his hands, dismissing your words, “Mhm, now tell ‘Toru all your problems.”
“Ew,” you grimace at him, “that was almost as bad as when you referred to yourself as ‘daddy’.”
Smirk on his face at your response, “Would you prefer that? I didn’t know you were into—”
“—I said almost as bad!”
“Sure, whatever,” he rolls his eyes, “now tell me what’s going on, I won’t let you wiggle your way out of the main issue at hand.”
“Fine,” you groan, giving in, “but you have to promise to not be weird or make it a big deal.”
His head tilts at you, “What? Like you mean how you’ve been doing?”
“Just promise, stupid,” you grumble at him.
“I promise,” he pauses, “sort of.”
“Seriously?”
“I said I promise, now come on,” he leans in, ready to listen, “lay it on me.”
Ignoring his giddy attitude, you take in a deep breath before carefully letting it out, “Well… the other night, I was sleeping—”
“—Truly groundbreaking stuff.”
“Don’t interrupt me or I will never tell you,” you glare at him.
“My bad,” he raises his hands in surrender.
“Anyways,” your heart is hammering in your chest because it’s so embarrassing to be looking at him as you try to confess. It feels like you’re being crushed under his intense gaze, it’s making you even more nervous.
He must be able to tell you’re working yourself up, “Geez, calm down, sweetheart, whatever it is it’s not that big of a deal.” He moves to pat your head as a means to comfort you, but you flinch away.
And before you can control it, you’re suddenly blurting out, “I had a sex dream about you the other night and now I feel really funny around you.”
The reaction from him isn’t immediate, only blinking back at you for a moment before suddenly turning his head to the side as he tries to hide his laugh but the snort he lets out gives it away. Your lips are downturned as you suffer through the agonising moments of mostly silence, the embarrassment you’d already been feeling growing tenfold at his reaction.
Wordlessly, you rise from the couch and go to walk away, to go away to anywhere but here in this moment. Gojo stops you though, his hand on your wrist pulling you back to the sofa. Now closer to him than you had been before, something you’re overly conscious over. Keeping your head turned from him, annoyed at his reaction and also your lack of tact.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he apologises, “I’m not laughing at you, I swear.”
“You need to get out of my apartment.”
“Don’t be so harsh,” he whines, “I have follow up questions.”
You pull your wrist from his grasp, still refusing to look at him, “I don’t wanna answer them, you only want to torture me.”
“Not true!”
He tries to get back in your line of sight, but you keep turning your head away. Your arms cross over your chest, almost like you’re trying to shrink in on yourself.
“I’m curious about a few things now though,” he hums at you, “since your reaction to having sex with me has been so cute.”
His phrasing is so poor that it has your head whipping to look at him and his overly pleased expression, “I did not have sex with you.”
“Right, right,” he waves off, “you dreamt about having sex with me.”
“I dislike you so deeply right now.”
“If you agree to answer my questions, I will literally never bring up the fact that you had a wet dream about me ever again.”
You point at him angrily, “It was not a wet dream! What the hell is wrong with your phrasing of things?!”
He smiles sweetly as he grabs your finger, using the hold he has on you to unfurl your hand and loop your fingers together to hold hands, “Are you gonna answer my questions or not?”
“If I do… you’ll never speak about this again, right?” You try pulling your hand from his but his hold on you is firm.
“Sure,” he agrees all too easily.
You glance down and away from him, “Fine.”
“Perfect!”
And at his incredibly joyful tone, you can’t help but feel like you’ve made a misstep somewhere along the way. Maybe you shouldn’t have told him… or maybe you should’ve concealed your reactions more effectively… or better yet, your stupid brain shouldn’t have conjured the image of you and him having sex to begin with.
Glancing at your interlocked fingers, you ask, “Can you let go of my hand now?”
“Why? Is it making you uncomfortable?” His tone isn’t upset or accusatory, only curious.
Sighing at him in response, “I’m embarrassed to even look at you right now, of course it’s making me uncomfortable.”
He, thankfully, releases his grip on you. Choosing not to taunt you any further but you have a feeling it’s only a small reprieve. Just as your heartrate is finally calming, he asks, “Was I good?”
You’re completely taken aback, knowing what he’s asking but still confused by his bluntness, “What?”
“Was I good?” He repeats shamelessly. “I’d be a little offended if I weren’t.”
If you have to answer his ridiculous questions then you’re going to be purposefully vague, “You were… fine.”
He hums thoughtfully, “You won’t even look me in my eyes, and you said you’re feeling funny around me so I was either horrendously bad or really great, which is it?”
“I don’t like your questions,” you grumble at him.
“I wanna know though,” he whines, “It’s your fault for being so weird about it.”
Your body droops into the couch, head resting against the back of it, “A normal person and good friend would take this information at face value and let me live quietly with my shame.”
“I disagree,” you can feel his eyes on you, but you still won’t look at him, your own eyes closed. He continues on, “I’ll let you live quietly after you tell me everything I want to know… probably.”
You squint your eyes open at him, “There is literally nothing in this for me, you’re blackmailing this information out of me.”
He grins at you, “Are you saying you’d respond better to positive reinforcement?”
“I’m saying I’m still reluctant to answer your embarrassing questions and it’s starting to feel like if I do, I’m only giving you future blackmail material.”
“This is untrue, I’m blackmailing you, yes but I also agreed to never bring it up again if you answer my questions.”
“Oh my god!” this is getting annoying, steeling your nerves, you decide you’re just going to answer everything so you can end this quickly, “You were good, it was a good dream.”
A stupid and happy smile takes over his face, you don’t bother reading too far into it. “You said you were feeling ‘funny’, what do you mean by that?”
“Huh?”
“Funny could mean any number of things, I’m asking for specifics here,” he’s still too happy and it’s annoying you because you don’t really understand why.
“Hmm, like…” you look at him intently to better think about how you feel, your heart fluttering as you do, causing you to close your eyes as if you’re in thought, “…I feel embarrassed to have had a dream like that about you.”
He pushes back on your answer, “That’s all?”
Cracking an eye open at him as you chirp, “Yep.”
His gaze is already trained on you, apparently never having stopped looking at you, “You’re such a bad liar.”
You deflate at your failed deception, “I think we’ve just known each other too long…”
“You’ve always been a bad liar though?” He claps his hands together suddenly and it makes your heart skip a beat, “Now, out with it.”
Quiet as you start your explanation, “Every time I look at you…” he nods his head as if to encourage you, “…I think about the dream and it makes me feel funny, that’s all, can you leave me alone now?”
His lips purse as he mulls over what you’ve just said, “You sure you’re not just horny?”
“Satoru!” you chastise him, shocked and also frustrated that he’s pretty much hit the nail on the head. Ever since your dream you can’t help but look at him differently. Mind feeding you images of what having sex with him might be like—what having sex with him was like.
“I’m being genuine.”
“That makes it worse,” kicking your legs a little about it all.
He starts giggling, “You had a dream about getting fucked by me so good that just being around me turns you on.”
“Stop!” you move to sit in front of him properly, face clearly unhappy, “I did not say that.”
“You basically did,” he dismisses, “So… what did I do to you?”
It’s a bit ridiculous that he’s going in this direction, but you should’ve known he was going to do this. You need to shut him down because just his words alone are affecting you more than you care to admit, “I’m done answering your questions.”
It’s his turn to groan and grumble, “Aww, but it was just getting good.”
Rolling your eyes at him, you say with the intention of ending this interaction, “Satoru… It doesn’t matter what you did in my dream because there’s no way you’d be that good in real life.”
The smile on his face drops, “I can’t help but take that personally.”
“Take it how you will,” you shrug, “there’s no way you could live up to the dream version of you, it’s not logical.”
“Wanna find out?”
“Don’t be childish,” you brush him off, overlooking the way those words send a shock through you.
He pushes, “Treat it like an experiment, I wanna know what’s better.”
Blinking back at him, “You’re so weird.”
Quickly pointing out, “Maybe, but you’re the one who dreamt about fucking this weirdo.”
“Yeah, dreamt, it was a dream.” You shake your head in disbelief at him, “Why are you acting like you’re jealous of dream you?”
“Maybe I am jealous of dream me.”
“That’d be stupid.”
“You’re always telling me I’m stupid.”
Gojo’s eyes keep flitting to your lips every time you speak, the look in them suddenly much darker than the glee that was held in them when he was teasing you earlier. Trying to be stern but not entirely convincing when you state, “I’m not going to have sex with you for a reason as stupid as that, grow up.”
“But you’ll have sex with me for a good reason?”
“Stop putting words in my mouth,” you tilt your head at him in exasperation, “why are you even acting like this?”
Ignoring your question and instead posing his own, “You sure you’re not curious, not even a little bit?” His hand cups the side of your face, his thumb pulling down on your lower lip, “I know I am.”
That simple touch has your heart leaping bounds, suddenly so hyper aware of how deep the effect he has on you is. It scares you, how much you want him, how much you want to say yes. You shouldn’t get carried away, he’s being ridiculous, this is all so ridiculous. Your years long and best friendship could be ruined because of this moment.
All things you’re worried about, all valid concerns, all thoughts that slip from you so quickly when he leans in and licks teasingly at your lower lip. The gasp you let out is his entrance into your mouth, his lips plush and demanding against yours. Eyes falling shut as you let yourself get lost in his kiss, full and delightful and something you’ve never felt before.
It’s messy and uncoordinated, like he’s not really focusing on how to kiss you and more on the fact that he gets to kiss you. You’re getting dizzy, body buzzing pleasantly at how he sucks on your tongue. String of saliva keeping your lips connected when he pulls back, snapping as he wipes his lower lip with his thumb, only to then push it into your mouth. Your immediate response to suck, feeling depraved but enjoying the look on his face you get when you do.
He speaks under his breath, eyes a little dazed, “Fuck.”
As soon as your tongue licks against the tip of his thumb, he’s pulling it from your mouth and hurriedly slotting his mouth over yours again. Barely giving you a moment to think before he’s kissing you so completely, consumed by his need and the delicious way he partakes in your lips.
It’s so overwhelming, to be desired like this is foreign and has your thighs clenching together. Gaining confidence when you finally wrap your arms around his neck, a move he appreciates if his groan and grabby hands are anything to go off of.
The way he parts from you is full of huffed and short breaths that only ends in him kissing you again, like he’s fighting with himself to say something, to do something more but ending up not strong enough to move on from your lips.
A pathetic moan that you don’t even recognise as your own leaving you, the sound only spurring Gojo on. Using his body to push against yours until your back is on the couch, not bothering to explain what he’s doing, far too busy and far too fixated on how you taste.
Filled to the brim with thoughts about how good his kiss is, how kissing can’t possibly be this good, how you’d let him do more. Fingers threading through his hair, nails scratching against his scalp in a way that pulls a shudder from him.
What feels like far too soon he’s properly pulling back, quickly putting distance between you both so he’s not immediately gravitating back. Arms holding himself up, hovering over you, taking his sweet time to appreciate the look on your face. Pride exuding from him at what he’s reduced you to with a few kisses.
“Stop staring, Satoru,” your voice comes out more whinged and unfortunate than you were hoping.
“No.”
It’s a simple response, one that’s weighted with meaning and intention. Maybe if you weren’t only concerned with how good of a kisser he is, of how you want more, of how he looks indescribably good over you, you’d ask him why he’s acting this way. Maybe you’d even ask what this means for your friendship but when you’re in this deep and enjoying it this much, thinking that deep slips from you all too easily.
“I’m gonna touch you,” his gaze wanders over your body before looking back to you, “okay?”
Already nodding back at him, “Okay.”
And only when you verbally affirm him does he let his greedy hands travel your body, sitting back on his knees so he can grope at your thighs and hips. You can tell he’s enjoying your squirming immensely, eyes simultaneously lidded low and lit up.
Quickly glancing to meet your eyes when he asks, “What did I do to you?”
It takes your brain a second to catch up to his words, stuck on his big hands resting against your hips, his fingers digging into your plush skin. “You mean…”
“In your dream,” he slips into your waistband and starts to slowly pull your pants off, “what did I do to you in your dream, sweetheart?”
You feel your skin heat, his fingers tickling against your thighs. “I’m not answering that.”
A low hum sounds from him as your pants are finally removed and tossed to the side, “Why not?”
Keeping your legs together, self-conscious of the fact you’re in your underwear below him. Though he’s not bothered at all, groping and massaging at your thighs, “What happened in that dream is private.”
“That hardly seems fair,” his eyes bore into your own, “since I was there and all.” Paying no mind to your small protests as he manoeuvres one of your legs to rest against his side, feeling much more exposed now that he’s spread your legs.
“Satoru, you can’t just!– mmph—”
Further protesting cut off abruptly when he places his palm on your lower stomach, thumb drawing over your covered slit. His touch there was unexpected but not unwelcome, small shocks of pleasure thrumming through you.
“Did I use my fingers?” he keeps stroking your cunt, touch light and nowhere near enough to satisfy. “How about my mouth?” pausing to blatantly stare at your pussy, not even really addressing you when he adds, “please tell me I used my mouth,” his last words come out pitchy, almost like he’s begging for it to be true.
“I don’t know why you keep bothering to lie to me,” he murmurs low, using both thumbs to pull apart your folds, pressing into your hole only to be stopped by the material of your panties.
His action has you shooting up, face to his chest, your hands grab onto his shirt and all he does is chuckle at you. “Stop playing with me,” you huff at him.
Leaning down, he drags his lips over your skin gently. Leaving behind soft kisses all over your neck and chest, blowing air by your ear just to make you twitch. Voice almost a whisper when he asks again, “What did I do to you?”
“You’re embarrassing me,” you look through your lashes at him.
His smile is pleased, “Yeah, well, you’re turning me on.” Grabbing you by your hips and pulling you into his lap, your cunt pressing right into his erection, “Feel that?” He can’t help the way he gives small grinds into you, your warmth too enticing, “All your fault, so tell me what I did to you.”
The grinds he’s giving you feel too good, he’s big and so hard and couldn’t he just, “Can’t you just put it in?”
He laughs airily, surprised by your need and shifted focus, “I think you can feel enough to know that I can’t.”
“You were nicer to me in my dream,” you pout at him.
“Somehow, I doubt that—” his head drops back and a soft groan leaves him, getting lost in how you’ve started to rut down into him.
Thinking back to your dream, you decide to mention, “You did.”
Distracted reply coming from him, “Hmm?”
“Use your mouth, I mean—”
Just as you’d gotten the words out, he’s pushing you flat on your back again, not even pausing to think as he pulls your panties off in one movement. Settling between your thighs impatiently, eyeing up your cunt, “You been holding out on me.”
Your legs thrown haphazardly over his broad shoulders, “Wait just a sec—”
“—Why?” Tongue already hanging from his mouth and hovering over your pussy, just about drooling onto it.
The sight of him has your brain rebooting, “No– nothing.”
Keeping his eyes intently on you when he licks your whole pussy, smiling at how your mouth drops opens and hips squirm, “You’re cute.”
“You– you’re– hnn—” you don’t get to retort properly, his tongue flicking at your clit each time you try to say something.
“Mhm,” he’s enjoying this, you can tell, his tone too amused. “You’re so wet, practically begging for me to put my mouth on you.”
And then he shoves his tongue inside you, holding your hips down so he can fuck you with it. Delighting in the moans tumbling from your lips, cunt syrupy sweet and begging for him to stuff it full. Swallowing down all you have to give him, shudders running down his spine as his cock jerks in his pants. He’s been horny ever since you admitted to having had a sex dream about him. And if he’s being completely honest, maybe since he had his head in your lap.
It feels a little cruel that you kept it from him for so long, he would’ve gotten on his knees for you the second you asked him to. Groaning into your pussy when your hole tightens around his tongue, pressing his face closer to you. Nose stimulating your clit with how desperate he is to taste your cunt.
He’s messy in how he’s devouring you, sloppily making out with your pussy. Small groans leaving him as he relishes in it, like he’s getting just as much out of this as you are. It’s too good, back arching and thighs fighting to close, held open by his wide frame between your legs. This is the first time someone has gotten you so close so quickly, it’s almost embarrassing how easily he’s about to make you cum.
Gojo knows you’re close, it excites him, he wants your cum in his mouth, he wants to feel how you shake underneath him. But there’s something wicked inside him that wants to tease you a little more. Choosing instead to wait until you’re just about to finish before suddenly pulling back.
You whine at him, eyes wet when you look at him in confusion. He only smiles back at you, tongue licking his lower lip before he asks innocently, “I forgot to ask, did you cum like this?”
Brain taking a moment to catch up before realising he’s still asking about that damn dream, “I don’t– I think so?”
Pressing open mouthed and wet kisses over your inner thighs, remarking, “Not very memorable, was it?”
Somehow, it feels like he’s trying to compete with his dream counterpart, and the thought is just ridiculous. “It was very memorable,” you’re only hoping to be a little teasing but by the look in his eyes he takes it personally. Opening his mouth wide and chomping down onto your thigh, biting you enough to nearly break skin. You jump at the shock, “Hey!”
“Sorry, sweetheart,” he murmurs into your skin, licking over the impression of his teeth before pressing a kiss to it, “try remembering this instead, yeah?”
It’s a little bit cute of him to be so jealous of your dream, “You’re stupid.”
He knows he’s stupid, he’s all too aware of it but that changes nothing to him, “I’d be more careful with your words if you wanna cum,” blowing air onto your clit, reminding you of how close you were.
“Satoru…” you don’t really like how he’s got you backed into a corner right now.
He hums in acknowledgement at you, “Need something?” Head leaning against your thigh as he smiles smugly up at you.
How frustrating of him, to know exactly what you want but choosing not to give it to you for his own enjoyment. “You’re a tease,” you huff at him.
“Hmm… not usually,” his hand slides up your inner thigh, single digit slipping inside your hole, “I think that’s something you bring out of me,” pleased with the small sounds you let out at his finger stuffing you.
Gasped moan leaving your lungs, trying to tell him how unbearable he is, “You’re– hnn!—”
A sound of awe leaving him as he drags his finger out, “How obscene, you really are so fucking wet.” He says it like you should be ashamed of yourself but he’s smiling too big, eyes full of loving obsession. Clearly incredibly happy with how dripping and soaked your cunt is, “Basically drooling for it, sweetie. How embarrassing~”
You might have to kill him because he really is embarrassing you. Hell, it was already embarrassing doing this with your best friend and now he’s teasing you for his own sick pleasure, “Stop…” not able to help the completely pathetic look on your face, “…stop being so mean to me.”
Gojo feels his heart drop and then start beating a million miles an hour, you’re so cute that he can’t help but breathlessly laugh, “My bad, will making you cum make up for it?”
“Yes,” you assert.
Ah, his head is spinning, you might be too much for his poor heart to handle. He can’t bear having you upset with him though, pressing soft kisses to your pussy lovingly. It’s as if he’s apologising for being so cruel to you, deepening his kiss to your cunt by stuffing you full of his tongue again.
The way you twitch and moan under him really does drive him wild, how he’s going to stay sane while fucking you is beyond him. Lapping at your sopping cunt so devotedly, eyes dazed and pussy drunk as he watches how your eyes roll and brows pinch. Giggling to himself at how surreal it is to be tongue deep inside you, to have you this needy for him.
When he suddenly pushes your legs back, you squeak. Damn near folded in half and bent for him, “Satoru, you can’t just– mmph!—”
He doesn’t grace you with the kindess of listening properly, simply going back to eating your pussy like it’s his last meal. The way he’s holding you is pornographic in nature, a position you’ve never even thought to be in, and he’s easily manhandled you into it. Lower back no longer even touching the couch, held up by Gojo.
With how he’s positioned you now, all your dewy slick and his saliva slides from your cunt and drips crudely onto your poor couch. Head dizzied as he gets you closer and closer to finishing, building you up so much faster after the loss of your last orgasm.
“I– ah!– so close– mmph—” you don’t want him to stop, hand holding onto one of his on your hip tightly, begging that he doesn’t pull away again.
Lucky for you, he desperately wants you cumming for him. He barely brought himself to deny you the first time, there’s no way he could do it a second. Completely and whole heartedly dedicated to making your pussy cream for him, salivating at the thought alone.
Moans you don’t even register pulling from your lungs as he finally pushes you over the edge, hips shaking as you try to ride out your own high with little success. The position you’re folded in keeping you at his mercy. Orgasm feeling oh so sweet after he denied you, lashes fluttering as it washes over you.
Gojo hums happily into your pussy, drinking down all your creamy slick and then still not parting from you. Too addicted to your scent, to your taste, ignoring all rationality as he keeps licking and sucking at your cunt. Whining when your weak fingers dig into his hair and pull him back by force, shaking underneath him from how he’s nearly forced you into overstimulation.
“Too much,” your voice trembles with your words.
His lower face is a complete mess of you and you’d feel bad but the stupid smile and dazed look he’s wearing tells you that you don’t have to. “You got a great pussy,” he compliments, moving his thumbs so he can lewdly pull your cunt wider for his greedy eyes.
“Ah!– stop staring, have you no shame?”
Eyes flicking to yours when he states seriously, “None.”
You’re feeling far too exposed in this position, “Can you let me move—”
Ignoring you and instead musing aloud, “—How many fingers do you think you could take?”
“What?”
“Your hole was tight around my tongue so maybe only one?” Slipping a single finger inside you and stroking against your walls. Your back fights to arch and a soft mewl sounds from you, “ahh, that’s a nice reaction. Let’s stretch you out yeah?”
“You’re so– hnn!—” barely biting out, “You’re such a pervert.”
His head tilts at you, “Did you expect anything else?”
Managing to babble out, “Weren’t so– hah– perverted– hnn– in my dream– mmph—”
“I take pride in that,” his chest vibrates with his words. Of course he takes pride in it, why wouldn’t he? Stuffing another finger inside your snug cunt and scissoring them, trying to open you up enough to be able take him, “This sweet pussy might fucking kill me, I don’t know how you’re gonna take me.”
Could he have a bigger ego? “Don’t be ridiculous– hah!—”
“I’m not just being cocky, sweetie.” Fingers brushing up against so many spots you can never quite reach on your own, “You might actually struggle to take it all.”
Eventually giving you a third finger, spread wide around his digits and leaking into the palm of his hand. He’s got you a squirming and moaning mess under him, mind melting from the mouth-wateringly sinful way he’s playing with you.
“Satoru– hnn!—”
“Something wrong?”
Now he knows damn well… “Please, just– hah—”
He laughs at your whimpered neediness, completely aware of how bad you want him inside of you. “Being real cute right now.”
“Don’t—”
“—Don’t what?” Using his fingers to tease your most intimate spots.
“‘Toru– hnn– please,” lower lip wobbling as you pout at him, “I want you…”
That’s not fair, you’re not playing fair at all. “You’re evil,” he mumbles at you, cheeks and tips of his ears flushing red with how turned on he is, “but I’ll give you what you want, since you’re so adorable.”
Thick fingers drawing from your cunt, the loss of him pulling a whine from you; it makes him smile. You’re genuinely so pathetic right now and aside from how horny it’s got him; it’s also got his heart stuttering in his chest.
“Take your shirt off,” he points at you, letting you finally lower your bottom half to the couch.
Grumpily following his instruction, feeling especially docile right now, “You’re being too bossy.”
His words come out a little muffled as he pulls his own shirt off, “Your pouting would have more effect if you weren’t also listening so well.”
“Maybe I’ll stop listening then.”
He stands from the couch to tug down his pants and boxers, brows drawn together and head tilting, “When you’re this close to finally taking it all?” Holding the base of his hard cock, tone smug.
Embarrassed for yourself at how your cunt throbs for him, desperate in a pitiful way that you’ve never imagined yourself being over him or anyone. “Are you in any position to be this big of a tease?”
“For you? Always,” he taps your thigh and leans onto the couch again, “now spread your legs for me.”
Already opening up to give him room before really thinking twice on it, hating that you’re this willing to follow his instruction. His hands on you are gentle, almost reverent in how they trail along your inner thighs.
Gojo can’t help himself, touching you as much as he can, wanting to prolong this whole experience. Your skin so soft and delicate under his touch, fingers digging into your flesh just to see proof of him touching you. Completely bare and willing under him, heart hammering in his chest at this fact.
Dragging his cock through your sopping wet pussy, shivering at just how gooey your cunt is. Not intentionally trying to torture you but doing so anyways, squirming and impatient under him the more he plays with you.
“Satoru,” voice pitchy, “please.”
Not moving immediately, only cursing as he gazes at you all lost.
You wrap a single leg around his waist and pull him forward, encouraging, “C’mon.”
Smug expression suddenly back on his face, “Alright, here we go,” tapping at your entrance a few times first. “Ohh, biiig stretch,” word drawn out and provocative as his cock head slowly slips inside you.
Big stretch is fucking right, chest squeezing as you struggle to adjust. Hands gripping onto his biceps for dear life, needing to be grounded.
One of his hands reach out and strokes against your head, you keen into his touch and he chuckles. Leaning down to whisper, “You need to breathe, sweetheart.”
His hips have stopped moving forward but it hardly seems like it, already feeling obscenely full. “H–how much– hnn– more?”
Gojo dips his head down to look at where your cunt is bulging around him, teeth digging into his lower lip as he stifles a strained laugh, “Not much at all.”
“Are you lying?” Unable to help the way your lip wobbles a bit with your question.
“Yeah,” he thrusts just a little bit more into you, “but you’re doing so well, feel fffucking fantastic.”
You’re clawing at his shoulders, feeling like you’re being stretched to your limits, “Why– ah!– why is it so big?” Somehow, you feel annoyed at him for it.
“I’m God’s favourite,” is how he chooses to reply, ego growing tenfold at how you’re falling apart just from the shallow thrusts he’s delivering.
How the hell are you meant to take all of him, “How– hah– how much?”
He can’t take his eyes off how you’re sucking him in, hands gripping your hips and thumbs drawing circles into your skin soothingly, “Why don’t you just watch for yourself?”
You shake your head at him, eyes scrunched shut, “No.”
“And why not?” Still, he’s feeding you more of his cock, your pussy pulsing around him making him dizzy, “It’s a good fuckin view.”
“Don’t– hnn– don’t torment me.”
Blinking your eyes open to give your best glare, it only comes across half hearted. Completely taken with the look on Gojo’s face, flushed pink with his pupils blown wide, teeth digging into his lower lip again to stop from whining. Eyes flicking to yours and he’s completely melting when seeing just how pathetic you are under him, moan stumbling from his lips so suddenly that it takes him by surprise.
He's just as big of a mess as you and it has your cunt positively creaming around him, turned on by the fucked out horny look on your best friends’ face. Gojo shudders at your pussy getting slicker around him, his dick jerking inside you.
“Getting this– hah– wet over your best friend…” fucking his hips quickly, pelvis now flush to yours, “…how shameless of you.”
You’re quivering around him and writhing under him, the feeling of being completely stuffed full overwhelming on its own. His taunting cruel and mocking and unfortunately turning you on that much more, upset that you’re letting him get away with it.
Lips downturned when you fire back, “You’re more shameless– hnn– pervert.”
Gojo can only be charmed by your weak insult, especially since he’s pretty sure you’re unaware of how your hips are twitching under the weight of his hold. Fighting upwards for the hope of getting fucked but kept frustratingly still by him. Your neediness has piqued his interest, now wondering how long he can stay still until you’re shedding tears out of pure frustration. Quickly growing addicted to the idea of teasing you like this.
He's so still it’s driving you crazy, able to feel his dick twitching inside you, veins throbbing against your sensitive walls. Obviously wanting it just as bad as you but still not moving, shifting one of your hands to tap at his on your hip, gaining his attention.
Eyes on his, “What are you waiting– mmph– for?”
God, the look on your face is killing him, so sweet under him. It’s almost like you’re coming apart already, his hands dig into your thighs and it has you keening under him. Pitiful whine leaving you as your hips start grinding into him quickly, trying to alleviate some of the desire you’re feeling.
“Now why on earth…” he straightens his back up more, pulling your lower half up with him, not giving the chance for his cock to slip from you, “…are you this touch starved?”
“Huh?” it’s the only response you’re capable of giving, having finally seen just how he’s shoved inside you. Cunt stretched obscene around his fat dick, dripping happily and syrupy sweet around him. Chest fluttering at the shock and excitement.
“I’m so sorry for not noticing, sweetie,” he coos at you, “I would’ve helped you if you’d told me.”
Complaining back at him, “I am not touch starved.”
“You definitely are,” he trails his hand from your hip, up your side, just to show you how you twitch into it, “it’s okay though, I’ll take good care of you.”
Pussy shivering involuntarily around him, giving away that you’re lying. How he managed to know you were deprived, you have no idea but the fact he did is embarrassing to you. He doesn’t need to be aware of how long it’s been since you were last touched so intimately.
“I—”
“—Don’t bother lying again,” he keeps caressing you where he can reach, “I’d much rather hear about how much you like when I touch you.”
Maybe he’ll start moving if you’re honest, “I like when– hah– you touch me,” pouting slightly and barely fighting off the shudder running down your spine at his touch.
“Good,” he smiles at you, all glib, “‘Cause I’m gonna touch you. Lots.”
Eyes sparkling at him, hoping, “Does that mean you’re– ah– hnn– actually going to fuck me now?”
“Why?” his head tilts at you, “Do you want it?”
Giving your best glare back at him, he’s proven to you sufficiently by now that he can read you incredibly well, much to your dismay. Muttering out, “Dream you was– hah– much more indulgent of me.”
“Ouch,” though he says that, he doesn’t seem hurt at all, “Dream me was a fool then ‘cause you’re much more fun to play with like this.”
He’s being so evil, “Can’t you just give me what I want?”
“I might,” his gaze is lecherous as his eyes rake over your body, “if you ask for it properly.”
“Satoru…” you try to call out to him as sweetly as possible, “…please fuck me?” lip quivering slightly as your neediness bleeds through your façade of togetherness, “please?”
Gojo’s heart squeezes in his chest, he’d planned on tormenting you a little more but he’s not sure he’ll be able to keep his sanity any longer. Already he feels like he’s a second away from cumming, caught between wanting to give you everything you want and teasing you until you cry. He guesses he’ll just have to settle for fucking you until you cry this time, next time, he promises himself he’ll tease you properly next time.
“Satoru?”
Your voice breaks him out of his reverie, grin back on his face, “I heard you, pretty. I’ll give you what you want.”
Dragging his cock from you slowly, so slowly, the heavy weight of him pulling out driving you up a wall, insides shuddering. Broken and gasped moans leaving you, rushing out quick, “Thank you, thank you, thank you, oh—”
The laugh that leaves him is too attractive, amused by your gratitude for something like this. It’s cute how the thank-yous just keep tumbling from your lips over and over as he keeps pulling back to the tip of him.
“Don’t thank me for that…” his hands dig into your hips more, “…thank me for this,” slamming into you all at once with his last word.
The wind is completely knocked from your lungs, shocked whine louder than you’d want it to be. Desperately clawing at any part of him you can reach, struggling to take it and keep it together. Feeling like you’re completely melting, head spinning as pleasure thumps through your veins.
“Mmph– I– ahh—” barely coherent as your eyes fight to not roll to the back of your head, “thank hnn– you.”
Small giggle leaving him at just how adorable you’re being, heart hammering in his chest as he sets a consistently mind ruining pace. He can’t wipe the fucked out smile off his face as he keeps pounding into you, giddy with how he gets to have you under him like this.
Babbling varied compliments, “You’re so adorable,” he huffs out a whimper, “hnn– and you’re so fucking tight around me,” less coherent as he carries on, “God, and so fffucking wet– hah– what the– so hot– I—”
He feels insane, how you’re this warm and perfect around him has him at a loss. Almost like you were made just for his cock, something he’ll let himself believe because the idea of you being with anyone but him breaks his heart a little bit.
Hypnotised by how you’re sucking him back in, clinging onto his dick desperately. It’s almost like every time he pulls out, you’re begging him to fuck right back in, and of course he’ll comply. The idea of pulling out before he’s finished with you a painful thought, not willing to give up this moment even if someone walked in on the two of you.
Such a genuine thought, he’s completely certain that someone could walk in on you both and his thrusts wouldn’t even slow down. If anything, they’d speed up, finally he’d get to show off how you’re his. Possessiveness tumbling around restlessly in his head, his dick only getting harder.
All you can do is take it, take all of the jaw slacking and toe-curling pleasure he’s delivering you. Your pussy making obscene sounds as he fucks into you, skin hot from how depraved it all feels. Gojo looks so completely wrecked, eyes glazed over, lips still moving as he continues to mutter out sweet praise. Praise that would probably have your insides flipping and body growing hotter, but you can’t hear anything but your heart thumping in your own ears.
Delirious grin making its way onto his face as he’s struck with a wicked realisation, large hand sliding its way from your thigh to your stomach. Pressing down the littlest bit and watching how you squirm and shudder under him, gasping for breath and hands slapping at him, trying to speak.
“Don’t– hnn– don’t do that– ah!– too much– it feels too—”
“What? Good?” He hisses out, still managing to be taunting.
“It’s too much– hah– mmph– I’m too sensitive,” your eyelashes feel wet, like you might’ve started crying but you can’t even be sure of that right now.
His hand presses down more into your tummy, “I know you are~” he giggles a little, “it’s turning me on.”
“Seriously– hnn– don’t– I’m gonna– ah!—”
He’d completely ignored your pleas causing you to cut yourself off with a moan, orgasm suddenly washing over you. Spasming hot and snug around him, so sinful that he’s shocked by his own high, cumming deep inside you as you shake and shiver around him.
“Ohh, you’re– haah– you’re killing me sweetly,” Gojo’s head feels like it’s spinning, swimming in so much euphoria as he grinds into you.
You’ve slumped under him, trusting him to keep a hold of you, not even thinking to chew him out for making a mess of both your cunt and sofa. Brain feeling all fuzzy and melted in your skull, blissed out from how good you’re currently feeling.
Busy basking in the afterglow when your world is suddenly spinning, Gojo’s taken advantage of your rag-dolled state and flipped you over onto your stomach. Quickly realising that he’s still hard when your hips are being pulled up and his cock is sliding through your folds.
“You gotta stay with me, pretty,” he groans, positioning his tip at your hole, “we’re– hnn– not done yet.”
“Satoru– ah!—”
Both your moans are debauched and loud as he stuffs you so fucking full all at once, lungs seizing in your chest. If he weren’t holding your hips so tight, you would’ve collapsed to the couch. Your fingers dig into the cushions below you, biting back pitiful sounds that so desperately want to leave you.
“Don’t– don’t do that,” he shoves inside you somehow that little bit more, “let me hear you, sweetie.”
Sulking back, “Noo– hah– it’s embarrassing—”
“—It’s arousing,” he counters, skin on fire with how badly he wants to hear you moan for him.
He supposes it’s fine though, he’ll just have to drag those sweet sounds from you himself. Giving sharp and angled thrusts, purposefully driving right into all those delicious spots he found earlier while playing with you. Grinning wide, overly pleased with himself when you squeak out the cutest moan he’s ever heard.
He’s falling apart inside you, wrapped around your little finger and you don’t even realise it. He didn’t even intend to cum earlier, you just felt too good. All sticky cum and clingy walls, he couldn’t help himself.
Able to feel how his cum leaks out around his shaft, hear how your pussy gushes with his cock inside you. He feels borderline feral, something deeply possessive dancing around in his heart at how your cunt squelches around him, stuffed full of his hot semen.
The desire to see his face hits you, remembering just how good he looked as he got lost in how pleasurable everything felt. Whining pitifully below him into the couch, feeling far too shy to tell him how much you enjoy looking at him while he fucks you stupid.
“Satoru– hnn– it’s—” drooling onto the couch as you moan out to him, “it’s good– hah– it’s too good– it’s good~” nearly sobbing with just how damn good it feels.
“I bet,” he chuckles, loving your reaction.
Biting at him, “Hnn– shuddup—”
Easily ignoring you, “Now be honest… what’s better?”
Your eyes are rolling to the back of your head; you can’t focus on whatever the hell he’s saying when he’s fucking your gooey sweet spot so perfectly that you’re in bliss.
“Focus,” he fills you completely and stills his hips, refusing to move, “what’s better? This or your dream.”
Cunt so creamy and cock drunk for him, throbbing and pulsing so lovingly on him. He’s a little bit annoyed that he has to stop but he needs your answer. Hips twitching back into him, small noises of frustrated and deprived pleasure slipping from your lips.
He purrs low at you, “If you want me to move then you gotta answer me,” hand smoothing down your back, “you know I will torment you until you do.”
If you weren’t so turned on and delirious you’d recognise it as the bluff it is, he may have been able to torment you earlier, but his patience is barely hanging on by a fucking thread at this point. But you are that turned on and delirious, so instead you answer earnestly, “This, this is better. It’s lots better, now please. Move.”
“There ya go,” he pats your ass a couple times, “such a sweet little thing when you’re fucked full of my fat dick.”
Words meant as a warning but failing to hold any weight, “‘Toru– don’t—”
“—Don’t stress, pretty,” giving you a single thrust, “I’ll give you what you and your pussy are begging me for.”
Your response is smothered into the couch cushions, “Please.”
Groaning a giggle at how you reply, finding it cute that you’re displaying manners you don’t usually bother to with him. You must have it bad for him right now because otherwise you would not be so docile under him.
Fucking into you so you can feel it, really feel it. Intending to pull you apart so perfectly, wanting you to feel this just as much he is. Pelvis smacking into your ass obscenely, admiring the way your back arches for him, damn near presenting yourself to him.
“More– hah—” you stutter out at him, trying to explain what you need, “I want– hnn– I want you to touch me more.”
His eyes close and he intakes a deep breath, controlling himself as he registers your words. Arm reaching around you to pull you up, his chest to your back. He’s pressed so close to you, warm and comforting. You’re keening into him again, relishing how close he is to you, how much of him you can feel. Butterflies dancing in your stomach at how intimate it is and how it’s so much better because of it.
His hands grope at you, your hips, stomach, tits, anywhere he can grab, “Someone’s being greedy.”
Huffing back at him, “Hah– I am not.”
“I wasn’t talking about you,” amused with himself as he breathes into your ear, thrusting desperately into your dripping cunt.
You grab hold of his hands and tug, encouraging him to wrap his arms around you properly. All too easily, he gives into your will, holding you tight. His face tucked into your neck and breathing in your scent, lips delicate as they trace your skin.
Brain hazy and muddled as you babble out your feelings to him, “It’s good– I like your dick– hnn– I like– hah– I like you.” Head turning to the side to press a small kiss to his head.
He’s quick to move so he can capture your lips with his, groaning into it. His dick grows impossibly larger inside you at your small confession, throbbing and leaking inside your tight heat.
Pulling back with a last suck to your lower lip, “Don’t say such sweet things to me, pretty,” tongue licking your ear, teeth nipping you, “or I’ll never leave you alone.”
“You– hah– you– hnn– do that anyways– ah!—”
“I’m about to become much worse,” it’s more of a promise than anything else, you thought of him as clingy before but he’s about to become so so much more worse.
The idea of that alone should probably be less appealing but while stuffed full of his aching cock, you can’t find it in yourself to feel anything other than pathetically whipped for him. Pussy weeping around him, begging for more, for it to never stop.
His dick so deep it feels like he’s in your lungs, spasming around him as your high gets closer and closer. Pleasure climbing up your spine as you melt around him, loving his touch on your body, his breath by your ear.
Gojo moans, head tipping back before he leans forwards again, “You’ve got me obsessed with you, sweetheart,” voice cracking with a whine, “both you– hnn– and this sopping wet pussy of yours.”
Sobbing out your warning, “‘Toru– hah– ah!– I’m gonna cum—”
“Hmm?” his chest vibrates against your back, “Gonna cum because I told you I’m obsessed with you? That’s pretty lewd of you.”
Cheeks wet with your shed tears, “Don’t– hng– don’t tease.”
“Just let yourself enjoy it,” hand pressing into your stomach like he had earlier, “your cunt sure does.”
Long and pitchy moan leaving you, orgasm knocking into you like a tonne of bricks. Trying to curl forward but unable to, Gojo’s arms are firm around you, not letting you go anywhere as he keeps fucking into you. His pace suddenly much quicker as he doubles his efforts from behind, chasing his own high.
It doesn’t take him long at all to follow behind you, face burying into your neck, teeth biting into you as he shudders. Muffled whimpers vibrating against your skin, his hips jerking shallowly, he can’t bring himself to stop fucking into you. You’re too stupid to think about telling him off, not even sure you’re able to process thoughts let alone talk coherently.
Eventually he stills to a complete stop, planting kisses over his bite mark. He doesn’t want to let you go, content to hold you up like this but you’re on the verge of passing out. Gentle in how he lowers you down onto the couch, the pair of you groaning when his cock slips from you. Shared cum connecting his dick to your stuffed hole obscenely, he has to bite his lip to stifle the most pathetic sound at the sight.
While you gather yourself, he kneads your back, his large hands digging into the knots there. The massage nice and calming, helping to soothe your aching muscles after the way he manhandled you to his hearts content. Almost feeling like you could fall asleep like this, feeling so safe and warm under his ministrations.
He leans over to check you, “Stay awake,” fingers brushing against your cheek, “you’re gonna need a shower.”
“No moving,” you protest.
“Yes moving, I know if you fall asleep like this you will be pissed when you wake up,” he brushes down your spine delicately, “and you’ll be pissed at me… which I’d personally like to prevent.”
“Can’t do it.”
“I’ll help you,” he hops off the couch, “Come on.”
Groaning dramatically the whole time as you sit up, standing in front of him with the help of his hands on you. Legs wobbling under you, balance precarious. As soon as you’re on your feet, his cum leaks from your cunt and down your inner thighs. It catches Gojo’s attention who crouches down to get a better look.
“Wooow,” he comments.
Shy at his reaction, “Wh– what?”
He glances up at you and looks deep into your eyes, “I came a lot inside you,” eyes dropping to stare at your pussy obviously, “sorry but this is really turning me on…”
Barely finishing his sentence before his tongue is lolling out of his mouth, head tipping forward to lick up the mess. Mouth swapping sides to travel up each of your thighs, eyes locked onto yours as he does. It’s overwhelming you, feeling beyond embarrassed at the lewd display. His grip the only thing keeping your wobbly legs from completely giving out from under you.
Gojo’s actions are ravenous and simultaneously dazed, somehow both feral and on autopilot. Moaning into your pussy as he licks and sucks your cunt clean, tongue hitting so many over-sensitive places. Your hands dig into his hair to pull him back only to see the completely pussy drunk look in his eyes. If it had been possible, he’d probably have hearts in his eyes, so far gone.
“Stop– hnn– you need to stop,” legs shaking much more now, “too sensitive,” grip more forceful with your last tug.
He pouts back at you, “But you’re so cute when you’re overstimulated.”
Pulling back from you to stand to his full height, smirking down at you. All self-satisfied and also blissed out on the taste of your shared cum. Your tummy is full of butterflies from how he’s been treating you today, legs still weak under you as your knees cave. Thankfully, he’s quick and catches you, effortlessly picking you up and carrying you to the bathroom to wash the both of you up.
Letting yourself be wiped down by him in the bathroom, sitting on the sink as he uses a warm cloth to clean you up better than his tongue could. “I was serious you know,” he says unprompted.
Head fuzzy and a little lost on what he means, “About?”
“I’m obsessed with you.”
α.η. THIS IS A REPOST .. a repost from my old account @/lovelivision, if you feel like you've read it before, maybe you have !
a-knee-wayssss .. i hope you liked it ! i didn't change much about this one since it was basically just pure smut and also i still fucked with it teehee (๑•̀ <๑) ✧
꒰꒰. all works are the intellectual property of aliienangel .. do not plagiarise/translate/reupload/feed to ai ♡. 。
ѕυммαяу： ♡ having a sex dream about your best friend is incredibly embarrassing but when he drags the information out of you and delivers something better than your dreams, it's hard to remember why you were feeling that way. . .
Having a sex dream about your best friend—Gojo Satoru—was not on your bingo card for this year but it happened and the result of it is you avoiding any and all eye contact with him. This would be significantly easier if he wasn’t always hanging around you, it would also be easier if his favourite pastime wasn’t invading your personal space.
Your odd behaviour must’ve reached a breaking point for him because he’s sat next to you on your couch, pouting out, “Why are you being so weird?”
“I’m not,” you deny despite your very obvious weird behaviour, still not properly looking at him.
Suddenly, his head is on your lap, eyes analysing your reaction to him, “You’re a bad liar.”
“Wha– What are you doing?” He has you fumbling and it only embarrasses you further. “Get off me.”
“Tell me why you’ve been avoiding me or I’ll literally never get off you, in fact… I will only get closer,” one of his hands moves to grab at your waist but you slap him away.
His head weighted on your thighs has you remembering your explicit dream of him and you can’t help but grow a few degrees warmer in temperature. “I can’t tell you.”
Gojo frowns at that and you hate how you’re noticing just how attractive he is even though he’s growing annoyed, “It involves me directly, but you can’t tell me?”
“That’s right,” you cement, like it shouldn’t even be an issue.
He sits up again and stares at you dead on, “Tell me or I’ll tell all our friends about… the incident.”
A small breath of disbelief leaving you, “You wouldn’t dare.”
“Try me,” his eyes stern, he’s completely serious.
You try bargaining, “It’s not that deep, Satoru… give me another week or two and I’ll be completely over it.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“So, you’re blackmailing me?!”
“I wouldn’t call it that, that’s such an ugly word,” he shakes his head.
Your brow raises at him, “What would you call it then?”
“I don’t know but not that,” he shrugs easily.
“You’re so annoying, I can’t believe I even—” you cut yourself off, realising you were about to freely give away that you couldn’t believe you had a sex dream about him. It’s frustrating that it was such a good dream too because he’s so annoying in real life.
Despite you stopping yourself, he clings to your words, “‘You can’t believe you even’ what?”
Playing dumb is your only defence but to be fair, you aren’t entirely convinced you’re playing anymore, “I don’t know.”
He stares at you for a moment before speaking again, “Okay, well, I’m calling it blackmail now, I’m officially blackmailing you.”
“Evil, evil man,” you accuse.
He motions at himself with his hands, dismissing your words, “Mhm, now tell ‘Toru all your problems.”
“Ew,” you grimace at him, “that was almost as bad as when you referred to yourself as ‘daddy’.”
Smirk on his face at your response, “Would you prefer that? I didn’t know you were into—”
“—I said almost as bad!”
“Sure, whatever,” he rolls his eyes, “now tell me what’s going on, I won’t let you wiggle your way out of the main issue at hand.”
“Fine,” you groan, giving in, “but you have to promise to not be weird or make it a big deal.”
His head tilts at you, “What? Like you mean how you’ve been doing?”
“Just promise, stupid,” you grumble at him.
“I promise,” he pauses, “sort of.”
“Seriously?”
“I said I promise, now come on,” he leans in, ready to listen, “lay it on me.”
Ignoring his giddy attitude, you take in a deep breath before carefully letting it out, “Well… the other night, I was sleeping—”
“—Truly groundbreaking stuff.”
“Don’t interrupt me or I will never tell you,” you glare at him.
“My bad,” he raises his hands in surrender.
“Anyways,” your heart is hammering in your chest because it’s so embarrassing to be looking at him as you try to confess. It feels like you’re being crushed under his intense gaze, it’s making you even more nervous.
He must be able to tell you’re working yourself up, “Geez, calm down, sweetheart, whatever it is it’s not that big of a deal.” He moves to pat your head as a means to comfort you, but you flinch away.
And before you can control it, you’re suddenly blurting out, “I had a sex dream about you the other night and now I feel really funny around you.”
The reaction from him isn’t immediate, only blinking back at you for a moment before suddenly turning his head to the side as he tries to hide his laugh but the snort he lets out gives it away. Your lips are downturned as you suffer through the agonising moments of mostly silence, the embarrassment you’d already been feeling growing tenfold at his reaction.
Wordlessly, you rise from the couch and go to walk away, to go away to anywhere but here in this moment. Gojo stops you though, his hand on your wrist pulling you back to the sofa. Now closer to him than you had been before, something you’re overly conscious over. Keeping your head turned from him, annoyed at his reaction and also your lack of tact.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he apologises, “I’m not laughing at you, I swear.”
“You need to get out of my apartment.”
“Don’t be so harsh,” he whines, “I have follow up questions.”
You pull your wrist from his grasp, still refusing to look at him, “I don’t wanna answer them, you only want to torture me.”
“Not true!”
He tries to get back in your line of sight, but you keep turning your head away. Your arms cross over your chest, almost like you’re trying to shrink in on yourself.
“I’m curious about a few things now though,” he hums at you, “since your reaction to having sex with me has been so cute.”
His phrasing is so poor that it has your head whipping to look at him and his overly pleased expression, “I did not have sex with you.”
“Right, right,” he waves off, “you dreamt about having sex with me.”
“I dislike you so deeply right now.”
“If you agree to answer my questions, I will literally never bring up the fact that you had a wet dream about me ever again.”
You point at him angrily, “It was not a wet dream! What the hell is wrong with your phrasing of things?!”
He smiles sweetly as he grabs your finger, using the hold he has on you to unfurl your hand and loop your fingers together to hold hands, “Are you gonna answer my questions or not?”
“If I do… you’ll never speak about this again, right?” You try pulling your hand from his but his hold on you is firm.
“Sure,” he agrees all too easily.
You glance down and away from him, “Fine.”
“Perfect!”
And at his incredibly joyful tone, you can’t help but feel like you’ve made a misstep somewhere along the way. Maybe you shouldn’t have told him… or maybe you should’ve concealed your reactions more effectively… or better yet, your stupid brain shouldn’t have conjured the image of you and him having sex to begin with.
Glancing at your interlocked fingers, you ask, “Can you let go of my hand now?”
“Why? Is it making you uncomfortable?” His tone isn’t upset or accusatory, only curious.
Sighing at him in response, “I’m embarrassed to even look at you right now, of course it’s making me uncomfortable.”
He, thankfully, releases his grip on you. Choosing not to taunt you any further but you have a feeling it’s only a small reprieve. Just as your heartrate is finally calming, he asks, “Was I good?”
You’re completely taken aback, knowing what he’s asking but still confused by his bluntness, “What?”
“Was I good?” He repeats shamelessly. “I’d be a little offended if I weren’t.”
If you have to answer his ridiculous questions then you’re going to be purposefully vague, “You were… fine.”
He hums thoughtfully, “You won’t even look me in my eyes, and you said you’re feeling funny around me so I was either horrendously bad or really great, which is it?”
“I don’t like your questions,” you grumble at him.
“I wanna know though,” he whines, “It’s your fault for being so weird about it.”
Your body droops into the couch, head resting against the back of it, “A normal person and good friend would take this information at face value and let me live quietly with my shame.”
“I disagree,” you can feel his eyes on you, but you still won’t look at him, your own eyes closed. He continues on, “I’ll let you live quietly after you tell me everything I want to know… probably.”
You squint your eyes open at him, “There is literally nothing in this for me, you’re blackmailing this information out of me.”
He grins at you, “Are you saying you’d respond better to positive reinforcement?”
“I’m saying I’m still reluctant to answer your embarrassing questions and it’s starting to feel like if I do, I’m only giving you future blackmail material.”
“This is untrue, I’m blackmailing you, yes but I also agreed to never bring it up again if you answer my questions.”
“Oh my god!” this is getting annoying, steeling your nerves, you decide you’re just going to answer everything so you can end this quickly, “You were good, it was a good dream.”
A stupid and happy smile takes over his face, you don’t bother reading too far into it. “You said you were feeling ‘funny’, what do you mean by that?”
“Huh?”
“Funny could mean any number of things, I’m asking for specifics here,” he’s still too happy and it’s annoying you because you don’t really understand why.
“Hmm, like…” you look at him intently to better think about how you feel, your heart fluttering as you do, causing you to close your eyes as if you’re in thought, “…I feel embarrassed to have had a dream like that about you.”
He pushes back on your answer, “That’s all?”
Cracking an eye open at him as you chirp, “Yep.”
His gaze is already trained on you, apparently never having stopped looking at you, “You’re such a bad liar.”
You deflate at your failed deception, “I think we’ve just known each other too long…”
“You’ve always been a bad liar though?” He claps his hands together suddenly and it makes your heart skip a beat, “Now, out with it.”
Quiet as you start your explanation, “Every time I look at you…” he nods his head as if to encourage you, “…I think about the dream and it makes me feel funny, that’s all, can you leave me alone now?”
His lips purse as he mulls over what you’ve just said, “You sure you’re not just horny?”
“Satoru!” you chastise him, shocked and also frustrated that he’s pretty much hit the nail on the head. Ever since your dream you can’t help but look at him differently. Mind feeding you images of what having sex with him might be like—what having sex with him was like.
“I’m being genuine.”
“That makes it worse,” kicking your legs a little about it all.
He starts giggling, “You had a dream about getting fucked by me so good that just being around me turns you on.”
“Stop!” you move to sit in front of him properly, face clearly unhappy, “I did not say that.”
“You basically did,” he dismisses, “So… what did I do to you?”
It’s a bit ridiculous that he’s going in this direction, but you should’ve known he was going to do this. You need to shut him down because just his words alone are affecting you more than you care to admit, “I’m done answering your questions.”
It’s his turn to groan and grumble, “Aww, but it was just getting good.”
Rolling your eyes at him, you say with the intention of ending this interaction, “Satoru… It doesn’t matter what you did in my dream because there’s no way you’d be that good in real life.”
The smile on his face drops, “I can’t help but take that personally.”
“Take it how you will,” you shrug, “there’s no way you could live up to the dream version of you, it’s not logical.”
“Wanna find out?”
“Don’t be childish,” you brush him off, overlooking the way those words send a shock through you.
He pushes, “Treat it like an experiment, I wanna know what’s better.”
Blinking back at him, “You’re so weird.”
Quickly pointing out, “Maybe, but you’re the one who dreamt about fucking this weirdo.”
“Yeah, dreamt, it was a dream.” You shake your head in disbelief at him, “Why are you acting like you’re jealous of dream you?”
“Maybe I am jealous of dream me.”
“That’d be stupid.”
“You’re always telling me I’m stupid.”
Gojo’s eyes keep flitting to your lips every time you speak, the look in them suddenly much darker than the glee that was held in them when he was teasing you earlier. Trying to be stern but not entirely convincing when you state, “I’m not going to have sex with you for a reason as stupid as that, grow up.”
“But you’ll have sex with me for a good reason?”
“Stop putting words in my mouth,” you tilt your head at him in exasperation, “why are you even acting like this?”
Ignoring your question and instead posing his own, “You sure you’re not curious, not even a little bit?” His hand cups the side of your face, his thumb pulling down on your lower lip, “I know I am.”
That simple touch has your heart leaping bounds, suddenly so hyper aware of how deep the effect he has on you is. It scares you, how much you want him, how much you want to say yes. You shouldn’t get carried away, he’s being ridiculous, this is all so ridiculous. Your years long and best friendship could be ruined because of this moment.
All things you’re worried about, all valid concerns, all thoughts that slip from you so quickly when he leans in and licks teasingly at your lower lip. The gasp you let out is his entrance into your mouth, his lips plush and demanding against yours. Eyes falling shut as you let yourself get lost in his kiss, full and delightful and something you’ve never felt before.
It’s messy and uncoordinated, like he’s not really focusing on how to kiss you and more on the fact that he gets to kiss you. You’re getting dizzy, body buzzing pleasantly at how he sucks on your tongue. String of saliva keeping your lips connected when he pulls back, snapping as he wipes his lower lip with his thumb, only to then push it into your mouth. Your immediate response to suck, feeling depraved but enjoying the look on his face you get when you do.
He speaks under his breath, eyes a little dazed, “Fuck.”
As soon as your tongue licks against the tip of his thumb, he’s pulling it from your mouth and hurriedly slotting his mouth over yours again. Barely giving you a moment to think before he’s kissing you so completely, consumed by his need and the delicious way he partakes in your lips.
It’s so overwhelming, to be desired like this is foreign and has your thighs clenching together. Gaining confidence when you finally wrap your arms around his neck, a move he appreciates if his groan and grabby hands are anything to go off of.
The way he parts from you is full of huffed and short breaths that only ends in him kissing you again, like he’s fighting with himself to say something, to do something more but ending up not strong enough to move on from your lips.
A pathetic moan that you don’t even recognise as your own leaving you, the sound only spurring Gojo on. Using his body to push against yours until your back is on the couch, not bothering to explain what he’s doing, far too busy and far too fixated on how you taste.
Filled to the brim with thoughts about how good his kiss is, how kissing can’t possibly be this good, how you’d let him do more. Fingers threading through his hair, nails scratching against his scalp in a way that pulls a shudder from him.
What feels like far too soon he’s properly pulling back, quickly putting distance between you both so he’s not immediately gravitating back. Arms holding himself up, hovering over you, taking his sweet time to appreciate the look on your face. Pride exuding from him at what he’s reduced you to with a few kisses.
“Stop staring, Satoru,” your voice comes out more whinged and unfortunate than you were hoping.
“No.”
It’s a simple response, one that’s weighted with meaning and intention. Maybe if you weren’t only concerned with how good of a kisser he is, of how you want more, of how he looks indescribably good over you, you’d ask him why he’s acting this way. Maybe you’d even ask what this means for your friendship but when you’re in this deep and enjoying it this much, thinking that deep slips from you all too easily.
“I’m gonna touch you,” his gaze wanders over your body before looking back to you, “okay?”
Already nodding back at him, “Okay.”
And only when you verbally affirm him does he let his greedy hands travel your body, sitting back on his knees so he can grope at your thighs and hips. You can tell he’s enjoying your squirming immensely, eyes simultaneously lidded low and lit up.
Quickly glancing to meet your eyes when he asks, “What did I do to you?”
It takes your brain a second to catch up to his words, stuck on his big hands resting against your hips, his fingers digging into your plush skin. “You mean…”
“In your dream,” he slips into your waistband and starts to slowly pull your pants off, “what did I do to you in your dream, sweetheart?”
You feel your skin heat, his fingers tickling against your thighs. “I’m not answering that.”
A low hum sounds from him as your pants are finally removed and tossed to the side, “Why not?”
Keeping your legs together, self-conscious of the fact you’re in your underwear below him. Though he’s not bothered at all, groping and massaging at your thighs, “What happened in that dream is private.”
“That hardly seems fair,” his eyes bore into your own, “since I was there and all.” Paying no mind to your small protests as he manoeuvres one of your legs to rest against his side, feeling much more exposed now that he’s spread your legs.
“Satoru, you can’t just!– mmph—”
Further protesting cut off abruptly when he places his palm on your lower stomach, thumb drawing over your covered slit. His touch there was unexpected but not unwelcome, small shocks of pleasure thrumming through you.
“Did I use my fingers?” he keeps stroking your cunt, touch light and nowhere near enough to satisfy. “How about my mouth?” pausing to blatantly stare at your pussy, not even really addressing you when he adds, “please tell me I used my mouth,” his last words come out pitchy, almost like he’s begging for it to be true.
“I don’t know why you keep bothering to lie to me,” he murmurs low, using both thumbs to pull apart your folds, pressing into your hole only to be stopped by the material of your panties.
His action has you shooting up, face to his chest, your hands grab onto his shirt and all he does is chuckle at you. “Stop playing with me,” you huff at him.
Leaning down, he drags his lips over your skin gently. Leaving behind soft kisses all over your neck and chest, blowing air by your ear just to make you twitch. Voice almost a whisper when he asks again, “What did I do to you?”
“You’re embarrassing me,” you look through your lashes at him.
His smile is pleased, “Yeah, well, you’re turning me on.” Grabbing you by your hips and pulling you into his lap, your cunt pressing right into his erection, “Feel that?” He can’t help the way he gives small grinds into you, your warmth too enticing, “All your fault, so tell me what I did to you.”
The grinds he’s giving you feel too good, he’s big and so hard and couldn’t he just, “Can’t you just put it in?”
He laughs airily, surprised by your need and shifted focus, “I think you can feel enough to know that I can’t.”
“You were nicer to me in my dream,” you pout at him.
“Somehow, I doubt that—” his head drops back and a soft groan leaves him, getting lost in how you’ve started to rut down into him.
Thinking back to your dream, you decide to mention, “You did.”
Distracted reply coming from him, “Hmm?”
“Use your mouth, I mean—”
Just as you’d gotten the words out, he’s pushing you flat on your back again, not even pausing to think as he pulls your panties off in one movement. Settling between your thighs impatiently, eyeing up your cunt, “You been holding out on me.”
Your legs thrown haphazardly over his broad shoulders, “Wait just a sec—”
“—Why?” Tongue already hanging from his mouth and hovering over your pussy, just about drooling onto it.
The sight of him has your brain rebooting, “No– nothing.”
Keeping his eyes intently on you when he licks your whole pussy, smiling at how your mouth drops opens and hips squirm, “You’re cute.”
“You– you’re– hnn—” you don’t get to retort properly, his tongue flicking at your clit each time you try to say something.
“Mhm,” he’s enjoying this, you can tell, his tone too amused. “You’re so wet, practically begging for me to put my mouth on you.”
And then he shoves his tongue inside you, holding your hips down so he can fuck you with it. Delighting in the moans tumbling from your lips, cunt syrupy sweet and begging for him to stuff it full. Swallowing down all you have to give him, shudders running down his spine as his cock jerks in his pants. He’s been horny ever since you admitted to having had a sex dream about him. And if he’s being completely honest, maybe since he had his head in your lap.
It feels a little cruel that you kept it from him for so long, he would’ve gotten on his knees for you the second you asked him to. Groaning into your pussy when your hole tightens around his tongue, pressing his face closer to you. Nose stimulating your clit with how desperate he is to taste your cunt.
He’s messy in how he’s devouring you, sloppily making out with your pussy. Small groans leaving him as he relishes in it, like he’s getting just as much out of this as you are. It’s too good, back arching and thighs fighting to close, held open by his wide frame between your legs. This is the first time someone has gotten you so close so quickly, it’s almost embarrassing how easily he’s about to make you cum.
Gojo knows you’re close, it excites him, he wants your cum in his mouth, he wants to feel how you shake underneath him. But there’s something wicked inside him that wants to tease you a little more. Choosing instead to wait until you’re just about to finish before suddenly pulling back.
You whine at him, eyes wet when you look at him in confusion. He only smiles back at you, tongue licking his lower lip before he asks innocently, “I forgot to ask, did you cum like this?”
Brain taking a moment to catch up before realising he’s still asking about that damn dream, “I don’t– I think so?”
Pressing open mouthed and wet kisses over your inner thighs, remarking, “Not very memorable, was it?”
Somehow, it feels like he’s trying to compete with his dream counterpart, and the thought is just ridiculous. “It was very memorable,” you’re only hoping to be a little teasing but by the look in his eyes he takes it personally. Opening his mouth wide and chomping down onto your thigh, biting you enough to nearly break skin. You jump at the shock, “Hey!”
“Sorry, sweetheart,” he murmurs into your skin, licking over the impression of his teeth before pressing a kiss to it, “try remembering this instead, yeah?”
It’s a little bit cute of him to be so jealous of your dream, “You’re stupid.”
He knows he’s stupid, he’s all too aware of it but that changes nothing to him, “I’d be more careful with your words if you wanna cum,” blowing air onto your clit, reminding you of how close you were.
“Satoru…” you don’t really like how he’s got you backed into a corner right now.
He hums in acknowledgement at you, “Need something?” Head leaning against your thigh as he smiles smugly up at you.
How frustrating of him, to know exactly what you want but choosing not to give it to you for his own enjoyment. “You’re a tease,” you huff at him.
“Hmm… not usually,” his hand slides up your inner thigh, single digit slipping inside your hole, “I think that’s something you bring out of me,” pleased with the small sounds you let out at his finger stuffing you.
Gasped moan leaving your lungs, trying to tell him how unbearable he is, “You’re– hnn!—”
A sound of awe leaving him as he drags his finger out, “How obscene, you really are so fucking wet.” He says it like you should be ashamed of yourself but he’s smiling too big, eyes full of loving obsession. Clearly incredibly happy with how dripping and soaked your cunt is, “Basically drooling for it, sweetie. How embarrassing~”
You might have to kill him because he really is embarrassing you. Hell, it was already embarrassing doing this with your best friend and now he’s teasing you for his own sick pleasure, “Stop…” not able to help the completely pathetic look on your face, “…stop being so mean to me.”
Gojo feels his heart drop and then start beating a million miles an hour, you’re so cute that he can’t help but breathlessly laugh, “My bad, will making you cum make up for it?”
“Yes,” you assert.
Ah, his head is spinning, you might be too much for his poor heart to handle. He can’t bear having you upset with him though, pressing soft kisses to your pussy lovingly. It’s as if he’s apologising for being so cruel to you, deepening his kiss to your cunt by stuffing you full of his tongue again.
The way you twitch and moan under him really does drive him wild, how he’s going to stay sane while fucking you is beyond him. Lapping at your sopping cunt so devotedly, eyes dazed and pussy drunk as he watches how your eyes roll and brows pinch. Giggling to himself at how surreal it is to be tongue deep inside you, to have you this needy for him.
When he suddenly pushes your legs back, you squeak. Damn near folded in half and bent for him, “Satoru, you can’t just– mmph!—”
He doesn’t grace you with the kindess of listening properly, simply going back to eating your pussy like it’s his last meal. The way he’s holding you is pornographic in nature, a position you’ve never even thought to be in, and he’s easily manhandled you into it. Lower back no longer even touching the couch, held up by Gojo.
With how he’s positioned you now, all your dewy slick and his saliva slides from your cunt and drips crudely onto your poor couch. Head dizzied as he gets you closer and closer to finishing, building you up so much faster after the loss of your last orgasm.
“I– ah!– so close– mmph—” you don’t want him to stop, hand holding onto one of his on your hip tightly, begging that he doesn’t pull away again.
Lucky for you, he desperately wants you cumming for him. He barely brought himself to deny you the first time, there’s no way he could do it a second. Completely and whole heartedly dedicated to making your pussy cream for him, salivating at the thought alone.
Moans you don’t even register pulling from your lungs as he finally pushes you over the edge, hips shaking as you try to ride out your own high with little success. The position you’re folded in keeping you at his mercy. Orgasm feeling oh so sweet after he denied you, lashes fluttering as it washes over you.
Gojo hums happily into your pussy, drinking down all your creamy slick and then still not parting from you. Too addicted to your scent, to your taste, ignoring all rationality as he keeps licking and sucking at your cunt. Whining when your weak fingers dig into his hair and pull him back by force, shaking underneath him from how he’s nearly forced you into overstimulation.
“Too much,” your voice trembles with your words.
His lower face is a complete mess of you and you’d feel bad but the stupid smile and dazed look he’s wearing tells you that you don’t have to. “You got a great pussy,” he compliments, moving his thumbs so he can lewdly pull your cunt wider for his greedy eyes.
“Ah!– stop staring, have you no shame?”
Eyes flicking to yours when he states seriously, “None.”
You’re feeling far too exposed in this position, “Can you let me move—”
Ignoring you and instead musing aloud, “—How many fingers do you think you could take?”
“What?”
“Your hole was tight around my tongue so maybe only one?” Slipping a single finger inside you and stroking against your walls. Your back fights to arch and a soft mewl sounds from you, “ahh, that’s a nice reaction. Let’s stretch you out yeah?”
“You’re so– hnn!—” barely biting out, “You’re such a pervert.”
His head tilts at you, “Did you expect anything else?”
Managing to babble out, “Weren’t so– hah– perverted– hnn– in my dream– mmph—”
“I take pride in that,” his chest vibrates with his words. Of course he takes pride in it, why wouldn’t he? Stuffing another finger inside your snug cunt and scissoring them, trying to open you up enough to be able take him, “This sweet pussy might fucking kill me, I don’t know how you’re gonna take me.”
Could he have a bigger ego? “Don’t be ridiculous– hah!—”
“I’m not just being cocky, sweetie.” Fingers brushing up against so many spots you can never quite reach on your own, “You might actually struggle to take it all.”
Eventually giving you a third finger, spread wide around his digits and leaking into the palm of his hand. He’s got you a squirming and moaning mess under him, mind melting from the mouth-wateringly sinful way he’s playing with you.
“Satoru– hnn!—”
“Something wrong?”
Now he knows damn well… “Please, just– hah—”
He laughs at your whimpered neediness, completely aware of how bad you want him inside of you. “Being real cute right now.”
“Don’t—”
“—Don’t what?” Using his fingers to tease your most intimate spots.
“‘Toru– hnn– please,” lower lip wobbling as you pout at him, “I want you…”
That’s not fair, you’re not playing fair at all. “You’re evil,” he mumbles at you, cheeks and tips of his ears flushing red with how turned on he is, “but I’ll give you what you want, since you’re so adorable.”
Thick fingers drawing from your cunt, the loss of him pulling a whine from you; it makes him smile. You’re genuinely so pathetic right now and aside from how horny it’s got him; it’s also got his heart stuttering in his chest.
“Take your shirt off,” he points at you, letting you finally lower your bottom half to the couch.
Grumpily following his instruction, feeling especially docile right now, “You’re being too bossy.”
His words come out a little muffled as he pulls his own shirt off, “Your pouting would have more effect if you weren’t also listening so well.”
“Maybe I’ll stop listening then.”
He stands from the couch to tug down his pants and boxers, brows drawn together and head tilting, “When you’re this close to finally taking it all?” Holding the base of his hard cock, tone smug.
Embarrassed for yourself at how your cunt throbs for him, desperate in a pitiful way that you’ve never imagined yourself being over him or anyone. “Are you in any position to be this big of a tease?”
“For you? Always,” he taps your thigh and leans onto the couch again, “now spread your legs for me.”
Already opening up to give him room before really thinking twice on it, hating that you’re this willing to follow his instruction. His hands on you are gentle, almost reverent in how they trail along your inner thighs.
Gojo can’t help himself, touching you as much as he can, wanting to prolong this whole experience. Your skin so soft and delicate under his touch, fingers digging into your flesh just to see proof of him touching you. Completely bare and willing under him, heart hammering in his chest at this fact.
Dragging his cock through your sopping wet pussy, shivering at just how gooey your cunt is. Not intentionally trying to torture you but doing so anyways, squirming and impatient under him the more he plays with you.
“Satoru,” voice pitchy, “please.”
Not moving immediately, only cursing as he gazes at you all lost.
You wrap a single leg around his waist and pull him forward, encouraging, “C’mon.”
Smug expression suddenly back on his face, “Alright, here we go,” tapping at your entrance a few times first. “Ohh, biiig stretch,” word drawn out and provocative as his cock head slowly slips inside you.
Big stretch is fucking right, chest squeezing as you struggle to adjust. Hands gripping onto his biceps for dear life, needing to be grounded.
One of his hands reach out and strokes against your head, you keen into his touch and he chuckles. Leaning down to whisper, “You need to breathe, sweetheart.”
His hips have stopped moving forward but it hardly seems like it, already feeling obscenely full. “H–how much– hnn– more?”
Gojo dips his head down to look at where your cunt is bulging around him, teeth digging into his lower lip as he stifles a strained laugh, “Not much at all.”
“Are you lying?” Unable to help the way your lip wobbles a bit with your question.
“Yeah,” he thrusts just a little bit more into you, “but you’re doing so well, feel fffucking fantastic.”
You’re clawing at his shoulders, feeling like you’re being stretched to your limits, “Why– ah!– why is it so big?” Somehow, you feel annoyed at him for it.
“I’m God’s favourite,” is how he chooses to reply, ego growing tenfold at how you’re falling apart just from the shallow thrusts he’s delivering.
How the hell are you meant to take all of him, “How– hah– how much?”
He can’t take his eyes off how you’re sucking him in, hands gripping your hips and thumbs drawing circles into your skin soothingly, “Why don’t you just watch for yourself?”
You shake your head at him, eyes scrunched shut, “No.”
“And why not?” Still, he’s feeding you more of his cock, your pussy pulsing around him making him dizzy, “It’s a good fuckin view.”
“Don’t– hnn– don’t torment me.”
Blinking your eyes open to give your best glare, it only comes across half hearted. Completely taken with the look on Gojo’s face, flushed pink with his pupils blown wide, teeth digging into his lower lip again to stop from whining. Eyes flicking to yours and he’s completely melting when seeing just how pathetic you are under him, moan stumbling from his lips so suddenly that it takes him by surprise.
He's just as big of a mess as you and it has your cunt positively creaming around him, turned on by the fucked out horny look on your best friends’ face. Gojo shudders at your pussy getting slicker around him, his dick jerking inside you.
“Getting this– hah– wet over your best friend…” fucking his hips quickly, pelvis now flush to yours, “…how shameless of you.”
You’re quivering around him and writhing under him, the feeling of being completely stuffed full overwhelming on its own. His taunting cruel and mocking and unfortunately turning you on that much more, upset that you’re letting him get away with it.
Lips downturned when you fire back, “You’re more shameless– hnn– pervert.”
Gojo can only be charmed by your weak insult, especially since he’s pretty sure you’re unaware of how your hips are twitching under the weight of his hold. Fighting upwards for the hope of getting fucked but kept frustratingly still by him. Your neediness has piqued his interest, now wondering how long he can stay still until you’re shedding tears out of pure frustration. Quickly growing addicted to the idea of teasing you like this.
He's so still it’s driving you crazy, able to feel his dick twitching inside you, veins throbbing against your sensitive walls. Obviously wanting it just as bad as you but still not moving, shifting one of your hands to tap at his on your hip, gaining his attention.
Eyes on his, “What are you waiting– mmph– for?”
God, the look on your face is killing him, so sweet under him. It’s almost like you’re coming apart already, his hands dig into your thighs and it has you keening under him. Pitiful whine leaving you as your hips start grinding into him quickly, trying to alleviate some of the desire you’re feeling.
“Now why on earth…” he straightens his back up more, pulling your lower half up with him, not giving the chance for his cock to slip from you, “…are you this touch starved?”
“Huh?” it’s the only response you’re capable of giving, having finally seen just how he’s shoved inside you. Cunt stretched obscene around his fat dick, dripping happily and syrupy sweet around him. Chest fluttering at the shock and excitement.
“I’m so sorry for not noticing, sweetie,” he coos at you, “I would’ve helped you if you’d told me.”
Complaining back at him, “I am not touch starved.”
“You definitely are,” he trails his hand from your hip, up your side, just to show you how you twitch into it, “it’s okay though, I’ll take good care of you.”
Pussy shivering involuntarily around him, giving away that you’re lying. How he managed to know you were deprived, you have no idea but the fact he did is embarrassing to you. He doesn’t need to be aware of how long it’s been since you were last touched so intimately.
“I—”
“—Don’t bother lying again,” he keeps caressing you where he can reach, “I’d much rather hear about how much you like when I touch you.”
Maybe he’ll start moving if you’re honest, “I like when– hah– you touch me,” pouting slightly and barely fighting off the shudder running down your spine at his touch.
“Good,” he smiles at you, all glib, “‘Cause I’m gonna touch you. Lots.”
Eyes sparkling at him, hoping, “Does that mean you’re– ah– hnn– actually going to fuck me now?”
“Why?” his head tilts at you, “Do you want it?”
Giving your best glare back at him, he’s proven to you sufficiently by now that he can read you incredibly well, much to your dismay. Muttering out, “Dream you was– hah– much more indulgent of me.”
“Ouch,” though he says that, he doesn’t seem hurt at all, “Dream me was a fool then ‘cause you’re much more fun to play with like this.”
He’s being so evil, “Can’t you just give me what I want?”
“I might,” his gaze is lecherous as his eyes rake over your body, “if you ask for it properly.”
“Satoru…” you try to call out to him as sweetly as possible, “…please fuck me?” lip quivering slightly as your neediness bleeds through your façade of togetherness, “please?”
Gojo’s heart squeezes in his chest, he’d planned on tormenting you a little more but he’s not sure he’ll be able to keep his sanity any longer. Already he feels like he’s a second away from cumming, caught between wanting to give you everything you want and teasing you until you cry. He guesses he’ll just have to settle for fucking you until you cry this time, next time, he promises himself he’ll tease you properly next time.
“Satoru?”
Your voice breaks him out of his reverie, grin back on his face, “I heard you, pretty. I’ll give you what you want.”
Dragging his cock from you slowly, so slowly, the heavy weight of him pulling out driving you up a wall, insides shuddering. Broken and gasped moans leaving you, rushing out quick, “Thank you, thank you, thank you, oh—”
The laugh that leaves him is too attractive, amused by your gratitude for something like this. It’s cute how the thank-yous just keep tumbling from your lips over and over as he keeps pulling back to the tip of him.
“Don’t thank me for that…” his hands dig into your hips more, “…thank me for this,” slamming into you all at once with his last word.
The wind is completely knocked from your lungs, shocked whine louder than you’d want it to be. Desperately clawing at any part of him you can reach, struggling to take it and keep it together. Feeling like you’re completely melting, head spinning as pleasure thumps through your veins.
“Mmph– I– ahh—” barely coherent as your eyes fight to not roll to the back of your head, “thank hnn– you.”
Small giggle leaving him at just how adorable you’re being, heart hammering in his chest as he sets a consistently mind ruining pace. He can’t wipe the fucked out smile off his face as he keeps pounding into you, giddy with how he gets to have you under him like this.
Babbling varied compliments, “You’re so adorable,” he huffs out a whimper, “hnn– and you’re so fucking tight around me,” less coherent as he carries on, “God, and so fffucking wet– hah– what the– so hot– I—”
He feels insane, how you’re this warm and perfect around him has him at a loss. Almost like you were made just for his cock, something he’ll let himself believe because the idea of you being with anyone but him breaks his heart a little bit.
Hypnotised by how you’re sucking him back in, clinging onto his dick desperately. It’s almost like every time he pulls out, you’re begging him to fuck right back in, and of course he’ll comply. The idea of pulling out before he’s finished with you a painful thought, not willing to give up this moment even if someone walked in on the two of you.
Such a genuine thought, he’s completely certain that someone could walk in on you both and his thrusts wouldn’t even slow down. If anything, they’d speed up, finally he’d get to show off how you’re his. Possessiveness tumbling around restlessly in his head, his dick only getting harder.
All you can do is take it, take all of the jaw slacking and toe-curling pleasure he’s delivering you. Your pussy making obscene sounds as he fucks into you, skin hot from how depraved it all feels. Gojo looks so completely wrecked, eyes glazed over, lips still moving as he continues to mutter out sweet praise. Praise that would probably have your insides flipping and body growing hotter, but you can’t hear anything but your heart thumping in your own ears.
Delirious grin making its way onto his face as he’s struck with a wicked realisation, large hand sliding its way from your thigh to your stomach. Pressing down the littlest bit and watching how you squirm and shudder under him, gasping for breath and hands slapping at him, trying to speak.
“Don’t– hnn– don’t do that– ah!– too much– it feels too—”
“What? Good?” He hisses out, still managing to be taunting.
“It’s too much– hah– mmph– I’m too sensitive,” your eyelashes feel wet, like you might’ve started crying but you can’t even be sure of that right now.
His hand presses down more into your tummy, “I know you are~” he giggles a little, “it’s turning me on.”
“Seriously– hnn– don’t– I’m gonna– ah!—”
He’d completely ignored your pleas causing you to cut yourself off with a moan, orgasm suddenly washing over you. Spasming hot and snug around him, so sinful that he’s shocked by his own high, cumming deep inside you as you shake and shiver around him.
“Ohh, you’re– haah– you’re killing me sweetly,” Gojo’s head feels like it’s spinning, swimming in so much euphoria as he grinds into you.
You’ve slumped under him, trusting him to keep a hold of you, not even thinking to chew him out for making a mess of both your cunt and sofa. Brain feeling all fuzzy and melted in your skull, blissed out from how good you’re currently feeling.
Busy basking in the afterglow when your world is suddenly spinning, Gojo’s taken advantage of your rag-dolled state and flipped you over onto your stomach. Quickly realising that he’s still hard when your hips are being pulled up and his cock is sliding through your folds.
“You gotta stay with me, pretty,” he groans, positioning his tip at your hole, “we’re– hnn– not done yet.”
“Satoru– ah!—”
Both your moans are debauched and loud as he stuffs you so fucking full all at once, lungs seizing in your chest. If he weren’t holding your hips so tight, you would’ve collapsed to the couch. Your fingers dig into the cushions below you, biting back pitiful sounds that so desperately want to leave you.
“Don’t– don’t do that,” he shoves inside you somehow that little bit more, “let me hear you, sweetie.”
Sulking back, “Noo– hah– it’s embarrassing—”
“—It’s arousing,” he counters, skin on fire with how badly he wants to hear you moan for him.
He supposes it’s fine though, he’ll just have to drag those sweet sounds from you himself. Giving sharp and angled thrusts, purposefully driving right into all those delicious spots he found earlier while playing with you. Grinning wide, overly pleased with himself when you squeak out the cutest moan he’s ever heard.
He’s falling apart inside you, wrapped around your little finger and you don’t even realise it. He didn’t even intend to cum earlier, you just felt too good. All sticky cum and clingy walls, he couldn’t help himself.
Able to feel how his cum leaks out around his shaft, hear how your pussy gushes with his cock inside you. He feels borderline feral, something deeply possessive dancing around in his heart at how your cunt squelches around him, stuffed full of his hot semen.
The desire to see his face hits you, remembering just how good he looked as he got lost in how pleasurable everything felt. Whining pitifully below him into the couch, feeling far too shy to tell him how much you enjoy looking at him while he fucks you stupid.
“Satoru– hnn– it’s—” drooling onto the couch as you moan out to him, “it’s good– hah– it’s too good– it’s good~” nearly sobbing with just how damn good it feels.
“I bet,” he chuckles, loving your reaction.
Biting at him, “Hnn– shuddup—”
Easily ignoring you, “Now be honest… what’s better?”
Your eyes are rolling to the back of your head; you can’t focus on whatever the hell he’s saying when he’s fucking your gooey sweet spot so perfectly that you’re in bliss.
“Focus,” he fills you completely and stills his hips, refusing to move, “what’s better? This or your dream.”
Cunt so creamy and cock drunk for him, throbbing and pulsing so lovingly on him. He’s a little bit annoyed that he has to stop but he needs your answer. Hips twitching back into him, small noises of frustrated and deprived pleasure slipping from your lips.
He purrs low at you, “If you want me to move then you gotta answer me,” hand smoothing down your back, “you know I will torment you until you do.”
If you weren’t so turned on and delirious you’d recognise it as the bluff it is, he may have been able to torment you earlier, but his patience is barely hanging on by a fucking thread at this point. But you are that turned on and delirious, so instead you answer earnestly, “This, this is better. It’s lots better, now please. Move.”
“There ya go,” he pats your ass a couple times, “such a sweet little thing when you’re fucked full of my fat dick.”
Words meant as a warning but failing to hold any weight, “‘Toru– don’t—”
“—Don’t stress, pretty,” giving you a single thrust, “I’ll give you what you and your pussy are begging me for.”
Your response is smothered into the couch cushions, “Please.”
Groaning a giggle at how you reply, finding it cute that you’re displaying manners you don’t usually bother to with him. You must have it bad for him right now because otherwise you would not be so docile under him.
Fucking into you so you can feel it, really feel it. Intending to pull you apart so perfectly, wanting you to feel this just as much he is. Pelvis smacking into your ass obscenely, admiring the way your back arches for him, damn near presenting yourself to him.
“More– hah—” you stutter out at him, trying to explain what you need, “I want– hnn– I want you to touch me more.”
His eyes close and he intakes a deep breath, controlling himself as he registers your words. Arm reaching around you to pull you up, his chest to your back. He’s pressed so close to you, warm and comforting. You’re keening into him again, relishing how close he is to you, how much of him you can feel. Butterflies dancing in your stomach at how intimate it is and how it’s so much better because of it.
His hands grope at you, your hips, stomach, tits, anywhere he can grab, “Someone’s being greedy.”
Huffing back at him, “Hah– I am not.”
“I wasn’t talking about you,” amused with himself as he breathes into your ear, thrusting desperately into your dripping cunt.
You grab hold of his hands and tug, encouraging him to wrap his arms around you properly. All too easily, he gives into your will, holding you tight. His face tucked into your neck and breathing in your scent, lips delicate as they trace your skin.
Brain hazy and muddled as you babble out your feelings to him, “It’s good– I like your dick– hnn– I like– hah– I like you.” Head turning to the side to press a small kiss to his head.
He’s quick to move so he can capture your lips with his, groaning into it. His dick grows impossibly larger inside you at your small confession, throbbing and leaking inside your tight heat.
Pulling back with a last suck to your lower lip, “Don’t say such sweet things to me, pretty,” tongue licking your ear, teeth nipping you, “or I’ll never leave you alone.”
“You– hah– you– hnn– do that anyways– ah!—”
“I’m about to become much worse,” it’s more of a promise than anything else, you thought of him as clingy before but he’s about to become so so much more worse.
The idea of that alone should probably be less appealing but while stuffed full of his aching cock, you can’t find it in yourself to feel anything other than pathetically whipped for him. Pussy weeping around him, begging for more, for it to never stop.
His dick so deep it feels like he’s in your lungs, spasming around him as your high gets closer and closer. Pleasure climbing up your spine as you melt around him, loving his touch on your body, his breath by your ear.
Gojo moans, head tipping back before he leans forwards again, “You’ve got me obsessed with you, sweetheart,” voice cracking with a whine, “both you– hnn– and this sopping wet pussy of yours.”
Sobbing out your warning, “‘Toru– hah– ah!– I’m gonna cum—”
“Hmm?” his chest vibrates against your back, “Gonna cum because I told you I’m obsessed with you? That’s pretty lewd of you.”
Cheeks wet with your shed tears, “Don’t– hng– don’t tease.”
“Just let yourself enjoy it,” hand pressing into your stomach like he had earlier, “your cunt sure does.”
Long and pitchy moan leaving you, orgasm knocking into you like a tonne of bricks. Trying to curl forward but unable to, Gojo’s arms are firm around you, not letting you go anywhere as he keeps fucking into you. His pace suddenly much quicker as he doubles his efforts from behind, chasing his own high.
It doesn’t take him long at all to follow behind you, face burying into your neck, teeth biting into you as he shudders. Muffled whimpers vibrating against your skin, his hips jerking shallowly, he can’t bring himself to stop fucking into you. You’re too stupid to think about telling him off, not even sure you’re able to process thoughts let alone talk coherently.
Eventually he stills to a complete stop, planting kisses over his bite mark. He doesn’t want to let you go, content to hold you up like this but you’re on the verge of passing out. Gentle in how he lowers you down onto the couch, the pair of you groaning when his cock slips from you. Shared cum connecting his dick to your stuffed hole obscenely, he has to bite his lip to stifle the most pathetic sound at the sight.
While you gather yourself, he kneads your back, his large hands digging into the knots there. The massage nice and calming, helping to soothe your aching muscles after the way he manhandled you to his hearts content. Almost feeling like you could fall asleep like this, feeling so safe and warm under his ministrations.
He leans over to check you, “Stay awake,” fingers brushing against your cheek, “you’re gonna need a shower.”
“No moving,” you protest.
“Yes moving, I know if you fall asleep like this you will be pissed when you wake up,” he brushes down your spine delicately, “and you’ll be pissed at me… which I’d personally like to prevent.”
“Can’t do it.”
“I’ll help you,” he hops off the couch, “Come on.”
Groaning dramatically the whole time as you sit up, standing in front of him with the help of his hands on you. Legs wobbling under you, balance precarious. As soon as you’re on your feet, his cum leaks from your cunt and down your inner thighs. It catches Gojo’s attention who crouches down to get a better look.
“Wooow,” he comments.
Shy at his reaction, “Wh– what?”
He glances up at you and looks deep into your eyes, “I came a lot inside you,” eyes dropping to stare at your pussy obviously, “sorry but this is really turning me on…”
Barely finishing his sentence before his tongue is lolling out of his mouth, head tipping forward to lick up the mess. Mouth swapping sides to travel up each of your thighs, eyes locked onto yours as he does. It’s overwhelming you, feeling beyond embarrassed at the lewd display. His grip the only thing keeping your wobbly legs from completely giving out from under you.
Gojo’s actions are ravenous and simultaneously dazed, somehow both feral and on autopilot. Moaning into your pussy as he licks and sucks your cunt clean, tongue hitting so many over-sensitive places. Your hands dig into his hair to pull him back only to see the completely pussy drunk look in his eyes. If it had been possible, he’d probably have hearts in his eyes, so far gone.
“Stop– hnn– you need to stop,” legs shaking much more now, “too sensitive,” grip more forceful with your last tug.
He pouts back at you, “But you’re so cute when you’re overstimulated.”
Pulling back from you to stand to his full height, smirking down at you. All self-satisfied and also blissed out on the taste of your shared cum. Your tummy is full of butterflies from how he’s been treating you today, legs still weak under you as your knees cave. Thankfully, he’s quick and catches you, effortlessly picking you up and carrying you to the bathroom to wash the both of you up.
Letting yourself be wiped down by him in the bathroom, sitting on the sink as he uses a warm cloth to clean you up better than his tongue could. “I was serious you know,” he says unprompted.
Head fuzzy and a little lost on what he means, “About?”
“I’m obsessed with you.”
α.η. THIS IS A REPOST .. a repost from my old account @/lovelivision, if you feel like you've read it before, maybe you have !
a-knee-wayssss .. i hope you liked it ! i didn't change much about this one since it was basically just pure smut and also i still fucked with it teehee (๑•̀ <๑) ✧
꒰꒰. all works are the intellectual property of aliienangel .. do not plagiarise/translate/reupload/feed to ai ♡. 。
synopsis . You're best friend's with both your favorite emo fratboy and the campus plug. So when you make an offhand comment while under the influence one night that no guy has ever made you cum, he takes it upon himself to challenge that.
content . afab!reader, oral sex, dirty talk, spitting, squirting, he has a tongue piercing, pussy slapping, slightly-bimbo!reader, high sex, 69 position, cumming without realizing it, munch activities (yk how choso is), he’s a lil cocky, first time squirting, finger fucking, shotgun kiss, he talks you to filth, slight manhandling, throat fucking, head pushing, heavy praise, etc.
word count . 8.9k || author's note: this is a repost from kamitv so if it looks familiar, that's why. (the original was labeled mature, unfortunately) banner art from, "Hachisuka's Family Kotoribako"
“This guy is following me, pretend to be my boyfriend.”
“Wha—“
A pair of arms are wrapping around his neck before he has time to react properly and the rush of something sweet wafts up into his nose. A careful hand, decorated with ring after ring and adorned with black polish across the nails, comes to the right side of your waist to pull you in close.
Choso’s rich and definitely intoxicated brown eyes mull over the faces of the people around him, spotting Gojo and Geto—his friends—not too far away from him, and a bunch of other partygoers.
He doesn’t ask you any more questions—despite how you’re some random chick who came clinging onto him—as his eyes soon land on the guy who’d clearly been following you.
“Ew, Naoya…” He spits out, his face twisting up into a nasty scowl of pure disgust as the residential misogynist comes walking toward the two of you. “Don’t tell me he’s the asshole bothering you?” Choso whispers questioningly.
Your face is all buried into his neck and he could feel your arms tightening around him as you mumbled a gentle, “Mhm, he is.”
Great…
Because who in their right mind would want to deal with Naoya on a Saturday night? The guy gets kicked out of every frat house party that’s ever been held ‘cause of shit like this. All he does is harass and insult women, only to be eventually approached by one of the many frat brothers and get kicked out moments later.
Seems like this week it’s Choso’s turn to handle him. Which is just wonderful, really.
“Yo,” Choso calls out to the fully approached Naoya, whose mere presence makes him feel nauseated. “The fuck do you want with my girl?”
Now, you’ve never spoken to Choso before this but, the sound of him calling you his girl has your heart feeling all warm inside—even though he’s only said that because you’d asked him to play along.
The scent of his cologne mixing with the thick musk of weed fills your nose as your face smushes up into his chest. You only know the man through the rumors you’ve heard and the few times you’ve seen him around these parties you keep attending. As you readjust your chin to look up at his expression, you think your arms unconsciously hold onto him a little tighter the moment you spot the vein peeking out against his jawline.
Everyone hates Naoya, that’s an irrefutable fact. But, something about how annoyed Choso was looking at him right now had you pulling your lower lip into your mouth.
Naoya lets off a scoff, his voice all loud and annoying, “This dumb bitch is your girl?” He asks.
Every syllable that left his mouth is grating to all listening ears. Ugh, he was such a nuisance…
You merely glance back at the guy for a second and notice the look in his eyes that clearly says he’s not buying this shit. Choso—catching the same thing that you do—slips one of his hands downwards to the small of your back, not daring to go any lower just yet, and then eases you even closer.
“First off, watch your fuckin’ mouth,” He scoffs out, jaded eyes dragging up and down Naoya’s frame as he wonders how long it would take to knock him onto his ass. “Secondly, yeah, we’re together. What do you want?”
“That slut owes me money,” Naoya curses with tightly crossed arms, his gaze fixated entirely on you as if Choso weren’t even there. Though, he’s not really looking to get kicked out of this party just yet and he’s trying his best to avoid physical confrontation.
Cocking a brow, the brunet smoothes out a low huff that smells of the recently consumed marijuana he's inebriated under before redirecting his slightly glossed eyes down to you, “This isn’t what I think it is, is it, baby?”
You’re quickly distracted by the pet name that so easily rolled off of his tongue but without getting too wrapped up in it, you blink. “Huh?”
Choso slowly tilts his head to the side and cracks a knowing grin, “You’ve been seein’ other dealers? Don’t you know I’m the best on campus?”
Gulping, “Well, I–”
“S’okay,” He cuts off to ease the concern and worry trying to paint itself into your features. “We’ll get back to that in a sec’,” Then he gestures his head over to Naoya, gives your waist a little squeeze, and says, “Lemme handle this guy for you first.”
Choso carefully moves you to the side and steps toward Naoya, who’s arguably a bit taller than him. He sizes him up again and bites back his scoff, replacing it with a tiresome sigh that he doesn’t even try to play off as anything else outside of what it is—an honest gesture of displeasure.
Voice lazy, “How much does she owe you, man?” Choso asks with one hand already fishing through the pocket of his pants for his wallet.
It really didn’t matter what number was thrown out to him, he was gonna fling whatever bit of cash he had on him toward Naoya to get him to fuck off. The only thing good about his presence right now was the fact that it brought you along, which is something Choso would like to return to as swiftly as possible.
“Tch,” Naoya chuffs, trying to glance behind him to get another scowling look at you before he says, “As if you have enough to—”
“Jus’ give me the number before I get you kicked out again,” Choso cuts off cleanly with a gaze that bores into the man’s skull.
One beat of silence passes by as Naoya contemplates a few things in his mind, wondering whether or not he really wants to test his luck with this.
Ultimately, he ends up caving with a roll of his eyes, “Fine…” Then he gives him the number of which you owe and he’s literally smacked in the face with a random wad of cash as if he were some kinda’ cheap whore to be dealt with.
“There,” Choso spat, “Now don’t let me catch you trying to sell my girl your overpriced bullshit again, yeah?” Technically, he had no right to tell someone else not to sell drugs to you when he didn’t even know you.
But, one look at your face and he was certain he’d want you coming to him for weed and not anyone else after this. Especially when going to someone else landed you in this situation where you’re being followed around parties for payment—Choso would never do such a thing. He’d offer alternatives before even thinking to harass you like that.
Naoya was immediately enraged by how he’s being dismissed but it’s not like he could express that since there were one too many fraternity members in the area for him to do so without instantly getting escorted out. Thus, he settles for shuffling up the cash that’d fallen onto the floor—snatching each bill from beneath the feet of partygoers—and keeps his curses in a lowered whisper that’d never be heard under the blaring music.
Then, as if nothing ever happened, the surrounding people return to their dancing and Naoya seems to disappear somewhere into the crowd shortly after.
Which leaves you standing in place with slightly widened eyes whilst Choso turns around to look at you, brushing his hands off like he’d just dealt with some type of dirt or something.
“You alright?” He asks, taking a step closer toward you. The music is loud so it’s hard for you to really hear him, hence why he leans his ear down to your lips so he can gather your response properly.
You nod at first and then the words follow, “Uhm, yeah. I wasn’t expecting you to pay that off for me but, thank you, Choso.”
Shifting over to talk into your ear now, “Don’t sweat it, princess. But uh,” He clicks his tongue before darting it out to swipe over his lower, pierced lip. “I meant what I said before. You should’ve been dealin’ with me, not that idiot.”
“Oh,” You chirp.
Then he pulls away and the two of you are able to take one another in properly for the first time.
Under the changing LED lights—which are currently a mix of purple and red—both of your faces are dimly illuminated. Choso’s eyes openly scan over every detail of your expression, watching the cute curl in your lips as you slowly smile at him.
Oh, you’re gorgeous.
What are the odds that a pretty girl like you literally comes running into his arms at a party like this? And then this dress you have on… Choso doesn’t exactly mean to glance down but when he does, he notices the way the fabric simply hugs your body, shaping you in all the right places and more.
He gulps, a sound that would’ve been rather loud if not for the vibrating base of music against the surrounding frat house walls. His eyes flick back up to your face and you’re shamelessly staring at his lips, then your gaze lifts to his nose, then to the right side of his face; right at his cheekbone for some reason? After, you’re looking at the tattoo running across the bridge of his nose and—
Ohhh, Choso was so distracted with checking you out that he almost forgot how many body modifications he has. He gets these kinda stares all the time but for a second he’d lost his entire train of thought. There’s the ring on the left side of his lower lip, his anti-brow piercing on the right half of his face, the small one on the left side of his nose with a very obvious tattoo running across the bridge, and then the multitude of piercings all over his ears.
Makes’ sense why you were staring now. You’ve got this clueless little look in your eyes and it’s kinda cute—
“How much do you charge?” You’re asking, ending his thoughts entirely.
The word, “Free,” blurts out of him before he even realizes it and it’s not until he sees the way you start giggling that he realizes what he’d just said. Shaking his head, and backtracking, “Wait-, no. I don’t do anything for free, sorry. If anything,” Choso leans back and slides his hands down into his pockets, “You actually owe me now.”
Your eyes shoot wide open, “Owe you for what?!” you’re huffing as you wonder how the hell you keep finding yourself in someone’s debt like this.
“Hm, I dunno. Paying Naoya off for you?” He says with this sly grin stretching across his face. “But don’t worry, you jus’ owe me a promise.”
You lift a skeptical brow at him and watch his pinky finger lift out for you to attach your own to in the most cliché way possible. Looking down at his finger, then back up into his eyes, “What kinda promise?”
“Gotta’ promise you’ll come to me for your weed instead of that moron, I’ve got better prices and better strains. None of that baby shit he was scammin’ you with, trust me.” Choso offers with his pinky still outstretched. You’re slow to intertwine your finger with his and he uses the connection to pull you closer, “I need to hear you say it too.”
You almost start stuttering with the way he’d jerked your body closer just to say that all lowly to you. “I promise I’ll come to you instead of Naoya from now on,” You respond with a dramatic emphasis on your words, fighting the blooming feeling in the pit of your stomach that spurs when he smiles at you as if he were proud or something.
And that’s roughly how the two of you met and became acquainted with one another. A couple minutes of fake-dating, one pinky promise, and a “complimentary” joint to start you off later and the two of you were practically best buds!
——
Well, not exactly best buds but you and him do get really close after that little party and encounter.
You stay true to the promise you’d made with him and only ever deal with him from then on. Choso was entirely honest with you that night so, everything he’d said turned out to be more than true. The shit you used to get from Naoya was nothing compared to what you were constantly high off of now, and it was cheaper.
Though, sometimes you did seduce your way into convincing Choso to give you an even lower discount….
One slightly revealing top was usually all it took for him to snag off a couple dollars for you—amongst other things. Like the cute ass smile you flash his way whenever you’re geeked out of your mind, yapping on and on about fuck knows what until the words leaving you no longer make sense. Yeah, Choso loves that.
Oh, and the tasty gloss you typically coat your lips with.
He’s not some kinda weirdo so he definitely hasn’t had any… lustful thoughts about said gloss but, he can’t exactly avoid getting a taste of it whenever the two of you are cycling a blunt back and forth and bits of it are left clinging to the wrap.
Outside of just smoking his weed and becoming his favorite customer, you also become someone he likes to keep by his side and talk to from time to time. The best discounts from him come after a good smoke sesh that he usually has to beg you to stick around for.
During those, the two of you end up talking each other’s ears off until it really comes time for you to go.
Slowly but surely, the two of you are spotted together more often than either of you cared to be, and dating rumors shuffle about. They’re quickly shut down after a couple of parties where you’re spotted letting some other random guy kiss on you but, a certain two individuals try their best to keep it alive.
The individuals in question are none other than Choso’s closest frat brothers: Gojo and Geto. Those idiots were fully convinced that poor Choso never got any play until he met you, and now they’re both convinced he’s your loser boyfriend.
You’re pretty sure they only act like that because they’re jealous you’re probably getting free weed from the guy while they’re not.
Little do they know, their perception of your relationship with Choso couldn’t have been further from the truth. He was definitely getting play, he was just quiet about it since he’s the kinda guy you wouldn’t even realize slept around unless he wanted you to realize it. And as for you, you’re the one who ends up feeling like a loser after a while seeing as every guy you hook up fails to make you cum.
So much so that you were starting to believe there was actually something wrong with you.
This all leads to now, as you enter Choso’s dorm room for the nth time this week to, hopefully, get high enough to distract you from that little orgasmic issue of yours.
As soon as you enter the dorm, your mood is killed immediately.
Sitting in the living room laughing loud as hell, is Gojo and Geto. Both of their heads turn in sync as you walk in, trying to quickly pocket the spare key Choso had made for you some time ago—having mentioned something about being too lazy to open the door for you all the time—and hoping that the two men will leave you-
“Look who’s here to see her man, awww,” Gojo coos before you can even try to ignore him.
Then Geto follows that up with a cunning, “Should’ warn you though, your boyfriend’s high as a kite in there.”
Trying not to let their annoying-ass taunting get to you, you settle for a sigh of, “When is he not?” before turning the corner and b-lining towards Choso’s room.
There are some more childish snickers and comments made about you from the two men but you pay no mind to it this time.
Pushing the desired door open, you’re immediately met with a thick heat of smoky air and a completely fogged room. The sound of a towel brushing against the floor as you push the door open makes you look down and you quickly realize he’d been hotboxing all by himself.
“Without me, seriously?” You hum with no malice behind your words as you slip past the door and shut it behind you, using your foot to nudge the towel back into place and then letting your eyes scan Choso’s slightly cluttered room.
The man is lying across his bed, dark hair hanging off its edge with the way he splayed out upside down and pinched a rather fat blunt in between the thick of his thumb and index. “You were takin’ too long,” Choso drawls.
And god, you could tell by the tone of his voice that he was barely even with you right now. He always had a pretty mellow way of speaking but when he was really high, his voice would drop an octave or two—words crawling off of his tongue all sleazily and heavy with each syllable.
“Y’know I’ll make it up to you though, here,” He adds on seconds later before you get the chance to settle into his room.
That strong earthy scent coated the entirety of his room as you walked over to the edge of his bed and looked down at him, noticing the jaded reds and pinks coating the typically white portion of his eyes as he batted them up at you. He’s got some low melodies playing from some corner and it only adds to the ambience of the space. Then, his arm extends and he’s offering you the cause of his fumed room.
Humming, “Thank you,” whilst plucking the joint out of his hands, your nails just barely graze his skin. Choso eyes the way you bring it up to your mouth and clasp it lightly in between your lips, leaning down to him and nodding your chin towards the lighter in his other hand.
He catches your gesture and hoists it up to spark the blunt for you, hand cupping the air around as he filters through a couple stubborn flicks before a flame adorns the preroll’s end. Choso’s eyelids are weighted even as he watches you draw in a steady breath to capture the item’s contents into your system—quickly moving your hand to the joint afterwards to pry it from your lips and exhale slowly.
Another hum, this time one of approval, ghosts past your lips along with the fumes you’d just let escape you. “You look tired,” You comment while pulling away.
As you move around his room to plop your back down somewhere and get comfortable, your plug merely mumbles an easy, “M’not.” in response to you.
You shoot him over a look he doesn’t quite see, “If you fall asleep on me like you did last time, I’m leaving.”
“You better keep me awake then, no?” Choso chimes with one lazy smirk making the corner of his lips twitch.
Cocking a brow now, “And how am I supposed to do that?” you ask.
You then relax down into the chair in front of his desk of scattered papers and unfinished assignments, dragging it over to the side of his bed so that you’re close enough to pass the blunt back and forth.
He lifts his head adequately to glance over at where you’re sitting and then offers you a shrug as his hand goes out, “I dunno, you tell me, baby.”
In the midst of taking another long hit and after passing it off to him, you meet his expectant gaze with a certain look, “Cho.”
“What?” He scoffs immediately. Then he’s sitting up and reaching over to pluck the blunt out of your hand and bring it to his lips, mumbling, “I call everyone that…”
He knew you didn’t care much for the pet name, even though he’s been calling you that ever since the two of you met. You told him about how much you hated the way it fueled the dating rumors and made it harder to get Gojo and Geto shut up. But, when your eyes roll in reaction to what he just said, he lets off a soft whir.
“Mh, you didn’t like that, huh?” Choso asks you in between several back-to-back hits that you’d normally scold him about. The brown of his eyes glide over your frame and then zero in steadily on the way your lips are moving as you speak.
“What?” You huff, “No, I don’t care if you call everyone baby.” A lie, it did bother something deep down inside of you. “I-If anything that’s a good thing.” You suggest.
To which he extends his hand out to you again, letting a single brow arch up, “Yeah?”
“Mhm,” You’re humming. Though, the sound definitely seems like you’re trying to convince yourself here…
The conversation dies out there for a moment longer than either of you care for and it doesn’t go unnoticed, even as the two of you cycle the blunt back and forth until it’s about halfway smoked through.
While you try to relax in the uncomfortable silence that’s stretching itself out in between the two of you, your mind is unfortunately drifting back to your sexual issue. The weed is supposed to keep your mind at bay and help you relax and yet, today it decided to do everything but that. Instead, your head is very much wracked with annoying flashbacks of the recent times in which you’ve been faking your orgasms for the second-rate men you’ve been sleeping with.
It’s not that these thoughts are completely unwelcome but, you’d rather not have them now while you’re busy smoking with Choso. And it really doesn’t help that he’s not being his usual talkative self right no–
“You’re quiet today,” Choso breaks the silence all of a sudden and the sound of his deepened voice is almost enough to make you flinch. It was like he’d read your mind or something just now…
Spooky.
You’re slumped back against the chair and staring up at the thickly clouded ceiling, “Think so?”
Choso nods before he speaks. “Yeah, what’s up?” He asks, eyes still watching you as if he were studying your every little move amid the haze, “Talk to me, princess.”
While your stoned brain decides to focus on your lack of orgasms, his mind is unable to drift away from you and the way you look sitting in his bedroom right now. This isn’t too unusual for him since weed does tend to help his focus but, normally it’s not on you as much as it is today.
Perhaps that was because of your weird silence. You hadn't even complained about anything yet, which was enough to tell him that something was wrong.
Before you speak, the question rings around your head for a few seconds. Choso has a handful of pet names he uses on people and you know that but, you’re not quite sure if he says that last one to just anybody.
Hence why a delicate, “...Do you call everyone that too?” streams past the gloss of your lips.
“Nah,” Choso answers immediately as if he’d been watching the words walk right out of you. Then he tilts his head, “Just you.”
At that, you visibly tense up a little. You hated sessions like this with him. When the quiet got too loud that the mostly dormant emotions began to bloom around you. The warmth you feel flash over your face and cling at your heartstrings is definitely not from the weed but, you try to ignore it.
He’s been like this a couple times in the past. While he does get sleepy after a long smoke sesh, he also tends to get uncharacteristically direct and soft with you. You remember how one time he went on this looong rant about how pretty you were. But, before you could reply to any of it, he dozed off while mumbling about how he hoped to see you in his dreams that night.
Anytime you bring this up now, he tells you none of that ever happens and that he’d definitely remember doing so but, he doesn’t.
“You gettin’ shy on me now?” Choso asks abruptly, to which you lift your head and look at him. He’s sitting all the way up now, rolling a few more joints—as if he needs to—and then glancing to you again, “I said talk to me, what’s on your mind?”
Your gaze fixates on how careful his thumbs are with the joint’s edges, smoothing over them with the rolling, and only ever taking his eyes off of you to focus on what he’s doing before slipping his tongue out to lick it.
A short, “Everything…” comes out of you in a manner so cliche that it makes him snort.
The unpierced side of his lips quirk up now that he’s half-smiling, “Pfft, okay… Well, what’s been going on with you lately? You’re bein’ dry as hell with me right now.” He points out.
You pout a bit and take your eyes away from him, “I dunno. I… It’s stupid.”
Choso rolls his eyes at you, “Don’t you start that shit,” He warns. You know he doesn’t like when you beat around the bush but how the hell are you supposed to tell him that you’re quiet today because you’re sexually frustrated? He’s your dealer, not-, “We’re friends, aren’t we?” He asks, interjecting your thoughts directly before shrugging, “Just talk, girl.”
You scoff a simple, “You’re so annoying…” that trails off into another long beat of silence, the only sound coming from his softly moving fingers and the way you take a few more hits of the preroll still in your hands, hoping to gain enough confidence to blurt it out. Then, after a few more carefully thought-out seconds, “...I think something’s wrong with me.” You manage.
“Seem’ perfect to me,” Choso blurts out, clearly not thinking twice about the words that just fell off his tongue.
“I-,” You pause to digest the sudden compliment, brushing it off with a chuckle, “I meant my body, Cho,” To which he mutters the same thing and you pretend not to hear it this time as you say, “I dunno if maybe it’s the stuff I’ve been smoking lately but….”
Some more stillness flies by and this time he seems to be fed up with it.
“But what? Don’t edge me here.” He demands.
The light buzz in your mind serves as a coaxing feeling that helps you finally breathe out, “I can’t cum.”
You don’t get much of a reaction from him at first. If anything, he looks confused as he cocks an almost innocently puzzled brow, “Huh? Can’t come to what?”
“No, not-,” His literal interpretation of your words ends up making you giggle. Then you sigh, “I meant that I can’t orgasm, Choso.”
“What?” He questions dumbfoundedly.
“Please don’t make me repeat that…” You mumble.
“No, seriously, what?” Choso repeats, looking now as if you have three as he puts everything down and turns his head your direction, “You’re not gettin’ fucked right?”
Caught off completely guard, “Jesus. That's not even what I said—”
“But that’s what that means, right?” He interrupts, waiting for you to meet eyes with him again, “Unless you’re trying to tell me you seriously can’t make yourself cum.”
It’s slow but, you finally manage to look at him, “I can…”
Nodding, “Exactly so, that means you’re out there receiving mediocre shit instead of coming to me… again.”
If you weren’t caught off guard before, you damn sure are now. So much so that you cough in between your next hit, the smoke choking up in your lungs with a slight burn as your zen is thrown off. “H-Huh?” You unintentionally stammer.
Even with your eyes on one another now, he can tell you’re nervous just from talking about this. Smoking was not the cause of that flush in your cheeks and he knows it. Something else definitely had you hot right now.
Choso’s eyes flick up and down your seated frame long enough to see the way your thighs shift against the seat. Instantly, his tone gets sly, “What, you think I’m only good for weed?”
Your lashes bat, “Well, n-no, but…”
“C’mere,” He cuts off, having lifted a hand to beckon you over with two generously ringed fingers.
Your scoff is instant, “Choso, respectfully, I don’t think-”
“M’not askin’ you to think,” He smiles, fingers still waving, “I’m askin’ you to come over here.”
It takes you a bit to digest his words before your body gets to moving and when you haul yourself off the chair, you move to plop down on his bed. Sitting right next to him now, Choso leans over a little and his arm slides somewhere behind you. His hand ends up just a few inches away from your ass, his fingers splaying out against his comforter whilst his head weighs to the side.
His body is hot next to yours. So hot you could practically feel the heat oozing off his frame. And the peering look in his eyes wasn’t making it any better either…
“How many times have I told you I’m here for whatever you need, huh?” Choso whispers, the lowness of his voice causing your hips to twitch a little.
He’s all focused on you again, even more so now than he had been earlier, and it was almost as though you could feel him everywhere without him even touching you yet. Perhaps it was the cannabis in the air and the way it swirled throughout your system but, all your sensations felt heightened now.
Pulling your head away from him to gain some distance back, “Plenty of times, but..” Your shoulders slump a little, “This is different, Choso.”
His gaze falls down your body and something husky and wanting sneaks its way into his words now, “How? You think I can’t make you cum?”
God, every time he opened his mouth you felt as though you were losing your mind. And the audacity he had to be so bold with his words on top of that was making it perpetually worse by the minute.
“N-No,” You huff as your head turns back to him and you’re heard gulping thickly at his focus on your mouth. “I’m not saying that but…” You pull your lower lip in between your teeth for a moment to chew while you think. Then, you sigh again, “Well, maybe I am saying that… I just think–”
“I told you to stop doin’ that,” Choso murmurs, arm snaking around your body so that his hand could land on your hip. He gives you a little pull and almost sounds needy as he utters a husky, “C’mere.”
“I’m right–”
“Closer, baby.” Choso cuts off, finally tugging you closer so that the side of your thigh brushes up against his. He then takes his other hand and brings it up to your jaw, drawing your face way too close to his. You could smell the viscous scent of weed on his tongue as he spoke given the lack of distance between you both, his eyes never straying away from the soft, soft curve of your lips, “Now, jus’ tell me if you want me to make you cum or not and I got you.”
Your top set of lashes meets your lower ones in slow-motioned blinks as breathing properly grows increasingly difficult, “It’s not that simple…”
The man’s grasp on your chin grows a little tighter, “It really is.”
You roll your eyes again “Literally no guy has made me-”
“Do I seem like every other guy you’ve been with?” Choso scoffs, as if he were actually ticked off now. Then he forces your head some more up so that your gaze is meeting his and, fuck. The look in his eyes did something. Looking at you all commanding and desiring like you were the only thing that ever mattered in his life, “Do you want my help or not?” he whispers one last time.
Of course you wanted his help, even though you had your doubts about receiving it. You weren’t sure what would be so different with him.
Even so, you’re slow to give him a nod of your head and grumble a cute, “Yeah,” that has him swallowing down a groan.
Then he’s weighing forward and you barely get to fully shut your eyes before his lips smooth over yours. Catching your hesitance, you feel his thumb slip upwards as he talks into your mouth, “Don’t be shy, open up f’me, baby.”
At the sound of that, your lips get to parting over his and his tongue immediately slides right in. Both of your heads tilt off in opposite directions and he’s the first to let out a string of sounds. It starts out with a grunt when you pull back half a centimeter just to slip down and clasp his lower lip between your teeth, nibbling softly.
When you give it an adorable tug and then press forward into the kiss, that’s when he starts groaning.
Choso’s got no idea how any guy could’ve gotten their hands on all this and then decided not to make sure you’re squirting by the end of the night. He supposes he can thank all those guys now though, seeing as you’re swiftly moving forward with this kiss.
Yeah, it starts out slow and a little sloppy but while your tongues are mingling with one another’s and sharing the prominent taste of marijuana, you’re getting eager for more and throwing a leg over him.
You’re properly sitting in his lap before he realizes it. And the only reason Choso acknowledges it at all is because he feels a rush of heat spark from in between his legs as something rubs over the previously dormant tent in his sweats. He can’t even pull away from your mouth to say anything because he’s far too distracted by the gorgeous moan you sink past his lips.
Oh, he’s lost it.
Choso’s hands grab at your waist suddenly and then squeeze hard enough for you to acknowledge his touch before he smoothes downwards to your hips and pushes your body lower so that you’re flush with him. “Mmph,” bursts past his parted lips in the middle of his suckling your tongue deeper into his mouth.
The man is all but swallowing up the sweetness against your mouth, quickly growing addicted to it. Weed could never compare to the taste—a fact of which he’s sure about now. As his tongue soon goes diving down the center of yours, you feel the surprising bud of a snake eye piercing decorating its tip.
That’s when one of your hands moves in between your bodies and sneaks under his shirt as you gasp out his name and then pull away.
His lips chase yours as you draw distance and then he hauls your entire body impossibly closer to his, your chest smushed up against him now. In doing so, you roll your hips forward against his naturally and hear the way his breath hitches. Then you feel something.
Poking-, no, jumping up against your clothed cunt in between the many, many layers between the two of you is the thickness of his bulge. And with it comes another wave of sloppy kisses.
Choso’s hands are everywhere against you now, literally.
Something in you seems to snap at the feeling of his cock growing under you and right after you let yourself gasp at the sheer size of it one more time, the hands you had on his chest manage to recline him back against his bed.
Choso hits the mattress with a soft huff of previously lost air and his brows twist up to flash something needy at you. “Fuck,” Scratches out of his throat whilst he stares at the way you look on top of him.
So pretty…
There’s a single string of shared saliva dribbling out of the corner of your mouth and he almost moans as you start leaning down to him again, his arms moving so that he could wrap them around you. Then your lips meet again and this time it isn’t even sloppy, just hungry.
The sound is loud, louder than any kiss you’ve had lately, and noisy enough to earn a couple of smiles from him in between all the kissing. Breathing into your mouth, “You shouldn’t have told me that shit,” Choso sears as one of his hands comes up to the back of your head, the other at your neck now. “Can’t even calm myself down…”
Followed by his not-so-gentle admission is another heavy pulse from his fully erect cock.
You manage to pluck yourself away from his mouth long enough to say, “I don’t see why,” Then you snort cockily, “S’not like you’ve changed my track record.”
“Yet,” Choso quickly corrects. And before you can add another snarky comment in response, “But that’s alright, I’m about to.” He claims, tipping his head back to relax as his hands fall away from your body completely, “Come get up here.”
You blink, “Huh? Up…” Searching his frame as if you weren’t already on top of him, your brows tweeze together, “...where?”
Even with the poking of his dick, he takes this moment to gather himself and reach over to swipe up the blunt you were last smoking. Then he shuffles for a lighter and sparks it up again, taking a hit and returning his attention to you as if the little intermission didn’t have you on edge.
You had no idea what he meant by ‘get up here’ when you were literally sitting in his lap already. Surely he didn’t mean–
“On my face,” Choso clarifies, a sexy cloud of fumes ghosting out of his mouth along with his words.
At first, you just stared at him and watched him smoke. Your body was thrumming with need in multiple areas but you just couldn’t fathom sitting on his face. Surely, that’d be pretty unsafe to do while both of you are heavily intoxicated. Hell, you can barely see around his bedroom, how can he possibly expect you to sit on his face…
Well, a few minutes later and you’re halfway there.
Not quite sitting—after a million and one concerns of being scared to suffocate him—you’re now hovering over Choso’s face. You refused to meet eyes with him so you’re turned the opposite direction and your hands are helping your body remain hoisted up as they rest on the bed, caging the lower half of his body—just as your legs were doing to his head right now.
Your pants have been snatched off and you’re completely exposed to the greed of his eyes. He’s hardly touched you ever since you caved and brought your bare pussy up over his face. You’ve been left to stare at the throbbing bulge that rests a few inches away from your face and you feel awkward.
Y’know, until there’s a warm blow of intoxicated air that swirls up against your dripping cunt. Followed by which is the sound of Choso lapping over his lips at the sight, scoffing after. One thumb finally draws up to meet the left lip of your pussy as he slips it over and reveals more of your slicked glory. Your cunt clenches embarrassingly at his first touch and you silently hope he doesn’t notice how you drip when he starts talking.
“Shiit,” Choso begins, voice heavy in baritone now—no longer from the weed but purely from his own arousal, “You’re tellin’ me nobody’s made this pretty girl cum?” He asks, “Who the fuck have you been goin’ to, huh?”
You glance back at him over your shoulder, hardly able to see his face with the way you’re hovering, “Cho, I—“
“Shhh, I’ll take care of ya’. Don’t sweat it.” He claims, to which you roll your eyes. He always fuckin’ says that… “Now sit.”
Another gulp is heard from you, “Choso, I already told you. I don’t wanna crush—“
Rolling those blown-out brown eyes of his, Choso’s other hand meets your hip with a mean grip before he tugs your body down and your cunt promptly meets his greedy face. “So stubborn.”
The gasp you let out at the initial contact of his lips against your wetness makes something inside you crave the ability to disappear. You were hot before but now you’re soaking and heated all over.
Your nerves felt like they were on fire and your hips practically melted downwards when you felt Choso’s tongue slither out to get the first taste of you. “Hnngh-, fuck…” You breathe, fingers curling into the sheets to hold onto.
You’ve gotten head from guys plenty of times but this was so much different. And he only just started!
You definitely had your high to blame for the way his tongue feels glissading upwards in between your lathering folds—the sensation so strong and pleasurable you swore for a second he had two tongues or something. Of course, that’s just the weed talking but shit…
“S’sweet…” Choso mumbles into your cunt, pulling away just to spit and then using the fat of his thumb to rub the slick of it into you, “Poor baby, nobody could make you cum, huh?” He says.
You start to open your mouth—thinking he was talking to you—but when his thumb presses past that rather welcoming ring of resistance and earns one gorgeous squelch, you quickly realize he’s not talking to you at all.
“Yeahh?” He purrs, one eager smile plastering itself out across his face, “You needed someone to come talk to you directly?”
Choso toys with your insides using only his thumb for a while, grinning wickedly the whole way through as he watches the way your pussy splurts out such saccharine sounds of slick ‘n filth. It’s not until your soakage is dripping down his hand that he finds himself grunting and then dragging his thumb out of you tenderly.
Sticking it into his mouth just to suck your taste off for a second, you hear the way he moans around his own digit. Then, before you have time to realize just how wet you really are, there are two dumbly thick fingers slipping past the plush of your folds, wiggling in deep and coaxing a pitched sound out of your throat.
“Y’like that, huh?” Choso mutters from beneath you, jaw already coated with the sweet traces of your taste, “You’re bein’ so loud, this must feel really good…” He comments softly. Then his fingers abruptly slip out of you and swat over to your clit to land a couple of wet smacks against, earning nothing more than a whine from you. To which he chuckles and tilts his head at the little quiver your cunt does in reaction, “Hah, s’okay, you don’t have to answer… she’s doin’ plenty of talkin’ for you.”
Those little smacks of his quickly grow repetitive and as he does so, he lets his jaw fall open and hangs his tongue out to capture the syrupy drip that oozes off of your walls.
When he starts working you over his fingers again, you don’t even realize the upper half of your body has slumped over until you feel something pressing up against your cheek. Your eyes had fluttered shut and everything, having grown so lost in the pleasure of his fingers that you didn’t even realize what you’d laid yourself on.
Lifting your head, you look over and stare at the outline of his cock again. There’s a slight patch of wetness where his plump tip is resting and you’re moving before you’re thinking.
“Aw-, woahh..” Choso gasps from behind you, to which your senses come back to you a bit whilst you push his sweatpants down. “What uh-,” His voice almost cracks for a second there but he swallows the hindrance in his voice down. Then he’s hissing when your hand slips under his boxers and wraps around his curving shaft, “Fuck.. what’re you doin’?”
The curve in your back deepens and the fingers he’s got inside you now get swallowed up even tighter the second his cock springs out. With wide eyes and a drooling mouth, you don’t even hesitate to take his length into your hand and then let your breath hit it as you whisper, “Returning the favor, Cho…”
He scoffs, “You don’t have to-, holy shit…” The mere press of your warm lips against his leaky cockhead is enough to make him whine. And as if encouraged, you quickly spread your mouth over him and ease it down around his dick, letting your tongue lap at the sides upon your descent. “Oh god, your throat feels s-so fuckin’ good…. A-All this and people had the nerve to leave you unsatisfied? Tch.”
Meeting you halfway, Choso dives back into your cunt with the entirety of his mouth. You feel the ball of his tongue piercing tickle your walls as he stretches you out against the glutinous pink muscle—your moaning around his cock sending filthy vibrations all throughout his body.
His hips thrust up instinctively and his lips pop off of you with a sharp breath, “Fuck, princess… Do that again, yeah?”
Your cheeks hollow out as your jaw widens and you force yourself down further until his fat tip is bumping up against the back of your throat, earning a nasty gag from you. You try to lift yourself to breathe but you’re met with a sudden pressure at the back of your head as he swiftly pushes you back down.
“Hold it f’me,” Choso groans, “Need you t’feel me back there,” He adds shortly after. Then, keeping your head still, “There ya’ go, gooood girl…” He praises as his hips start bucking up again until your eyes are coated with tears.
Truth be told, Choso isn’t normally this rough with anyone he fucks. But the high buzzing throughout his brain has him acting different. He can't get over the way your lips feel wrapped around his cock like a warm hug. And the way he slides all the way down your throat perfectly? Oh, you’re lucky he hasn’t cum inside your mouth already.
The dark hairs he has decorating the area around the base of his heavy length tickle your chin with how wide your lips are parted around him. You could feel him leaving soggy kisses against your uvula and all it did was make you soak above his face.
When you finally give him another moan as your face presses snuggly against his skin—the veins trailing his dick pulsing with little heartbeats against your tongue—he lets your head go. You fly up a bit and start coughing softly, glancing back at him with a pout as you wipe your mouth off, just to see that he’s already moving on to do something else as if he didn’t just choke you out on his dick less than two seconds ago.
Choso’s got a joint perched between his lips as he takes a loooong drag from it and when he plucks it away from his mouth, he takes his free hand and moves it to your hip. You don’t even realize what’s happened until something heated is slapping up against your slobbering cunt. The sensation makes you jump and then Choso—ever the freak—is leaning up to shotgun a kiss directly into the puffy folds of your cunt.
“Ch-Choso,” You choke, “What the f-fuuck…”
Then your hips are lifting as if to escape him and something throaty and annoyed reverberates its way out of his throat before you feel his painted fingernails dig into your skin and force you back down, his head shaking up into your pussy whilst his tongue lathers into the deepest depths of your slutty cavern.
Then you hear the wet, gushing smacks that his mouth against your cunt begins to make, feeling a certain sensation bloom in the pit of your stomach. Your legs are twitching around his head and you’re whining. “Choso, w-wait… please, I-I feel weird…”
Instead of acknowledging your words, he just groans something filthy and hot against you, “Such a sloppy pussy, droolin’ allll over me like this…” He points out. You’re not sure if it’s possible but he’s clearly high off of you and not just the weed.
You try rolling your hips back to see if that would capture his attention but all that does is make his cock drip with creamy slathers of white from the slit. As you notice that, you try to lean down and suck on his neglected tip, hoping that would get his mouth to go easy on you for just a second.
Unfortunately for you, that did the exact opposite.
Instead, Choso’s pulling back to spit a gloopy wad of spit onto your cunt and then scoffing, “You should tell me-, hah.. who the assholes are,” He mutters, beyond pussy drunk, “The ones that couldn’t make you cum,” His tongue flicks around as if he were spreading his own saliva via spelling something out, “Then let me send ‘em the sexy lil’ mess m’about to make of you….”
Prying away from his cock for a second, “That’d be so-, mmgh! Right there, Choso…”
“Yeah? Right here? This is the spot they couldn’t find? How pathetic,” He’s searing with his tongue, drawing his name into your gluey walls all cursive-like, making your eyes roll back. “You’re so easy to please,” He teases, smiling after, “Unless, of course… fuck, that’s only ‘cause of me?” Choso asks, spitting again just to have the entire space in between your legs a slopped, wet mess, “S’that what it is? You like the way I treat this pussy?”
“Yesss, Cho,” You whine ever so thankfully.
And of course, he leans back up to french-kiss your pussy lips in response. You’re so high ‘n horny that you don’t even realize the number of times you’d let your shimmery gloss of release coat the insides of his mouth by now.
Not until he’s felt smiling into you, “Mgh.. again? How many times is that now? Eight?” The number makes you inhale swiftly in surprise, your hand squeezing the base of his cock a bit tighter as you move your head to the side to moan deliciously. “Gimme one more ‘n I’ll give you a break…” He coos, pierced tongue massaging your sensitive folds now.
At that, something prominent builds up within you. “Choso, mmnh! I-I think I’m… ohgod… m’gonna cum,” You pant, lazily jerking him off with what little strength you have in your hand.
He snickers, “Silly girl, you already did that. I think what’s about to happen now is uh…” His voice trails for a moment so that he could plug your hole in with his fingers and curl them against your g-spot, “You’re about to squirt f’me…” Choso tells you.
And squirt for him you do.
You never thought you could feel pleasure so good that you couldn’t even tell you’d finished until you were at the point of squirting. It’s a weird sensation that makes you moan his name loud enough for his fraternity brothers to hear outside of his room.
Your entire body convulses and your mind just blanks out. You think his fingers are somewhere around your clit and his tongue is back in between your slippery walls but you couldn’t tell at this point—all you knew was that you were making a mess all over his face.
And through it, he was down there praising you. “That’s it, thaaaat’s it, princess..” Letting his tongue dangle out again to slur, “Right on my fuckin’ face, I want everyyy drop.”
It’s embarrassing for you—y’know, squirting all over your plug’s face just from his stupidly skillful tongue and fingers. You wanted to hate every second of it, hate how nasty you felt by the time your orgasmic high began to diminish but, fuck there wasn't a single thought left in your brain.
You told the man no guy was making you cum and he did so consecutively without even putting his cock inside you. Not only that, he was faded the entire time!
Arguably, you were too so that’s likely why you were so sensitive to his mouth to begin with but… still.
You feel like you black out after your orgasm but, it’s only for a few seconds. Eventually, your ears catch the loud roar of his groans and bat your tear-coated eyelashes open to see his cock has spilt globs of cum out around your hand. Your grasp on him instantly releases and you scoff softly at the sticky mess.
Both of your orgasms leave your bodies motionless for a long while—your frame slumped over against his—and nothing but the sound of filthy pants echo throughout his fogged room.
Choso’s the first to eventually break the silence with a breathy, “And uh, next time come to me when you wanna get off…” He murmurs, feeling your limp body weight shift against him a little, “…not just for weed, okay?”
“Uhuh..” You babble tiredly.
“Good,” He sighs. “'Cause I charge pretty cheap for these sex sessions.”
Freezing, “What?”
Choso chuckles, a weary smile painted across his slicked face, “I told you I don’t do anything for free, didn’t I?”
thinking about nerdjo having a big crush on freaky ass stoner reader nghfhfh
he’d never smoke in his LIFE (or so he thought) until he laid his eyes on you and suddenly he’s using all of that gojo family money to buy weed off of you even though he has no idea what to do or how to do it
and he’s so CUTE and so stupid when he’s high that you’d never believe he was ever smart in the first place
he’s the type of guy to be noisy as fuhh without ever saying anything profound even though he thinks he does. and he’d be so so clingy and sensitive like i want to suck his dick on weed so bad oh my days :(
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𑣲 K. KOZUME :: you knew that kenma didn’t have the greatest stamina despite his athletic history, and you decided to take advantage of that. but little did you know that you would be outsmarted in your own game.
₊˚ʚ (+18) content | switch!kenma x fem!reader, smut, p in v sex, unprotected sex, slight nipple play, praise, degrading, filming/photographing, overstimulation, both of them r freaks | read at your own risk .ᐟ.ᐟ
you knew that kenma didn’t have the greatest stamina despite his athletic history, and you decided to take advantage of that. but little did you know that you would be outsmarted in your own game.
the great kodzuken had finally hit that 50 million sub goal, and to celebrate, you had excitedly prepared a home cooked dinner that wafted through the halls of your shared apartment. you had cooked up a creamy pasta and steak, with expensive wine to wash down the flavor. you beamed at every stir of the pasta sauce, eager to celebrate with him.
he ended his celebration stream shortly after, and padded outside of his office towards the kitchen island, and carefully observed as you plated the meal.
“hi kodzu, you’re just in time. i just need a sec to plate.” you focus on the steak in front of you, not turning to face the other man.
he hums, “can’t wait to try it, kitty.”
you roll your eyes at the childish nickname, turning around to set the steak down on the table.
dinner ran smoothly, you greeted him with enthusiastic congratulations and warm words of encouragement, clasping his hands together with his. you had always adored kenma’s humility, despite his massive online presence, he never let it get to his head or ego. he carried the same attitude as he did on screen— quiet, timid, funny— it was ironic on how his lack of charisma eventually followed his rise to fame.
you two decided to keep your relationship mostly private, save for the occasional instagram stories where he would post updates where your hair would just be barely seen in the frame, the reflection of your hand slightly visible on the glass, or a candid photo of you on one of your dates. it was sweet, and it allowed him to set boundaries with his fans, who admired you from a far away.
before you knew it, the plates were licked clean, yet chatter continued to fill the air between you two.
“thank you for dinner, it was really good.” kenma’s eyes look into yours, a subtle smile curling on his lips. his hand snakes behind your head as he pulls you close, planting a sweet kiss onto your forehead. “you’re the sweetest, you make me so happy.”
he thought that was it, that was his reward for his 50 million sub breakthrough. he didn’t know that you still had something else reserved specially for him. you just smiled into his chest.
“congratulations again, kodzu.”
⋆˚࿔
“haah— fuck, s-slow down…” he pants, hands gripping tightly onto your waist as you rolled your hips onto his, his cock burying itself deeper and deeper into your aching cunt.
“mm… are you tired already, ken?” you tilt your head, and cup his face with your hands. you look at his golden irises, tinted with desperate want need for you.
all for you.
you continue the momentum, before slightly lifting your hips up to let his dick breathe, then slamming yourself fully down onto him once again.
“fuck…!” he groans, his grip on you tightening even more— enough to leave a bruise later on.
“you feel so good, kitty…” you lean down to kiss him, licking his lips for access into his mouth, which he pathetically accepts. whore.
he hums into the kiss, slipping his tongue to meet with yours. you can feel the heat basically radiate off of his body, slick with a sheen of sweat.
“you’re— mmh.. such a good boy.” you trail your lips down his chin, to his neck and collarbone. inhaling deeply, and you find the comforting aroma of laundry detergent settling into something dizzying. the smell of melted amber, friction, and the salty musk of his sweat pooling at the dip of his collarbone fill your senses, radiating a feverish heat that you just couldn’t get enough of.
pulling away, you pick up the pace again, rhythmically lifting your hips up and down. you trace your hands lower to his chest, soft whines and moans escaping your lips. you couldn’t exactly recall when you two had started, but you could tell he was reaching his limit. his dick continued to twitch inside you with every bounce you made, and it was tantalizing.
kenma couldn't take it anymore. the constant, agonizing friction was unbearable, overriding his exhaustion completely.
before you could lift your hips again, kenma interrupts you. “wa-wait! wait, stop.” he rasps, pulling you down closer to him once more to catch his breath. your bodies collide with one another, both shiny from the sweat between you two. you hear his unsteady breaths by your ear, his chest heaving as he pants for air. his hand traces the dip of your spine, moving in slow circles til he finally rests them on your lower back.
“let me make you cum— ‘don’t wanna cum first.”
wow. this is quite new.
the kenma you knew was one lazy fuck when it came to sex. always content to just lie back and let you do all the work while he enjoyed the view. not that you minded, you liked doing things for him and making him feel good. you knew exactly how to grind your hips, when to bounce, when to kiss and where to touch him, and you drink up all the noises and movements he makes every time. you would notice the subtle jerk of his hips when he’s about to cum, the bruising grip he would have once his dick was overstimulated, the flush of red that would tint his cheeks when you two would get into it too early.
but your favorite thing to take in would be the pathetic whines and whimpers that got you even wetter at your core.
so this was new to say the least. did his ego get bigger after hitting that 50 million?
before a sly retort could even slip past your lips, his hands clamp down onto your waist and he thrusts his hips upward, the length of his dick burying deeper into you, tip pressing right against your cervix.
a loud sob tore from your throat, nails digging crescents into his shoulders for leverage. your spine arches from above him, the sudden change in momentum catching you completely off guard now.
“my turn, ‘kay?” he says sweetly, adjusting the both of you so that you’re laying comfortably on the bed, and he he settles on top of you.
you whine at the change in position, and he slips himself into you again, the wet squelch of your pussy reverberating through the air. kenma rocks his hips upward with minimal effort, causing the mattress to dip and squeak from the sudden shift.
you try to regain control— to try and hear those sweet, pathetic whimpers your boyfriend would make again, by pressing you hips closer toward him to take him deeper. yet, your attempt remains futile as his kept his hold on you, pinning you back down onto the bed and forcing you to adjust to his weight.
he tuts, “don’t try to take over, i told you it’s my turn. you know better than that, don’t you, babe?”
“‘m sorry, baby…” you pull back, allowing him to take more control of the situation.
“that’s what i thought. keep still.” he continues rocking into you slowly, relishing in the feeling of your pussy accommodating to the shape of his cock.
“you’re still so tight, did you not stretch yourself out on me enough?” he mocks you, eyes locked on yours as he drove his hips up once again, unbothered by the mewl that left your lips.
you didn’t want to admit it, but you were getting pretty fucked out at this point, eyes hazy and body tired, but you were still determined to wear him out even if you were in a different position now.
“i know what you’re trying to do,” he leans into your ear. “im going to win, you know?”
fuck. he’s so fucking hot.
his palm makes its way to the curve of your breast, squeezing lightly before pinching your nipples in between his thumb and index and giving it an experimental twist.
“k-ken…” you whine out, who’s getting desperate now?
his hips began to ram into you with more fervor, and your tears begin to well up in your eyes as you keep taking him in fully.
a low, breathy sound escapes his throat, a sound so rarely heard from him that it sends a fresh wave of electricity straight through your core.
“look at you,” he massages the flesh in his palms, his thumb stroking over the peak of your tits as he maintains the steady upward thrust of his hips that press against that sweet spot every time. “you look so pretty for me.”
he reaches over to the nightstand with one hand, snagging his phone without staggering his pace. “this is all for me, right? say it.” the screen light illuminates the dimly lit bedroom, reflecting off of his sharp, golden eyes. he opens the camera with a quick swipe, angling the lens down where your bodies meet, recording the slickness of your thighs and the flush painting your skin from your chest up to your cheeks.
“no– kenma, put that away…” you whine out, embarrassment flushing your cheeks pink as you try to cover your face with your free arm.
he pauses his thrusts to catch your wrist, and pins you gently back down against the mattress, keeping the camera locked on your figure.
“why? you seemed so proud of yourself earlier,” he says lazily, almost mockingly— with the amount of feign concern that laced his words, yet you refused to meet his gaze. “look at the camera babe, c’mon… i wanna treasure this forever. just for me, please?”
“ken—“ you’re cut off by the sudden snap of his pelvis, “this— hngh—“ you moan out, unable to form your words with the pressure quickly building inside you. you try to pry your arm away from his grip to cover your face again— to save whatever dignity you had left after your failed attempt to tire him out.
his lips twist into a mischievous smile, “i’m working so hard for you right now, the least you could do is to let me see you.” his grip on your wrist remains, “look at the fucking camera.”
his words are hypnotic, laced with a hint of frustration and impatience. you involuntarily glance at the phone, seeing yourself on the reflection of the lens. you wrap your hips around his waist to pull him in closer, the creak of the bed frame hitting against the wall combined with both of your moans and gasps and the sound of skin on skin was enough to overwhelm your senses. you weren't too sure what he was up to anymore, but you just needed him closer. he pulls out just enough of him to leave only the tip inside, before angling his hips upward and thrusting back in, bottoming out inside you. Another shock of electricity courses through your body and you wail loudly through a choked sob.
“fuck! just like that!” you arch your back, feeling his tip press flush against that spongy part inside of you. it sends a violent tremor down your thighs, curling your toes into the mattress and your head tossing back against the pillows as your vision goes completely white.
“ken- kenma, please—“
“yeah? you close already?” he peppers gentle kisses onto your damp skin, the phone soon forgotten as he sets it upright on the nightstand, leaning against a lamp as it continues to record. he uses both his hands to anchor your hips to his as your body begins to grind against him desperately. “i said don’t close your eyes, look at me,” his voice is rough and desperate.
if you had a dick you’d probably be so hard right now.
his breathing is wrecked, a heavy, ragged sound that echoes in the space between your lips as he continued to thrust himself into you, deliberately chasing the frantic, wet heat of your climax.
“you’re going to make me cum— please, fuck!”
you come undone almost immediately, sobbing his name into the dark room as the ripple of your orgasm spreads throughout your body, your pussy squeezing tightly around him.
“you’re taking me so well…shit— doing so good for me, baby.” his golden eyes wide, locking on the rise and fall of your chest. your tight, twitching walls completely derails his rhythm. he buries his face into the crook of your neck, sinking deep into you as he reaches his orgasm as well. you feel the sudden, burning heat of him filling you up as he spends the last bit of his energy inside of you.
for a long minute, the only sound in the room was the overlapping sound of both your breathing.
eventually, his weight goes slack on top of you, his forehead resting against your bruised up shoulders as he pants for air. a soft, breathless huff of laughter leaves his lips against your damp skin.
“told you,” he wheezes out, yet his voice was dripping with that smug, lazy satisfaction you knew all too well whenever he had finished conquering an incredibly difficult boss fight and was about to brag to you about it. “i won.”
⋆˚࿔
the next day, you’re making breakfast as kenma patiently waits sitting by the kitchen island, when you hear an erotic moan play from his phone speaker.
“what was that?” you ask, flipping the egg over on the frying pan.
“my favorite milestone reward,” he says, his eyes still glued to the screen. “you’re so noisy here, god.”
“don’t post that.”
“hmm, maybe i’ll make it a sub-count.”
@ miripopopo, 2026
i miss kenma so bad can u guys tell i wrote this with one hand
︵ ೀ mdni. so the rumors are true, frat boy!satoru really is stupidly big
you swear you’d never end up here.
you swear on your GPA, your future, and your last remaining brain cell that you would never hook up with a frat boy. never. especially not satoru gojo.
yet here you are, in his messy room that looks like the last time he did laundry was during the obama administration, staring at six-foot-four of naked, insanely sculpted frat boy while he stands there like a proud exhibit at the penis museum.
his body is ridiculous. broad shoulders tapering into a narrow waist, every muscle carved from years of whatever sports he plays when he isn’t throwing ragers. pale skin that somehow still looks sun-kissed across his chest and shoulders, faint tan lines from sleeveless practice jerseys. a happy trail of soft white hair leads down from his abs—abs you could spend hours running your tongue over—straight to the main event.
and god… the main event.
thick, heavy, and already flushed dark at the tip, it curves slightly upward with an intimidating girth that makes your stomach flip. it bobs as he shifts his weight, veins standing out along the shaft.
“that,” you say, “is never gonna fit.”
satoru’s snowy white hair falls messily over his forehead as he grins, those bright blue eyes sparkling. “nah, it’ll fit. i’ll make it fit.” he wraps a large hand around himself, giving one slow stroke that makes your mouth go dry. “trust me.”
“it’s not gonna fit. this thing is massive. like… i’m actually concerned for my internal organs.”
“uhm. thanks?” he looks stupidly pleased, a faint blush creeping up his neck. the cocky frat boy actually blushes at the compliment. it is almost endearing.
almost.
he climbs onto the bed and up close he smells exactly like you imagine—expensive cologne, faint beer, and warm skin. his body is hot against yours as he settles between your thighs, muscular arms on either side of your head.
when he leans down to kiss you, it is surprisingly soft at first and then hungry, tongue teasing yours while one big hand slides down your side to squeeze your hip.
you gasp when his fingers find you already slick. he groans low in his throat. “fuck, you’re so wet for me already…”
two long fingers press in, stretching you carefully, and something tells you he knows exactly how big he is because he takes his time, watching your face with hooded eyes, murmuring praise against your neck.
“that’s it… relax for me, pretty girl.”
by the time he lines himself up, you are trembling with nerves and want. he pushes forward—slow, so slow. the blunt, thick head presses against your entrance, hot and heavy. you feel every inch of that first stretch, the burn of it making you whimper.
“is it in already?” you breathe after a few seconds.
satoru lets out a strangled laugh, forehead dropping to yours. “it’s only the tip, baby.”
“only the tip?!” you are going to die. you are so going to die. the pressure is already insane—full, overwhelming, deliciously too much. you can feel the heat of him, the slight throb, the way your body tries so hard to adjust around him.
he pushes forward another inch and you both moan. sweat beads on his forehead, sliding down his temples. his abs tighten with every shallow thrust, that white happy trail brushing against your stomach.
“shit—you’re so tight,” he hisses. “feels so fucking good… but i don’t wanna hurt you.”
you grip at his biceps, nails digging into hard muscle. “you’re huge, satoru. has anyone ever told you that?”
“yeah. you—like five times already.”
“because i feel like i’m being split open by a damn baseball bat!”
he chokes on a laugh, hips stuttering. the movement pushes him a little deeper and your eyes flutter shut at the overwhelming fullness. every tiny shift sends sparks through you—the drag of his thickness, the way he fills you so completely it feels like he is touching places no one ever has.
“stop making me laugh,” he whines, but he is grinning. “you’re gonna make me slip and then we’ll both be in trouble.”
“slip?! if you slip any more we’re gonna have to call an ambulance.”
“god, i like you. this is the least sexy sex i’ve ever had and i’m having the best time.”
another clumsy, careful thrust. he bottoms out halfway and has to pause, breathing hard, forehead pressed to yours. his cock twitches inside you, so hot and heavy you whimper. one of his hands slides down to rub slow circles over your clit, trying to help you relax while his body stays tense with restraint.
“you’re doing so good. taking me so pretty… look at you.”
you are equal parts mortified and insanely turned on. this is the clumsiest, most awkward sex you have ever had—full of giggles and curses and satoru’s muttered coaching (“easy, big guy, she’s tiny”)—and somehow it is perfect.
he kisses you again, messy and sweet, then rocks forward once more. “still regret coming home with me?” he teases, lips brushing your ear.
you wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him just a little deeper, and laugh breathlessly. “ask me again when you’re actually all the way in, gojo.”
thinking about nerdjo having a big crush on freaky ass stoner reader nghfhfh
he’d never smoke in his LIFE (or so he thought) until he laid his eyes on you and suddenly he’s using all of that gojo family money to buy weed off of you even though he has no idea what to do or how to do it
and he’s so CUTE and so stupid when he’s high that you’d never believe he was ever smart in the first place
he’s the type of guy to be noisy as fuhh without ever saying anything profound even though he thinks he does. and he’d be so so clingy and sensitive like i want to suck his dick on weed so bad oh my days :(
꩜ – FRAT PRESIDENT SATORU GOJO (and the shy girl he's obsessed with!)
(18+) HEADCANONS :: – frat!gojo x innocent!reader, college au, smut, dom!gojo, handjobs, praise, corruption kink, manipulative behavior, slight dub-con
frat president!satoru, who’s used to every type of girl at his party except you, all big eyes, wandering around his house like you didn’t know what to do. he’s asked suguru to offer you everything under the sun in the last thirty or so minutes — a drink, a smoke, a joint. you just politely decline, shaking your head so prettily.
frat president!satoru, who swears he’s just got an ego when he decides he’ll be the one to show you all of that and more. he could do it if suguru couldn’t, if no one else could.
he starts off all nice, walking you to all your classes, offering his sweaters in the lectures you had together (which he only started attending for you), buying you lunch and listening to your cute little rants about your worst profs.
frat president!satoru learns that you like being held when he’s the first one to find you after an exam you swear you’d failed. he doesn’t get it ‘til he’d realized your eyes are all glassy, so shiny as you peered up at him with wobbling lips, trying not to cry in front of him.
frat president!satoru loves the way you’d just melted into his arms after that. he calls you easy to his friends for it, but something inside him never wants to let go whenever you’re willing to press yourself into his chest, wherever you’re willing to do it.
frat president!satoru, who asks you what you’re wearing all the time and sends even prettier things to wear to your dorm when he thinks you can do better.
frat president!satoru, who’s spiraling at night, jerking off to your contact photo, wrapping his large hand around his dick and pretending like it’s that sweet mouth of yours engulfing his length. he imagines how shy you’d be, lips parted wide, smearing pre-cum and replacing your candy lip balm. he wants you tasting like him, those soft cheeks drenched in his cum, eyes screwed shut until he’s all you can think about.
frat president!satoru likes making you need him, doting on you and driving you around like a princess, spoiling you until you frown whenever his hand isn’t on your hip, or whenever he dodges your calls for fraternity meetings. he likes the idea that you might become obsessed with him (like he is with you).
frat president!satoru, who’s grinning cruelly the minute you finally tell him, “you know, you do so much for me, I feel like I’m not doing enough for you.” in that nervous voice of yours one day, while you’re tucked into his side at your apartment.
frat president!satoru, who’s never missed a meeting or a call until that day, when he’s finally got you whimpering shyly in his lap while he gently mouths at your neck, tasting that perfume he’s been searching online for for weeks, whispering about how he’s so grateful you wanna help him out, how sweet you are for making it up to him too even when you didn't have to.
but he’s been waiting for weeks, you’re all soft and impressionable on him, and he’s not letting a moment of your kindness go to waste.
frat president!satoru guides you with a husky voice when he teaches you to spit in your own palm and wrap your hand around his cock, nearly shivering at the contact — “make me feel good, pretty girl, it’s the least you can do.”
frat president!satoru, who just chuckles at the fact that you’re all nervous, looking up at him as if asking what to do next, just for him to wrap his palm around yours, engulfing it entirely. he groans lowly as he moves your palm up and down on his already-hard length, bottom lip catching between his teeth at how warm your hand feels against his dick.
“shit, just keep it like that, baby, up and down…”
frat president!satoru, who kisses you slow when you gasp at how he bucks up into your hand, keeping his own wrapped around it while desperately attempting not to just use you, jerk himself off with your tiny little fingers, maneuver you down and slam himself deep into your tight cunt. “hah — fuck, gorgeous, y— you’re good at this, huh? so good for me, so fucking cute…”
“i’ve never done this before,” you admit into frat president!satoru’s mouth, hushed and breathy like it’s a secret. he wants to fucking laugh, but he’s cut short by a low hiss as you thumb at his slit without him having to teach you, making him lose his mind piece by piece. shit, you’re just perfect, aren’t you?
“am — am I doing okay, satoru?”
frat president!satoru has nearly had enough of patience when you say that. shit, he bites down into your lip without even realizing, hand tightening around yours when you whimper. and it’s barely enough to notice at first, but he pumps your hand around him faster, growling into your mouth at the way your fingertips flex around his length, making a slick! sound that echoes across the room.
“you’re — shit, just like that — doing perfect, baby. so perfect.” frat president!satoru groans into your throat, even though he’s using your hand like a fuck toy now, smearing his own pre-cum mixed with your saliva all over his huge dick, bucking his hips up into your plush skin like a glorified fleshlight.
the only one he’s dreamed of in the past few weeks, at least.
frat president!satoru gets off on how eager you are to match his pace, his other hand cupping your cheeks to purse your pretty mouth open for him as he spits down your throat and relishes in your confused little whine. he doesn’t even realize how tightly he’s gripping your hand now, forcing you to jerk his cock faster.
“that’s it,” he pants into your lips, “just let me have you, okay? hah— so good, shit, you’ve been wanting this too, haven’t you?”
“satoru—” your voice is a wet dream, how it feathers off around the edges and breaks like you’re not sure.
frat president!satoru groans at the sound of your confusion. “been, fuck, thinking about this, baby. want you creaming on my cock next, yeah? or maybe it’s — haah! — too big for your first time. gotta — shit — prep you first.”
frat president!satoru spills into your hand with one last rough stroke of both your hands around his length, gasping low with his tongue down your throat as he finally lets your hand go. he watches the way your palm shakes, eyes dark, lifting your cum-covered fingertips to your mouth without thinking. and he thinks you won’t do it, until—
your sweet fucking tongue darts out to lick experimentally at your own fingers, and satoru thinks he’s gone to heaven.
frat president!satoru, who can’t help himself when he’s grabbing you by the waist now, laying you flat on your back and coming up to slot his knee between your thighs, committing the way your face scrunches up in both confusion and pleasure to memory. he thinks you’re the cutest fucking thing in the world, and he wants you broken in every way possible until you can’t fuck any other guy without imagining his dick.
“thank you, baby,” he grins against your neck. “can i make you feel good now?”
frat president!satoru, who decided he’d never let you fuck anyone else anyways the moment you'd nodded.
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The first mistake you made was using Reddit to find a roommate. The second was moving in with him anyway. Satoru Gojo is a gorgeous man and a terminally online incel who will explain exactly why a nice guy like him can't get a girlfriend.
When you decide to weaponize your hotness against his incel worldview, you expect to break him and his “alpha male" ideologies. You do not expect to spend a random evening getting your roommate's dick out of a stuck cock ring.
pairing: Gojo Satoru x reader
warnings: 18+ (mdni!!), explicit sexual content, afab!reader, modern AU, roommate AU, nerdjo, incel!gojo, virgin!gojo, oral (m and f receiving), piv, creampie, light degradation, praise kink, cum in hair, cum eating, cum-drunk, pussy-drunk, cock rings, fleshlights, improper use of hair tie, improper use of yogurt (accidentally ??), oil and fluids everywhere, it’s a bit disgusting, light choking, groping, big time copium from reader, secondhand embarrassment you’d die, reddit, incel stuff, crack treated seriously, fluff, smut, slow burn but the burn is just pure cringe
word count: 17k
The first mistake you made was using Reddit to find a roommate. Should’ve been a red flag, really. The second was agreeing to meet the guy in person.
You walked into the coffee shop, scanning the midday crowd for someone who matched the description — twenty-something, remote-employed, appreciates a quiet living environment. You were expecting a tired grad student, maybe. Or some tech guy in a Patagonia fleece. Something like that.
Instead, you found a gorgeous, gorgeous looking man. And you were confident it was him, since there were exactly two men present — him, and some grandpa having his afternoon caffeine fix.
And the guy was, objectively and objectifyingly speaking, probably the prettiest guy you had ever laid your eyes on. Way too tall, way too broad, the messy hair and the cute glasses adding the je ne sais quoi of the hot nerd aesthetic you were simply too weak for. Even hunched over his phone like that, he looked aggressively cute. But, let’s be honest, you weren't exactly against a cheeky roommates-to-lovers situation, if you catch my drift.
You stopped dead in your tracks.
Oh no. Oh YES.
Your heart went thump thump thump! like crazy as you stood there, frozen between the door and the counter. Living with a man who looked like that was a direct threat to your peace. And his too, probably. You couldn't believe you had practically won a jackpot over freaking Reddit. And apparently Reddit was only full of weird people, as if. So you took a breath, adjusted your posture, and walked over.
But then the panic hit. Because someone who looked like that was probably bringing home a different girl every night. And you’d have to listen to the stupid Thump. Thump. Thump. of his bed through the thin drywall. Every single time.
Suck it and see, you never know, girl.
From his side of the table, Satoru had already run the numbers. His eyes tracked your movement the second you started walking over, assessing. You were cute, yes. Approachable hot, not intimidating hot. You didn’t look like the type who’d expect him to pay for everything or make fun of his personality. And most importantly — you had messaged him first on the housing thread.
That meant the dynamic was already set. You were practically already his. Why else would a girl willingly want to live with a man? The power balance was secured. Handled. Handed to him on a silver platter, just like all the podcasts had promised.
You slid into the booth across from him. "Satoru?"
"You're exactly two minutes and forty seconds late," Satoru announced, and you feared that wasn't a joke. He checked his phone screen. "Statistically speaking, women in their twenties are usually ten to fifteen minutes late to initial meetups to assert social dominance. Two minutes is almost negligible. I like the effort."
You stared at him. What the fuck. You hadn't even taken your jacket off yet.
"I got caught at a red light," you said slowly, furrowing your eyebrows and eyeing his hands. Why were they so big?
“Right. Variables.” Satoru nodded, looking way too serious about the whole thing. He leaned back, crossing his arms over his chest. “So — I brought the lease agreement. As I mentioned, I have a 780 credit score and I want dishes done within twenty-four hours. To prevent breeding grounds for fruit flies.” He slid the keys across the table along with the papers, completely unprompted. “I assume you don’t have a problem with basic hygiene? You shouldn’t have—” his eyes dragged over you, slow and sleazy, “—judging by your appearance.”
You looked at the keys. Then at his stupidly pretty, already supremely annoying face.
Your brain was trying to throw up big red warning signs, but you really needed the space. It was cheap. Close to work. And you’d have to survive maybe a year or two before you could afford a one-bedroom on your own.
You go, girl.
“I’m clean,” you said, picking up the keys. You narrowed your eyes at him, trying to figure out exactly what brand of lunatic you were about to chain yourself to. “Listen. You’re not going to be weird, are you?”
Satoru tilted his head, genuinely confused. “Define weird.”
You bit your lip.
There went those “quick” two years of your life.
You already knew the answer. You already fucking knew. Time for some hard coping. Maybe this was just a phase. Maybe he’d snap out of it soon. Maybe he’d gone through a breakup and was just being salty. That was probably it.
And to be fair, the first few weeks weren’t actually that weird. You were getting to know each other, learning how to exist in the same space. It was quiet, even. You would’ve paid good money to keep it like that forever.
He mostly worked from his room, only came out for meals, did the dishes, and left you alone. He barely even talked to you, which should’ve been suspicious, but you chose to ignore it. You started to think maybe you’d read him wrong at the café. Maybe the breakup theory was right. Maybe he was just having a weird day.
But spoiler alert — you couldn’t have been more wrong.
Satoru had not gone through a bad breakup. You suspected he had never gone through any breakup at all ever. Once he got comfortable enough to drop the act, or perhaps as some calculated 4D chess move to trap you past the point of getting your deposit back, his true colors started showing.
Satoru didn’t bring girls home. He didn’t do any of the hot-man things you’d expected either. Instead, he spent most of his free time on Reddit, arguing with strangers about the state of modern dating, and why “nice guys” were being chronically overlooked by society.
After about a month, it clicked.
This man was chronically, terminally online. And an incel on top of it all.
The rule of never judging a book by its cover confirmed itself in the most jarring way possible. Would say, you played yourself there girl, but who am I to judge.
It started with the staring. You’d be sitting at the kitchen island in your sleep shirt, eating a bowl of Cheerios, and you’d look up to find him just… watching you. He never looked away when you caught him either. He’d just blink those big, stupidly pretty blue eyes at you, gaze heavy and analytical, like he was trying to calculate your exact molecular structure. Which, in a way, he was. Carefully assessing the harmony of your facial features, exactly like the looksmaxxing subreddit had probably told him to.
You were always the one who had to look away first, your face feeling weirdly hot.
Then came the rants. You’d come home from a brutal shift and collapse onto the couch, and Satoru would emerge from his room like clockwork. He’d drop down next to you, eyes glued to his phone, and start talking like someone had asked.
“It’s basic hypergamy,” he announced one night, to absolutely no one. “Men are biologically disadvantaged in the modern dating sphere because of the top-twenty-percent rule.”
You didn’t even look at him. You just kept staring at the TV and wondered how long you could keep nodding along before it would become suspicious.
And he would just keep going.
Spewing the most vile, stupid shit while you sat there, eyes flicking from the TV to him and back, nodding along because you genuinely did NOT care. Top twenty what percent? Wasn’t he objectively in the top ten at least? What the hell was he even talking about? Every time you didn’t answer, he probably took it as agreement. You just deadass had nothing to say to him.
Not because you lacked the energy to argue — though you kind of did, because talking to this manchild was like talking to a wall, and even that would’ve been more productive — but mostly because you weren’t even listening anymore. You’d learned how to tune him out pretty quickly.
You were tolerating him. That’s what you told yourself. You were tolerating him, and it had nothing to do with the fact that ever since you first laid eyes on him, your brain had decided to revert to its most embarrassing caveman settings.
Like that one evening when you were walking down the hallway toward the kitchen and the bathroom door opened.
Satoru stepped out, dripping wet. White hair plastered to his forehead, water still running down his chest, wearing nothing but a towel slung dangerously low on his hips. You shamelessly followed his happy trail. The way the towel barely clung on his hips.
Your brain stalled at the sight of his pretty body and your mouth went dry. You reminded yourself why you were tolerating him. Then berated yourself for doing exactly what he did — objectifying.
But hey. What's better than an incel asshole? A hot incel asshole. That's what's better. Congratulations to you specifically, really found a rock between a sea of gems.
You thought you had it handled. White-knuckle your way through the lease. Easy peasy lemon squeezy.
And then you walked past his partially open bedroom door and heard him on Discord.
"Yeah, I mean, the living situation is okay," Satoru was saying, sounding so perfectly reasonable. You thought he was going to say something nice. What a good roommate she is, how glad he was to have you there.
"She's clean. And yeah, she's hot, but she's not like super hot hot where it's scary, you know? She's cute hot. Next door hot, pretty hot. Just my type, you know my type, dude. I can definitely work with that."
You froze in the hallway.
Your face did something that could only be described as a visual representation of what the fuck.
Cute hot. I can definitely work with that.
What does that even mean? You knew exactly what it meant, unfortunately. He wasn't just a weird roommate. He was a weird roommate actively running some kind of deranged, incel-fueled long game on you. Casually. Over Discord.
You quietly backed away, went to your room, locked the door, and screamed into your pillow.
It was not like your roommate was describing you like a property investment to someone over Discord while you were standing mere feet away.
You hated this. You hated him. And you hated yourself for having been even remotely apologetic about it, for feeling your heart skip a beat when he said just my type. Curse you and your completely stupid and irrational attraction to someone you should probably be filing a restraining order against! But god, he was so so cute. If he could just shut the fuck up, or get lobotomized, or something. You could take him to Claire's over the weekend?
But to his credit, and you could not fucking believe you were giving him even some credit at all right now, he was sometimes tolerable, heavy on the sometimes. The man never missed a rent payment. He scrubbed the bathtub weekly. He always bought the expensive brand of paper towels, the ones with the little flower pattern you liked.
Good roommate, structurally speaking. Nightmare, every other way.
And the attraction was just a proximity issue. Obviously. Everyone would have this problem. It would go away. His personality was ass. Soon enough you'd look at him and convince yourself his looks were ass too. Start acknowledging his hotness the way you acknowledged anything asexual.
It was totally fine. You were fine. He was just a guy. A guy who happened to look like a Final Fantasy character rendered in 4K, but still just a guy. A nice guy.
And work with that, he definitely did. Because he was fine too! Just not in any way he would ever admit to his Discord buddies.
Because doing it the normal way guys in their sexual prime do was completely fine. He was in his twenties, so naturally, his mind wandered a bit when his head hit the pillow with passing thoughts about the way your sleep shirt rode up your bare thigh. There was absolutely nothing wrong with getting off while thinking about someone! It was just the normal biological need the podcasts yapped about! It was healthy to be sexually active, even if his only active partner was his fist.
And if that happened to escalate into jerking off to a completely innocent Instagram picture and coming all over his phone screen while staring at your pixelated smile? Also completely normal! Everyone dealt with new living arrangements differently; someone screamed into their pillow, someone else was jerking off every time you got said person inexplicably hard! He couldn't be expected to live like a celibate monk when he was just a poor, horny guy trapped in an apartment with a gorgeous roommate who also happened to be exactly his type. He wasn't being a creep! He was just adapting to his environment.
Goddamn.
It wasn't fine. He wasn't fine, you weren't fine either.
But as the weeks dragged on, he started getting worse.
The passive-aggressive creepiness turned into passive-aggressive entitlement. He had decided, completely on his own, that the two of you were basically already together. You could feel it in the way he hovered. In the way he looked at you like he was waiting for something. Like a bill was coming due and he was just giving you time to find your wallet.
It started with the food.
Without any discussion, he started either making food for both of you or straight-up eating what you’d made for yourself. Like that was just the new normal now.
“Satoru, did you eat my food?” you’d ask, staring at the empty space in the fridge where your meal had been. The one you’d been looking forward to all day. And he’d just nod from the couch like it was the most normal, domestic thing in the world — not a direct violation of the rules you’d set when you moved in.
Or there was the night you came home completely drained, fully prepared to eat a sleeve of saltines and a bucket of ice cream for dinner, only to walk into the apartment smelling like garlic and roasted vegetables.
Satoru was actually at the stove, cooking. A rare sight — the man usually survived on takeout and DoorDash. And he’d used your expensive dried tomatoes. The ones you’d been saving for a special occasion. The ones you’d deliberately shoved to the back of the fridge so he wouldn’t find them.
“Men in the kitchen are a rare sight, I know,” he said, not looking at you as he stirred, trying to look like the eighth world wonder. “But I thought — what if I made pasta? It’s the one my mom used to make. Figured I’d make it for myself. Made a lot though, so… you can have some too, I guess.”
He was already plating a portion for you as he spoke, trying and failing to look casual while clearly nervous you wouldn’t like it.
You watched him for a moment and felt something shift in your chest. You immediately labeled it as hunger and moved on.
He didn’t ask if you liked it. He just assumed you would. And he was right, yeah you ate it, but that wasn’t the point. The pasta wasn’t even that good. Way too salty. But it sat warm in your belly, and you didn’t have it in you to tell him the truth.
You thanked him for the meal but didn’t acknowledge the grand gesture you hadn’t agreed to in the first place. You didn’t make conversation and went straight to do the dishes.
When you glanced back, he was watching you with that look again.
You looked away first.
And of course an incel like that would have opinions about your love life too.
You’d been seeing someone — nothing serious, just a guy from Hinge. Two dates in, and you were still on the fence. He didn’t make your heart do that stupid thump thump thump, and his hairline wasn’t all that great either.
You made the mistake of mentioning a possible third date while making coffee, trying to have a normal, boring conversation about your respective lives.
“I think I’m going to see him again on Saturday,” you said, mostly to your mug.
Satoru looked up from his phone. He was always on his phone doing gods know what.
"The architect guy?"
"Nah, I ghosted that one. Different guy."
A pause. He furrowed his eyebrows the way he did when he was assessing something. “How many are there?”
You gave him a warning look.
"I'm just asking."
"And I'm not answering," you said, rolling your eyes.
He put his phone down, which was never a good sign. You turned back to the coffee machine.
“I just think,” he started.
“Don’t,” you muttered, already regretting bringing it up.
"—that you're not being strategic about this."
You turned back around, mentally preparing for what was about to come.
“About dating. Statistically speaking, cycling through too many low-value options in a short period of time actually decreases your own value. If you want to attract a high-value man—”
He didn’t just mean men. He meant himself. Which, bless him, but also fuck him for putting it like that.
You stared at him for a moment, seriously considering yelling and throwing your mug at his stupidly symmetrical face.
“Satoru,” you said. “Did you just tell me I’m getting ran-through?”
He opened his mouth, then immediately closed it. His ears went pink — he had probably clocked his own stupidity, apparently, which was a first.
"No! It's not — that's not what I—" he started, hands coming up like he was surrendering.
"Where did you even hear that phrase?"
"It's a concept from—"
"No." You held up a hand. "No, I don't want to know, actually. You just made me really upset."
You picked up your coffee and looked at him — standing there in his stupid nerdy sleep shirt, with his stupidly cute messy hair, genuinely confused about why this had gone wrong. Like he really thought you’d realize he was right and apologize on your knees for even mentioning other men.
You felt furious. Tired. And something else you weren’t going to name.
You couldn’t believe you’d ever imagined getting railed into oblivion by this man. Instead, you had to talk to him like he was a toddler. You had a feeling you were going to become a cautionary tale. A PSA about what happens when you move in with an incel.
You went on the date that Saturday anyway. It was fine. The guy was fine-ish — less fine after the weird-ass conversation you’d had with Satoru prior. You came home to find him on the couch, waiting. Expecting something. But neither of you said a word. You just went to your room, got into bed, and stared at the ceiling.
You were so fucking tired.
Tired of dates that were just fine. Tired of coming home to this. Tired of the whole thing.
So you cancelled the next one. And the one after that.
Men were mediocre anyway, you told yourself. You needed peace. You needed to stop cycling through low-value options — god, you couldn’t believe that phrase was living rent-free in your head now. You were going to find whatever podcast invented it and send the hosts very ugly, very threatening email.
And maybe the apartment really was full of questionable worldviews, because somewhere between the sexual marketplace value speeches and his creepy behavior, you developed one of your own.
You became morbidly into the idea of breaking his incel resolve. Like you’d accidentally discovered a new kink.
Not even in a romantic way. More like you’d started writing a very questionable mental screenplay about dismantling him piece by piece. Watching the podcast rot leak out of him in real time. Making the incel guy want you so badly he forgot every subreddit he was joined in, until he was pathetic enough to cry at your feet — and you weren’t even the dominant type!
Wasn’t there a term for that? There had to be. You’d read the fanfictions. You’d read the think pieces. And every time you’d wondered why women did this to themselves.
Now you knew exactly why.
It was like disaster tourism. Some people went to Chernobyl for the thrill. Some people chased storms. You were simply built different.
Because when a man looked you in the eye and said shit like, “It’s actually been studied. Women who wear revealing clothing in domestic settings are subconsciously signaling availability to increase their mate value. It’s an evolutionary response to competition,” and meant it — like he hadn’t just dropped full Andrew Tate shit on a random Wednesday night — you weren’t going to let it slide.
You were already stretched thin. And he was on very thin ice.
So you made a plan.
You were going to show him exactly what skimpy clothing did to a man like him. And you weren’t going to think too hard about why this was probably the stupidest idea you’d had in a while.
Because who would voluntarily wear less clothes when they could just put on three more layers to prove a point?
You, apparently.
You dug out the shorts you hadn’t worn since sophomore year. The ones that left half your ass out and the tank top that made your boobs look obscene. All to "prove a point."
Satoru was at the kitchen island when you walked in, like every morning.
You leaned against the counter, grabbed your yogurt from the fridge, and started eating your probiotic-balanced breakfast, like every morning.
He was still on his phone.
You were starting to think the plan had lowkey a flaw — mainly the part where he wasn’t even looking at you — when he stood up and walked over to the sink to put his mug away.
He reached past you.
The mug hit the bottom of the sink with a loud clang as he stood frozen and way too close. Staring at you with his mouth slightly open, ears going pink in real time as the color crept up from his jaw. He was looking at you exactly how you’d hoped he would… and now that it was actually happening, your stomach did a stupid little flip.
You went to put the spoon back in your mouth.
But your hand missed and the spoonful of Activia went down your chin, down your neck, and disappeared between your tits.
Satoru’s eyes followed it the whole way. You felt your nipples tighten under the thin fabric as he stared. Then his gaze dragged back up, slow, before dropping to what you were wearing.
When he finally looked at your face again, his ears weren’t just pink anymore. They were red.
“Uh. Y-you have yogurt. On your—” He gestured vaguely at your chest. “—on your b-boobs.”
You stared at him. He stared back — at your face, at your chest, at your legs, everywhere.
“Yeah,” you said. “I noticed, ‘Toru.”
You grabbed a paper towel and dragged it slowly down your neck, then slipped your other arm under your boobs to lift them higher, making the cleanup easier for you and significantly harder for him. You could tell by the way he was squirming.
He swallowed. A loud, audible gulp in the quiet kitchen. His Adam’s apple bobbed like it was trying to escape.
“Right. G-good — you cleaned it up. I-it was very messy,” he managed to get out, voice a full octave lower and cracking at the end. His eyes were half-lidded, ears still burning red.
Then he fled. He turned so fast he clipped his hip on the doorframe and didn’t even react to the pain before disappearing down the hallway.
You felt victorious. You’d fried his alpha-male-rotted brain. You’d proven your point. You were the apex predator of this apartment!
But then you took a breath and noticed your hands were shaking.
Your nipples were still painfully hard against the thin fabric of your tank top. And there was a warm, insistent ache low in your belly, sending little shockwaves down to your toes.
Wait.
What the fuck.
You looked down at your chest, then at the empty doorway like he might still be there.
Why the hell were you horny?
You were supposed to be the disaster tourist here. You were supposed to be watching the meltdown from a safe distance. Disaster tourists didn’t usually get turned on by the radiation. They didn’t usually want the hazard to come back out of his room, pin them against the counter, and put his stupid big hands on their hips.
You threw the paper towel into the trash harder than necessary. It hit the side and did a pathetic little plop! pathetically to the floor.
You slammed your bedroom door and threw yourself onto the bed, burying your burning face in the pillows.
The plan had worked perfectly.
Even if you had to dig out your vibrator later just to make the weird tingling go away.
It was just a power trip. Just the adrenaline of winning. That’s all it was. Power trips made people horny. It was biology. It was science.
Take that, Satoru!
And oh, he took it.
Across the hallway, Satoru was melting into his mattress. A bruise was already forming where he’d slammed into the doorframe. The image of that yogurt dragging down between your tits was burned into his brain. He was throbbing, and it was fucking pathetic.
He tried jerking off like usual — fist tight, imagining you on your knees — but it wasn’t enough anymore. Hadn’t been for weeks, actually. His hand wasn’t cutting it.
So he reached into the back of his bottom drawer and pulled out the silicone toy he’d bought recently. He was embarrassed, but too worked up to care. At least now he could pretend it was your tight pussy he was fucking into.
It was a new low. He knew it was a new low. But he did it anyway, eyes squeezed shut as he used the fleshlight, imagining you on top of him, under him, beside him — it didn’t matter. Anything was better than coming on his own just from the memory of yogurt dripping down your skin.
But of course, once the post-nut clarity hit, he took the whole thing the completely wrong way.
Because really, what did you think was going to happen?
You thought parading around half-naked in front of a terminally online incel would make him fall to his knees and magically develop self-awareness?
No. Of course not.
He thought you did it on purpose. For him specifically.
And yeah, you did do it on purpose — just not for the reason he thought. You were trying to break his brain. Make a joke out of his worldview! Instead, all you did was make him hard for three days straight and give him a terrifying amount of hope.
It validated every single pseudo-scientific dating theory he’d ever read. In his mind, you weren’t mocking him. You were submitting to his superior frame. You were “signaling availability.”
You hadn’t broken his incel resolve. You’d accidentally reinforced it. Applause.
And now Satoru believed, with full Reddit-backed certainty, that he had won. He’d played the long game. He’d kept his alpha composure. And now the cute roommate in the tiny gym shorts was finally ready to yield.
And worst of all? He started being creepy on purpose.
Before, the hovering and staring had been unconscious. Now he was doing it with intention. It was time to “establish physical dominance” and “break the touch barrier,” according to whatever the fuck forum thread he’d absorbed that week.
He started finding excuses to be near you — reaching past you for things he didn’t need just to brush his chest against your shoulder, leaving you wrapped in his scent. He’d sit too close on the couch, close enough that you could feel the heat coming off him.
And it was working. You hated that it was working.
Every time his hand brushed yours or his fingers grazed your waist, your skin broke out in goosebumps. You could feel yourself reacting to his nervous little attempts to mark his territory, and it was driving you insane.
You were sitting on the couch eating your well deserved Pad Thai straight out of the takeout box while a true-crime documentary played in the background.
Satoru emerged from his room, did his usual hover-routine like some awkward mating dance, and then sat down. Right next to you.
Without taking his eyes off the TV, he reached over and placed his hand on your bare thigh.
It was this weird twitchy movement between caress and a customs agent stamping a passport.
His fingers kept flexing like he was fighting the urge to either pull away or drag them higher. You sat frozen, staring down at his hand, silently daring it to move. Then mentally cursing yourself for even letting it happen in the first place.
A rush of heat flooded your chest and cheeks. It burned under his palm and shot straight down between your legs.
Ovulation. It’s just ovulation.
"Satoru," you said slowly.
He was staring straight ahead at the TV, posture stiff as a board and he was even redder than you.
“What the hell are you doing?”
He flinched, yanking his hand back into his lap and hunching over. “N-nothing.”
He cleared his throat but didn’t move away. His knee stayed pressed against yours. He took a breath, puffing his chest out as he tried to reclaim his “alpha” frame, then glanced at you as you took a shaky bite of noodles.
“So,” he started again, voice slipping into that pseudo-intellectual podcast cadence that always made your eye twitch. “I was reading a thread today. About proximity and domestic investment.”
You didn't look at him, listened to the Ted Bundy facts coming from the documentary narrator. Chewed and brushed him off. "Fascinating."
“It actually is,” he continued, completely unbothered. He leaned back, stretching his arm along the back of the couch and caging you in. “Because it highlights the flaw in modern female psychology. Women always say they want a nice guy. Someone who provides stability. Someone who pays his bills on time, remembers to buy toilet paper, and keeps a clean, optimal living environment.”
He paused, letting the weight of his own perceived perfection hang in the air.
“But,” Satoru said, turning his head to look at you, eyes locking onto yours with that same entitled certainty, “when that exact man is sitting right in front of them, offering unwavering loyalty and a high-value domestic partnership, they stay willfully blind. They friendzone him. Tease him. Cycle through low-tier guys from dating apps instead. It’s biologically counterproductive.”
The only sound in the room was the dramatic music coming from the TV now. You dropped your chopsticks into the takeout box, which suddenly felt too heavy in your lap.
He was so confident in his entitlement it actually made you sick. It was ruining your fucking appetite.
He thought doing the bare minimum — acting like a decent human being with basic hygiene — earned him loyalty points he could cash in for sex. Like some kind of fucked-up grocery store rewards program.
You turned your body toward him fully, voice eerily quiet.
“Let me get this straight,” you said. “You’re sitting here, in our living room, getting mad at me because your nice-guy vending machine is broken?”
Satoru blinked, his brow furrowing like he genuinely didn’t understand what the problem was.
“I’m stating a statistical—”
“Shut up.”
The words came out sharp enough to cut. You weren’t playing anymore. One more podcast quote and you were going to rip the hair out of his stupidly pretty head.
His mouth snapped shut. He looked genuinely startled. You’d never told him to shut up before — not like that. You’d always just nodded, or rolled your eyes, or tuned him out.
“You think this is a transaction,” you said, eyes narrowing. “You think because you scrub the bathtub and pay your half of the rent on time, you’re earning points? You’re keeping score. You did the bare minimum and now you’re waiting for me to drop to my knees in gratitude like you were providing for me?”
“I am a provider,” he argued, chest puffing out even as his voice lost some of its usual arrogance. “I bring high value—”
“You bring decency at best!” you snapped, throwing your hands up. “Doing your own dishes doesn’t make you a high-value alpha male, Satoru. It makes you an adult. But you don’t actually care about being a good roommate. You’re just dressing your entitlement up as niceness and acting like I owe you something because you haven’t been actively terrible to me.”
“That’s not—” He reached up to adjust his glasses, a nervous habit you’d never seen from him before. “I’m just saying that logically, the optimal choice for you—”
“There is no logic!” you snapped, standing up before you did something stupid like strangle him. “You don’t even like me! You just think you’re owed me because I’m convenient and I live here!”
Satoru flinched. All the color drained from his face.
You stood over him, breathing hard, looking down at this gorgeous, six-foot-three idiot who was staring up at you like you’d just rewritten the laws of physics. He looked lost. Stupid. Like he didn’t know what to do with his hands.
“But you acted like—” he started, then caught himself, shoulders squaring like he was trying to hold onto his frame. “You know what, forget it. You’re just proving my point. A guy does everything right, stays consistent, stays present, and the girl just—” he gestured at you with a disbelieving laugh, “—moves the goalposts. We’ve been living together for months. Friends for just as long. I thought if I followed the steps exactly, I’d finally get to— we would— I don’t understand how this is supposed to work, okay?! How is a guy ever supposed to figure it out if the steps are a lie and I haven’t even—”
“Satoru.”
He stopped. Mouth snapped shut. The tips of his ears suddenly burned bright red.
The realization hit you like a bucket of cold water.
Oh my fucking god.
You’d suspected it once or twice, but the thought had always flickered and died. Now it all clicked into place.
He’d never gotten his dick wet.
Your roommate was a six-foot-three virgin who thought turning to men who felt entitled to sex was a reasonable solution to his problems. What an absolute fucking mess. You almost felt sorry for him.
Almost.
“You’re an incredibly good-looking guy, Satoru,” you said quietly. Sincerely. “Objectively hot. Get your shit together, touch some grass, and you’ll be fine. You’ll be more than fine. But until you stop treating women like a math test you’re trying to cheat on, nobody is going to want you.”
You shattered his ego completely.
Or maybe, for the first time since puberty, Satoru actually formed a conscious, self-aware thought. Because he kept turning your words over in his head.
Objectively hot.
No one is going to want you.
What?
He tried to find the logical flaws. Tried to insert a counterargument, disprove your “emotional outburst” with cold data. He couldn’t find one. Not for days.
You were avoiding him completely now. Icing him out. Not talking to him. Not even looking at him. It was driving him insane. You used to search for his eyes, even if it was just to roll them. He’d only just realized how genuine your flustered blinking had been, and now he missed it. Embarrassingly so.
One night he walked into the bathroom to splash cold water on his face, carrying a petty mix of rejection, confusion, and constant, unbearable horniness.
Your pink hair tie was sitting on the edge of the sink.
He told himself he was just going to pick it up and put it in your organizer tray.
So he picked it up. It smelled like your stupid, intoxicating strawberry shampoo. He hated it. Hated how the whole bathroom smelled like you after you showered. Hated how your scent followed you everywhere in the apartment, forcing him to breathe you in. The guys on Reddit had warned him about this. Pheromones. Dangerous.
He brought it closer to his face. Just to check. Just in case it wasn’t actually yours.
And what happened next stayed strictly between Satoru, the bathroom mirror, and god.
He clutched the sink, bracing himself against it, breathing ragged and humiliatingly loud. He stared down at the pretty pink elastic wrapped tight around the base of his cock as he fucked his fist like he was trying to punish himself, desperately trying to imagine your hands instead of his own.
It worked too well. It scared him.
He came hard, so so hard the hair tie ended up coated in thick, frothy cum.
He carefully nudged the sticky pink tie back onto the edge of the sink, exactly where he’d found it. Then he washed his hands under scalding water like he was trying to burn the shame off his skin and walked out of the bathroom like a man fleeing a crime scene.
Rejuvenated? No.
Good? Not even close.
He just felt like absolute shit.
Get your shit together.
But how?
He picked up his phone. Put it down. Picked it up again. The fight was still eating him alive. The podcasts told him to take his frustration out on other girls or channel it into dominance and detachment. That’s what the current episode would’ve said.
But he didn’t want that. He didn’t want to sleep with anyone else. He didn’t want to be aggressive. He just… wanted.
And that was the problem.
For the first time in a long time, the alpha-male bullshit was starting to feel a bit too beta now. He was left with his own feelings like a normal person, and it was awful.
If he was truly a high-value male, he shouldn’t care. He should pivot. Download an app. Find some new, compliant girl to validate his stats. But the thought of calculating the facial harmony of a stranger made his stomach turn. He didn’t want a hypothetical female.
He wanted you.
He wanted you rolling your eyes at him. Laughing at him. Getting annoyed at him. Eating his pasta. Walking around in those mind-melting shorts. He wanted you to drop yogurt on yourself again just so he could lick it off your skin, linger on your neck, and kiss you stupid — the way he’d been fantasizing about since it actually happened.
He needed validation. He needed to be right.
His thumbs moved across the screen before he could stop himself. He ignored his usual echo-chamber subreddits and opened r/AmItheAsshole instead.
r/AmItheAsshole
AITA for expecting my roommate (F) to reciprocate my (M) romantic advances after I provided optimal domestic value?
Throwaway. This is gonna sound bad but I need actual advice.
I (M) have been living with my roommate (F) for almost a year now. I’m not gonna lie, I’m objectively good-looking and I’ve been carrying a lot in this apartment. I pay my half on time, I keep shit clean, I do the dishes, I even cook sometimes. I thought I was doing everything right.
A few weeks ago she started walking around in these tiny shorts and tank tops. Like, really small. I took it as her signaling that she was open to something. That’s what all the advice says — if a girl starts dressing like that around you, it’s usually because she’s comfortable and maybe interested. So I decided to initiate kino escalation. Nothing crazy at first, just trying to break the touch barrier a bit.
While we were watching something on the couch I put my hand on her thigh. She freaked out. Got really upset and started yelling at me about how I was treating her like a transaction and that I only did nice things because I felt entitled to her. She even said I was basically calling her ran-through for going on dates.
I tried to explain it calmly. Like, statistically, if a high-value guy is right there doing everything right, why would she keep going on dates with random dudes from apps? It just doesn’t make sense. She told me to touch grass and hasn’t really spoken to me since.
I don’t get it. I’ve been consistent, I’ve been present, I’ve been providing a good living situation. I thought that was supposed to count for something. Instead she acted like I was the asshole for expecting anything in return.
AITA?
He hit post.
He sat in the dark on his bed, heart pounding like it was trying to escape his chest. He just had to wait. The logical thinkers would show up. They’d validate him with proper, objective analysis. They had to.
Ten minutes later, the notifications started rolling in.
He opened them expecting vindication.
Instead, he walked straight into a digital firing squad.
u/GrassToucherGeto · 308 upvotes
YTA. Holy shit. You did a handful of nice things and you think that means she owes you sex? You sound like an actual sociopath. I’m surprised she didn’t run out screaming. She literally told you to get your shit together. What part of that are you not getting?
u/KentoTheNormalGuy · 291 upvotes
You're not alpha, man. Kino escalation? Are you trying to con her, or actually want her to want you? YTA.
u/NobaraJustice24 · 282 upvotes
YTA. She can wear whatever the fuck she wants in her own home, you creepy ass weirdo. I hope she breaks the lease and gets a restraining order.
u/RealityCheckChoso · 156 upvotes
This is the most pathetic thing I’ve read on this site in eleven years. This is straight-up incel fanfiction. Poor girl having to live with someone like you. YTA. Go outside.
u/yuji_8847362 · 124 upvotes
Genuine question, not trying to be an asshole: do you actually like her, or do you just think she owes you because you did some nice things? Those are two very different things, and your post doesn’t seem to understand the difference. YTA, but I hope you figure it out.
u/KingNaoya69 · 231 downvotes
NTA. She’s clearly testing you. The clothes were an invitation. Hold your ground, don’t apologize, and she’ll come around. Women don’t respect men who grovel. If she actually didn’t want you she would’ve moved out already. She’s still there, isn’t she?
Satoru stared at the screen in disbelief.
He’d expected validation. Maybe a few reasonable voices cutting through the noise, acknowledging the statistical validity of his position, maybe even offering some tactical advice.
Instead, he got hit with minus three thousand downvotes, a mod-locked thread, and three DMs telling him to go to therapy.
He thought it would give him clarity. Clear steps. A way to fix this mess.
It didn’t.
It just made him feel… nothing. Except for the creeping realization that he’d said something eerily similar to what u/KingNaoya69 had posted. Recently. Maybe even last week.
He threw his glasses off and stared into the middle distance.
What the fuck was he supposed to do?
He had no idea.
The days that followed were miserable. You were giving him the coldest shoulder imaginable — and honestly, he deserved it. You were weaponizing the silence. Slamming doors. Giving short, pointed answers. Moving through the apartment like he was just another piece of furniture. Looking through him instead of at him.
He kept going back to the comments on his post, rereading them like he could find a loophole somewhere.
Yes, of course he liked you. But how was he supposed to want nothing from you if he liked you? He wanted your affection. He wanted you to want him back. But wasn’t that also expecting something in return? What the hell was he supposed to do?
Still… the Naoya guy had been weirdly right about one thing. You stayed. You hadn’t moved out. You didn’t even seem like you wanted to. If you hated him that much, why were you still here?
On the nth day, he was sitting on the couch when you came out of your room for water. You glanced at him — just for a second. You couldn’t help it. The silent treatment was getting to you too, even if you’d never admit it.
Your eyes were hard to read, but there was something in them. Something expectant. Like you were waiting for him to do something. To fix it. To stop being an idiot so the two of you could move on.
Oh, he thought.
Truly the lightbulb moment of the century.
Oh.
That night he unjoined six subreddits. Unfollowed every podcast except Joe Rogan — because hey, you can’t teach an old dog new tricks. Or was it unteach a new dog old tricks? Didn’t matter. What mattered was that for the first time since he’d discovered the internet, he was pretty sure he’d been an idiot.
And he was going to stop.
He made a plan. Simple. Walk out of his room, find you, and say sorry. Three steps. He’d been a person for over twenty years. He could do three steps. He had this!
You were in the kitchen. You were standing on the flimsy little step stool you needed to reach the top cabinet shelves, stretching up on your tiptoes for the glass Tupperware that Satoru kept putting up there, even though you had told him multiple times not to put it up there because you literally could not reach it.
"Hey," he said from the doorway, trying not to startle you. "Can we—"
You startled anyway, because what other outcome was ever going to happen here.
The stool wobbled under your socks. You gasped, swore something, grabbed for a shelf edge that wasn't there, and fully expected to eat the kitchen floor tiles before officially murdering your roommate from the afterlife.
But Satoru had surprisingly fast reflexes and caught you.
Well… almost.
He lost his balance as your weight shifted, and the two of you went down in a tangle of limbs and terrible timing. The impact knocked the wind right out of your lungs. You landed sprawled over him, pressed against his chest, his arms secured instinctively around you—
Around your boobs.
You froze. He froze. The entire world seemed to fucking froze.
And as you laid there, from the adrenaline shock of it all probably, his fingers did a little squish!
Huh.
You didn't say anything. You couldn't breathe, let alone speak. You slowly turned your head. His face was right there and so, so close to yours. You panicked and looked into his equally panicked eyes, his poor glasses askew.
He was searching for something in your eyes, his pupils blown so wide they almost swallowed the blue. And then, as his chest was still heaving so heavily, his gaze dropped down to your lips.
You were suddenly very aware— Aware of his warm palms right through the thin fabric of your shirt. Aware of the way your tits swelled into his touch. Aware of how his thighs bracketed your hips, and how perfectly you fit against him.
His breath hitched. And then his fingers flexed. He made a soft, barely-there sound in the back of his throat and squeezed again — slower this time. Kneading right over your hardened nipples.
You parted your lips for a soundless gasp, and he huffed into your collarbone as the trance finally broke.
His arms slowly retreated, lazily dragged down your ribs, fingers grazing the soft of your tummy before finally falling away to rest on the floor, which somehow made it all worse.
"I—" His voice came out rough, barely above a whisper.
You scrambled off him like you had been electrocuted.
You sprinted down the hallway and threw yourself into your room, slamming the door behind you. You backed up until you hit something, you didn’t even care what, and slid down to the floor, knees pulled to your chest.
Your heart was pounding so hard it hurt. Your skin was buzzing. The ghost of his touch was still burning across your chest.
I fucking hate him, you told yourself. He’s a podcast-rotted incel. I hate him.
…Do you?
Because why the fuck had you wanted his hands to stay there? Why had that second squeeze made you want to straddle him right there on the kitchen tiles and fuck him stupid?
You were just touch-starved. That’s all this was. You were projecting onto your terrible roommate because he was being a sleazy little shit.
You grabbed your phone off the nightstand with shaking hands and unlocked it.
Hinge.
Your ol’ friend.
You needed a date. You needed a normal, boring, completely average guy with a decent hairline and zero opinions on hypergamy to save you from whatever the hell had just happened in that kitchen.
You were in your room getting ready for your date, dressed to kill. Short dress, favorite lace panties — because after everything that happened in the kitchen, you were still weirdly, persistently horny. Might as well try to do something about it with someone normal.
Satoru was lingering in the hallway like always, doing his very obvious not-hovering hover.
"Going out?" he asked, clearing his throat, trying to act so aloof and unbothered.
You didn't even look at him properly. "Yeah. I have a date," you said smugly as you pulled your hair up into a ponytail. Hair down meant cute, but hair up meant business. And by business, I mean finally attempting to jump on some normal, average dick.
The second the words left your mouth, a wave of jealousy hit him so hard it nearly knocked the air out of his lungs. But he wasn’t looking at your face. He was staring at the pink hair tie holding your hair up.
He visibly gulped. His dick went from zero to painfully hard so fast he had to cross his legs just to hide it.
You furrowed your eyebrow at the uncharacteristic lack of response, but wasn’t entirely mad about it either.
"See ya," you chirped, completely oblivious to his internal meltdown, and walked out the front door.
The second the door shut, Satoru basically teleported to his room. He threw himself onto his bed, already fumbling with his pants, desperate to take care of the problem so he could think straight again.
But he spent exactly thirty minutes achieving absolutely nothing. What the fuck.
This had never happened before. Satoru was just staring at his ceiling, sweating, furiously gripping his aching dick, and completely unable to finish. Every time he closed his eyes, he imagined you laughing at some beta joke a 100% mediocre guy had made, while his past-tense cum was proudly sitting in your hair. He was literally too jealous to finish.
But jealous or not, he was still agonizingly hard, his dick standing painfully stiff against his stomach, stubbornly refusing to just calm the fuck down. He let out a frustrated groan. Okay. Fine. No hand? No problem! He reached for the silicone fleshlight, but he hadn't washed it in quite a while, and when he picked it up, a funky smell drifted off it.
Okay, NEVER MIND.
Which left him with only one option.
Today’s the day.
He reached into the back of his bottom drawer again and pulled out a silicone cock ring.
He had bought it right after he absolutely demolished your cute little hair tie. Because what does a normal guy do in that situation? Grovel first? Solve the underlying interpersonal issue? Nah. He goes on r/sex to research why a piece of elastic felt so hella good around his dick!
He hadn’t touched it since. Post-nut clarity had done its job last time. But right now, staring down at his aching, neglected cock and feeling rejected, humiliated, and completely alone… it was time.
Fuck it.
He ripped open the packaging and wrestled the thick silicone down his shaft until it sat snug at the base.
Almost immediately, something felt off.
It was tight. Too tight. Not in a good way — just uncomfortable. Constricting. He tried to power through anyway, closing his eyes and stroking like he could force an orgasm out of sheer spite.
Ten minutes passed.
Nothing.
His brain was too far gone, and the pressure was quickly shifting from weird to genuinely concerning.
Fuck this.
He stopped. Tried to take it off. But it didn’t budge.
Satoru blinked. He adjusted his grip and pulled harder. The skin stretched painfully, but the ring stayed exactly where it was.
Oh fuck.
A cold sweat broke out across his forehead.
Oh fuck, oh fuck.
He scrambled off the bed, grabbed his lube, and squeezed way too much directly onto the ring. He tugged and twisted like his life depended on it.
Nothing. Fucking nothing. It just made his hands uselessly slippery.
Okay, oh fuck. Wasn't lube supposed to work?! Okay, new plan. Something else, something more slippery, something more oily—
Panic seizing him, he stumbled to the bathroom, dug under the sink, found your baby oil, and slathered it on.
Still stuck.
Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit.
Different oil! Not enough slipperiness! Trust the process!
So he waddled out of the bathroom, practically sprinting into the kitchen buck naked. He tore open the pantry, grabbing the vegetable oil.
This has to work.
It did not work.
Ten minutes later, Satoru was sitting on the edge of the bathtub, coated in a slick, highly flammable mixture of lube, Johnson & Johnson baby oil, and Wesson canola oil, panting heavily.
Dick throbbing, but not the fun kind of throbbing anymore. It was turning a terrifying shade of angry red-purple, the silicone death trap literally suffocating his junior.
It was no longer just uncomfortable, nor just alarmingly stuck. At this point, it was a fucking medical emergency.
He was so fucked he might be patient zero of mpreg.
But what the hell was he supposed to do?
Call an ambulance?
Absolutely not.
The thought of a paramedic cutting a sex toy off him with trauma shears while asking for his emergency contact would genuinely kill him on the spot. He would rather die of necrosis.
Call his friends?
Fuck no.
If any of them found out about this, the screenshots would never die. They’d revoke his alpha card permanently and hold it over his head for the rest of his life.
He stared at his contacts.
There was only one person who could help without turning it into blackmail material or posting it online. The one person who lived in this apartment. The one person who was currently out on a date with some random guy. The person he had a massive, pathetic crush on and who would probably rather rip his dick off than help him.
He hit Call.
You stirred your gin and tonic while your date went on about his fantasy football draft like it was the most fascinating thing in the world. It was a perfectly fine date! The kind of fine that made you wonder why you even bothered.
You were nodding along, even though you had stopped listening roughly four minutes ago. Then, your phone vibrated on the table.
Satoru.
You ignored it. No, actually—you declined it. You smiled sweetly at your date, asked a vague question about tight ends so you would seem like you were actually paying attention, and took a sip of your drink.
Your phone buzzed again. And again. And again.
Annoyed, you held up a finger to the poor guy who was currently rating wide receivers, excused yourself, and off to the bathroom, fully prepared to yell.
“What?” you hissed the second you picked up. “I’m on a date, Satoru. If you locked yourself out—”
"Please come home," he gasped. He didn't even say hello. He didn't sound aloof, and he certainly didn't sound alpha. He actually sounded like he was drawing his final breaths on this earth. "You have to come home. Right now."
"What happened? Did something catch fire? Did someone break in? Are you—"
“I can’t tell you,” he whined, voice high and shaky in a way you’d never heard from him before. “I physically can’t say it out loud. Just— please. Please come home.”
You were ninety percent sure this was some pathetic attempt to ruin your night. Some last-ditch manipulation tactic he’d picked up from a podcast or Reddit thread.
But the remaining ten percent made you ditch your date without a second thought and jump into an Uber.
You practically kicked the front door open, your heart hammering. The apartment was completely quiet, and it smelled all wrong.
Like babies and an industrial air fryer?
"Satoru?" you called out, dropping your bag. "Where are you? The apartment better be fucking flooding, or else I swear to God—"
A pained, muffled whimper came from down the hall. His bedroom door was cracked open so you pushed it wide, fully prepared to absolutely tear him a new one for ruining your night.
Satoru was sitting on the edge of his bed, completely naked, perched on a bath towel soaked through with some kind of glistening sludge. He was trembling, sweating, aggressively gripping the mattress. And his dick — very visibly, very aggressively hard — was pointing straight at you.
"Are you fucking kidding me?!"
You exploded the second you saw him, because an impromptu dick is still an impromptu dick! “Some pathetic plan to finally fuck me? You couldn’t even be decent about it — you just called me home so you could sit here with your cock out?!”
You expected some sleazy line. Some smug little smirk. Instead, Satoru looked up at you with wide, tear-filled eyes behind his smudged glasses and let out a broken, wet sob.
"I'm not—" his voice cracked terribly. "I'm stuck."
Huh?
Furrowing your eyebrows, you stopped yelling and your eyes actually dropped down.
And then your stomach dropped with them.
Wait. Oh. He was so, so large.
But that wasn’t the problem. His dick was an angry, swollen red-purple, veins bulging like it had its own heartbeat. And at the base was a thick silicone ring, cutting into him so tightly it looked like it might actually burst.
And all the anger drained out of you in an instant. Suddenly, you felt the harsh reality of the literal medical horror you were now a part of.
"Oh my god. Satoru... what is going on?!"
“Fuck, it hurts— please help me,” he whined, voice cracking as he bounced his leg against the floor like that would somehow fix anything.
You stepped closer, the sheer absurdity of the situation making you drop to your knees between his spread thighs just to get a proper look. It was incredibly stupid and deeply awkward, being this close to his swollen, shiny dick.
“Is that… a cock ring?” you asked, horrified.
Satoru nodded frantically, a tear slipping down his cheek and dripping off his jaw.
"Satoru, you know there is a fucking size chart to these things?! You can’t just buy anything with the size of your dick! Are you fucking stupid?!"
"HOW SHOULD I KNOW?!" he wailed, hands flying up to cover his face in absolute humiliation. "Wait—" He suddenly froze, lowering his hands just enough to look at you. "Did you just say I have a big dick? Wait. Fuck. OUCH. It just fucking hurts! Please, please help me, I've tried everything but it just won't budge! It hurts so much!"
You squinted at the shiny, slick mess coating his thighs and soaking into the bath towel. "Did you try lube?"
"Yes!"
"Baby oil?"
"Yes!"
"Did you... did you use the cooking oil from the kitchen?!"
"YES! FUCK!" he sobbed into his hands again.
"Why did you even put it on?!" you yelled back, genuinely baffled by his astronomical stupidity.
“I was horny, what else?!” he cried and shook his hands. “You left with the cum tie in your hair—”
“THE WHAT?!”
Your hands froze in the air. Your brain forcefully restarted about three times trying to process the sequence of syllables he had just screamed at you.
The cum tie.
You suddenly felt the gentle pull of the pink elastic holding up your ponytail. The one that was your favorite. The one you had idly wondered before why it was suddenly so... crusty.
"You..." you whispered, a cold wave of fresh nausea washing over you. "You did what to my hair tie?"
“I didn’t mean to!” he sobbed, face red and streaked with tears. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you, and I used it, and then you put it in your hair to go out with the guy and it made me crazy so I put the ring on!”
Your hand twitched toward your ponytail. You were going to rip it out. Burn it. Shave your head. And then murder him. A jury would probably let you off in seconds.
But then you looked down. His dick might actually pop! like a grease-filled water balloon. There was no time.
You took a deep, slightly deranged breath and shoved every horrifying thought into a box for later. You could have a full meltdown about having his reproductive fluids in your hair as an accessory after you made sure his dick didn’t fall off.
You aggressively ignored his stare, locking your eyes entirely on the crisis. "Okay. Okay, I've got this. This is a medical emergency."
Your brain started racing. You couldn't cut it off without risking severing something vital, you certainly weren’t a doctor, and the swelling was so so severe to just pull the ring back over the ridge. You knelt there, suddenly arriving at a horrifying conclusion that you were going to need a serious moment to accept.
Because there was only one way to get it off. And the only way to get it off was to get rid of the erection.
You had to make him cum.
“Okay,” you muttered. Then again. And again. Like repeating it would make it feel less insane. “W-we just need to… get it down.”
You bit your lip, giving yourself the quickest, most productive, and most threatening internal TED Talk in human history. Your hands twitched, but you finally reached out and wrapped them around his oil-slicked shaft.
“AGH— FUCK— NO!” Satoru immediately jerked back like you’d electrocuted him, slamming against the mattress.
"What the hell?! I barely touched it!"
“The skin’s too tight!” he cried out, practically hyperventilating. “It feels like a razor blade— you can’t use your hands, it hurts too much!”
You tried again anyway, slower this time, gripping him carefully. The skin was burning hot, painfully stretched over the trapped blood. You gave one experimental stroke.
“No— no no no, please stop—” His voice broke into a real whimper as fresh tears spilled down his face. He pushed at your shoulders, legs shaking. “Please, I can’t— it hurts so fucking bad—”
You yanked your hands back, heart pounding as your own panic officially set in. "THEN WHAT ELSE?!"
“I DON’T KNOW! I thought you might know!”
"HOW SHOULD I KNOW?!"
A beat of deafening silence fell over the grease-scented bedroom. You looked at him. Then down at the problem between his legs.
Wait—
Your brain scrambled for literally any other fucking solution. Ice? Cutting it completely off? Calling 911 and collectively dying of embarrassment on the spot?
Nothing.
There was nothing else.
God fucking help you. You might as well die from the cringe right here on the floor.
You stared down at his lengthy cock again. It was a pathetic mix of pre-cum against his oil-slicked stomach. Satoru was breathing in short, panicked gasps, tears still tracking down his flushed cheeks, glasses fogged and crooked, looking totally helpless.
“No,” you whispered to the empty space between his thighs, stomach twisting with reluctant acceptance. Coming to terms with your own fate. Girl, it’s your fault. Your fate had been sealed the second you decided to find a roommate on Reddit. “No, no, no.”
“What?” Satoru whimpered through his teeth, barely audible. “What ‘no’?”
If your hands were completely off the table…
A wave of heat flooded your face and dropped straight into your belly. Surely from disgust. Trust.
You shifted forward on your knees, your dress dragging through the oily mess on the floor. The fabric was already ruined and sticking to your skin. You braced one hand on his trembling thigh, leaned in, and took the swollen head of his cock into your mouth.
The taste was vile as hell.
Canola oil, baby oil, lube, and the bitter salt of his pre-cum all hit your tongue at once. You made a muffled, disgusted sound around him as your lips stretched and you sank down. The mixture mixed with your saliva and slid down your throat as he pushed deeper than you expected.
Satoru’s entire body jolted as the mushroomy head hit the back of your mouth.
“Whoa— oh my fucking god—” His voice cracked into a broken, high moan. His stomach flexed like he was trying not to fold in half. Both of his hands flew to your hair, oily fingers catching in your ponytail, clutching without quite pushing or pulling. I mean, you already had cum in your hair anyway. What was a little more oil and lube?
His hips twitched. His thighs trembled under your hand. He clearly had no idea what to do with himself.
You started moving, and it was messy from the first second.
Everything was slippery. Your lips kept sliding, saliva mixing with the grease until it dripped down his shaft in shiny, frothy strings. You had to suck harder just to keep any kind of rhythm, cheeks hollowing, tongue working in messy circles under the head every time you pulled up. The wet sounds filled the room — slick sucking, soft gagging when you took him too deep, his broken little whimpers.
You hated the taste.
You hated how your knees already ached against the hard floor.
You hated that your dress was ruined, soaked through and sticking to your skin.
And you hated the way he was looking down at you — in pain, in complete disbelief that you were actually sucking him off.
ANd what you really hated the most was that you were looking up at him while you mouth was licking him up and your body was already starting to betray you.
Tingly heat was spreading low in your belly. Every throb along his length, every broken moan that slipped out of him, made you wetter. You weren’t supposed to be horny! You should’ve been so so disgusted. But the scent of him, the taste of his pre-cum coating your tongue, made your pussy clench around nothing. Your nipples were hard, rubbing against the inside of your dress. Your cunt felt hot and slick — whether from your own arousal or the oily sludge on the floor, you genuinely couldn’t tell anymore.
You bobbed deeper, taking him until your nose brushed the base and the ring dug into your skin, then pulled back with a wet gasp. A thick and slimy string of saliva and oil connected your lips to his cock before it broke.
Satoru was staring down at you like you’d personally broken his brain.
His chest was heaving. Tears were still leaking from the corners of his eyes — pain, pleasure, or the sheer absurdity of the situation, it didn’t matter. His mouth hung open, glasses sliding down his nose.
Then his eyes dropped to your chest.
His gaze followed the way your dress had slipped lower during all the movement. Your tits were threatening to spill out completely. He made a strangled sound in the back of his throat.
His hands left your hair and reached down. Big, warm palms cupped your breasts through the thin fabric first — almost careful. But then he yanked the neckline down hard, dragging the fabric under your arms, practically rrrrripping it open, until your tits spilled free.
A fresh tear tracked down his cheek as he stared at them like they were something holy.
“Holy fuck— your tits—” he breathed, cupping them fully. His thumbs brushed over your hard nipples before he started kneading with desperate, greedy hands. Squeezing, lifting, rolling the soft flesh between his fingers exactly like he had in the kitchen — except this time there was nothing holding him back, because you certainly wouldn’t make him stop.
The moan you let out around his cock was involuntary and absolutely nobody’s business, alright? Your teeth grazed his sensitive skin and the vibration, combined with the impromptu bite, made his hips jerk violently. He let out a breathless gasp, hands tightening on your boobs almost painfully before he loosened his grip again, thumbs flicking over your nipples in a way that sent sparks straight between your legs.
The lace of your panties was useless now, clinging to your soaked pussy lips.
But the dress had become a real problem, at least that’s what you were telling yourself. It was restricting your movement, getting in the way every time you tried to take him deeper. It was uncomfortable as hell, which was actually true.
You pulled off his cock with a wet pop!, lips shiny and swollen.
Fuck this dress. And probably him too.
You sat back on your heels and yanked it over your head, kicking it away. Now you were kneeling in nothing but your ruined lace panties — the ones you’d specifically worn because you were hoping to get laid tonight.
Well. You weren’t entirely wrong, now were you?
Satoru made a sound like he’d been punched in the gut. His wildest dream had just come true in the most deranged way possible.
You leaned back in and took him into your mouth again, sucking with more purpose now. One hand stayed wrapped around the base near the ring while your other hand stroked his thigh and lower stomach — anywhere to try and soothe him.
His clammy hands were right back on your bare tits, rolling them between his fingers like he was trying to memorize their exact shape. You moaned around him because it felt so fucking good. Unfairly good.
The taste was still awful. The room still reeked of canola oil. Satoru was still quietly crying above you — overwhelmed, terrified, and so turned on he could barely think straight. But the way he was touching you, the way he was falling apart in your mouth…
You were dripping straight through the lace right onto his fucking floor.
One of your hands snaked down your body. You pushed your panties aside and started rubbing desperate circles over your poor clit while you kept sucking him.
What a development.
Righteous ideologies and all. Now you were naked on the floor of your incel roommate’s bedroom, sucking his cock while fingering yourself. Truly the most progressive way to handle this type of man.
Your pussy felt hot and aching. Your fingers slid through your own slick, making your hips twitch and another moan vibrate around his dick.
Satoru’s breathing sounded like a kettle about to boil over. His hands kept slipping on your oily skin, smearing the mess across your chest and shoulders. He was trapped in the most surreal, humiliating, perfect moment of his life — your mouth on him, you naked and touching yourself while the whole room smelled like a deep fryer.
He was half-sobbing, half-moaning.
“You’re— nghh— you’re actually getting off while—” His voice cracked as he looked down at you. You glanced up through your lashes, a little scowl on your flushed face, fingers still working between your legs.
You couldn’t even be embarrassed anymore. The absurdity had burned straight through your shame. You were horny. Stupidly, painfully horny. It was all too much and not enough at the same time.
Filthy sounds filled the room. He was crying. You were crying. Sweat was mixing with the oily mess coating your skin. You could taste your own tears mixed with the mess on his cock as they slid down your face. One of his hands was tangled in your ponytail, greasing it up nice and disgusting.
“You’re so fucking pretty,” he choked out, voice hoarse. “I can’t— ngh— I can’t believe this is real—”
You pulled off just enough to breathe. “Shut up and let me finish this,” you muttered, then sank back down, taking him as deep as the ring would allow.
His other hand relocated to your shoulder.
Then his dick throbbed hard against your tongue. Swelling, twitching and you knew he was about to blow.
You started to pull back, but his hands moved faster. One fisted tighter in your hair, the other gripped your shoulder hard. He held you in place. Rough. Desperate. But he didn’t mean to!
You made a surprised, muffled sound around him as his hips jerked.
“W-wait—fuck—I’m—!” he gasped, betrayed by his own body.
You felt the first big pulse against your tongue.
You manage to wrench your head back at the last second because there was no way in hell you were swallowing a mixture of cum and baby oil — popping off just in time. But it was too late to get completely clear.
Satoru came hard.
The first thick rope hit you across the cheek and lips. The next few painted messy white stripes across your chin, your chest, and down your neck. It kept cooooming in hot, twitchy pulses until he’d almost emptied his aching balls.
And suddenly you were back in the kitchen. Only this time it wasn’t a freaking Activia dripping down your tits.
It was him.
You stumbled backward onto your ass, cum cooling on your skin as he finally let go of you. You wiped the back of your hand across your cheek, smearing it further. He just stared down at you like he’d died and gone to heaven — you, sprawled on his floor, covered in his cum, panties twisted half-off your hips, your blushing cunt smiling up right at him and your panicked eyes unblinking.
Holy fucking nirvana, right there.
You felt disgusting. You felt filthy.
And somehow, you were still throbbing between your legs.
“Fuck— shit, fuck, fuck!” Satoru cursed, trying to stand up too fast. He slipped on the oily towel and nearly ate shit before catching himself on the edge of the bed. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to hold you there, I just— it was too much, I panicked—”
He stumbled toward you on shaky legs, one hand reaching out like he was going to help you up, the other still hovering near his softening cock.
“Satoru,” you said, voice low. “Pull it off.”
He froze for half a second, then looked down.
And it was finally, finally softening. The angry red-purple was fading. The skin wasn’t stretched as tight anymore and there was a very small, very dangerous window before he’d be hard again and back in square one.
His eyes lit up with desperate hope. He grabbed the cock ring with both hands and yanked.
The sound that tore out of him was somewhere between a sob and a scream. It was violent, painful, and made you cringe so so badly. The ring caught on the ridge for one horrible second before it finally slipped off with a wet smack and skidded across the floor.
For a moment, Satoru just knelt there, breathing hard through the fading pain. Fresh tears tracked down his flushed face as the relief finally hit him.
Then he looked at you. Really looked. At the mess he’d made across your pretty face and chest. At the absolute state of the room. At everything.
“I’m the worst,” he whispered. “I know I’m the worst. You should kick me out. You should call the cops. I didn’t mean to make it worse. You probably hate me—”
He looked like he was about to start ugly crying for real. His shoulders were shaking as he braced himself for you to slap him.
And look — you wanted to. You wanted to go back in time so you would’ve never answered that fucking Reddit post, never answered his call, never come home tonight. Or maybe… go back just a little bit. To when your tongue was sliding over his frenulum and you’d never been so turned on in your life.
Either way, you weren’t sure anymore. Your brain was more scrambled than the eggs you’d had for breakfast.
So instead of slapping him, you surged forward, grabbed his face with both of your hands, smearing his cum and your own arousal all over his jawline and kissed him hard enough to shut him up.
For half a second he stayed completely frozen — stunned that you were kissing him instead of murdering him on the spot. You nudged your tongue against his lips, urging him to kiss you back, because the last thing you needed right now was sucking your incel roommate off and then having him refuse to kiss you afterward. That would’ve been a new low. Truly historic.
But then he let out a shaky breath and kissed you back.
He kissed you desperately, messily, like he was trying to crawl inside your mouth. Saliva, cum, tears, and oil all mixed together as your tongues slid against each other. Teeth clicked. His hands came up to grab your waist, pulling you closer until your chest pressed against his own. He whimpered needily into your mouth and tangled his tongue with yours like he was starving for it.
His glasses got knocked even more crooked.
When you finally pulled back to breathe, you reached down and started yanking your ruined lace panties off. They were twisted around your thighs and sticking to your skin from all the mess.
Satoru, still breathing hard and clearly trying to regain some sense of control, decided this was THE moment, HIS moment to be useful.
“Here— let me help,” he muttered, reaching down with both hands.
The two of you fumbled together in some weird horny trance, his fingers sliding against your thigh as he tried to tug the lace down your leg.
But his hand slid right off your slick skin and he lost his balance completely. With a startled gasp! he pitched forward and crashed down right on top of you, pinning you to the floor.
His full weight pressed you into the cold hardwood. Chest to chest, hips slotted between your thighs. The kisses making him hard again, dick now twitching insistently against your tummy.
Then Satoru lifted his head from the crook of your neck and looked down at you. His hair was a mess, but there was something almost determined in his expression now.
“I’ve got it,” he said. Yeah. He definitely got this. He’d seen the porn. He’d read the r/sex threads. He was a man, the man! He knew exactly what he was supposed to do. Fluent in the dickology! Show you what a high-value male can do. You'll respect it. You’ll want it!
You stared up at him and raised one eyebrow.“…Are you sure?”
He looked faintly offended, but reached between your bodies anyway, grabbed his cock, and lined himself up against your slick folds. The blunt head nudged against your entrance before he pushed in with one unsteady thrust and you were honestly surprised he found your hole on a first try.
The stretch was intense. His cock bullied its way into your tight cunt, the sudden fullness making your back arch slightly off the floor. And it made you think that maybe… just maybe he’s a virgin incel but he somehow actually knows how to fuck?
Satoru made a choked sound above you. He braced his hands on either side of your head and started moving, a little too fast, a little too rough, like he was following some mental checklist of “how alpha males fuck” or something.
His hips snapped forward, rolling against yours. On a few of his clumsy thrusts, the sharp angle of his hipbone dragged right across your swollen clit.
A spark of pleasure shot right through you, made your breath hitch and his dick catch inside of you. Your fingers scratched on his shoulders and for a second you were hopeful, hopeful that perhaps incels were just involuntarily celibate men with a dick game like this.
It died almost instantly. His rhythm fell apart just as the plushy walls of your pussy enveloped him fully in the slick warmth. His movement turned erratic as his hips started stuttering.
“I—fuck—I can’t—ngh—!”
So… He lasted exactly forty-five seconds.
With a humiliated groan he slammed into your cervix one last time and came haard, painting your walls in thick, sticky white. His wobbly arms gave out again and he collapsed on top of you not very gracefully, face buried right back into your neck as he rode out the pathetic orgasm. He was breathing hard, the sound mixing with the wet squelching of oil, cum, and sweat between your bodies every time either of you shifted.
You stared sideways at the messy white strands of his hair currently tickling your pulse point, feeling his cum slowly leaking out around his softening cock. The frustration burning hot alongside with the ghost ache right in between legs.
If he had just let you ride him instead. Ugh.
“…Really?” you said flatly.
Satoru, mortified, made a small devastated noise into your neck and laced his fingers with yours like that would somehow make it better.
You hadn’t come from the fingering earlier. You definitely hadn’t come from his forty-five-second marathon.
You shoved at his shoulder.
“Satoru.”
He made a small, satisfied noise.
“Satoru. Did you just cum inside me?”
His eyes flew open. The bliss drained from his face instantly. He slowly nodded, guilty, not knowing if he should be terrified or glad.
You pushed him off you. He rolled onto his back with a wet squelch.
You sat up, cum and oil smeared across your skin, and stared down at him.
“You ruined my date,” you said, voice low. “You were stupid enough to trap your own dick in a death trap and made me come home to deal with it. You came all over me without letting me cum, and then you creampied me in under a minute.”
He opened his mouth, “I was just claiming what’s mine—”ready to say something even more stupid.
You cut him off, because you were not listening to that right now and ever fucking again. “Don’t. I swear to god, if you say one more word of that pseudo-alpha, podcast-bro bullshit right now, I can promise you this will be the first and last time you ever have your dick in any pussy. Ever.”
He froze.
You leaned in, eyes narrowed, pussy suddenly drying up at high speed.
“I’m serious, Satoru. All that ‘high-value male,’ ‘she’ll respect dominance,’ ‘women secretly want to be put in their place’ garbage? It’s not cute. It’s not hot. It’s not working. It makes you sound like a loser. You’re only lucky that I’m stupid enough to actually fucking like you.”
And Satoru deadass had nothing to say, because it didn’t make sense, yet it made all the sense. And in the middle of the gears grinding he blinked up at you because… did you just tell him you like him?
Before he could grab your chin and kiss you stupid again, you pointed between your legs.
“Since you made this mess, you’re going to clean it up. Now.”
The color drained from his face as he stared at you. “Y-you want me to eat out my cum?”
“Did I stutter?”
He was too stunned and properly terrified to argue. He knew that if he didn’t get his shit together right now, this really might be the first and last time he ever saw pussy in real life. So he scrambled down between your thighs without another word.
He’s going to do it for the love of the game. Can’t be that bad, right?
He gulped as he nestled between your soft thighs, eyeing your tight little hole as a little trail of his cum mixed with your frothy slick leaked onto the floor below you. And it was the prettiest sight he had ever seen.
The reluctant pout on his face made it clear he was weighing eating his own cum against the very real possibility of never getting to fuck you again, so you made it easier for him. You grabbed a fistful of his white hair and yanked his face straight against your pussy. His nose immediately buried right between your wet folds, tickling the sensitive flesh.
And maybe he was currently terrified of you, or it was the fact that he finally smelled your sex up close — either way, he was now desperate to please you.
The first drag of his tongue through your folds was experimental, almost cautious.
He did it again, licking with too much pressure and in all the wrong places, clearly thinking he was doing something impressive, missing your clit. Again. And again. And again.
And or fuck’s sake, you lasted maybe fifteen seconds. You reached down, grabbed his silky hair again, and yanked his head up to adjust him.
He furrowed his brows at you, confused and a little offended, like he was about to argue — until his tongue accidentally flicked right over your clit.
His eyes widened slightly.
He did it again, slower this time. A testing little flick. Eyes wide, as if asking what the hell just happened, feeling the little knob jumping.
You let out a shaky moan, fingers tightening in his hair.
“That’s my clit, Satoru.”
His eyes darkened and he dove back in with completely different energy. Okay, he knew where your cute little clit was. Now onto figuring out how to make you come on his tongue.
He started with the licking, up and down, until he pushed into your leaking hole. He almost immediately tasted his own cum, still warm, thick, and disgustingly bitter against your sweet pussy juices, and he made a guttural sound right against you.
He should have been disgusted, appalled, mortified through his militant incel brain. But why did it taste so wrong, it tasted so so right?
Eating himself right out of you — it was so pathetic, so raw, so hot. And you couldn’t fucking believe you actually made him do it.
Your pussy fluttered and he dove in like a man possessed.
A desperate whine vibrated against your clit as he started licking in earnest. Messy, unrestrained, starving. He was slurping loudly, tongue pushing deep to get more of the mixture, swallowing it down like he couldn’t get enough. Every time he tasted more of himself leaking out of you, another broken moan escaped him.
His hands gripped your thighs hard, holding you open as he buried his face deeper. He was whining and whimpering into your cunt like tasting his own cum inside you had flipped some primal, pathetic switch in his brain neither of you even knew existed.
“Fuck— you taste so good— I taste so good on you—” Every few seconds he would pull back just enough to breathe, drooling, and mutter broken little things against your skin. And you were once again left wondering where all the skill came from.
Then he’d dive right back in, tongue flicking over your clit before dragging down to lap at your hole again, like he was trying to clean you out and make you messy all over again at the same time.
It was deranged.
It was filthy.
And it was fucking working.
Your hand fisted in his hair, gripping tight. He moaned loudly at the rough treatment, the sound muffled against your pussy as his tongue circled your clit, biting then sucking on it, then flattening to drag it through your folds like he was trying to devour you whole.
You were gushing at this point, and not a drop ever spilled on the floor as he slurped you like his favourite boba flavour. His touch spread across your entire body as the orgasm built after getting edged the entire evening to fucking oblivion.
“‘Toru—” you cried, thighs starting to tremble around his head. And he bit down gently on your inner thigh when you tried to close your legs on instinct.
Look, it’s not like you did it on purpose — who the fuck would want to close up shop when business was this good?
He kitten-licked your poor clit, sending sparks right to your lower belly. Your back arched off the floor as his hand snaked up at the right damn time to flick your nipple.
Oh.
“Holy— ngh— fuck, ‘Toru—!” you screamed and came all over his poor face, thighs clamping around his head as you tried to suffocate him with your spasming pussy. You shook like you’d been electrocuted and he kept licking and licking, to the point you weren’t sure if you came again or if it was just one big orgasm. He wanted to taste every damn second of you falling apart because of him, for him.
His face was a mess. Half of it was shiny and wet with your slick, lips prettily swollen. He’d thrown his glasses somewhere on the floor in the middle of it. His pupils were practically heart-shaped, and he looked so wrecked it was beautiful.
He was so cum-drunk he only stared up at you with his mouth open, resting his cheek against your inner thigh, waiting.
And your eyes might’ve been heart-shaped too, because the sight of him made you throb all over again.
“Fuck,” you almost moaned, reaching down to grab his shoulders. “Come here.”
Satoru didn’t need to be told twice. He crawled up your body like he was starving for it, for you. He crashed his lips against yours and the kiss was fucking messy. You could taste yourself on him as he smeared your slick across your chin, tongues sliding sloppily against each other like you were trying to devour one another.
His hands found your waist. He shifted his weight and rolled the two of you until his back was against the bed and you were straddling him in his lap.
You broke the kiss just long enough to look at him. His chest was heaving. And he was looking up at you like you were the only thing in the world that mattered.
Everything was still disgustingly sticky, but the way he looked at you made your heart go thump thump thump in a way it never had before. So you reached down, wrapped your hand around his cock, and sank down onto him in one slow, slick motion.
Satoru’s head tipped back against the bed with a broken groan that made the muscles in his neck jump. His hands immediately gripped your hips hard, fingers digging into your ass like he needed to anchor himself.
“Fuuck—” he slurred, voice so dazed. “Oh my god— you’re so warm— so fucking tight—tighter—”
You started moving, rolling your hips in frantic circles. Every time you sank down, you could feel the tip kissing your cervix, nudging right up against the entrance of your womb as he completely bottomed out.
It didn’t take long before his hands tightened on your ass and he started helping you. He pulled you down onto him faster, guiding your hips with desperate hands while lifting his own to meet you halfway.
“Shit— just like that,” he whimpered, kissing all over your jaw as his tip kissed your poor cervix again and again and again. “Ngh— you’re milking me so good—”
He was completely gone. Eyes glassy, mouth open, babbling whatever came to his mind as you rode him. And every time you clenched around him, another broken sound slipped out of him.
His mouth searched for yours again, licking into the corners of your lips before kissing you deep. You slipped two fingers into his mouth and he immediately sucked on them, tongue rolling around your fingers with a needy moan that made your pussy flutter and squeeze around him even harder. Your swollen clit dragged over his lap and lower stomach with every roll, his happy trail tickling your sensitive folds and sending sparks up your spine.
Satoru whined around your fingers, hips twitching up helplessly.
One of his hands stayed on your hip while the other slid up and wrapped around your neck. His thumb brushed along the side of your throat as he started moving you faster, pulling you down onto his cock with more urgency. The sound of your skin loud.
“I’m so close,” he warned desperately against your lips. “Fuck— I’m gonna cum— you feel too good—”
His hand squeezed, holding you in place as he helped you bounce on him. Every time you sank down, he lifted his hips to meet you, fucking up into you until your jaw rattled. He was panting hard, forehead pressed against yours, completely pussy-drunk.
Satoru came with a broken, drawn-out moan, hips jerking up into you as he spilled deep inside. He held you down against him, grinding up as he pumped his cum into you like he was unconsciously trying to fuck it into your womb. His hand on your neck tightened just enough to pin you down against him while he trembled through it.
Both of you were breathing hard. He held you close and kissed the side of your head as he hugged you.
“D-did you cum?” he mumbled against your skin, still dazed and half out of it.
You pulled back just enough to look at him, deadpan.
“WHAT?”
He blinked up at you, still glassy-eyed and fucked-out. “You squeezed me so hard I thought you did! Okay then— cum then!”
You stared at him for a second, somewhere between offended, frustrated, and fond, before letting out a short laugh.
“You’re actually so fucking stupid.”
You were still softly rolling your hips, using his softening cock like a dildo while you were still determined to cum again. Satoru just watched you, half-intently, half blissed-out, still breathing hard, feeling his cum escaping your pussy and pooling in his lap. After a moment, one of his hands slid down between your bodies. His fingers found your clit easily this time and started rubbing you.
“Fuck— you’re still so wet,” he mumbled, eyes locked on where you were grinding against him. “Keep going… I’ve got you.”
So you kept moving on his semi-hard cock while he fingered you, the combination making your thighs shake. Your breath started hitching and Satoru was watching your face closely now, still drunk but trying to focus.
When your mouth fell open so prettily and your eyes fluttered as he just hit that spot inside you with the angle of his cock, his other hand moved to your hip almost automatically. He gripped you and started moving you himself, guiding you in short, deliberate rolls so his cock and his fingers kept pressing right against that same sensitive spot from both sides.
“There?” he asked, voice low and rough. “Right there?”
You could only nod, a broken whimper slipping out of you as you started tipping forward, head on his sweaty shoulder until your thighs were trembling hard and you felt like a jelly.
You came with a sharp, shaky moan, clenching around his soft cock as the overstimulating orgasm tingled through you. Satoru held you through it, still moving you gently and praising you until you completely slumped forward against his chest.
He hugged you tight, face buried in your neck.
And you stayed slumped against Satoru’s chest for a long minute, both of you just breathing each other in. The adrenaline was finally wearing off, and reality slowly started to creep back in.
The room was in fucking ruin. You were both coated in a sticky mess, the mattress behind you was most likely ruined, and the floor was dangerously slippery. It smelled like greasy sex.
“Well,” you said.
“Yeah,” he answered quietly.
You slowly peeled yourself off his chest, shivering as the cool air hit your slick, overheated skin.
You looked down at him and he still looked completely fucked-out, and you decided you could get used to that look. As you stretched, you felt his cum trailing down your inner thighs. Satoru’s eyes followed it from the front row, his spent dick giving a weak twitch at the sight.
“I’m going to take a shower,” you said softly, breaking the quiet. You paused, a small smirk tugging at the corner of your lips. “…Wanna join?”
Satoru’s heart practically stopped. His eyes widened and for a second he looked like he was going to follow you like a lost, oily puppy. But then he glanced around at the absolute state of his bedroom and reality hit him again.
“I’ll, uh…” He cleared his throat. “I’ll clean this up a bit first. You go ahead.”
You pouted but gave him a soft, understanding nod. “Don’t take too long, ‘Toru.”
You grabbed one of his random t-shirts from the floor and padded down the hallway toward the bathroom.
Left alone on the floor, Satoru stared at the opposite wall for a long time. He was deadass completely re-evaluating his entire existence.
He had just experienced the most surreal, life-changing two hours of his life, and the only thing he knew for certain was that he was completely whipped for you. For once, he didn’t care what his old incel education had to say about it.
He reached over to his nightstand, picked up his phone, and wiped a smear of baby oil off the screen before opening Reddit.
r/relationship_advice
I (M) think I’m in love with my roommate (F) and I might have just completely fucked everything up in the most humiliating way possible
Throwaway because if she ever sees this she will murder me.
I’ve been living with this girl for almost a year. She’s my roommate. For the longest time I thought I had everything figured out. I believed that if I just kept doing enough, she’d eventually see me as a potential mate. She didn’t, obviously.
Tonight I did something so fucking stupid I still can’t believe I’m typing this. I got a cock ring stuck on my dick. I panicked and called her while she was on a date and basically begged her to come home. She helped me. She got it off. And then… something else happened. Something I didn’t expect at all. And now she’s in the shower and I feel like I fucked up our friendship beyond repair. My entire worldview feels kinda off.
I think I’m in love with her. I’ve been a terrible roommate. I’ve been a terrible person tbh. I don’t know what we are now. I don’t even know if I have the right to ask. But I think I love her. And I have no idea what the fuck I’m supposed to do.
Please help. And be nice this time.
u/GrassToucherGeto · 183 upvotes
Is this the same guy who posted that viral “AITA for expecting my roommate to fuck me because I did the dishes” thread a few weeks ago?
u/KingNaoya69 · 56 upvotes
You fucked her? Good shit bro. Don’t fuck it up this time.
Satoru looked up when you walked out of the hallway wearing his t-shirt, your hair still damp and smelling like strawberries. Something in his chest went soft at the sight.
He was still sitting on the floor, holding a bottle of kitchen cleaner in one hand and a roll of paper towels in the other. He looked like he had no idea what he was doing.
You sighed and gave him a soft, tired look.
“‘Toru,” you said gently. “You’re not going to be able to clean this mess up right now. Just go wash up.” You paused, biting your lip. “Let’s just sleep in my room tonight, alright?”
He blinked up at you, panicked and hopeful all at once. You tilted your head, giving him the softest smile you’d given him yet. That was all it took. He dropped the cleaner without a second thought and basically sprinted down the hall.
He took the fastest, most aggressive shower of his entire life, scrubbing the residual oil and shame off his skin like he was trying to erase the last few hours.
When he finally crept into your bedroom, the lights were already off and you were in bed. He climbed in beside you and the sheets smelled like you. It was warm. It was safe. It made something in his chest loosen.
You shifted over without opening your eyes, throwing an arm across his chest and tucking your face into the crook of his neck with a soft, contented sigh. You fell asleep almost instantly.
Satoru lay there staring up at the dark ceiling, gently nuzzling the top of your head with his cheek. A quiet, overwhelming sense of peace settled over him.
Carefully, so as not to wake you, he reached for his phone on the nightstand one last time.
He opened Reddit and went back to his post. The comments had already blown up again — some people calling the story fake, others demanding more details about the cock ring, a few calling him a simp.
Satoru smiled to himself.
He typed out one final edit.
Update: nvm, she’s tucked into my side. Take this as a PSA to all the other incels out there. Admins, please flag this as SOLVED.
── Dividers from petalpx and fairytopea and melocor!
︵ ೀ fluff. you call satoru by his last name in public and he is a bit dramatic about it
the staff meeting at jujutsu high was supposed to be the most boring hour of your week, the kind where yaga talks about statistics and everyone quietly checks how many minutes are left before they can go get lunch.
but you and satoru had gotten into a fight that morning, one of those stupid arguments that starts over something small and somehow spirals into “well maybe you just don’t think about anyone but yourself,” and neither of you had really resolved it before you both had to show up to work like functioning adults.
so when he strolled into the conference room fifteen minutes late, blindfold pushed up onto his head, grinning like the whole world owed him a good morning, you didn’t even glance up from your notebook.
“morning, morning, did everyone miss me?” he said, dropping into the seat next to yours like nothing at all had happened between the two of you a few hours earlier.
“gojo,” you said, without looking up, your voice perfectly even, like you were greeting a coworker you barely knew.
the entire room seemed to freeze for a second. not satoru. not babe, not the nickname you swore you’d never use in public but absolutely used constantly at home. just gojo, delivered with all the warmth of a weather report.
nanami’s eyebrows climbed so high they nearly disappeared into his hairline. shoko made a small choking sound and had to set her coffee cup down before she embarrassed herself further. even yaga, who had seen a thousand strange things happen in this school, paused his sentence about budget allocations to look between the two of you like he’d wandered into the middle of a drama he hadn’t signed up for.
satoru blinked, the smile faltering just slightly at the corners. “huh?”
you flipped a page in your notebook and underlined something that absolutely did not need underlining, just to have somewhere to put your hands.
“did you,” he started, sitting up straighter now, all his earlier ease draining out of him, “did you seriously just gojo me?”
“can we please get back to the agenda,” you said, addressing the room in general rather than him specifically.
nanami cleared his throat and tried to steer things back on track. “as i was saying, the eastern district has seen an uptick in curse activity over the past—”
“she gojo’d me,” satoru interrupted, loud enough that the whole table heard it, staring at you with the wounded expression of a man who had just watched his house burn down in front of him. “in front of everyone. she used my last name like i’m a substitute teacher.”
you still didn’t look at him. you clicked your pen closed, then open again, then closed, a habit you knew drove him up the wall, and said nothing at all.
“focus, gojo,” you said again, watching the way his whole soul seemed to leave his body when you said it a second time was a little more satisfying than you’d expected.
“okay. okay, everybody hold on,” satoru said, raising both hands like he was trying to talk down an actual hostage situation. “nobody move, nobody speak, something has gone horribly wrong here. she just used my government name. in public. on purpose.”
“that is your name,” nanami pointed out, deadpan, not even looking up from his own notes.
“not to her it isn’t! not in four years has she ever once called me gojo, and now suddenly, out of nowhere, in the middle of a staff meeting, she’s talking to me like i’m a stranger she met at the post office—” he turned to you again, voice climbing with real panic now. “okay, you know what, meeting’s over, everyone go home, thank you for coming, we’ll reschedule—”
“the meeting,” yaga said flatly, unimpressed, “is not over.”
“it is for me!” satoru stood so fast his chair scraped loudly against the floor, then leaned across the table toward you, blindfold slipping further down his forehead, genuine desperation creeping into his voice. “what did i do. just tell me what i did and i’ll fix it. is this about the mission partner thing? it’s the mission partner thing, isn’t it. i can undo it. i can un-fix the fixing. i can grovel right here in front of everyone if that’s what this requires—”
you finally looked up to deliver the final blow with the sweetest, most devastating calm you could manage:
“i’m not sure what you mean, gojo. we’re in the middle of a meeting.”
that was the moment the room completely lost it. shoko was laughing so hard into her coffee cup that she had to set it down entirely, wiping at her eyes. nanami pressed a hand over his face like he was praying for the strength to survive this job for one more day. even yaga, who never smiled during meetings on principle, was clearly biting back one now, badly.
“that’s it,” satoru said, dropping back into his chair. “fine. that’s fine. be like that. see if i care. i am literally the strongest sorcerer in the world and i am being disrespected in my own place of employment, in front of my own coworkers, by my own—” he lowered his voice for the last part, leaning toward you like it was a secret, “—girlfriend, who apparently doesn’t remember that we live together and that i know exactly what cereal she eats and exactly what she looks like without—”
“gojo,” nanami cut in, exhausted, “please let the meeting continue.”
“see! even he can feel that something is deeply wrong here! the temperature in this room actually dropped! shoko, did the temperature just drop or was that just me—”
you allowed yourself the smallest, most private smile, tucked safely behind the cover of your notebook, as the strongest sorcerer alive continued to unravel in real time over exactly one syllable of his own last name, in front of the entire senior staff of jujutsu high, on a random tuesday morning.
by the time you got home that evening, satoru had clearly spent the whole day rehearsing something, because the second you walked through the door he was already there, hovering, almost vibrating with nervous energy like a dog that knows it did something wrong but isn’t sure what.
“okay so,” he said, following you into the kitchen, “i’ve been thinking about this literally all day, and i want to formally apologize, on the record, for the mission partner thing, and also i want to say, for the record, that what you did today was actually kind of terrifying and i need you to never do it again.”
“do what,” you said, setting your bag down like you had no idea what he could possibly mean, even though you absolutely did.
“you know what,” he said, sliding an arm around your waist from behind before you could even take your jacket off, chin dropping onto your shoulder. “the gojo thing. please. i’m begging you. never again.”
“it’s your name,” you said, echoing nanami from earlier, and you felt him groan directly into your shoulder.
“it is not my name when you say it like that,” he mumbled. “when you say it like that it sounds like you’re breaking up with me in front of witnesses. i had to sit there for an entire meeting wondering if this was it, if this was the day my girlfriend decided she’d had enough of me and was breaking the news.”
you turned around in his arms, biting back a laugh, and he immediately seized the opportunity to rest his forehead against yours, eyes closed like he was bracing for more punishment.
“so you admit you deserved it,” you said.
“i admit nothing,” he said, “except that i am deeply, deeply sorry, and that i will never again swap your mission partner without telling you first, and that if you ever call me gojo again in public i will actually die.”
“say please.”
“please,” he said immediately, no hesitation at all, pulling you in tighter like he was worried you might change your mind and use his last name right there in the kitchen just to torture him further. “please, please, i’ll do anything, i’ll even do paperwork, just—just be normal about it. call me anything else. call me an idiot, call me insufferable, i don’t care, just not that.”
“fine,” you said, finally letting the smile show. “satoru.”
the relief on his face was almost embarrassing, the way his whole body seemed to unclench at once, like you’d just lifted some enormous curse off him.
“thank you,” he said, dramatic as ever, pressing a kiss to your forehead, then your cheek, then finally your mouth. “never again. i mean it. that was the scariest six words of my entire life and i’ve fought curses that wanted to eat my ass.”
“it was one word,” you pointed out.
“it felt like six,” he said, and pulled you into a hug so tight it nearly knocked the breath out of you, laughing into your hair, all traces of this morning’s fight forgiven, or at least thoroughly overridden by how badly he never wanted to hear his own last name from you again.
other people never get it right, in his opinion. there’s always a vowel that’s too drawn out, or a consonant that’s pronounced too sharply. he only ever smiles and nods when people say his name like that — it’s fine, sure. but it’s not right.
it’s become something very particular for him.
it’s not sah-toe-roo.
he’s also heard sahh-to-roo.
and some people will extend those vowels past their welcome.
but you? it glides off your tongue like honey.
sa-to-ru.
he likes the way it gets all sharp on your lips when you’re mad at him. satoru would never admit it to you, but sometimes he’ll piss you off on purpose whenever he’s in the mood to hear how you sharpen the consonants like knives when you're telling him off.
“what?” the sorcerer sits back in your office chair, the faintest traces of a completely intentional grin on his face.
he’d come in early for once in his life for this exact purpose; satoru knew you always came in devastatingly punctual, so he’d make sure to greet you the best way he knew how to make your morning: by sitting in your office and kicking his feet up on your paperwork.
you loved things clean. it’s cute. he wants you fucking messy, though!
and you’re seething so adorably, with your face all scrunched up and your shiny eyes narrowed. “does this look like your office, gojo?”
nope. not what he wants to hear.
satoru sits up abruptly, making a show out of glancing around the room, before letting out an exhale of a laugh. “you know, all the offices look suspiciously similar. might wanna bring it up with the higher-ups.”
“get out.”
“did you get enough sleep last night?” he tilts his head, feigning concern. “you’re being awfully rude about this.”
the way you narrow your eyes makes satoru wish he could see them glitter with crystallized tears, with his weight on top of you as he slides his tongue between your thighs—
you suck in a breath past pretty lips. “i’m not in the mood. yaga has me on the clock. please just give me this, gojo.”
please, you say, and it makes him smile smugly. satoru loves hearing it (although he’d love hearing it beneath the dark of a particularly low-lit bedroom), but he needs more. needs your voice to wrap around his name like you own it.
“plead nicer. unfortunately for you, i’m in the mood.”
“fuck, no.”
he leans further back into your chair. “didn’t hear you. sorry?”
“satoru.”
there it is. sa-to-ru; just the way he likes.
on other days, even when you’re rendered all sheepish and embarrassed at one of his jokes, satoru just can’t get enough of the way you say his name.
this time, your tone dulls around the edges, always muttered under your breath in front of important people when he’s threatened to embarrass you with something he’s said — it’s soft and small and stern all at the same time, dancing through the air like warm fucking breeze in the winter. he just wishes you wouldn’t be so quiet about it; if the sorcerer had a choice, he’d have your voice on repeat.
he already does, in a way.
it’s why satoru’s taken to teasing you specifically whenever you have faculty meetings in front of the higher-ups, or whenever you’re particularly engrossed in a lesson with your students, just to see you when you’re caught off your game and a tiny bit upset.
satoru loves you when you’re pouting, loves when your lips press flat into a thin line or when the inside of your cheek catches between your teeth, like you’ve got a retort on the tip of your sweet tongue but won’t let it slip for your own sake. so fucking considerate all the time.
you’re unbelievably gorgeous when you’re so composed.
and you let that sweet little breath of his name slip from your mouth when he’d push you a little too far during your class with your first years on reverse cursed technique. your eyes fixate on the ground, lips downturned, as satoru’d just gotten all of your students to laugh at a little jab towards your explaining methods.
“satoru.” you chastised in a small mumble, “let’s talk after my class, please.”
sa-to-ru.
god, that little whisper will be in his dreams tonight.
he’ll hear it over and over again and wish you’d mumbled it right against his earlobe, because no one else ever deserved to hear your voice like that.
“that’s awfully secretive, sensei. what’s so important that our beloved students can’t listen in on it, hm?” he knows what you’re getting at, of course.
but truthfully, he just wants to see your face contort with that fiery little expression, the same one he wanted to mouth at every inch of until nothing was left but pure bliss.
and satoru’s not shy about the way his heartbeat picks up when you nudge yourself a tiny bit closer, just to make sure he’s the only one who can hear what you say next. just so that your voice is only for him.
as it fucking should be.
the sorcerer’s hand just about brushes your hip, and save him if it isn’t taking everything in him to make sure he doesn’t grab you and pull you into his side like he has the right to do so.
“i don’t want my beloved students to hear me threaten to kill their sensei right here,” oh. satoru’s mind goes deliciously numb.
he grins, the edge of his mouth upturning slowly. “i’d love to see you try.”
you frown a tiny bit more.
“what exactly do you get out of pissing me off all the time?”
well.
⭑.ᐟ
satoru knows well enough that he adores your voice when it’s wrapped around his name.
but he’s decided that he loves it best when it’s completely breaking, paired with the gorgeously suffocating feeling of the skin of your thighs pressed into his fingertips and wrapped around his lips.
he loves when his name is exhaled, high-pitched and whiny like sugar, while his tongue paints a stripe across the wetness coating your lips, swirling circles around your pretty clit.
maybe he liked it the most because it’s how he’s always wanted to hear you say his name — it’s just that you’d always been too fucking stubborn, so insistent on hating him that you’d never stop to think how good you’d taste coating his mouth with your slick.
“sa-ah-toru,” you keen as satoru’s tongue dips past the edge of your soaked hole, curling inwards deliciously, moving slow like he’s savoring every fucking drop.
god, he’s hungry — but he’ll die if he goes too quick and can’t taste you ever again.
and if he grips the back of your thighs just a little bit harder when you sing his name like that? he simply can’t help it. he waited too long for this.
sa-to-ru.
you taste just as sweet as you sound.
you’d burst into his office this morning, bemoaning the fact that satoru hadn’t showed up to the previous briefing with principal yaga, of which ended with yaga blaming it on you. you’re bursting with rage, all up in his face, and it’s all a blur from there until your panties are hooked over your ankle, he’s getting on his knees in front of your office chair, wrapping your thighs over his shoulders, and lapping at your pretty cunt.
he hasn't gasped for air; he’s been too enveloped in your scent to care about breathing. he’ll devour you until no one else can. until all that pretty voice of yours knows how to sound out is sa-to-ru.
satoru narrows his tongue, bullying the muscle deep and slow, down to where you couldn’t have thought possible to reach. his eyes are hazy, half-lidded as you tug at his winter locks, shoving him further into your weeping pussy.
“mmph— fuck,” you pant out, eyes screwed shut as he thrusts his tongue in and out of you at a torturous pace. “fuck— gojo, ‘re going too slow—”
“hmm?” he hums into your clit, sending shockwaves straight up from your core. the sorcerer’s gaze meets yours from under the glimpse of your tits beneath your unbuttoned polo.
he loves you composed, he really does — but you look perfect when you’re all messy, just for him.
his lips glisten with your wetness as he grins. “i'll go faster if you say my name properly, beautiful.”
“h—huh?” your words trail off into a candied whine as he pads his finger just against your entrance, smearing the wetness that covers your folds and popping it into his mouth.
you’re so sweet. fuck, why are you so sweet?
“say my name.” he repeats, his voice cheerful yet rough, the tiniest bit of grit around the edge. “remind me how much you love me, gorgeous.”
your eyes still manage to narrow, even as they glitter with needy frustration. “fuck you— mmh!”
satoru simply frowns against the inside of your thigh as he abruptly bullies the first inch of his finger past your entrance, hissing at how tightly your walls were clamping down on him. his mind goes blurry, swirling with thoughts of how delectable you’d look with your thighs around his hips, bullied open and clamping like a vice down on his cock—
he pulls his finger out with a shudder, cooing at the little pout that forms on your lips. “poor baby. if you can’t handle it, you know, we can stop here. if you want.”
“w— what?” you breathe out, eyes wide and glossy like the thought was insulting. “no, please — please, need you, satoru…”
sa-to-ru.
and you’ve drawn out that last syllable like you want him dead.
“again, sorry?”
“satoru!” you squeal impatiently, and he obliged, simply because he’d never say no to you when you sound like that.
the white-haired man groans, biting down on the inside of your thigh and relishing in the way it makes you whine, all high-pitched and finally sweet on him.
his fingers thrust roughly into your aching pussy, stretching you out and moulding you to shape around his skin. you’re dripping down his palm, and satoru’s mesmerized by the sheen of slick that coats his hand as he pounds his fingers in and out of you steadily.
“shit— so pretty here for me, huh?” satoru whispers reverently, as if speaking directly to your pussy and not to you. “just as sweet as that mouth of yours. just as tight too.”
your hands are making a home for themselves in his hair, hips chasing his thick fingers, grinding yourself further into them like he wasn’t deep enough already. your perfect fucking voice isn’t helping the sorcerer’s case either — he swears he loses every semblance of control he has, bit by bit, at each breath of his name leaving your lips, garbled and slurred and destroyed.
“s’toru, satoru,” your mouth drops open, eyes screwing shut as he curls his fingers right into that spongy spot, office chair creaking as your body slumps back into it. “it’s so— fuck, ‘ts so—”
he laughs breathlessly. “yes, gorgeous?”
“it’s so— oh!”
satoru cherishes everything you have to say, he swears he does.
but he also cherishes the way your lips look, all glossed with drool pooling at the corners, when he leans forward and circles his tongue over your clit in mean little motions, lapping at the sensitive skin in tandem with the rhythm of his fingers. you’re a whining, squirming mess — struggling to stay upright, thoroughly desecrated on the office chair you’d chewed him out just weeks ago for stealing.
satoru hisses as your fingertips tug at his locks, so fucking drunk on the taste of your soaked cunt amidst the lewd sound of his fingers slapping against your sex.
“listen to that,” he rasps out, pausing to let the squelch of your pussy speak for itself before laughing dazedly against your clit. “she’s screaming my name too, isn’t she? so fuckin’ good for me, aren’t you?”
your bleary gaze peeks down at him, eyes questioning amidst the pleasure. “s—satoru, you asshole, stop talking to my— mmh!”
before you can protest, his mouth is diving back in. soft lips latch around your clit, and satoru’s painfully hard at the sound of your voice cracking around the syllables of his name, your throat thick with pleasure at the overstimulation. he doesn’t let up; the white-haired man sucks harder at the sensitive bud, all while scissoring his fingers deep inside of you as if mapping you out.
for when his dick goes inside you, of course.
“it’s t—too much,” you complain in a mewl, eyes blurry with forming tears, “satoru, please, please, ‘m so—”
“fuck, take it, gorgeous,” satoru gasps out against your pussy, lips drenched in your taste. “keep talking to me — shit, you’re tight — let it all out for me, okay?”
satoru’s mind had blanked out a long time ago. between the way your lips form his name in one strung out moan, and the way you taste sweeter than any candy he could’ve ever asked for, he’s starting to wonder if he’d died and gone to heaven.
your voice tangles with the filthy squelches that resound through the cramped space of your office, and he swears nothing could ever be better than this.
except for the way you sound saying his name while you cum.
“i’m— i’m—” you gasp, and satoru takes that as a sign to clamp his lips around your clit and suck, curling his fingers up against your g-spot until — “satoru!”
he’s never heard anything so perfect before. his gaze flicks upwards as you orgasm, watching the way your face scrunches up as your cunt tightens unbearably around every inch of his fingers. satoru’s transfixed by your stupid voice, something out of a porno curated by an angel, and if he’s hoping he’s ruined you with his fingers alone, you’ve ruined him with just the sound of your voice breaking.
your breaths are heavy as you come down from the high; soft and warm, sound waves radiating off of you like sunlight. satoru presses a soft kiss to your inner thigh, and you finally peer down at him.
“still mad at me?” the sorcerer grins.
your eyes narrow as soon as you’re back to life. “yes. yaga chewed me out for something that wasn’t even my fault, satoru.”
sa-to-ru. the white-haired man pauses against your inner thigh, raising an eyebrow up at you with something hungry in his eyes. because as soon as you say his name, he decides he’s not fucking done with you yet.
“i’m sorry, gorgeous,” satoru mumbles, giving you a faux-apologetic glance before mischievously pressing a kiss to your clit, watching how your eyes widen. “i guess I’ll just keep going until you forgive me.”
“w—wait!”
satoru gojo really likes the way you say his name.
and he’ll keep making you say it until you know it too.
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꩜ – FRAT PRESIDENT SATORU GOJO (and the shy girl he's obsessed with!)
(18+) HEADCANONS :: – frat!gojo x innocent!reader, college au, smut, dom!gojo, handjobs, praise, corruption kink, manipulative behavior, slight dub-con
frat president!satoru, who’s used to every type of girl at his party except you, all big eyes, wandering around his house like you didn’t know what to do. he’s asked suguru to offer you everything under the sun in the last thirty or so minutes — a drink, a smoke, a joint. you just politely decline, shaking your head so prettily.
frat president!satoru, who swears he’s just got an ego when he decides he’ll be the one to show you all of that and more. he could do it if suguru couldn’t, if no one else could.
he starts off all nice, walking you to all your classes, offering his sweaters in the lectures you had together (which he only started attending for you), buying you lunch and listening to your cute little rants about your worst profs.
frat president!satoru learns that you like being held when he’s the first one to find you after an exam you swear you’d failed. he doesn’t get it ‘til he’d realized your eyes are all glassy, so shiny as you peered up at him with wobbling lips, trying not to cry in front of him.
frat president!satoru loves the way you’d just melted into his arms after that. he calls you easy to his friends for it, but something inside him never wants to let go whenever you’re willing to press yourself into his chest, wherever you’re willing to do it.
frat president!satoru, who asks you what you’re wearing all the time and sends even prettier things to wear to your dorm when he thinks you can do better.
frat president!satoru, who’s spiraling at night, jerking off to your contact photo, wrapping his large hand around his dick and pretending like it’s that sweet mouth of yours engulfing his length. he imagines how shy you’d be, lips parted wide, smearing pre-cum and replacing your candy lip balm. he wants you tasting like him, those soft cheeks drenched in his cum, eyes screwed shut until he’s all you can think about.
frat president!satoru likes making you need him, doting on you and driving you around like a princess, spoiling you until you frown whenever his hand isn’t on your hip, or whenever he dodges your calls for fraternity meetings. he likes the idea that you might become obsessed with him (like he is with you).
frat president!satoru, who’s grinning cruelly the minute you finally tell him, “you know, you do so much for me, I feel like I’m not doing enough for you.” in that nervous voice of yours one day, while you’re tucked into his side at your apartment.
frat president!satoru, who’s never missed a meeting or a call until that day, when he’s finally got you whimpering shyly in his lap while he gently mouths at your neck, tasting that perfume he’s been searching online for for weeks, whispering about how he’s so grateful you wanna help him out, how sweet you are for making it up to him too even when you didn't have to.
but he’s been waiting for weeks, you’re all soft and impressionable on him, and he’s not letting a moment of your kindness go to waste.
frat president!satoru guides you with a husky voice when he teaches you to spit in your own palm and wrap your hand around his cock, nearly shivering at the contact — “make me feel good, pretty girl, it’s the least you can do.”
frat president!satoru, who just chuckles at the fact that you’re all nervous, looking up at him as if asking what to do next, just for him to wrap his palm around yours, engulfing it entirely. he groans lowly as he moves your palm up and down on his already-hard length, bottom lip catching between his teeth at how warm your hand feels against his dick.
“shit, just keep it like that, baby, up and down…”
frat president!satoru, who kisses you slow when you gasp at how he bucks up into your hand, keeping his own wrapped around it while desperately attempting not to just use you, jerk himself off with your tiny little fingers, maneuver you down and slam himself deep into your tight cunt. “hah — fuck, gorgeous, y— you’re good at this, huh? so good for me, so fucking cute…”
“i’ve never done this before,” you admit into frat president!satoru’s mouth, hushed and breathy like it’s a secret. he wants to fucking laugh, but he’s cut short by a low hiss as you thumb at his slit without him having to teach you, making him lose his mind piece by piece. shit, you’re just perfect, aren’t you?
“am — am I doing okay, satoru?”
frat president!satoru has nearly had enough of patience when you say that. shit, he bites down into your lip without even realizing, hand tightening around yours when you whimper. and it’s barely enough to notice at first, but he pumps your hand around him faster, growling into your mouth at the way your fingertips flex around his length, making a slick! sound that echoes across the room.
“you’re — shit, just like that — doing perfect, baby. so perfect.” frat president!satoru groans into your throat, even though he’s using your hand like a fuck toy now, smearing his own pre-cum mixed with your saliva all over his huge dick, bucking his hips up into your plush skin like a glorified fleshlight.
the only one he’s dreamed of in the past few weeks, at least.
frat president!satoru gets off on how eager you are to match his pace, his other hand cupping your cheeks to purse your pretty mouth open for him as he spits down your throat and relishes in your confused little whine. he doesn’t even realize how tightly he’s gripping your hand now, forcing you to jerk his cock faster.
“that’s it,” he pants into your lips, “just let me have you, okay? hah— so good, shit, you’ve been wanting this too, haven’t you?”
“satoru—” your voice is a wet dream, how it feathers off around the edges and breaks like you’re not sure.
frat president!satoru groans at the sound of your confusion. “been, fuck, thinking about this, baby. want you creaming on my cock next, yeah? or maybe it’s — haah! — too big for your first time. gotta — shit — prep you first.”
frat president!satoru spills into your hand with one last rough stroke of both your hands around his length, gasping low with his tongue down your throat as he finally lets your hand go. he watches the way your palm shakes, eyes dark, lifting your cum-covered fingertips to your mouth without thinking. and he thinks you won’t do it, until—
your sweet fucking tongue darts out to lick experimentally at your own fingers, and satoru thinks he’s gone to heaven.
frat president!satoru, who can’t help himself when he’s grabbing you by the waist now, laying you flat on your back and coming up to slot his knee between your thighs, committing the way your face scrunches up in both confusion and pleasure to memory. he thinks you’re the cutest fucking thing in the world, and he wants you broken in every way possible until you can’t fuck any other guy without imagining his dick.
“thank you, baby,” he grins against your neck. “can i make you feel good now?”
frat president!satoru, who decided he’d never let you fuck anyone else anyways the moment you'd nodded.
꩜ – SATORU GOJO :: fratjo and his curated instagram profile!
(18+) :: content – frat!gojo x fem!reader, college au, smut, switch!gojo, p in v, riding, pussydrunk gojo
frat!gojo is one of those guys with a heavily curated instagram profile.
it’s not that it’s overly nonchalant, or so quiet that it looks painfully intentional, but so effortlessly busy while maintaining an air of carelessness that he makes it look like a modern day art form.
it’s all witty captions (“siri, set an alarm for those sleeping on me”, who even thinks of that?), vaguely motion-blurred pictures of neon lights and solo cups, polo clubs and martinis, late nights at the frat house, and highlights of well-shot travel pictures and selfies.
it just seems like he always knows exactly what kind of picture to take in what setting, exactly what makes him look good in front of the many people (many.) that are hungry to see what’s going on in satoru’s life. it doesn’t even seem like he’s actively trying to show off how cool and interesting and luxurious his life is – he just fucking does it.
the cherry on top? an absolutely lethal follower-to-following ratio. satoru doesn’t even follow back half of the thousands of followers he’s got.
in short: he’s got it down to a science. you’d think you knew exactly who he was simply based on the curation of his profile.
at least, that’s what you think when your sorority friends first show you his account.
you – well, you’re the type of person who’s seen it all before.
you think you’ve got it down to a science too, because you’ve always been able to accurately predict exactly who someone is based on what their social media looks like. and the minute your friends show you satoru gojo’s instagram, you don’t know whether you should laugh, scoff, or clutch your pearls tightly.
“no. he’s definitely an asshole,” you clock immediately, shaking your head. “if I tell you guys I’m bored, at least give me someone nice.”
“he’s nice!”
“I mean, someone who isn’t the definition of ‘lights on, nobody’s home’, maybe?”
your friends look at each other like they’d expected the less-than-positive reaction, but they keep pushing anyways. “just try talking to him. if you’re bored, gojo’s the person to go to. Look at his profile: he’s rich as fuck. fine as fuck. good in pictures. he passes his classes–”
you groan. “yes, because that makes him the epitome of academic excellence–”
“–just fucking text him already!”
against your better judgment, you click on that well-curated profile, and you text.
and he texts back – quickly, you might add, for someone that chronically looks like he ghosts people simply because he doesn’t have time for all of them.
it's not just that. the thing is, you and satoru keep texting – for weeks on end.
it’s not even you holding the conversations together, but him. satoru does the most; he sends you pictures of him with his brothers, him in his car, him walking to classes you didn’t think he attended.
you wanted to stop replying. you want to doubt him, call him a slut, find him annoying. but he’s really not.
you: gojo it’s getting late yk
gojo: but i wanna keep talking to you :((
you almost scoff.
you: how many girls did u JUST text that to be honest
it’s mostly a joke, partially your own morbid curiosity kicking into action. it’s late on a friday night, you’re trying to find any reason not to be intentionally texting someone who probably doesn’t give half of a shit about you, and amidst the darkness of your own bedroom, you’re fucking entertaining this. satoru’s probably off convincing some other girl she’s the only one, calling her up, coercing her into letting him come over at this hour–
gojo: [1 attachment]
it’s just you beautiful
he sends a screenshot of his recent fucking DMs.
and he’s not lying – it’s just you (pinned?), a couple of his frat brothers’ dump accounts, absolutely nothing incriminating that could justify your premature judgments about satoru.
suddenly, you’re in it now; your lip is caught between your teeth, trying to process this revelation, and he’s still fucking typing. like he doesn’t care if it looks desperate. maybe he just thinks he’s incapable of looking desperate?
gojo: soo will you keep talking to me now
i miss you its been 30 secs
you: ur so stupid
fine
okay. maybe satoru isn’t anything like his profile at all.
one day, he finally asks you to come over. it’s not even in a weird, frat fuck, booty call way either; you get home from a pretty late exam, and you somehow get into texting satoru about how you’re pissed, you think you flunked, and you hadn’t eaten anything in hours.
before you can even think about setting foot in your building elevator, he’s sending you a picture of a shit ton of sushi (he remembered you saying you liked it?), luring you into his place like a mouse trap, and threatening to make you feel better with free food and bad movies.
it’s irritating how saying no didn’t even cross your mind for a second.
even if there was a 70% chance satoru only wanted to fuck, you kind of didn’t even mind that.
and you learn that satoru is 100%, most definitely not an asshole.
he doesn’t even actually look that much like what you’d see on his profile – other than being absolutely delicious-looking, because of course that doesn’t change.
he’s tall, but half of all the bicep and muscle he loves to show off on his story highlights is hidden behind a faded digimon hoodie. satoru’s got a pair of black, thick-framed glasses perched on top of his head, pushing his snow-white bangs back, leaving a few strands to rest over his forehead.
he even smiles sweet, out of the corners of his lips, all “let’s stay in my room” and “you got any movies you like? I have all of them!”, drawing you in without even knowing it.
your heart is in your throat when he leads you to his bedroom, where he’s laid sushi and snacks out as if eating was the first thing on your mind.
you have two thoughts: first, that he’s nothing like the fuckboy he seems he is on his instagram, and second, coming over to his house, just him and you, may be the best idea you’ve ever had in your life.
so you think it takes way too long, because satoru’s way too nice.
in fact, it takes you shuffling close into his side on the bed and tugging at his hoodie string with your fingertip midway through detective pikachu for him to even notice you wanted something.
“hm?” satoru hums, his arm absentmindedly wrapping over your shoulders in a motion that makes your skin warm. “yeah? is it too cold, or–”
oh my god. you bite the inside of your cheek. “maybe you wanna keep me warm?”
“oh, for sure, i’ll go get another blanket–”
“gojo.”
and satoru dares move to get up. “i’ll be quick, don’t worry–”
“satoru.” and you’re tugging him back down, giving him half-lidded eyes, gazing beneath your eyelashes like he’s one more word away from being eaten alive.
and finally, finally, you see his eyebrows raise like something’s clicking into place, and there’s a faint grin starting to tug at the corners of his lips. maybe he is kind of an asshole – but you barely get to berate him before he’s clicking his tongue and tugging you into his lap.
⭑.ᐟ
“fuck, beautiful–”
you don’t even realize just how little satoru matches his instagram profile until he’s the one beneath you, hands roaming your waist, trailing up to pinch desperately at your hardened nipples, all while you press your hands to his bare chest and ride his huge cock.
it’s hard to remember how you ended up here, his back against his own mattress, glasses hitting his own headboard, with your legs hooked over each side of his hips, watching the frat boy’s face contort in absolute pleasure.
all you know is that every sound that leaves his lips, every flutter of his lashes over those blue fucking eyes – heat pools between your legs. it doesn’t help that satoru’s so big, each drop back down on his dick making you see stars behind your eyelids.
“s–shit,” you gasp out wantonly, a loud squelch resounding between you as your pussy clenched around him. he’s just so deep, stretching out your needy cunt so perfectly with each roll of your hips. “so fuck– fucking big, satoru–”
he hisses. “baby, you’re – oh my god – you’re killing me here. c’mon, let me take care of you–”
it’s cute how easy it is to get him, of all people, to shut the fuck up.
all it takes is a shaky scoff from your parted lips, as you lift your hips all the way up, sliding your wet entrance over his tip for a second, just to relish in the way the white-haired man below you practically whines, aching for the warmth of your pussy around him. and then you drop down fully, letting out a broken little cry as his cock splits you open again, the stretch achingly delicious.
“haah–” satoru sounds so pathetic like this, fingertips clutching at the skin of your waist tight like he needed to bounce you on his dick until you were sobbing in his hold. “come on, please, just– just let me fuck you properly, pretty.”
“mmh,” you breathe out airily as you grind down onto his cock, eyes rolling back. “but ‘s so good.”
“could make it even b–better,” satoru groans. “shit. shit, do that again,”
you almost grin, albeit cockdrunk and absolutely dripping on him, at the little whimper that escapes his lips when your fingernails claw into his chest, timed perfectly with a greedy little roll of your hips, shifting him deeper into the warmth of your cunt.
you lean forward, tits pressing against his skin as you press your lips to his. and satoru takes this opportunity as his only avenue of control — his tongue breaches your mouth, a dazed little whine escaping your lips in response, shoving the muscle as far down your mouth as it would go. as if taunting you.
but he’s fucking gone, at the end of the day, and all it takes to have his mouth dropping open is for you to slam that ass back down like your life depended on it.
“don’t be a — ah! — an asshole, satoru,” you murmur into his skin, devastating, manicured fingertips prying his hand off your waist. “be good.”
“f—fuck,” he sputters out amidst the wet plap! plap! plap! of your ass against his pelvis. “fuck, ‘re the asshole here, pretty—”
your teeth sink into his plush bottom lip, and the low, broken sound that escapes his mouth is almost enough to have you creaming around his dick right then and there. “you’re so — ngh — ungrateful. ‘m literally bouncing on your dick—”
“haah—” both of your words are messy, making it out through strings of saliva against each other’s lips, resounding across the space of satoru’s bedroom. “baby…”
“haven’t even said please.” you mumble, and the white-haired man keens at how easily you can pretend to be so innocent, voice soft and wrecked and sweet like you don’t even realize what you’re doing. “just say please for me, satoru.”
you swear you see something hot flash in those blue eyes.
he doesn’t say anything.
“satoru,” and there’s no way he can say no to that voice. not like that. not when your voice is so candied, so sweet, so intentional in trying to get him to beg to fuck you. you press a soft kiss to the corner of his lips, and he hisses like you’ve just bitten bruises into his shoulder. “play nice for me, okay?”
“shit, baby…”
“pleaaase. say it.”
he tries rolling his hips into you, chasing the sweet warmth of the pussy you’re denying to let him fuck. all for not much, considering you slam his hips back down and leave him whimpering beneath your touch. so adorable. so desperate, it was almost comical, considering how satoru looked, how he presented himself.
so much for the fuckboy with an allegedly long list of girls in his DMs.
because—
“please!” satoru whines out, arms flexing by your thighs, a large hand meeting your waist, fingertips gripping loosely. “fuck, please, please let me fuck you properly, you’re so tight, so good–”
he’s babbling. about your pussy. satoru’s punctuating each little plea with a pathetic gasp ripped from his throat.
the man behind the curated ig that featured countless hookups, countless parties, and he’s utterly pussydrunk as you ride him to insanity.
“yeah?” you whisper against his mouth.
“haah— yeah, fuck, yes. been thinking about it — shit! — ever since you texted me.” satoru gasps.
you find it in yourself amidst the haziness to glance down at his face, the way his lips are slicked with your drool, the way his eyes are half-lidded behind white eyelashes, so utterly destroyed. the absolute picture of intoxication, all by the hand of your cunt lewdly squelching around his length.
he’s not what he seems at all.
because the white-haired man would have never looked like he begged this pretty beneath someone like you.
and you’re just as far gone, because you kiss him hard after the admission, legs shaking as you slam your hips up and down like you wanted his tip bruising hearts into your cervix. it doesn’t take much — you’re biting at those plush lips, letting his tongue saunter down your throat, and he’s whining, stuttering into your lips as his dick twitches inside of you, pumping you full of his cum.
it’s filthy, between the gasps from his throat, warm liquid seeping out of your hole and coating your pussy lips, dripping down your asscheeks, staining his sheets. you’re not exactly any better, whimpering at the sticky feeling of his cum deep inside of you, your own wetness soaking his entire cock in a pretty sheen.
satoru’s spent for a moment, and so are you — heavy breaths are exchanged between kiss-bitten lips, his hands gripping your waist tight like you’re his only lifeline. like you’ll disappear if he doesn’t bruise your skin.
the afterglow lasts about five seconds longer. because you realize just how fucked you are when you feel the frat boy grin against the corners of your lips, long fingers moving down, down to grasp your plush thighs.
“satoru,” you mumble, somewhere between a warning and a request.
“shh,” his voice is wrecked. “said please for you, baby. promised i’d get to fuck you properly.”
“satoru—”
he presses down on the bulge where his cock is buried deep inside you, earning a soft little moan from your mouth.
and that voice makes you shudder. “you be good for me now.”
⭑.ᐟ
frat!gojo's profile is a heavily curated one.
he’s got it down to a science.
so no one realizes anything is out of place — even when he posts a carefully-shot picture of you, passed out on his bare chest, hair splayed out to obscure your face. it’s provocative enough for everyone to know exactly what he did, but barely enough for anyone to question its place in the life he showed off online.
barely enough for anyone except you, who sees that story, dressed in an oversized t-shirt, while satoru’s waking you up with gentle pecks over your face.
yeah. he’s not what anyone thinks.
@ ttakdoll, 2026
kind of just wanted this one out of my hair,, i'll do smth better soon!
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