soobiary

[soobiary]

ෆ Yuji had been talking about this for weeks.

He’d planned the whole thing — lowkey dinner, his favorite casual spot near campus, the booth in the corner where you could laugh and eat and relax — just the four of you. You, him, Megumi, and Nobara. Just friends. No pressure.

“I want them to meet you,” he’d said with a soft grin, arms looped around your waist in bed the night before. “You’re important to me. They should know that.”

You kissed his cheek. “Of course, baby.”

But you hadn’t told him your own plan. You were going to ruin him.

He looked so damn proud when he introduced you.

Yuji stood up as you arrived at the table, pulled you close by the small of your back, beaming from ear to ear like you were some rare prize he’d won at the fair. “This is her,” he said to Megumi and Nobara. “The one I told you about.”

“Hi,” you smiled sweetly.

Megumi gave a nod. Nobara narrowed her eyes. “So you’re the girl who stole his hoodie and disappeared for a week?”

Yuji laughed nervously. “That’s not— She didn’t disappear, she just—she stayed over a few times, that’s all.”

You slid into the booth beside him. Your thigh pressed against his. “I just wanted to keep him warm.”

Megumi’s lips twitched like he was already suspicious.

Nobara snorted. “Right. Sure.”

You leaned over to grab a fry from Yuji’s plate — and your hand stayed there. Dropping. Resting. Slowly sliding down to his thigh under the table.

Yuji froze.

His smile faltered just a little, but he didn’t say a word. Not yet.

“You okay, baby?” you asked sweetly, eyes locked on the menu like nothing was happening.

“Y-Yeah.” His voice cracked. “Totally fine.”

Your hand moved higher. Smooth and slow. A casual brush over the front of his jeans that had his back straightening like he’d been electrocuted.

You watched him from the corner of your eye.

He was already hard.

Pathetic, you thought fondly.

Nobara started talking about some girl from one of her classes — something about a fight and a chair being thrown — but Yuji was zoning out. His eyes were wide, stuck on the table, lips parted, hands balled into fists in his lap as your fingers ghosted along the length of his growing bulge.

“I thought you said you weren’t gonna be nervous,” you whispered just loud enough for him to hear.

“I-I’m not nervous,” he whispered back.

You smiled. “Then why are you sweating?”

His hips jumped when your hand squeezed gently. You could feel the heat through his pants, the way his cock was twitching in your palm already. He shifted awkwardly in the seat and cleared his throat again.

Megumi raised a brow. “You good?”

“Yup,” Yuji squeaked. “Yup. I’m just—hungry.”

“Oh, he’s hungry alright,” you murmured.

He shot you a warning look, cheeks flushed.

You just giggled under your breath, unzipping his jeans beneath the tablecloth like it was the most casual thing in the world.

Yuji grabbed his napkin and slapped it into his lap in one frantic motion.

Nobara blinked. “...You okay?”

“Fine. Totally fine.”

You freed his cock slowly — already hard and leaking — and wrapped your hand around it under the table just as Nobara took a sip of her soda and said, “So how’d you guys start dating?”

Yuji flinched.

You stroked him once.

He twitched violently.

“Sh-She came up to me at the gym,” he gasped. “Said I looked like I had bad form.”

Megumi made a noise. “You do.”

You hummed and slid your hand down again, thumb smearing the wet slick from his tip.

Yuji’s eyes rolled back for a second before he bit his lip hard. You felt his cock jerk in your hand. So close already, and you hadn’t even started stroking properly.

“C’mon, Yuji,” you murmured, dragging your fist back up slow. “Be polite. Tell them what else I said.”

His voice was barely a breath. “Y-You said—fuck—said I was cute…”

You smiled. “Good boy.”

Nobara blinked. “What?”

“Nothing!” Yuji barked, too loud. His face was red. “She said I was cute!”

You giggled, hand moving faster now, wrist flicking the way you knew he liked. He was melting. His head dropped forward a little, breath shivering, trying not to thrust into your palm.

Megumi’s eyes narrowed. “You sure you’re okay?”

Yuji didn’t answer. His mouth opened, but no sound came out — just a strangled little moan that he covered with a fake cough.

Your hand squeezed, twisting near the his tip, and his thighs shook under the table.

You leaned close, whispering, “Gonna cum, baby?”

His hips jerked.

“Right here? While your friends are watching?”

“P-Please—” he whimpered.

You jerked him fast now, grip tight and mean, dragging his orgasm out of him with no mercy. His cock twitched and throbbed in your hand, and then—

Hot, sticky cum spilled all over your fingers.

Yuji bit down on his knuckle to stay silent, trembling, entire body twitching while you milked him through it under the table.

It was filthy. Warm and slick and wet in your palm.

You licked your lips and reached for your water like nothing had happened.

“Yuji,” Nobara said. “You’re, like… glowing.”

He blinked, pupils blown, face flushed, still twitching from the aftershocks.

“…I love her.”

[soobiary]

JUST THE TIP?! — RE MEN x YOU! — SMUT!

SUMMARY: no summary. just the tip gf x balls deep bf trope.

TAGS: implied marathon sex, dumbification, overstimulation, unprotected sex, this is all consensual, but just in case, i will tag this as dubious consent.

THIS IS MEANT FOR FANTASY ONLY.

PAIRINGS: LEON KENNEDY/you, LUIS SERRA/you, ALBERT WESKER/you, JACK KRAUSER/you, CARLOS OLIVEIRA/you, CHRIS REDFIELD/you.

A/N: consider this as an apology for being away, and will probably continue to be away after a while. T_T but i hope everyone has been doing well.

NSFW UNDER THE CUT!

LEON S. KENNEDY. ♡

you don't know how long you both have been indulging in each other—all you know is that your cunt's jus' so sensitive. but you want more. you need more. thinkin' about being empty and not being stretched full by your boyfriend's makin' your waterline glimmer with tears.

"leoooon, please—,"

leon stared at you, in awe that you were still conscious. aware. clearly, he's not fucking you properly. "please what, angel?" "fuck me—fuck me, please. need your cock. just put it in," his fingertips tease your clit, and you whine, shaking your head. "nooo—nooooo . . need your cock. please, leon,"

today, leon finds out his ovulating girlfriend can turn into a literal succubus.

"but you said your cunt's all sore, sweet girl. you were crawling away," open-mouthed kisses are bestowed on your cheek. "just the tip. just put the tip in," leon could feel his cock stir, quickly growing erect with your neediness.

"okay, baby. whatever you say," he kisses your teary eyes before hovering over you and grabbing ahold of your legs. just the tip. just the tip. just the tip. leon has to repeat to himself, lathering the leaking crown with his creampie mixed with your slick.

just the tip. just . . the tip.

your creampied pussy makes a lewd squelch as leon slowly pushes the head in. but you're both in cloud nine, eyes rolling like it's the first time you've fucked each other. "y, yes, like that!" you whimper, reaching over to your hypersensitive clit and making aimless circles.

leon begins to move, only giving your cunt shallow, slow thrusts. "fuck, angel—," he lets his head fall back, pleasure enveloping his tip. your cunt's so fucking wet and warm. your fingers pick up their pace, cunt throbbing with intense pleasure. who knew you could jus' get off from just the tip?

"faster,"

faster?

how can leon do that without shoving himself balls deep into you? "faster—pleaseplease, leon," you sobbed. "y/n—i," he bucked his hips, trying to go faster without splittin' you open with his cock. whimpers are spilling from leon's mouth, growing needier by the second, his vision continuing to blur as he eased just the tip in, as per your request.

the way you were clenching around him, creaming around his cock—it drove him crazy. how could he not fuck you? leon has to reminded himself that you want just the tip. but he's relying solely on instinct. and before he could even realize it, he's plunged himself deep by accident, and you're wide-eyed, an unanticipated orgasm taking you both by surprise.

"leon—♡!"

"y/n—i'm sorry, sorry—,"

he can't stop. he won't stop, pounding you into the mattress and making sure you feel every length of him with every ferocious thrust. he's drooling, watching you squirm. something about seeing your pussy spurt out clear fluid with every push in makes him feral, potentially unlocked a new turn on and fantasy to jerk off to.

"t, told you just the tip," you whimper, sniffling, and leon cradles your head, essentially smushing your face into his chest. "sorry. 'm sorry, sorry—i l, love your cunt." leon sobbed, his hips doing all the work for him, pummeling into you without mercy.

spit's shining on leon's built chest as you automatically kiss and lick at the area. marks in the shape of your canines are left, and leon hisses when you bite him again.

"gonna cum, y, y/n—gonna cum—cumming. 'm cumming, oh god,"

he vigorously rams his cock in your leaking pussy, hard yet hurried; it's sloppy, and leon's just desperate to fill you again. your moans are muffled by his flesh, and leon has yet to notice that he's crushing you with his chest. not that you minded, either.

with a few more unrhythmic slams of his hips, he's spilling himself in you, all of his cum just overspilling as he kept rutting into you. "hah— h, haah . . so good—so good," he babbles, spit dripping on his chin as his eyes rolled back. "leooohn—," you grunt from beneath your boyfriend.

it's only when his orgasm finally comes down that he stops moving, clarity slowly seeping into his fucked out mind. he retires from you almost immediately, now-concerned eyes soaking in the sight of you. did you pass out? "y/n," a hand caresses your rosy cheek.

"y/n, please come back to me,"

"mhh . . "

oh thank god. he knows you're just fine, but he was still worried. "are you okay?" he whispers, brushing away the stray strings of your hair. "i'm sorry, i was . . too into it," you chuckle when you feel him pepper your face with kisses.

"i'm fine. still in one piece, baby."

you both groan when he slowly pulls out, the rest of his creampies spilling out of your gaping cunt. "i love you, leon." you mutter, weakly wrapping your arms around him. "i love you too, angel."

LUIS SERRA. ♡

"luis . . just the tip,"

you both really shouldn't have fooled around with these aphrodisiacs. it's been hours and his cock's yet to come down. luis isn't even sure if he can cum anym—

wait. did he hear that right?

"what'd you say, mami?"

it's harder to hear you when you're bent over, and especially when you're mumbling and barely coherent. "the tip—jus' the tip," you whine. "is my bebé sensitive?" he drags a finger over your slit, and you squeak, body jerking in response. your knees almost gave out. "luiiis . . jus' the tip, p, por favor . . "

you poor thing. he affectionately runs a hand over your spine, down to your ass where he kneads your curvaceous flesh. "por supuesto, amor. we can go slow. and . . just the tip," [ of course, love. ] he thought he could do it. luis can control himself, can go slow if requested—usually—but the drug that ran through his veins made that fucking impossible. swallowing a nervous lump, he prods the tip against your slit. fuck, you're so fucking wet. this wasn't fair.

with a slow push of his hips, your warmth embraces his sensitive cocktip. "oh, fuck. oh my fucking god. dios mio," luis's grip on your ass tightens, his own way of restricting himself. "sólo quiero follarte," [ i just wanna fuck you, ] he confesses, but only thrusts the tip in and nothing else.

"me estás matando aquí, bebé," [ you're killin' me here, baby. ] luis babbled on, a shiver running down spine. "are you sure you're sensitive? y, you've been—you've been always able to take it," turns out, he didn't have it in him to fulfill your request. luis could hear the obscene squelches your creamy pussy made, and his brows narrowed as he winced, almost as if he was pained from your instruction. yet, his restrained thrusts—it was more like gentle rocking, to be honest—continued, the tip pulling out with an obscene pop with every withdrawal of his hips.

he enjoyed it, of course. more than anything. but luis was a greedy, hungry man. yearning more. needing more. your pussy was just so fucking inviting, creaming all over for him with just the tip—fuck, you can't ask this from him.

"bebé—y/n, i can't—can't take it anymore. i have to. t, tengo que follarte," [ i have to fuck you. ] your eyes widened when luis slowly slides in an experimental inch. you squeal, reaching behind you with one arm, but luis just pins it on your back.

the moment he's stuffing himself completely fucking full into you, you're just sobbing, legs shaking from the mind-numbing pleasure. luis was, too, not even realizing he had just cum in you. his hips moved like clockwork, "luis! luiissss—fuck!" was all you could cry out. you squirmed, writhed, tried to crawl away from the addicting pain of pleasure, but he's tugging you right back and slamming himself into you to the hilt.

"lo siento—lo siento bebé. feels good, h, haah . . " [ i'm sorry—i'm sorry, baby. ]

all that cum pouring out of you made it much, much easier to pound that cunt. "h, haaah—fuck! luiiss—," you sobbed, unable to stop your legs from giving out. his chest rests warmly on your back, and you feel a loving kiss pressed on your temple.

"te amo, te amo . . . " he murmured as he pummeled that pussy, making sure that the tip thwacked against your perky cervix and hitting all the right spots. your head rests nicely on the pillow, and you're so fucked out, you think you're about to pass out from all the pleasure.

the bed creaks as luis kept ramming his cock deep into you, and you squeal as another orgasm washes over your body. the nth orgasm made your eyes cross, made you see fucking stars as your legs quivered and you clutched the sheets helplessly. luis didn't see it, but he sure as hell fucking felt it as you squirt all over him and his legs. "dios—dios mio, you're making a fu, fucking mess,"

his thrusts begin to slow down, hard-on still intact, but the aphrodisiac wasn’t as strong as it was from the beginning. blinking, luis realizes he was crushing you by resting his whole weight on you. "shit, shit—y/n, i'm sorry," he shuddered when he slips out of your creampied pussy. "mierda, hace frío," [ shit, it's cold. ] is whispered to himself whilst he gently lays you on your back.

"luiiis . . " you huffed. "that's not the tip," "i know, i know. i'm sorry. but, in my defense, eso es imposible," [ that's impossible to do. ] an affectionate hand caressed your hair. "still sensitive, prinsesa?" you groggily nuzzle your face in his arms.

you only hummed. the next minute is spent in silence, as luis kept you warm and held you firmly. "next time, no more aphrodisiacs," you stir as he spoke, letting out a scoff. "what? booooo."

"wha—excuse you, señorita, why are you booing me?"

"oh, c'mon. don't lie. that was fun,"

"jesus, you are such a freak. me asustas. you need to read the bible or something,"

"wow. like it wasn't you who bought those pills!"

"oh. ehehe. right."

ALBERT WESKER. ♡

bro this gif im going to start s/creaming

you're already fucked out. already trembling from the orgasms wesker's given you, and it's all thanks to the new toys he had bought from his trip. a clit sucker and a vibrating, ridged, girthy dildo. you sobbed as wesker kept thrusting the toy in and out of you, making sure you take all of its length.

"f, fuck—! s, sir, cumming—, 'm cumming,"

there wasn't much you could do, not when a silk ribbon tied your wrists and ankles to the headboard. ( he bought those, too, by the way. ) "again? look at the mess you just made." you look over at the silicone, the base was coated in your creaminess—and it was already smearing to his already-soaked fingertips.

it was so easy for him to break you, and he hasn't even undressed himself yet.

your hips buck against the air, and the unintentional reflex just makes you grind your clit against the toy that lavished its attention on you. "fuuck—! fuckfuckfuck—, a, albert—!" you clutched onto the ribbons, eyes rolling as you felt your cunt throb with need. you were close, you could feel it in the pits of your stomach. "what was that?"

wesker clicked his tongue, clearly displeased. "you call me sir, brat. or are these toys getting into that head of yours?" you hear a few clicks, and your eyes widened when you realized that the clit sucker's set to its highest setting. "s, sir—i'm sorry! i'm sorry!"

the dildo could never compare to your sir's cock—never—but the extra sensations of the pulsations and the ridges quickly sent you to the edge, never missing where you were most sensitive, always grazing that spongy nub that made your mouth fall agape. "don't w, wanna cum anymore—too much," you whimpered.

"aw," he cooed, a small smile appearing on his lips; barely noticeable. "that's really too bad, pup." he taunts, giving you a slow, but hard thrust. you squealed, clutching on to your ribbons.

"you're not in charge here,"

your cries are music to his ears, and his eyes gaze over to your squirting cunt in amusement. even though you're trembling and drooling, he's yet to withdraw the toys from you.

"are you?" "n, no, sir!" he's tight-lipped and has yet to move an inch. "n, no, sir! i'm n, not in chaaaarge—y, you are!" "hm," good enough. much to your relief, both are turned off, and you're granted a few seconds of relief.

your body relaxes on the soft bed, chest rising as you pant. “colour?” wesker asks, a rough palm caressing your shaking thighs. “g, green,” you mutter. “good. ‘m not done yet,”

wesker retires from the bed, taking his sweet time in undressing himself. it was quite the sight, though; seeing him undo his tie, unbuckle his pants. his boxers had a wet spot from his leaking tip. “you’ve been a good pup, darling.”

the bed sinks with his added weight, and you watch him leave kisses on your inner thighs, stroking his cock with a spare hand as he lathered his pre all over his monstrous girth. fuck . . could you take that? you don’t think y’have it in you. but you didn’t want to stop. y’wanted him . .

“s, sir,”

you call, and wesker’s eyes tilt up. now that he was much closer, y’could see how blown out his pupils were. “yes, my love?” he asked as he positions himself, grabbing ahold of your thighs as he slaps his fat cock atop your mons.

“c, can you put just the tip i, in—?”

wesker acts as if he didn’t hear a word you just said, rubbing his length all over your slit—continuing to lubricate his shaft with your juices. you gasped when the tip slowly sinks in, and you finally get your answer when he slammed the rest of his girth into you. you screamed, back arching as your eyes crossed.

“why should i?”

he begins to rut into you, pummeling your sensitive cunt with mean thrusts. “tell me, pet. why should i?” you couldn’t utter out a proper response, not when your brain was turning to fucking mush as he pounded you. “speak up, slut.” the added nickname’s making you clench around him, and wesker only scoffed at your lack of coherence.

“gone stupid? from me just putting—hnngg—it in?”

with the position he had you in, it was impossible for the tip to not kiss your cervix, impossible for you to not scream for him as he mercilessly plowed that cunt. "s, sir—h, haaah . . ! fuck—!" your overstimulated pussy's fucking throbbing. a squeal's torn from you as his palm collides with your puffy clit with a smack! the sting's makin' your eyes fucking water, and you could feel your legs tremble again.

"will you tell me what to do again, pet?"

"n, no, sir!"

wesker grinned, rewarding your sore clit with a kind caress of his thumb. "good pet. that's—," he groaned. fuuuck, wesker shudders at the feeling of your cunt spasming around his girth. "—more like it. gonna—gonna fuck you how i want to," his words are emphasized with harsh thrusts, to drill that idea in your pretty fucking head.

"where i want to,"

"u, uh-huh!"

"when i want to,"

"u-uhnnn—y, yes s, siiiir . . ♡ !"

seeing how disheveled and how much of a drooling mess you were, were you even remembering what he was saying? probably not. but don't worry, he's more than willing to remind you where you belonged. he could no longer hold back his noises, but he wasn't even interested in trying, anyway.

the way he sounded—feral, almost beast-like, even—you'd be lying if you said it didn't incite more arousal from you. wesker ensured you felt all of him, hips moving without thought as he mercilessly slammed into that tight fit. unfortunately for you, he was more monster than he was human.

you were fucking tightening up around him—still adjusting from the sudden switch from silicone to flesh—and how could wesker ever resist ramming and bullying that pussy with his fat cock? the way he could see how he split you open, shuddering when his tip's right against your cervix—oh, you were such a sweet, sweet pet.

his cock throbbed with the ache of a release. you made it difficult for him to control himself. "fuck—'m gonna fill you up," he hissed. "think y'deserve a creampie from me, sweet girl?" smack! the collision of his palm on your cunt brings you back to reality for a brief moment. "i'm—i'm talking to you," he snarled, an you nod mindlessly. "s, sorrryyyy . . . y, yes sir! yesyesyesyes—please!"

you continue to beg him, plead for his cum whilst he busied himself with rearranging your fucking insides. it's all you could do amidst your fucked out state. don't you worry. wesker was more than satisfied with your expressions.

burying himself to the hilt, you let out a scream as an orgasm is forced from you again, fingertips affectionately rubbing on your clit. wesker can't decide where to look—if he should watch that pussy quiver as you squirted or your face that's contorting as your irises disappear behind your lids.

"yeaaaaah, just like that. look at you—fuck, you're such a slut,"

his hips stutter as spurts of thick, warm semen floods your womb and walls. wesker groaned, shivers pricking his skin. your cunt milked him so good; and not like he'll tell you, but he's fucking obsessed. obsessed with how you're so obedient fo him, how your cunt clenched around him as you quivered from overstimulation.

"tsk, you're leaking. tighten up, slut. don't spill any more," you only oblige him—it's all you could do in your fucked-out state. a groan echoes in the room as he slowly slips out from you. from where wesker knelt, he had the perfect fucking view of your gaping cunt, trying her absolute best to keep it all in as he asked. you squeaked when he caresses your puffy clit affectionately. "shh, shh . . i know," he cooed, the other hand undoing your restraints. you didn't have the strength to keep your eyes open.

the tension slowly rolls off your muscles as he sets your legs down slowly. "you did well, my love," you could feel him bestow kisses on your face. eyes, nose, lips—they were all showered in loving kisses. your wrists are set free as he undid the ribbons on your sore wrists, his lips ghosting over the red marks over your skin, too. "missed you, albert," you mumbled, eyes slowly opening. "i missed you too, my love," there's a faint smile on his face—meant to be witnessed by you only.

"you know we're not yet done, right?"

JACK KRAUSER. ♡

krauser really has lots of pent-up frustration and sexual frustration. blessed with inhumane stamina, it's really no surprise that he can last multiple rounds. 'specially when all of it just piles up on him, mmmm—god, he loves nothing more than taking it out on you and using you for fucking hours.

but krauser is mean. cruel. you want just the tip? that's really—

"too fucking bad, baby,"

that request is fucking impossible, because he's got you folded and locked in a full nelson hold. did you expect that he'd just not bury himself deep in your pretty cunt? your eyes widened as you watched his cock slowly stretched you out again. your cunt was too sensitive.

"n, no—krauser! don't! d, don't—pleasepleaseplease—,"

his balls only throbbed, eyes rolling as your pleas fall to deafened ears. your groans echo in the room as he pushes another inch or two into you. fuck, you need to breathe—

krauser laughed breathily in your ear. "what was that?" you couldn't muster a single word—it was all just pathetic squeaks. "just the tip, you say?" he'd purr, pushing in as slow as he can so your pulsating walls can feel every single inch stretching you. ruining you.

"c, can't—,"

"can't what? can't speak?"

he completely slams into you with a loud plap! you're speechless and fucking stupefied—but, frankly, what else is there to say? "urgg—feel that?" this fucking asshole just had to start gyrating his hips. you could feel the tip poke 'nd prod against that cervix, and fuck, you're trembling.

"c'moooon, sweets. y'better be awake,"

sticky drool's drippin' from those pretty lips as he began to pound you like he hated you. him doing all the work was not a problem, not at all. krauser could easily manhandle you, and he made sure that you knew. he was bouncing you on his cock like you weighed nothing and fuck—you couldn't even think of anything to say aside from his name and ah's! and oh's!

it didn't help his cock was a mix of both veiny and fucking gargantuan—you're convinced your cervix's all bruised because his tip kept hitting 'nd hitting all of your spots. "love your cunt—fuck, you like this? huh? bet you do. look at your cunt's reflection. messy fucking slut," he groaned, ramming into you vigorously. it's like he hasn't even broken a sweat.

"k, krauseeeer—," you sobbed, absolutely broken and cockdrunk. "yeah? 'm here," he pants, eyes threatening to roll back. but he had to watch you in the mirror, had to watch you crumble and go fucking stupid just from his cock. "what does my baby want, h, huh? want me to go faster?" before you had the chance to respond, he's fucking pummeling into you faster than you could even blink; you're fucking dizzy and barely lucid, but that's okay. no need to think, krauser's got you. ♡

"'m c, cummingggggg—cumming. j, jaaaaack—♡!"

"my fucking goooood—fuuuuuuck . . look at this squirting cunt,"

clear liquid's spurtin' out of that stretched pussy, coating him and yourself as he forces an orgasm outta you. you're so fucking hot, fuck. krauser's never ever ever letting you go. "you love my cock, babe?" if it wasn't for how both his large hands held your head, you would have nodded. "u, uh-huh! love—l, love your cock—♡!" "attaaa girl. i love your cunt so, so fucking much—♡,"

krauser doesn't even realize he's drooling himself—completely immersed in the pleasure. he could stay buried in you for fucking eternity. "fuck—wanna breed you. lemme breed—lemme breed you. need to knock you up," he babbled on, focused on jus' chasing his release. and with the pace of how he fucked you—it wouldn't take long.

and you?

you're fucking spritzing all over him everytime his tip grazes against that spongy nub in your dripping pussy. why'd you even ask him to not put it all in? clearly, you loved this. but don't worry. for once, he'll humour you. "y'wanted just the tip, right?" "h, hnnngg—♡," good enough of an answer for him. you're brought back to reality briefly when his movements halt. confused, you only watched your obscene reflections whilst he shifted his hips. "j, jack, what're you—?!" your eyes widened when you feel his tip slowly bury into the tight barrier of flesh in your cervix.

krauser whimpered. fuuuuuuck, you were sucking him in so good. he can't even pull out. "baby—baby, oh god. fuck, fuck. i'm fucking—cumming. 'm cumming—oh my gooooood," it didn't take any more thrusts for him to start filling your womb up with fertile, sticky cum.

you whined as your cunt's flooded with his seed, and you couldn't do anythin' except for clawing on his built forearms as he held you in place. "urgg—yeah . . . just like that . . fuuuck, i love your pussy baby," you couldn't utter a word. you felt so fucking full. krauser finally releases your head, but still held your body close as he settles on the edge of the bed. you practically collapse on his muscular frame when he finally sits, and that's okay. ♡ krauser made sure he held you tight, wrapping large arms around your body and leaning into you so he could kiss your face.

"tongue out, babe. lemme . . "

you oblige mindlessly, sticking your pretty tongue out for him. krauser's scarred lips wrap around your wet muscle, groaning as he sucked on it. didn't take long 'til he was devouring your spit-stained mouth as you cockwarmed him.

"mmmm. ♡."

CHRIS REDFIELD. ♡

this gif is so? um.

chris usually loves to prep you. loves to spend his time devouring your pussy and having his lips wrapped around that sensitive clit.

but you've got work in an hour, and time isn't a luxury you both have. "chris, j, just the tip, okay?" you say, raisin' your hips as you bent over the dining table; weight propped up on your soft palms. of course you can't say no to him, especially when the outline of his erected cock on his grey boxers is all you've been seeing this morning. but you're just a girl. you have needs and wants.

"just the tip?"

chris asks, pressing his clothed chest against your back. you feel his stubble against your cheek as he pressed open-mouthed kisses on your skin. "i don't . . i don't think i can do it, princess," he whined as his hips push forward. you couldn't utter another word as the leaking head stretches your cunt out.

you shuddered, lips quivering as you clutched on to whatever surface you were bent over on. "y, you caaaan—a, aaah, fuck—you have to . . ” you whined. but chris was greedy. hungry.

he’s not sure where he gets the courage to pull out, but he does. the tip slides out from you with a lewd, almost muted, pop! and you’re both unsatisfied, left yearning with feeling the other completely; but it makes do. it has to. tonight, he can have you for as long as he wanted.

“y/n, p, please—,” he pleads, still fuckin’ you with just the tip. chris can feel just how wet you are, hear how that cunt squelched as bucked his hips. “n, nooo—chris, i’ll—i’ll be late,” “don’t go,” his canines graze your skin, and you squealed when he pushes an inch in. your cunt’s pulsating—trying to accommodate his fat cock without prep. “don’t go—y’don’t h, have to go. please stay,” “ch, chris, i—hnnn!” the rest is completely slammed into you, and your eyes cross. chris takes advantage of your agape mouth, kissing you and letting his tongue glissade over yours.

chris starts to pound that cunt, and muffled cries were swallowed by his lips. you can’t really lie, this felt waaaay better than just the tip. the way the tip bulges out from your lower tummy, the way the pink crown keeps kissing that sensitive cervix, it can’t compare. ever.

“mhhhf,” you groan against his lips, and chris playfully bites down on your lower brim. it was hard to take in air when every thrust into you knocked the air outta your lungs. chris parts from you as he held your hips with those big hands of his.

his pace quickens, ramming into you mercilessly. you're both whimpering, voices blending together in melodious sin; whatever thoughts you had before—gone. not when chris had the skill to turn your brain to mush. "goddd—fuck, y/n. y, y'feel so goooood . . " chris sobbed. if only you could see his face. brows scrunched as he struggled to keep his eyes open; only you could bring these facial expressions to this big, beefy man's face.

you squealed when a hand snakes under your skirt, fingertips rubbing against your neglected clit. "oh fuck!" you mewled, unable to keep your cries to a low. "feel good, princess?" chris purred whilst fucking you into oblivion. "u, uh-huh—♡!" fuuuuck, his balls are fucking throbbing.

"d, don't go . . jus' stay. be my pretty little wife. i can t, take care of you,"

he babbled on, rutting into you, stuffing you full with that veiny cock. chris wants nothing more than to fucking breed you, fill your womb with his cum. "'m g, gonna fucking cum," he pants, chest heaving. but he doesn't stop pummeling that cunt—goes faster, actually. chasing his release and eager to give you yours. the table's creaking, and everything on it shook with every thrust. upstairs neighbour behaviour.

you screamed when he lightly pinches that sensitive bud, and you're seeing stars; mouth agape and back completely arched as he coaxes an orgasm from you. your legs trembled, and chris bit on his lip. "fuuuuck, baby. you're so hot—love you, i love you," "chriiiis, fuckfuckfuckfuuuuck. love youuuuuu . . ♡,"

your lips crash together again, sloppily kissing each other as chris fucks you through your high. he grunts, wrapping his lips 'round your tongue, tasting you. with another slam of his hips, you moan against his mouth when he's completely buried deep in you; thick ropes of cum flooding your creamy, spasming cunt. he can't move any more, can't think anymore. he pulls away from you, because he's sure he'll forget how to breathe.

"oooooh, fuuuck—♡,"

spit's trickling down his stubbled chin, and chris is quiet for a moment; sent to cloud nine and completely fucked out. it takes a minute or two for him to recover, and he tilts your head to the side so he could briefly kiss you while he slid out of your cunt. you both groan, and chris kneads your ass, watching his cum slowly leak from your gaping pussy.

"heheh . . gonna call in sick?"

well, you couldn't feel your legs, so. yes.

CARLOS OLIVEIRA. ♡

carlos watched you writhe whilst you came undone from his tongue. your fingers were tugging on his already disheveled, raven tresses. it's your fifth orgasm—he thinks, if he's counting right; and he'd gladly give you more. his wet kisses trail up your tummy, chest, lips, and you liked how your taste lingered on his tongue.

"carlooos,"

"yes, meu bebê?"

carlos gets a realization tonight.

"want more. 'jus wanna feel you,"

he spoils you a little too much.

your cunt was still twitching with need. you'd do anything to satiate your hunger, anything to relieve that arousal pooling in your tummy. even though he's spent the last few minutes coaxing orgasm after orgasm from you.

but he loved seeing you like this. desperate. needy. like he was the only person you needed. you knew just how to get his gears going without trying. "hmm? but you just came, meu bebê. my beard's still wet," he teased, lips latching on your neck and tracing your skin with sharp canines. you held on to his built biceps, and carlos brings your knuckles to his lips. "j, jus' the tip. please. i want more," "i know, i know, bebê. shh . . "

he can never resist you. especially when you were begging him so prettily. didn't take long for him to prod his tip against your needy hole. you both gasp when the tip slowly sinks in, slowly stretches that wet pussy apart. your nails dig into his skin, and carlos bit his lip. "fuuuck, y/n. your pussy—," fucking warm 'nd tight. clenching on him like you needed him.

carlos didn't mind being bossed around by you, especially by you. he'd do anything you'd ask before you could even blink, but he just has to remind you who's in charge.

you gasped when he slowly sheathes an inch or two into your tight cunt. "carlos, w, what're you—?!" he makes sure to slide in nice and slow, so you'll feel every inch of him splitting him open. and also so he can savour that surprised look in your face.

especially when he harshly shoves the rest of his cock in your leaking pussy, god. you'll kill him. "y, you're so unfair, princesa. so cruel t'me," he cooed, not even giving you the time to process a thought as he began to pound you with ungodly stamina.

"you think i don't have needs too? think i don't need to fuck this cunt and to fuck you 'til you're cockdrunk and overstimulated?" nasty mouth, nastier thrusts. your eyes crossed, body jouncing with every slam forward of his hips.

"c, carlos—h,hnnngg!"

he grins. "yeaaaah, that's right, baby. scream my name." you were so sensitive already, flesh walls spasming around his veiny girth, but fuck, you were oozing so much milky essence, it smeared all over his balls. he leans in so your lips could crash together, and carlos grunts against your mouth as you instinctively wrap you legs around him. of course he had to pick up his pace. why wouldn't he? he was such a good boyfriend to you, paying attention to all your needs.

you whine when he parts from you, but he has to, or else he'd lose his balance. he needed to focus on fucking you, tire his pretty bebê out. he bites his lip when you run your palms all over his built chest and abdomen.

"fuckfuckfuck—carlos—♡!"

a hand wraps around your breast, kneading your tits and running his fingers over your erect nipple. whatever thought you had, he quickly fucked it out from that pretty mind of yours. whatever. not like you needed to think when he could do that for you. well, try.

"y/n—♡ godddd, minha linda garota," [ my pretty girl, ] he babbles on, absolutely hypnotized. god, what were you doing to him? carlos kept pummeling that cunt, bed creaking obnoxiously in the process but it seemed that neither of you cared.

more marks littered his skin, ranging from bites to scratches, and they were definitely going to be sore later, but that's okay, a little pain didn't hurt no one. spit trickles down on carlos's stubbled chin, and you lift yourself up a little jus' so you could lick it up.

"y/n—♡! f, fuck! você é tão porra de suja, m, merda!" [ you're so fucking filthy, shit! ] hooking his arms around your thighs and lifting it up to his shoulders, you squealed when he begins to fuck you faster. harder. sounds of skin slapping growing louder as he rammed you without mercy.

a spare thumb began to trace aimless circles on your clit, and you screamed as an orgasm was ripped from your poor oversensitive cunt. "c, carlos—♡! oh fuck, fuckfuckfuckfuuuuck!" you clutched onto the pillows, sheets, fucking anything. you sobbed, and carlos gently flicks his middle finger against that puffy clit—you squealed as you squirt in small fountains.

"you're sensitive, aren't you, bebê? eu te quebrei, princesa?" [ did i break you, princess? ]

and oh, the way you only responded in fucked out mewls, how fucking precious. now that you've coated his girth in your squirt, it was much easier for him to move in 'n out. you could hear jus' how wet he made you, how that soaking cunt squelched with every thrust. you were such a slut for your boyfriend, and rightfully so.

he stops being cocky when his orgasm nears, grunts turning into high-pitched whimpers as he fucked you into the mattress. carlos tried to keep his monstrous, merciless pace, but fuck, he was so close. the closer he was to filling your cunt up and flooding your walls, the sloppier his hips got, probably from fatigue.

but you were such an angel, his god-sent angel, movin' your hips as you tried to meet his thrusts halfway. carlos could cum at the fucking sight of you trying to fuck yourself against him.

"oh god—♡! oh god, fuck, fuuuuck. vou gozar. vou te engravidar. ai meu deus." [ gonna cum. 'm gonna get you pregnant, oh my god. ] carlos sobbed, and after a few more push of his hips, he's crying out as ribbons of thick cum filled that cunt.

he rides his high out with a few more mindless thrusts, combing a spare hand through his hair. he's in fucking heaven, jesus christ. it's you that brings him back to reality, rubbing his forearm and eventually interlacing your fingers with his.

"oh my god, baby. are you okay?" he caressed your face, and you tiredly smile at him. "never better," you kissed his palm, and carlos tucks away the stray hairs on your face. "you sure? you okay? does anything hurt?" "no, i'm fine. well, a little sore and sensitive, but it's okay. i like it," a grin tugged on his lips, and he shook his head. "you're such a freak, baby. it's okay, i love you," a kiss is pressed on your forehead, nose, and then lips.

you shuddered when he pulls out, and his cum slowly leaks from your used, gaping hole. "i love you . . " you mutter, scooting over to the side so carlos can have the space beside you. he sighs in relief when he finally lays down, absolutely spent. "c'mere," carlos sleepily grunts, pulling you to his arms. you took it upon yourself to cover both your bare, sweaty bodies with the blanket.

"did i tire you out yet?" "hmm . . no, not really," you jeered, and carlos chuckled. "well, i certainly tired myself out," you both laugh, and it didn't take long 'til you both dozed off.

end.

A/N: thank you so much for reading! more to cum. ;) also, regarding carlos's fics, i will repair them soon and change his bilingual dialogue from spanish to portuguese. i'd like to apologize for mistaking him as hispanic!

[soobiary]

AAAAAAAAAAAAA

r/AmITheAsshole •

by u/BigdickBigheartKamo_

WIBTA if I *accidentally* hid my human roommate’s vibrator only to try it on myself? Help! (╥﹏╥)

r/wc. 6.8k

r/warnings. fem! reader, modern au, loserboy choso, he’s kinda pervy here, crack fic, protected -> unprotected, cóndom breaks, vírgin! choso, size kinks, multiple rounds, he fucks you while wearing your hoodie, óral, panty stuffing, bulges, cervíx mentions, switch choso sorta, toy usage, manhandling, use of ‘mommy’, & ‘good boy’, brèeding, body worship, petnames

r/an. he’s trying

TLDR: “… basically, i, (150 M) hid my human roommate’s vibrator just so I could try it out for myself. yeah, i’m actually 150, and no, this isn’t clickbait. please don’t downvote me :(”

“…of course, i properly cleaned it and everything before using it - but, she uses this glittery thing all the time. not the mention the fact that it’s so…big. and another thing, it glows in the dark. this squishy thing can’t be the reason why i can barely sleep sometimes, can it? i swear, i can sometimes hear her loud, belting moans in my dreams. sounds painful. i’m kind of too shy to confront her about it, what if she kicks me out? she’s so nice and pretty - oh, i’m getting off-topic, sorry.

but it was this one particular night that happened, i was in our apartment alone and i hid her toy. she only noticed it was gone after about say, maybe three days. she asked me had i had seen and i just shrugged. in reality though, i tried the thing out for myself and experienced the best organism orgasm of my life!

the down side though, was that she caught me red-handed on her bed … ”

“is that my fucking vibrator?”

“n…no…?”

this looked pretty … bad.

choso had the most wide-eyed look while his legs were spread, wearing nothing but a hoodie - your hoodie.

you blinked twice, barely able to get a word out as you’re presented with your century-old roommate literally rubbing one out on your bed. from cheek to cheek, he was flustered as his right hand froze. it gripped the top part of your toy which was a bright hot pink.

“no?” you deadpanned at his blatant lie, flipping on the light switch. choso’s eyes squinted from the light and oh, the mess that displayed on his stomach. half of your sage-colored university hoodie was pulled up, showcasing his abs that had a bit of his mess painting against his pecs. “you told me you didn’t see it.”

“i didn’t!” he huffs, knowing how this looked.

there was a tiny pout that creased across his thin-lined lips as he tried to momentarily think of an excuse.

“but uh-” and as you watched him flip the power button off the toy with a faint ‘flick’, choso sighed at his ruined release. “you left it out one night on your bed and i got … curious.”

rolling your eyes, you snatched the pink wand with each finger wrapping around the rubbery handle. “so, you just decide to be a perv and use it on yourself?” and choso sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck. he stayed quiet, and all you could hear was his heavy, breathy pants.

oh.

curiosity got the best of you though because that’s when you realized - choso was half-naked.

his boxers were pulled down to his ankles with his cock already pulled out. it stood tall with just the riiiight amount of thick girth. near the very maroon-shaded tip, he was leaking a bit of pre-cum that dripped down all sides. the muscles in his tightened abs tensed after each shallow breath he took while he remained manspread.

“and of course, you’re wearing my hoodie,” you muttered, but your tone sounded . . . different. you didn’t sound pissed, you were a bit intrigued.

choso glanced at you, letting off a dramatic gulp as his naturally hooded eyes cutely roamed down your body.

was he getting off to… you?

the risqué thought suddenly plagued at the back of your mind and you let off a giggle. perplexed, his dark brows wriggled before he saw you scooting closer.

“oh my god, you’re such a slut.”

“no, i told you, i was curious,” he corrects you. “but i’m sorry! look, i’ll even buy you a new one,” choso timidly grins. “heh, fun fact though, did you know that um, orgasms can shut down a single part of your brain? the more you kn-”

as you kept yourself from rolling your eyes a second time, you sighed. “choso, if you wanted to get laid, you could’ve just straight up asked.”

“what? what… what makes you think that?” he clears his throat, nearly choking on the lump hiding in his throat.

choso’s burning, red face was a true dead giveaway of how he truly felt though. the longer you stared at him, the more he felt himself growing harder.

in fact, he’s so hard - it’s practically painful.

choso couldn’t help but wrap a big, veiny hand around his shaft just to give it a few comforting pumps. a shaky, shallow sigh departs from his lips as his thumb zigzags its way down the side of his cock. “f… fine,” he digs the top part of his teeth into his bottom lip, dragging out the lone syllable. “i just didn’t wanna freak you out. besides, i’ve never um… did the laid before.”

right as he mentioned ‘laid’ - choso wriggled his brows to emphasize and it was so unintentionally cute.

“ ‘did the laid?’ ” you repeat back with a snort, forgetting your half-curse half-human of a roommate didn’t exactly have much physical contact with women. he never really spoke much about himself.

choso got more embarrassed at your teasing, and you rubbed your glossed lips together before glimpsing back down at the powered-off vibrator. “the real thing feels a lot better than this thing, anyway.”

“really?” he mumbled, maintaining eye contact with you. from each part of choso’s head, he was sweating profusely. in a way, it was pretty.

his hair wasn’t in its usual two ponytails this time. it was sweated out, matted, and unkempt while having a few black strands messily strung down his face. the teardrops of sweat that streamed down his face decorated his skin perfectly. “is that why you’re screaming every night? because of this thing?”

. . . .

as you plopped down on the bed, you took another glance at him. choso lazily laid back with his legs spread. such a position alone made you gnaw on the bottom of your lip, and him dragging a hand through his hair didn’t make things much better.

“show me.” you purred, your interest fully piqued now.

“show you…?” choso blinked, feeling a sudden shiver once cool air set against his bare skin.

you grabbed your switched-off vibrator, wrapping a hand around it before handing it back to him. “show me how you played with yourself with my toy, silly.”

“oh-” choso nervously grinned, a barred thumb gently brushing over the back of your palm. as he raised both brows, he gave you a timid look. “just don’t laugh.”

“promise.” you muttered, averting your gaze toward his hardened cock.

he was big.

far bigger than you imagined, actually.

choso’s tip was more of the bulbous type with a strawberry-red tint painting near its top. he slipped out a hoarse grunt once he brought a hand toward his shaft, slithering all five stubby fingers ‘round his length. two veins prod near the thick sides before he switched the vibrator back on with his thumb. with a loud ‘flick’, it lights up, signaling that it’s on, and the buzzing starts.

“i just… um,” he swallowed thickly, his voice trembling the longer you stared at him. anxiously, his dick twitched once your stare went from his lap to his face. “earlier i uh- i rubbed the tip against mine like… t- this.” he gulped, and you watched as he gradually guides the pink toy toward the leaking crown of his cock.

choso exhales deeply, letting off unsteady deep sighs once the vibrating tip slooowly rubs its way against his tender head. immediately, it's coated with a bit of his pre-cum and he could feel the muscles in his thighs tense instantly. “fuck..” he bites down on his chiseled jaw, avoiding your lust-filled gaze.

oh, he knew he was screwed.

he didn’t know whether he wanted to feel embarrassed, turned on, or both.

choso’s burning up in your hoodie. the fleecy, soft material felt like it was clawing at his ripped biceps from the inside.

he’s covered in your signature scent entirely, and despite how you’re a hair’s breadth away from him, he’s even daydreaming about you too. in one hand, choso’s giving his veiny cock solid, two-second pumps while the other was using the toy to swirl tender circles around his aching tip.

the entire scene was so lewd, you didn’t know what to say. your body did though, and its initial reaction was to squeeze your thighs shut. the repetitive buzzing of your toy only got louder, and pretty soon - it was repeatedly ringing through choso’s sensitive ears plus yours.

“i couldn’t-” he whined, slouching back against your fluffed pillow. red-ridden lips of his tightly pressed together as he pouts before his thighs nearly collapse. “i couldn’t really get far last time. i didn’t know how to finish and i thought straight up asking you would be um… well, rude.”

you giggled. “do you want me to help you finish?”

million dollar question.

choso’s heart felt like it was about to beat straight out of his chest. you couldn’t see it, but he already had hearty eyes. with his dilated, darkened pupils merely forming into cute shapes he was already so down bad.

“mhm-” he nodded eagerly, his slick lips trembling the more you scooted yourself closer toward him. the room around you both felt substantially hot, and the walls continuously felt like they were closing in after each dreadful second that passed.

choso’s staring at you with a look of not want but need, and that cute ‘lil pout that creases across his lips never faded away. “please,” he adds, and with his husky, trembling voice, you heard his voice slightly crack.

“please?” you took the toy, turning it off with a flip of a button. “please what, ‘cho?”

you heard the ‘power off’ sound, indicating that it’s off again before placing your hand on top of choso’s. you could tell he wasn’t fond of your teasing because of the way his eyebrows parted together in frustration. even his scowls were cute, not intimidating in the slightest.

“please,” he swallowed, tugging on the string of your light green hoodie that swallowed his frame. “make- help me finish, princess. i just-” he paused, his words sounding more whiny once his quivering bottom lip got caught in between his teeth. “wanna fuckin’ finish so bad.”

and as he’s quietly rambling out pleas, choso already looked like he was about to break any second.

dark almond-shaped, eyes followed your every move, studying the direct placement of your wandering hand that trailed up his bulky thighs. he felt so hot, and your touch to his skin felt like electricity. just one finger trailing up his thigh was enough energy to create a spark.

“okay,” you said, and you could hear him sighing a quick sigh of relief. choso leans back, taking a few more seconds to swallow before he starts to pant.

you still couldn’t wrap your head around the fact that your roommate was getting off to you, on your bed, while wearing your hoodie.

honestly, you couldn’t even lie - it was starting to make you grow a bit of a big head, and choso gulped once he saw your head lowering down. “did you steal any more of my toys, choso?”

“no, swear,” he quickly denied, shaking his head. choso’s dick in front of you stood tall as pulse after pulse shooting from his veiny sides within each nanosecond. silently, he watched as your dominant hand gingerly wrapped its way around his length before giving it a few greeting pumps. with choso’s fat size and additional girth, he could barely even fit in your palm. “o- oh, fuck keep touching me p- pleaaase.”

within seconds, choso was already melted putty in your hands. you had him so sensitive, and his brain felt like it just turned into straight mush. he’s feeling the thick air inside the small apartment the two of you shared suffocate him all at once. “mngh-” he groans, taking a quick peek once he feels something abnormally hot.

it’s your tongue, and you took a quick second to softly drag it across his leaking pink tip.

the head of his cock was swollen and large with the perfect plump shape. instantly, your lukewarm tastebuds were met with a bitterly sweet taste of his pre-cum and you let off a moan of your own. without thinking, the same hand from before softly went around his narrow base before you pursed your lips.

“ngh, y- you’re sooo gooood, princess,” and choso’s already pathetically dragging his words.

the way you filthily zigzagged and dipped your tongue over ‘n around his sensitive tip scratched every single itch in his brain. his long, black lashes forcibly flutter shut once he hears the faint ‘pop’ of your slick, wet lips. “like that, just like hah- that.”

choso’s curve itself was attractive too. his heavy cock would sometimes slant a bit on its own, having it's own lean - showing just how big he really is.

you didn’t even realize how much you were starting to shamelessly salivate from the sides of your mouth. once you began to shower each side of his throbbing shaft with kisses, you glanced up at him. “do you want me to st-”

“no, ple-ase,” and cutely, enough, choso’s voice cracks again. both of his ears twitched in embarrassment before he deeply sighed, clearing his throat. “i- i mean,” choso put a hand on the top of your head. “please, please keep going, princess. make me f- feel good. teach me.”

“and you’re not gonna steal my stuff behind my back again, are you?” you muttered, pausing your hand on his dick mid-stroke.

“never-ever,” he nodded impatiently, his deep voice trembling after each quavering syllable.

all choso wanted to feel was your warm, hot mouth taking in every inch. he was inexperienced and maybe a bit old-fashioned but he knew a thing or two about twitter.

twitter and reddit.

why you were roommates with a whole century-old half curse half human was another story within itself. choso pays half the rent every month and even occasionally helps with some of your college work. but sometimes though, while you’re out doing whatever - he gets bored.

choso oftentimes finds himself searching up random things on google while missing your absence. as you’re swiping a thumb over his flushed tip, you run your melting, wet tongue over the head one more time before opening your mouth. imitating the shape of an ‘o’ with your lips, choso whimpered once he felt the soft heaving breaths escape from the back of your eager throat. his cock gradually makes its way inside as you’re batting both lashes.

chocolaty, gentle eyes intently staring at you as he bit back sultry moan after moan that’s threatening to leave his lips. “god-” he grunts sweetly, giving the white-striped string of your hoodie a solid tug.

inch after inch leisurely disappears inside of your mouth and choso’s losing it.

one of his hands absentmindedly slithers its way under your head before he slings four fingers around your neck. the pad of his thumb was caressing the nape of your neck whilst he watched you starting to sink further down. “m- mhm, take all of it, princess. use that pretty throat ‘n take all of me, f- fuck.”

choso���s natural deep voice alone was enough to make you throb. after a few dragging seconds, you managed to fit him halfway down your throat. his tip tenderly smashes its way against your uvula and you moan. glossy saliva ran from both sides of your mouth as your head started to bob.

“oh, you’re already makin’ such a mess,” he breathily mutters, using another hand to awkwardly pat your head.

choso’s never felt anything like this, and all of his senses felt heightened. as his lips continued to quiver from the overwhelming stimulation, choso delicately rubbed his thumb over the spit that streamed down the corners of your lips. “i … i love your voice but you sound a lot prettier when your throat’s hah- stuffed.”

you gave choso a deadpan as you continued to sloppily take him in your mouth, using your hand to twist around his veiny cock.

“what? it’s true,” choso sheepishly grins, but his smile quickly fades once his left thigh started to twitch. his entire body falls limp against the cushioned pillows behind him before he gasps. “oh, shit-” he groans lowly, absently thrusting his hips into your mouth.

as both of your hands grabbed onto each side of his hips, you loudly moaned. it was muffled but still sounded so pretty. choso’s thick, slightly curved cock tap tap tapped it’s way against the back of your throat each time. flawlessly, it tickled down the roof of your mouth after a single vigorous stroke that made your whole body shake.

choso’s (your) hoodie that was still on him was a bit pulled up now, and above his sharpened, hairy waistline - you saw just how ripped he was.

come to think of it, out of the seven months you’ve been living with him, you don’t think you’ve ever seen your roommate shirtless.

“princess, i think ‘m gonna-” he pauses, his eyes widening before pulling his aching dick from your lips.

as you pout, choso looks at you with a timid expression. “is it- can i?” and he’s fumbling on how exactly to ask you. “i … i didn’t ask to use your toy before so i feel like it’s only appropriate if it’s okay to uh- finish in your mouth. sorry.”

“ ‘cho, it’s fine,” you held back a giggle, giving his rosy-pink tip a soft kiss. it convulses upon impact, and choso’s eyes roll back ‘till they show nothing but milky white.

he’s feeling it come all at once - literally, and he’s groaning the minute your plump lips wrap around his cock for its final time. “go ‘head.”

choso didn’t know what it was, but your voice sounded as smooth as honey. he could feel his cock stiffening inside of your clogged-up throat with multiple veins pricking at the sides of his length.

his brain feels oh-so clouded, and that’s when choso’s jaw tightens.

once you give him yet another teasing flick of your tongue over his sensitive slit, that’s when he finally explodes.

choso whimpers once he starts to spurt rope after rope, painting the roof of your mouth including your pretty pink tongue. “ ‘m sorry,” he shuts his eyes, starting to babble with both barred hands delicately gripping the crown of your head. “hah- ruined your mouth ‘n make such a mess, princess,” and as he’s spewing sweet nonsense, choso finally meets eye contact with you again. “fuck- you took it all though.”

your cheeks were both filled, and you hummed at the taste that was stored inside your mouth. while staring at choso, you swallowed - although there was still a bit of remnants left on the corners of your lips.

before you could even attempt to lick it away though, choso does it for you.

almost immediately, he sits up to softly press his body weight against you. choso’s lips crash against you hungrily, and needy muffled whimpers slide their way inside your mouth. you smiled against his lips as you threw your arms around his neck.

choso didn’t really know how to kiss either - he was mostly following your lead.

with one of your hands hanging behind his neck, you lead it up toward his hair before feeling a few matted black tresses tangle between your fingers. briefly, your foreheads touched against each other and you felt the sticky sweat that stuck against his tepid skin.

“mhm-” you moaned, feeling choso’s impatient hands claw at your thighs. his tongue’s swiftly making sure to lap up any remnants of his own cum, not caring in the slightest about his bittersweet taste.

it was broad daylight out, probably about a few minutes ‘till four in the afternoon. as you made your way onto choso’s bare lap, his dick painfully rubbed itself against your denim shorts.

every few seconds, you’d take a peek at choso to see the golden tints of sun that would illuminate certain parts of his face.

“m- mommy,” he whispers against your lips as his roughly-textured fingers ardently tug at the lower fabric of your shorts. choso’s eyes instantly flutter open before a dark red shade color over his face. “i mean-”

“baby, you were right the first time.” you cooed, and oh, choso thinks he just got another boner.

fuck.

in sheer embarrassment, the bridge of choso’s nose cutely scrunched up before he leaned in again.

you think he’s going in for another kiss but instead - he’s making a beeline straight for the the frilly tank top you wore.

two rough hands gently pull up the fabric, and he stuffs his face in between your tits. “s- sorry, princess, mhm,” and you glance down, watching him use your chest as a pillow. you smiled, patting his head. choso’s probably dreamt about this at least about a million times.

poor guy.

“i… i need a minute, fuck,” he muffled between your tits, pressing tender kisses down the valley of your chest. you let off sweet gasps after each peck, and you’re just hearing wet smooch after smooch. choso felt like he was literally in heaven. by now, he’s a sweat-drenched mess. dark, thirsty eyes glance up at you as if he’s asking to touch you more and you gave him a wordless nod. “you’re so perfect, ‘s unfair.” he murmurs, cupping two big hands around your tits.

choso rolled his tongue out of his mouth, gently running the tip across each sensitive nipple of yours. you moaned, feeling your back arch before your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist. “c- choso,” you whined, dragging a hand down his already ruffled hair. with his eyes closed, choso kept tending to each breast lovingly.

with his tongue, he’s trying to mimic each video he stumbled upon online that he did for ‘research purposes.’

choso sucked intently on each tit, departing from each one with loud ‘pop’ sounds that forevermore ringed through your ears. coral, pink lips of his compress together before he sits back up to create a wet trail of kisses down your jaw. abruptly though, choso grunts against your slickly glossed lips before laying on your chest. “no good, i’m still so hard.”

“what are you waiting for then?” you sweetly purred, tossing your arms around his broad neck once more.

with wide, mousy eyes - choso sheepishly smiles. “oh, right, right…” and as you pulled the covers up over choso’s back with you underneath, he’s ‘attempting’ to align himself. of course, choso doesn’t know what the actual fuck what he’s doing.

he’s done a lot of ‘research’ about intimacy but he never expected it to be this intimate.

“oh-,” he pauses, his bare tip resting against your already dripping cunt. choso reaches near his nightstand before pulling out a rubber. “i read somewhere that i should wear this unless i wanna get pregnant.”

as you absentmindedly strummed a thumb down the stood-up hairs that decorated the back of his pale neck, you giggled. “don’t you mean me, choso? unless i get pregnant?”

“oh..” he cringes, scratching his head in embarrassment.

after a few seconds - with a faint-sounding snag, choso successfully put the rubber on. it was a tight fit, but it fit. just barely.

choso was slightly shy, and you could tell by his hesitant arms trying to find the right placement. you looked at him, rubbing the back of your heel down his back in an attempt to soothe him. “relax,” you coo, helping him align his aching tip. he was already moaning the second it slipperily slides its way down your slit that’s so desperate for him to just go inside already. “you weren’t this shy when i saw you using my toy earlier.”

“tch, shut up,” choso smacks his lips, and you let off a soft gasp once he lifts your legs. he firmly pushes them back ‘till they reach just above your exposed chest. “ ‘m gonna show you how shy i really am, princess.”

“yeah? go ‘head, baby.”

☆ ☆ ☆

and fuck, he does.

calling choso a quick learner was the understatement of the year.

one minute he was shy and the next, he was strenuously plowing through you as if his occupation was a construction worker. choso’s animalistic stamina caught you off guard entirely. each stinging slap of soft flesh hitting against each other makes you moan. he’s buried deep, grunting each time his rubbery tip rams itself against your g-spot with no mercy.

choso stretched you out so well while easily locating each tender erogenous zone until you short-circuited.

“f- fuck, choso- fuck,” you whimpered, clawing your nails down his back. the entire time he’s inside, he’s still wearing your hoodie. you might as well let him keep it anyway.

he’s just a straight-up untamed animal, growing feral after each rigor thrust. the bed beneath you both grunts out creaks of despair with the headboard sounding like it’s on its final rusty hinges. choso’s heavily panting, pushing your knees up further to your chest mid-thrust. “yeah, yeaaah, there ‘cho- hit there, ugh-”

“here?” he hoarsely utters, bringing his spit-glossed lips toward the caps of your knees. choso maintains intimate eye contact before with a single deep stroke, he introduces his tip to your g-spot for another nth time.

you nodded, choking on your little mewls before choso mocked your pout. “mhm, all i had to do was hit this spot for you to stop teasing me, princess?”

and he hits it again, and again, and again -

constantly.

choso’s cock was basically bullying your cunt by this point, and you moaned after each direct hit. he’s precise and accurate, using your clit as a target while striking a perfect bullseye with his reddened crowned tip. you held onto him tight as the bed rocked and swayed roughly, both sticky bodies melting together into one.

“ ‘m getting close,” you whined, your pathetic sweet cries against his ear making him even harder.

choso dragged calloused hands down your body as his dick drove through your sobbing pussy repeatedly. all ‘round his length, you’re squeezing him tight and convulsing continuously. choso groans into your neck and his pace slows a bit for a few seconds. “c- choso.”

“shh,” he whispers, and you watch him reach beside you. choso flicks your denim shorts aside, picking up your panties before bawling them up in his hand. “you’re so loud, princess. forgive me for bein’ rude, but i don’t wanna hear you right now,” and despite how his voice was so silkily smooth and gruff, that’s when he softly stuffs your panties in your mouth. after that, his hips give you one big thrust and it causes your poor pussy to squelch out pretty ‘lil sobs of its own. “wanna hear her.”

and choso wasn’t even looking at you anymore.

his attention’s solely on your wet cunt, and he’s silently in awe at how you’re taking every hefty inch like a good girl. you’re so wet too, and each thrust was making his head spin.

but right as he starts up his rocky pace - he hears a certain tearing snaaaap.

your eyes flutter open as your chest heaves, and choso blinks twice. his thighs relaxed before he looked at the sudden ‘rupture.’

the condom actually broke, and his bulbous tip was fully poking out of the rubbery top part of the hole. choso grunted, not even realizing how close he was because he could feel how full he was already. “oops,” he pouts, abruptly pulling out. despite how your own panties were still stuffed in your mouth, you scrunched up your brows as if you were saying - ‘what happened?’

“it broke,” choso frowns, and you could hear him ripping the tattered condom off his erect length. he looks back at you, pressing a kiss on your cheek. “do i just get a new one?”

instantly, you shook your head. the panties ended up falling out of your mouth and you took a millisecond to breathe. “no, you can- hah, you can go in raw.”

“raw,” choso repeated, and you moaned once he gently pressed a palm on the center of your bare tummy. “are… are you sure, princess?”

“i’m sure.” you panted, already feeling your mouth water at the sheer filthy imagery of choso dumping you with his load.

choso leaned in, closing the suffocating gap between you both with a kiss and you moaned. he tasted so sweet, and yet again, you’re immediately met with his cherry-mint flavor as both lips violently smashed into each other.

while he’s still trying to follow your lead with his lips, choso removed the condom before tossing it in the trash bin. cool air sets against his tip and lets off the sweetest-sounding moan ever into your mouth.

he’s carnal - swaying his hips against yours impatiently while trying to align his feverishly-hot tip. “you’re gonna make me cum just by staring at you,” he huffs quietly, delicately smacking the fat head of his cock against your puffy slit.

you whimpered, feeling all ten of your toes curl before he presses himself against your held-up knees. “pretty, messy girl.” choso grunted, using two fingers to dip inside of your pussy. you were about to whine again, but that’s when choso stuffed your panties back in your mouth.

with a loud ‘pop’ - choso pulls his now sticky-covered fingers out of your cunt before guiding them toward his lips. as his bare tip’s slowly making its way inside of you again, he sucks on his fingers in front of you. “mhm,” choso closed his eyes for a moment, taking in your sweetened arousal. “never knew my roommate could taste so g- oh, fuck.”

choso gets caught off guard by the unexpected feeling of him rawly cumming. a breath gets caught in his throat before he slumps against you, filling you rope after rope with oozing hot cum. it’s unlike any feeling he’s ever felt before, and he’s speechless.

you let off faint, muffled moans in the background as your tongue and teeth snagged against the lacy fabric of your panties. choso’s aching limbs felt like they were about to fall off. his head buried inside of your neck before he started to whine.

no matter how dominant he tried to be, the clingy sticky grip of your pussy would always put him in check.

“ugh-” he gruffly grunts against your bare collarbone, delicately pressing down a bit more on your stomach.

while he’s still pouring out such a thick, ribbony load of cum, choso ends up brushing his fingertips against his bulge that even makes a faint noticeable print against your tummy. he thought it was cute, and he even groans out a sweet, “fuck.”

hungry, dark-bronze eyes flicker down at your stuffed cunt that’s just dripping from all sides and he sighs. “it’s spilling,” choso pouts and your eyes widened once he suddenly lifted you, propping you right back up on his cock. “can’t- can’t let it go to waste, princess,” he breathes airily, helping you sprawl your already shaky legs. your arms wrapped around choso’s shoulders before with one hand, he gives your ass a soft squeeze before whispering in your ear. “ ‘m not done filling you in yet. s- sorry.”

☆ ☆ ☆

one hour turned into two, then three, then four.

choso had the stamina of a stallion, and it didn’t take long at all for him to be utterly addicted to your sweet, sweet pussy. continuously, he’s effortlessly ripping out shrilling orgasm after orgasm ‘till your chords went raspy.

he’s got you riding him now, and oh he might just think he’s in love.

it was just something about you moving your hips so perfectly.

both scarred palms of his securely gripped your rotating ass, gently squeezing at the loud plopping skin that stung against his lap every second. “jus’ like that, pleaseplease,” he groans, glancing up at you with half-open eyes. the stretch of choso’s cock always left both of your pried open legs shaking with your jaw slightly left ajar. he’s just ridiculously big, jackhammering all nth-inches of his cock deep into your dripping cunt. “god, your hips are gonna kill me-”

“fuck-” you breathed, peeking around a bit to see your ass ruthlessly slamming back down on his time and time again. in a lewd, dirty way - it was almost pretty. the way your hips rolled into him, the sparkly tear of sweat that tore down your bare spine, how your tits just mindlessly bounced in choso’s face.

he felt like he was heaven.

deadly sharp echoing slaps of skin fiercely ricochet against each other as you kept up a decent pace, burying your face into his left shoulder. choso’s stammering out cute inaudible babbles while you continued, taking the opportunity to help you drag your hips faster.

you made sure to dig your knees into his thighs, twisting and turning your ass while pulling yourself forward. your hips alone had choso hypnotized, and if you squinted enough you could make out the cartoonish rings swirling in his irises.

“mhm, fuck me mommy-” he slips it out again, but at this point, he doesn’t even care. as your body’s languidly swayed into him, you moaned once his crowned tip surprised your cervix with a multitude of sloppy kisses. one tap turned into three taps within seconds, and now you felt like you were really short-circuiting.

choso’s whining near your right ear before he gasps out a sweet, “ohh, fuck i- if you keep riding me like that, you’re gonna get me… pregnant.”

you held back a giggle, wondering how he forgot already that he couldn’t actually get pregnant.

choso’s head was just so clouded that he couldn’t think straight at all - not when your pussy was snatching him out of reality.

“yeah?” you cooed, bringing a soft kiss toward the side of his mouth.

choso’s pink lips tremor instantly and you watched as his mouth instantly opened for you. just then though, that’s when you got an idea.

you could tell choso was already getting close again judging by his erratic spasming beneath your body, and you then abruptly stopped your hips.

“wha- why’d you stop?” he frowns, not even realizing how much he was sweating.

your hoodie that he was wearing was practically drenched with sweat, and there were so many jet-black strands of hair gluing to his forehead.

choso pants, staring at you as you reach near the edge of the bed for your pink vibrator from earlier.

a hand of yours swiftly wrapped around the wand, and with a single thumb, you switched it on. right away, it lights up - singing out loud buzzes before you look at him with a playful expression. “may i?”

“heh, you’re a kinky girl huh,” choso slouched back against his pillow. he took a second to admire how pretty you looked over him - just nude with your sweat-dripping skin glistening from the rays that shined from your cracked open window pane. “okay, yeah. whatever you w- oh, my god.”

as you re-aligned yourself on choso’s cock, you guided the vibrating tip of your toy over his pearly-coated tip. as he was just barely a few inches in, you were gently rubbing the vibrator over choso’s cockhead and he instantly knew he wasn’t gonna last much longer.

“p- princessss,” he hisses sweetly, tightly holding onto your hips. choso clenched down on his jaw until it wholly tightened, and he’s feeling every single vibration from the toy. as the both of you moaned in sync, you never did really realize how pretty your roommate looked with his eyes rolling fully back, his mouth just idly dangling open. “fuck, fuck, ‘m gonna cum, ugh-”

“look at me,” you whisper, greeting his quivering lips with three kisses. a glossy trail of saliva departs each time. beady, docile eyes meet yours after about four delayed seconds and you whimpered, hearing the sharp whack of choso’s palm meeting against your ass. “are you gonna use my toys again, ‘cho?”

choso whines as you slowly kept rubbing the vibrating tip of the toy over his tender cockhead, and he’s feeling every compressed his lips. “p- probably,” and he quickly backtracks, sheepishly letting off a dry laugh. “i mean no. i’ll ask first, promise- ugh.”

you smiled, using another hand to stroke his veiny length that was still so rock hard. his entire body was trembling beneath you, and choso’s louder than you now. “are you gonna be a good boy ‘n cum for me now?”

“mmm-hmm, fuck,” choso groans, and the sudden pitch of his husky tone makes you throb. he tosses his head back, eyeing the wooden rotating ceiling fan before licking his lips. “princess ‘m cumming-”

your vibrator was only on level one out of the four other levels - and yet, choso cums hard.

it's way more than his other releases, and it comes out in creamy thick ropes. you raise your hips while looking down, hearing choso break apart in front of you. his tip’s the hottest shade of red you’ve ever seen, and the way he just continued to erupt made you twitch more. a bit of his cum shoots near your drooling cunt and your inner thighs - but especially on the head of your vibrator.

“wait,” he exhales timidly, pulling his black brows apart as his eyes remain closed. choso’s trying to catch his breath while still feeling so euphoric all over. “f- fuck, look at how messy she is.” choso breathes, gradually pulling out once he finishes.

satiny, white ribbons of cum decorated the front of your pussy with a bit of his mess salaciously spilling out of you. he didn’t just stuff you, he double-stuffed you.

you moaned as he stared, getting in between your legs for a moment. you felt choso’s warm breath aerate against the opening of your dripping clit before he spreads your thighs. “so pretty,” he murmurs, bringing the print of his thumb to glide it straight down the glistening valley of your pussy. “hah- want a little taste.”

and within a blink of an eye, choso’s tongue laps itself at the sticky mess that was glued between your legs. “s- shit,” you heaved a deep breath, clawing a shaky hand in his hair. again, choso didn’t care at all about tasting his aftermath. it tasted even sweeter because of you, in his mind. he’s like a starved animal, flicking his tongue inside before it turns to a sloppy vacuuming suck. “yesyes, choso hngh-”

choso makes out with your clit - literally. he’s slightly shaking his head from side to side, relishing in the bittersweet taste of you.

you felt his lips cup ‘round your pussy before he gives it a greedy seven-second suck. “mhm,” he groans, reaching an arm down to stroke his cock. your moans alone ended up getting him off, and choso felt his dick twitch in his palm once he felt you softly push him further in between your legs. “i’m gonna clean you all up princess, p- promise.”

not even minutes later, the entire lower portion of choso’s chin was completely shimmery. even the tip of his button nose was a bit wet.

he sat up from between your legs, taking a few deep breaths before licking his lips. “thank you.” he lowly murmured, giving your pussy a soft pat. he felt you throb on his palm and it made him grin.

“good boy,” you spoke in tiny airy breaths, heavily panting yourself. almost forgetting, you turned off the toy that was still in your hand, tossing it aside before getting back on choso’s bare lap.

choso wraps his burly arms around you, hugging you while one hand crept toward your ass. his lips met the inside of your neck before he pulled you into his chest. “we should-” he breathed, finally opening his eyes to get a good look at you.

oh, he was whipped.

“we should do the laid more often.”

“we’ll see.” you stroke his right cheek, bringing a chaste kiss to his lips. choso makes you fall on top of him before the both of you are lying in bed next to each other.

perhaps choso was a bit too whipped though, because he lays on top of you, kissing your forehead before blurting out a husky short-winded, “i love you, yuki.”

smiling, you stared into his eyes before that same smile quickly faded. “i love you too ch- wait who?”

“……………..”

u/BigdickBigheartKamo_ ✓ • 2min. ago

So, we aren’t roommates anymore but at least I still have her hoodie I guess :( but help. (◞‸◟；) the real question is though,

[soobiary]

this hurt my soul

— 𝐃𝐎 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐌𝐄?

SUMMARY. zhongli never lies; he always says the truth as it is, even if it is a hard pill to swallow. or in which you realize you are not his greatest love and that is alright… right? (3.3k+ words)

CHARACTERS. zhongli.

GENRE. major angst, hurt with little to no comfort (sort of?).

CW. insecurities to a partner’s past love and gradual acceptance (?), zhongli’s past love is implied to be guizhong and uses she/her pronouns, use of pet names, possible sappiness. + read the alt text on zhongli’s header for an extra summary!

THOUGHTS. i haven’t written angst in a vv long time, so my sincerest apologies if i’ve become rusty! but i tried my best and writing zhongli always gets me sniffling <//3

EXTRA THOUGHTS. a gift for @medeaheartly! so, do you remember the “special privilege” request you sent me in this ask?? hehe, tadaaaa. happy birthday, jae! <3

✰ main masterlist. // series masterlist.

THE VERY FIRST TIME you asked him that question was on a day like every other. In fact, there was barely anything special about that day that could’ve brought rise to such a forward question. Liyue was as calm as the ocean breezes from the direction of Guyun Stone Forest, the same as ever. You were sitting across from the man of your dreams with delicacies laid out on the table at Third-Round Knockout, the same as ever.

But it was no compulsion, no forcefulness either, just a need to reaffirm. For it still felt like a dream that you were here right now, sitting across from him.

“ZHONGLI, do you love me?” You asked.

Keep reading

[soobiary]

this is so sweet

bathroom meetings

you were finally in the tub.

bubbles everywhere. hair piled up. candle lit. mood set was divine. perfect silence. peace. it was your me time. after a ridiculous week that felt like being hit repeatedly with a spreadsheet and then lit on fire, the only thing you wanted was solitude and maybe for your skin to absorb enough lavender oil to knock you out for twelve hours.

sukuna had been in full corporate tyrant mode the past few days. buried in meetings. constantly yelling into headsets like he was declaring war (he might’ve been).

there were moments you’d pass by the home office and hear him through the closed doors: “i said quarterly projections, not emotional projections. are you fucking with me?”

in that same low, terrifying voice he used when he was threatening that random guy on the street who once slapped your head thinking you were his friend. and obviously, that’s the tone that meant someone’s career was about to combust.

not that sukuna had been ignoring you, though. there were still sleepy kisses in the morning. half-asleep cuddles at night. coffee mug swaps between meetings. the quiet, steady kind of love. but you missed him. his annoying, smug, feral ass. just a little.  

so when the bathroom door creaked open mid-bath, you didn’t even flinch. you just knew. and yep, there he was.

dragging in his entire goddamn office chair. into the fucking bathroom.

yes, a literal, high-backed, leather executive monstrosity. the one he always dramatically called ‘the only chair that respects my spine.’ he wheeled it in like he was about to conduct a strategy meeting in your bubble sanctuary. and then he parked it casually beside the sink, facing you.    

you blinked at him from your lavender-scented cocoon of suds, “what the hell, babe… are you serious right now?”

“hi, baby,” he said, already settling into the seat like this was perfectly reasonable. “i wanna spend time with you. so i brought my chair.”

“…in the bathroom?”

“yeah, got a problem with it? you’re hot. the lighting’s warm. the air smells like that purple crap you love. it’s a vibe. this is my happy place.”

you stared at him. “you brought your chair.”

“‘course I did,” he said, already opening his laptop (he fucking brought one) and clicking away like this was just another thursday. “i’m swamped. figured i could do my stupid shit and look at you. productivity. efficiency. serotonin. and dopamine. win-win.”

you squinted at him. he never used that many words to justify something unless he was spiraling. which meant that he’s fucking really drained for today – an oddity. sukuna never gets drained. he had the chaotic stamina of a toddler with an espresso machine. weird visual, but whatever. 

“you just wanted to watch me and pretend it was multitasking.” you teased.

“baby, i don’t need to pretend to watch you,” sukuna replied without shame, eyes flicking down over your shoulders, lingering for a breath too long. “i’m your husband. it’s practically in the vows.”

you groaned and slid lower into the bubbles. “you’re so annoying. you have zero concept of personal space.”

“bold of you to say when i was balls deep in you last week,” he muttered, eyes back on the laptop screen.

you rolled your eyes. “rude. that was emotional love-making, actually.”

“you cried after,” he added helpfully, with a teasing grin this time, looking at you.

“i was overstimulated and exhausted!”

“from all the love,” he said, voice dropping slightly as he winked. “you looked so fuckin’ pretty like that, by the way. all whimpery and soft. should’ve taken a photo. mental health purposes.” he then turned back to his laptop and continued doing whatever shit he was doing like he hadn’t just shattered your dignity. 

“god, you’re insufferable,” you sighed, watching him lean back and spread his legs like he owned the damn place (he does). shirtless. and just in his boxers. basically, a menace in soft lighting.

“only for you,” he said, then paused, dragging his eyes down again. his fingers slowed on the keyboard. “you always sit like that in the tub when you want me to look.”

you froze slightly. “‘kuna, i’m literally just bathing.”

“uh-huh. with your knees poking out of the bubbles like that. water dripping down your collarbone. are we pretending you’re not trying to make me fail this report?”

you stared him down. “you’ve been shirtless all day. i haven’t said a word.”

“you bit me earlier. for no reason.”

“you were walking around with a pen in your mouth like a chew toy!”

he grinned and stretched out in the chair, legs wide, muscles relaxed. “ohhh, my bad, madame la professeur. je m’excuse.” his voice dipped, teasing. “would you prefer I recite conjugations again?” 

you choked on a laugh, bubbles shifting. “no... baby, stop. i don’t wanna heart it,” you said as you covered your ears.

“sweetheart, you threatened to drown me with a beret when i said ‘voulez-vous coucher avec moi’ in class.”

“because you said it in front of the TA! and winked at me after saying that, who does that?”

“me, obviously. and now look at us,” he gestured vaguely between the two of you, “still conjugating. still undressing with language.”

“gross.”

“grammatical,” he corrected smugly.

“anyway,” you huffed, “this was supposed to be sacred alone time.”

“correction,” he said, typing, “this is now sacred us time.”

“i can’t believe this is what my marriage looks like.”

he looked up again, glasses low on his nose. hair messy from a full day of stress-yanking (not love-making). dark eyes locked onto you like you were another report he was ready to manhandle. “consider me your emotional support office chair. i’m quiet. i click keys. i’m shirtless. it’s a wellness experience, brat.”

you gave him a deadpan look. “remind me again why you’re still doing reports when you own the entire damn company?”

“because my exec team is full of morons and apparently need their daddy to babysit the fucking budget.” he muttered, his eyes back on the screen.

“… so you really say that in meetings? ‘don’t worry, daddy’s here with the spreadsheets’?”

he gave you a withering look. “baby, don’t make me come over there and show you why they call me that.”

you sat up straighter, mock-scandalized. “you are not turning my bath into a boardroom kink.”

“oh, please,” he snorted. “you’d let me reorganize your filing system if i said that it in that voice.”

 “try me,” you puffed your cheeks and threatened, “i will throw a loofah at you. and for the record, ‘kuna? this is ambush. i was having sacred time, you bulldozer.”

“and yet… you married me.”

“temporarily lost judgment.”

“five-year lapse?”

you rolled your eyes in annoyance. “shut up. you’re ridiculous.”

“correct. and in love.” he said easily, shifting the laptop onto his other lap. and you let out a soft laugh at that because you know it’s true. 

for a moment, he didn’t say anything. just watched you, still half-soaked in warm light and bubbles. his eyes lingered, not with hunger and mischief, but with something softer. like he was memorizing. or making sure you’re here.

“you good, babe?” you asked.

he blinked, like coming back from wherever his head has gone. “yep, just…” he shrugged. “you’re the best part of the day, baby. seriously though, i missed you,” he said voice quieter now, like it didn’t just knock the air out of your lungs.

you blinked and froze a little. not because he said it, but because of how soft he said it. you rolled your eyes again, but your heart was already melting. “i’ve been busy. you’ve been busy. it’s fine.”

“it’s not fine,” he said, not looking up from the screen. “i like working. but i like you more. well, love. whatever, you know.”

that... shut you up a little. for a whole minute, even. you stared at him as candlelights softened the hard lines of his face. he was typing again, brows furrowed, but his jaw was tight.

“… okay, damn. for someone who threatened brad from finance with a stapler, that’s surprisingly romantic, ‘kuna.” you said quietly.

he cracked a small smile. “brad’s an idiot. you, on the other hand, are my peace.”

you were silent for a second and sighed out relief you’ve been wanting to let out for the past week. “well, you’re a clingy little bitch.”

“only for you, baby,” he said without missing a beat. then he smirked and cocked his head, eyes sliding over your shoulder, chest, legs – all barely hidden under the bubbles. 

“also, this bath is really doing things to my productivity levels. like, negative productivity. you gonna stand up at some point or do i have to pretend i dropped something in your bathwater?” he added, clearly back to his cocky self.

you threw the loofah at him. he caught it one-handed. “you’re such a menace.”

“only for you, brat,” he repeated again, softer this time. then added, “also, your left boob’s out. always a ten out of ten.”

“get out.”

“i just got comfortable,” he grinned. “and again… i’m your husband. my perving is legally protected.”

––

a/n: lol i went thru a writing slump last month and i can't think of anything – and thank heavens i've maxxed out my scrolling that i was able to come out of that coping (from a failed subject and delayed grad) lol so here's another husband!sukuna just bc and this ain't proofread

[soobiary]

WHERES MY TOJIII

She's Crazy But She's Mine

Synopsis: In which everyone wonders why hockey player!Toji is with the weird girl  Warnings: smut, fluff, porn with some plot, fem!reader, cringe galore beware- might hit home for some people lol, cockwarming, semi-exhibitionism, blowjob, unprotected sex, roleplaying, biting, dirty talk (at parts cringy on purpose), boxers sniffing, improper use of hockey stick, cunnilingus, fingering, not proofread - like seriously, not at all. sorry Word Count: 2k

Toji’s the star of the hockey team — highly skilled, a strong performer, speedy, agile, a visionary, and so damn hot. Everyone loves him: the guys want to be him and the girls want to ride him. With those broad shoulders, his slutty waist, sinful smirk and tempting scar, he’s earned his title as MVP. 

What people don’t get, though, is why he walks the halls of campus with his arm slung over a girl who is clearly not on his level: you wear anime merch, galaxy leggings, and big, boxy glasses you don't seem to actually need. People who have classes with you gossip about how you sit at the back, in the far right corner, chewing on your hair and drawing male characters in intimate positions. One cheerleader even swears you hissed at her when she said she likes your art style. 

After practice, he doesn’t hang back with the guys, instead, he’s heading over to the robotics lab to pick you up.  You’re rambling about circuits, the future of android domination or whatever to some nerd. He blushes when you press close. Toji, at the doorway, is staring daggers at the lanky little shit, who obviously didn’t get the memo about his claim. 

“Ya like nerds, ma? That why you were practically milking his dick in the lab?” He’s bullying his fat cock inside your tight, sloppy pussy. Your ugly-ass leggings are ripped apart at the crotch, legs spread to their limits as he fucks you against some shelves in the janitor’s closet.

Breathless, glasses askew, you reply. “N-no. Was just -ah, Toji, slow down!- just excited to tell him about LADS… I think he’d -hah- really like Zayne.”

He laughs against your neck, sucking at a sensitive spot just to feel you tighten around him. 

“God, if your moans didn’t sound so damn good, I’d stuff your panties in your mouth.”

In the locker room, after a good game, the guys ask him why he’s even with you. They point out that you talk to yourself sometimes, that you have different pictures of pretty men in your phone case every day, wear brightly-coloured clothes you made yourself, and have only ever been seen drinking cans of Monster.

Toji doesn’t bother answering. Why would he? They’ll never understand your dynamic, your appeal, and the fact that he wouldn't be able to shake you off even if he did want to. 

With the pummelling of the water, he hides the nasty slurrrrrrps coming from your mouth as you kneel between his legs in his stall, at the very back of the showers. Toji's always the first one in the locker room after a game because he knows you'll be hiding somewhere; you love to lick, suck and fondle his balls after he's gotten all sweaty and sticky. Something about his 'musk' and 'pheromones' unlocking your 'inner moon goddess.'

You’ve got a tail plugged in your ass, all soaked and pathetic looking, but when it twitches as you clench, empowered by the taste and enormous size of him filling your throat, your hockey player boyfriend can’t help but cum hard. 

“Drink it all up —yeah, just like that, good girl.” He licks his scar when you stick your tongue out, playing with the cum on there with your long fingers, making yourself gag just for him. “Shh, keep quiet, yeah? Don’t want them to catch you. Alright, turn around, baby, show me your pretty pussy.”

Bent over, you smoosh your face against the cold tiles and spread your cheeks for him, purposefully clenching so he can see your juices drool out when he lifts your soggy tail up. Wriggling your ass, you whisper, “Come and plant your seed, oh Dark Lord. Make this mudblood bear fruit for my serpent king.”

He shakes his head in disappointment but sinks his cock into you anyways. “You got back into your Harry Potter phase again, didn’t ya?”

Since he's started dating you, his understanding of pop culture has broadened considerably. For example, just recently, the new Marvel movie came out and you couldn't stop replaying edits of Bucky. He was doing push-ups when you dropped to the ground and crawled right under his body, his arms fully extended. That mischievous grin on your lips could only spell out one thing: trouble. 

That was how he found himself, folding you into a pretzel, in his bedroom. And despite the dangerous hold he had around your neck, you could only whine out, "Harder, Buck!"

"Yeah, Steve, take my fat cock. Milk the Winter out of my Soldie—God, these lines are so shit, ma. Who wrote this garbage?"

Nails digging into his meaty forearm, sweat-slicked and delirious, you reply with a giggle, working your ass back against his pelvis to feel his tip kiss your cervix. "My mootie. Don't worry about it. Come on, we're only in Act Two out of seven. Think you can last?"

He grunts. "Worry 'bout yourself, doll. I can do this all day."

Sometimes, your weirdness doesn't even involve him. Just last week, he came home after practice and dumped his duffel bag in the living room on his way to the bathroom, keen to get clean. When he finished, he noticed the bag unzipped and rifled through. Sighing, he saunters into his bedroom, bends down, grabs your ankle, and drags you out from under his bed.

With his boxers covering your entire face, he tuts. "What have I said about taking my shit? Huh? What did I say about going around and sniffing my boxers like some kinda dog? Said you just gotta ask, didn't I?"

Shamelessly, you come to a kneeling position, pulling his towel off so you can nuzzle his already half-hard cock, still wearing his boxers on your head. "Sorry, Toji."

"Show me, ma. Show me how damn sorry you are."

Not a moment of peace is given to him with you as his girlfriend. Not when you always have a new hobby, when there's drama unfolding all the time in all the online communities and fandoms you're part of, and certainly not when your appetite is seemingly endless. He can't even tape his new stick up for grip without you climbing on his back and laying kisses all over his neck. "No."

"But I wanna!"

Trying to shape you off, he says, "You gotta wait. Need to get a feel for it before I keep taping."

Of course, you don't listen to him. So, he's forced to throw the tape aside and let you crawl onto the floor, between his legs. The hockey stick is hooked on your clothed pussy, pressed deliciously right against your slit.

"Needy fucking girl, aren't ya? Can't fucking wait. Well, fine. Go on, then. Make it a good one. Make it worth my damn time."

Grinding, you get lost in the friction, groping your bouncy tits over your shirt. He huffs a laugh when you meet his gaze, eyes clouded over with desire, and lick a long stripe up the shaft. "Toji, tie my wrists to the ends and fuck me from behind, please."

"Sure, but I get to choose the movies for the next week. Getting tired of all the Lord of the Rings shit."

You moan in agreement when he suddenly tugs on the stick, pulling it hard against your clit. Your pussy juices coat the toe and he can't resist rubbing his throbbing cock over his shorts, already imagining all the good luck seeping into the stick, carrying him onto his victory.

"Cum, baby. Get it all wet for me, yeah? I'll be sure to thank you real good when I win next time."

Showing up to practice with a crick in his neck, Toji shrugs off any questions about it. His teammates would only tease him for being a simp if they found out he had spent hours the night before eating you out under your desk as you gamed.

He had three fingers stuffed inside your drenched cunt, curling them again and again against your gummy spot as he sucked hard on your pulsing clit. Your thighs quivered around his head, keeping him close, threatening to suffocate him; there are worst ways to die, he supposed.

"Fuck! Whose goddamn Venti is that? Did they even equip any fucking artefacts? I gotta carry this team with my Yaelan. Again."

Toji fought the urge to roll his eyes, and instead focused on rolling your clit around with his tongue, teasing the bundle of nerves with his skills. Despite your less than perfect diet, he finds that you actually always tastes good. You only eat fast food and chicken nuggets shaped like dinosaurs, yet you're sweet, mild, and completely addictive.

Sucking hard, partly to bring you closer to an orgasm and partly so he could bring your attention back to him rather than whatever's on your screen, he listened to your sharp intake of breath. "Ah! T-toji, be gentle. I'm still -ngh!- sensitive."

"Hurry up and win then, ma. My balls are about to fucking burst."

You giggled, brushing a hand through his hair, scratching just right and gaining a low groan out of him. "Give me one more -hah- o-orgasm and I'll let you -fuuuuuck, Toji- creampie me. You can watch it ooze out like custard filling, whatd'ya say, baby?"

"Yeah, sure. But don't make me recite any lines from whatever mafia erotica shit you're reading, yeah?"

He bit back a chuckle when he felt you pout, through some cosmic connection (your words, never his) and shoved your chair back suddenly. Standing to his full height, he lifted your hips with him, leaving you dangling in the air, clinging to the armrests desperately as he sucked the soul out of your drooling pussy. "Yes, fuck! God, y-you're so good to me. I love -hngh!- you! Marry me!"

"Shut up. That's my fucking line."

Even his brother sometimes wonders why you two are even together. It’s not that the younger boy doesn’t like you, no, of course, he does — you’re nice, and you bake him cookies. He just thinks you two are so different from each other. Toji likes sports and fitness. You like anime and bedrotting.

He's brought it up before, and his older brother would only muss his hair and tell him, 'You're asking questions you're not ready to hear the answers to.'

What he doesn’t get to see, because he’s at school, is that you two have found a common ground, a way to blend your worlds together. 

Your boyfriend watches sports on the TV, beer in hand and you on his lap, arms and legs wrapped around his body. You watch whatever anime you’re obsessed with at the moment on your iPad, which you hold up behind his head, nuzzling close into the crook of his neck. Occasionally, you’ll take a long whiff of his scent or chomp on his skin, and in retaliation, he’ll rut his cock deep inside you. Something about quality time and cockwarming really gets you going, apparently. 

“Up, baby. Need to get another drink.” He grunts when you tighten your hold around him, even going as far as to clamp down on his throbbing cock, grinding your hips around. A dribble of cum runs down his balls. “No? You’re a real piece of work. Alright, hold on tight then.”

Every step he takes drives him deeper inside you, nudging his fat cock head against that gooey spot inside of you. “Ah, Toji, your rock-hard member is impaling me!”

Groaning, he smacks your ass. “Do you gotta call it those weird ass names, ma? Ain’t ‘dick’ just fine?”

“What about ‘manhood?’”

“Try again.”

You hum. “‘Shaft?’ Or, ‘wizard’s staff?’”

He takes a swig of his beer, sighing. “Forget it.”

Yeah, his girl might be weird, but you're cute. Toji’s never met anyone else who can get his dick hard and leaking like there’s no tomorrow all while you ramble about which fictional world you'd love to be ‘isekaid’ into, whatever that means. You might be weird, but you help his brother out with his homework, massage aches out of his limbs after a particularly violent game, don't judge him for not having many real friends or for his family situation, and you push his desires to their very limits with your wild imaginations and lack of reservations. You’re incredible and people would never understand that.

And plus, Toji really doesn’t think you’re that weird, anyway.

“Hey, Toji? Can you cum inside and then eat me out? I want to record you making bubbles on my clit.”

Never mind.

[soobiary]

THIS IS SO GOOD

a dead end | masterlist

༺♰༻ gojo x fem reader

𓉸♱𓉸 synopsis: you were a star under stadium lights, gojo satoru a savior in sterile halls. now, the world rots, and survival is your only stage. amid the relentless dead and the horrors of the living, an unsteady bond forms—but trust is as fragile as life itself. in the shadows of ruin, love and death walk hand in hand. which will claim you first?

༺♰༻ tags/warnings: death, angst, violence, smut, cannibalism, murder, blood, gore, zombie apocalypse, crazy people, reader is a little bitchy at first, character development, torture, guns, weapons, alcohol, drugs, medical talk here and there, research talk, mentions of a leaked sextape, bullying, betrayal, lying, love, surgeon! satoru, cheerleader! reader, small age gap

chapter 1: the start of the end

chapter 2: keep going

chapter 3: one step at a time

chapter 4: stay on your toes

chapter 5: new crew, who dis?

chapter 6: new truths

chapter 7:

[soobiary]

SCOTTY DOESNT KNOW THAT FIONA AND ME DO IT IN MY VAN EVERY SUNDAY

★ thinking about fucking sukuna in the back of his van while yuuji thinks you're at church.

⸻

“yuuji still think you’re at church?”

his voice is lazy and low, like he already knows the answer. like he’s said this exactly ten sundays in a row.

you’re not even fully in the backseat yet and sukuna’s already pulling your panties down, bunching your skirt around your waist.

“yeah,” you breathe, climbing into his lap. “he said he’d pick me up in an hour.”

“cute.” he grins, mouth against your neck. “so fuckin’ wholesome.”

his fingers dig into your hips as he drags you down onto him, slow and steady. you bite your lip hard, trying not to moan too loud.

“look at you,” he mutters, watching your face twist. “sittin’ in my lap like you don’t have a boyfriend waiting to kiss you after this.”

you glare at him, breathless. “you done talking?”

he laughs, all teeth. “not even close.”

his hands slide up your shirt, push your bra up, thumbs brushing over your nipples just to make you squirm.

“yuuji thinks you’re singing hymns or some shit right now,” he murmurs. “but you’re out here letting his worst enemy wreck your pretty little pussy every sunday.”

you don’t answer. you just move. faster. messier. letting the van rock with every bounce of your hips.

he watches you the whole time, cocky, smug, like he’s the only one who knows the real you.

“no wonder you always come back beggin’,” he groans, holding you tighter. “bet even god wouldn’t forgive this.”

his tongue piercing hits your neck and you shiver, mouth falling open as he fucks up into you harder.

you’re the one doing all the work. like always. but that’s how he likes it. how you like it.

you finish first, hands shaking where they clutch his shoulders, head buried in his neck. sukuna follows with a hiss, biting down on your collarbone to muffle the sound.

he doesn’t move for a moment, just breathes against your skin.

then, real casual, he smacks your ass. “fix your makeup. lover boy’ll be waiting.”

⸻

twenty minutes later, you slide into yuuji's passenger seat with your hair brushed out and a soft smile on your lips.

he grins at you.

“how was church?”

you smile back. “kinda intense.”

he laughs. “you’re glowing.”

you are. but not for the reason he thinks.

yuuji doesn't know.

[soobiary]

HOLY MOLY

warnings! annoying ex boyfriend! gojo, switchy, thigh riding, denial

satoru shouldn’t be here, really.

he should be at home with his new little girlfriend—the one he swears sucks his cock better, fucks him sweeter. but somehow, he ended up right back here, frustrated and wet beneath you, squirming as you slowly work your fist up his aching length. your thumb moves to slide across the creaming head of his cock, and his breath catches in his throat.

“you kinda suck.” you deride, a twisted sense of amusement seeping from your soft, condescending tone. satoru lifts his head, woozily following yours as it dips to the side. your gaze flickers up, catching those familiar eyes, something a little too close to love glaring back at you.

still, you bite. “does your girlfriend know that you’re here?”

“she’s not my girlfriend.” he answers quickly.

“does she know that?”

“does it matter?” he’s impatient, whining through his gritted teeth as his hips buck in pursuit of friction. “you’re bein’ mean, sweets.”

“don’t.”

it’s a warning as you tighten your fist, squeezing the tip of his cock admonishingly. pearlescent bubbles of precum gush from his slick, rounded head. arousal spills down your hand as you begin to languidly stroke him to the base, fingers curling down to caress the fat of his balls just how you used to.

“you don’t get to call me that.” you finally mumble.

“really?” he whispers, delightfully amused. “you don’t like that anymore?” he’s angling his hips toward your fist to shamelessly chase your touch. his long, slender frame slumps further against your headboard, a sleazy little grin curling his lips. “fffuck, not even when you’re jerking my cock like that, huh?”

your body remembers him, he knows it does. the way you handle his cock is instinctive, familiar, like muscle memory. the way he rocks his hips into your fist—how he curls into your touch as you ruin him for anyone else, it’s all so natural. this is how it used to be: just the two of you, up late, desperate for each other, pushing to see who would break and cum first.

a moan swells in your chest at the memory, the throb between your legs an incessant drum. you want so badly to press your cunt against the soft meat of his thigh that you straddle. to rock your hips and relieve the gnawing ache that’s now creeping up your shuddering spine, forcing that restrained moan past your lips.

you breathe unsteadily. “why are you here, satoru?”

“for the same reason you let me in.”

he’s closer now, close enough to kiss you. those pretty lips a hair’s breadth away as he attempts to decipher your torn expression. he can see your reservations, the subtle glint of indignation that darkens your irises, the furrow of your brow. but the way you’re arching into him—subconsciously leaning against his chest as you take care of that cock the only way you know how—he knows you missed him.

there’s a sort of desperation in the way he reaches out for you. his big, hungry hands extending to steal handfuls of the soft skin he’s missed so dearly. slipping them underneath your shirt to take your breasts into his palms, long fingers gliding over your hardening nipples.

he expels the breath he’s been withholding. “how i’ve missed you, pretty.”

with both hands, he’s pushing the fat of your tits together, drawing you closer. lips trailing over your chest, warm, sloppy kisses left in his wake. the heat of his breath seeps through your shirt as he inhales your very being. “how i’ve missed my girls.” he whispers.

“you’re handsy.” you breathe, picking his hands off of your body.

you almost lose yourself gathering enough resolve to shove him away, narrowing your eyes at him like that of a troubled dog. teasingly, you remove your hand, observing the way his cock stands on its own—stiff, heavy. rivulets of hot, syrupy arousal drip onto his abdomen, premature cum slipping between the ridges of muscle that heave with each ragged inhale.

“huh?” he pants, voice pitching in a whimper. “you won’t let me touch you either?” growing frustration furrows his snowy brows.

you shake your head slowly, eyeing him with a hunger that he finds oddly comforting, almost like he’s finally at home. he watches as you chew on your bottom lip, an electrifying heat coursing through your entire being. he’s missed you like this, and he knows you do too. he can see it in your hesitation, in your reluctance. in the way your body tells a different story.

but he knows it’s unlike you to give in so easily.

“please,” he all but whines. scattered wisps of ivory fall before his blinking eyes, something of a pout sagging his bottom lip. his hips rut toward you, searching for any semblance of friction. “why are you being like this?”

“how long has it been? two—three weeks?”

all he offers is an indifferent shrug, casting his gaze to avoid your dagger of a stare. you lean in closer, noses brushing as you tilt your head to better read his gaping expression.

“oh,” you frown. “she doesn’t touch you like this, does she?”

your concern is disingenuous, tone bitter, yet somehow, satoru only seems to grow harder, wetter. if it’s not the cut of your voice, it’s the fact that you know how much power you have over him. he shakes his head blankly, praying you’ll grant him mercy.

the soft hairs at the base of his neck stiffen, a gasp tearing from his open mouth as you slowly skim your finger along the curve of his twitching shaft.

“will you please just touch me, okay? please?” he expels a throttled breath, glossed eyes fluttering shut as he loses a little more composure, a little more sanity. “is that it, huh? is that what you want? me to beg you?”

you opt for silence as the soft pad of your index finger circles over his glistening cock head, collecting the accumulated arousal. your touch is fleeting, but something inside of him breaks—you can see it in the way his bare back lifts from the disheveled sheets, his big thighs spreading a bit wider, hips pushing.

his breath breaks like he could cry, “what? what do you want me to do, baby?”

“am i not touching you?” you act coy as you tilt your head. “greedy.”

you reach a bit lower, skimming along the vein that pumps thick and heavy near the underside of his cock. he’s hot to the touch, warm and wet against the pads of your fingers. satoru purses his lips, letting off a long breath of a whimper, nostrils flaring as his stomach caves in never ending arousal.

“god, it h-hurts,” he whines, swallowing thickly as his hips quiver. a glimmering sheen of sweat breaks across his forehead. briefly, he peers down to where you barely touch him, groaning before roving his eyes back up to yours. desperate, he presses his luck, “can you… can you spit on it?”

“i could,” you shrug noncommittally, reaching a determined hand toward his subconsciously parting lips. “but you’ve got a mouth of your own, don’t you?”

a loud, pitifully desperate groan is drawing his head back to rest against the wooden headboard, letting you invade his willing mouth. you’d almost laugh at the way he hungrily mouths your fingers, sucking so sloppily that saliva begins to cascade down your wrist if not for the way your wet, messy hole tightens at the sight.

god, how you’ve missed this—power. satoru always made you feel so powerful, and your entire body aches at the fond reminiscences of being in charge of a man with such stature. you’re hardly thinking as something irrepressible overcomes you. you settle yourself against his thigh, firmly pressing your cunt to his bulging quadricep, gasping when your clit catches against his skin.

“why don’t you use your mouth for something other than talking for once?” you hum, sinking your fingers a little deeper, pressing firmer against his salivating tongue. a pretty moan leaves your lips as you ghost a kiss, whispering, “spit on your cock yourself.”

it’s condescending in every sense, but the way his body viscerally reacts is like kindle to a rampant flame. your voice sweeps down his spine like a brook of cool water, flooding every fiber of his being as he heaves a breath and puckers his lips to drool onto the head of his cock. saliva runs down his fist as he begins to sloppily stroke himself, gaze fixated on the mesmeric whirl of your hips.

“yes,” he pants breathily, lips so close that you can feel the warmth of his bitten whimpers. he tenses the muscles in his thigh for you, squeezing tighter around the base of his cock before babbling on, “god, use me… use my body to g–get yourself off. ride my thigh until you cum ‘n i’ll leave, i swear.”

you laugh out a sweet, breathless moan, reading right through him. “no you won’t.”

“no,” satoru shakes his head while letting off a breath. “i won’t.” he smiles.

and there’s a part of you that really hopes he doesn’t. it’s the same part that has you eagerly fisting your panties aside. the part that’s humping a little bit harder against his body—that’s parting your lips in a pretty wail of rapture as you succumb to the pressure that pools inside of you—deep and devastating.

“yeeeaah—ah—use me however you want—oh my god,” he’s gasping, words tumbling from his mouth, an endless stream of consciousness as his mind blanks. “rub that pussy on my thigh however you—hah—however you fucking want, baby, please.”

he’s bouncing his leg in time with the depraved jerk of his cock, desperately flitting his gaze between the stretch of your lips around his flexed muscles, and the gape of your mouth as you give into all of that devastating pleasure you’ve been denying yourself.

“gaahh—you are so fucking pretty,” satoru gushes, completely drunk off familiar emotions. hearts flutter in his eyes as he rattles off. “i really, really missed my pretty girl.”

shut up, is what you want to say, but your jaw drops instead. words forgotten in a daze of what used to be, and suddenly everything feels so normal. it’s hot—his wolfish panting against your lips, wet tongue peeking out just a little to greedily taste your breaths until he’s so close that he’s kissing you properly, and you don’t move to push him away.

can’t.

you’re far beyond saving, like gone—using every morsel of your strength to fuck yourself against your favorite toy, arching into his body to feel more, fitting like the missing piece to a jigsaw. and he can feel how wet you’re getting, just making a fucking mess of him. dripping all over his thigh while he strokes himself stupid, inches from your cunt.

god, and those lips. still as sloppy as ever, wet mouth moving over yours in a way that renders you silly. you can hardly breathe, dizzied by his determined mouth, by his undying need to prove himself worthy of your mercy.

it’d take nothing for him to slip inside of you, to slyly pull your leg over his waist and stretch you out just how he used to. you’re so high that you probably wouldn’t notice if he stuffed you full just like this. possessing half the brain to even detect the hand that’s moving to haphazardly guide your frenzied hips, pulling you closer, grinding a little deeper, accidentally pressing the head of his cock to your stomach.

did you really think you could deny him the pleasure of touching you? you would’ve been better off tying his limbs to the bedposts because his hands are insistent. they’re greedy and blatantly needy, one splaying across your hip, the other rubbing his wet cock against your warm, perspiring skin.

his balls ache when you moan his name, poor cock throbbing so wickedly that a delirious moan of his own is forced past his gaping lips. pant after desperate pant falls from your mouths, your breaths synchronous, the grind of your bodies obscene. satoru thinks he might die when your hips begin to tremble, your whimpers unbroken, an omen of your impending orgasm.

“fuck, are you—god, are you gonna cum?” it’s breathless, his crackling voice warbling in his throat.

you nod dumbly, something caught between a delirious moan and a hiccup of pleasure spilling past your lips as you rock your hips sloppier, cunt tightening around nothing. his vacant hand squeezes your hip like he’ll lose you all over again if he lets go. talking in your ear so sweetly that you’re messily cumming all over his leg, body locking up as you arch your back, pressing up against the heat of his cock.

“holy fuck, that’s it—fuck it all out, pretty,” he groans between his panting, rutting up against you, cock dripping between your bodies. “god, i’m yours. use me and cum all over me whenever you want.”

slick smears of his arousal drench your skin, sticky beads of sweat mingling. his fist tightens around the base of his cock.

“can i… can i cum too, please?” he’s whining. “m’ so close—please can i cum for you?”

“yes, baby,” as you nod to him, his big hand cups the back of your head, pressing his forehead to yours and whining because it’s not him inside of you. 

“fuck—fuck, thank you,” satoru fists his cock once, twice—barely—and that’s all it takes. “t–thank you—hah,” body tensing, breaths trapped in his chest as his jaw falls, groaning out your name so prettily that it almost hurts to hear him say it. his hips stutter, thick, hot ropes of cum drenching the tight space between your heated bodies.

he drips from your chest to your stomach, your thighs, the outside of your pussy. beads of sweat stick your bodies together, and despite the heat, he doesn’t pull away. instead, he’s leaning in, pressing his forehead to your chest like a man praying—like cumming wasn’t enough. like this was just an offering, and there's still more to he's willing to give—lengths he’s willing to go.

“i miss you,” he breathes, gaze lidded and dazed. “that’s why i’m here.”

you don’t say.

[soobiary]

He Gave Me The (Eww)

Content: things the jjk men do that give you the ick, hard read fr, brutally honest, second hand embarrassment, don't tell me they wouldn't...you know they would...they're just men after all

Featuring: Gojo, Geto, Choso, Toji, Nanami, Sukuna

Satoru

Tells jokes he thinks are hilarious and repeats them when no one laughs. Even explains them. Looks to you to laugh too with manic eyes, begging, pleading. Might even throw in a, ‘Tough crowd, amirite?’

Gets ignored in the group chat and will keep spamming until he gets the attention he wants.

Tries to get discounts at any and every store by flashing a grin and using those baby blues to charm the sales assistant. Shoots his shot with men too. It rarely works and when he gives them his black AMEX card, the sales assistants always get a look in their eyes like, ‘Seriously?’

Sings the chorus too early and plays it off by trailing and then coming in at the right part. Goes, ‘Ay…ay….ay, YEA– oh… ahahah…ay…ayy… yeahhhh…’

Suguru

Spits when he talks. He gets into these long rants about monkeys and whatever so he doesn’t even notice when the person he’s talking to discreetly wipes off the fat droplet. 

You’ve seen him going on spiels to random people, gets so into it that he also doesn’t realise they’ve walked away. Would play it off by taking his phone out and going, ‘Alright, talk to you later.’

Or, he'll say a snarky comment to someone out of nowhere and they didn't even hear him, caught by surprise, so they just awkwardly laugh and hope he doesn't follow up.

Super rude to servers at restaurants you take him to. Clicks his fingers. Confronts those moody teenagers working part time and says, ‘Why don’t you smile? You’ll look so much more friendly if you do.’

Wears open toed sandals everywhere. Dawgs out for free, toenails unclipped and ever so slightly yellow. Could probably cut a bitch.

Choso

At a group setting, a picture might be getting shown around and he isn't being shown the picture. He will say, ‘Can I see? Hey, you missed me. I wanna see. What’s so funny? Guys, come on, I didn’t see. Hey!’

When everyone else is in pairs or groups talking, he’ll go on his phone and open the Weather or Calculator app to pretend he’s doing something important. His phone is on full brightness so everyone can see he’s not actually texting anyone.

Gets left on read quite often. Will double text anyone and everyone. Triple texts even. Asks, ‘You aren’t ignoring me, are you?’ 

Invites himself to functions. If someone mentions a party or a visit to a museum, for example, with their friends, he’ll say, ‘That sounds fun. That’s at 3pm? I’m free. See you there!’

Toji

Boy oh boy where to begin…

Does the broke boyfriend hug. Swings you side to side too and gives you a kiss on the head, talking bout, ‘I’ll get the next one on payday, ma.’

Flashes his ass crack when he climbs out of the car. 

Might even have skid marks.

Asks to remove the service charge off the bill, doesn’t tip no matter how great the server is, and probably puts his own hair in the food to comp the meal. Will even flash you a wink like he’s finessed the system.

Will fart and burp in front of you unashamedly. Doesn’t care how stinky it is. Laughs when you cover your nose. Won’t lie, he probably loves pulling a Dutch Oven on you. Peak comedy for him. 

Shows up to his kid’s school events in his bum ass outfit and goes straight to the food table. It could be his university graduation and everyone’s in their pretty dresses and sharp suits, he will be in a Uniqlo heattech and grey joggers with a stain on it. 

Finds a crumb on his shirt, doesn’t know what it is or how long it’s been there. Will eat it anyway.. 

You point to a bouquet of flowers or a cake you want, excited and wanting to buy it. He'll look at the price and very loudly complain, 'That's how much? The hell? Nah, we're not getting that. If you want flowers, I can pick some up from a park for free.'

Kento

Still gets embarrassed about farting or taking a shit around you. Will make a lame excuse to exit the room like, ‘Oh, sweetheart, I think I left a light on in the next room.’ Doesn���t realise that the walls aren’t that thick and you can hear his adorable toot. If you ask him if he’s okay because he’s taking a while in the bathroom, he’ll lie and say, ‘No, dear, I’m alright. Just fixing a light bulb in here. I’ll be out in a minute.’ The type to not realise you can quite literally smell the evidence after. 

Will throw random slang and use it wrong. ‘You already ate? That’s slaying me.’ Or, ‘She cheated on her boyfriend? That’s so cunt of her. Please don’t entertain her anymore.’

Has built up a reputation to you as being all-knowing. Likes that you ask him first before Google. But when you ask him a question he doesn't know the answer to, he make some sort of distraction so he can go on his phone, find out the answer and give it to you like he knew all along.

Reads so much but often comes across words he knows the meaning of but has never heard anyone actually say. Mispronounces them. Says 'studious' as 'study-yus.' Or 'albeit' as 'al-bayt.'

Sukuna

Crashes out so often that he sometimes mistakenly gets upset for no reason. A servant will ask if you want a drink, assumes they’re talking to him and gets grumpy. ‘I already said no. Can you hear?’ When informed, he’ll tsk to cover up he’s ever so slightly embarrassed but everyone can see his ears going red. If he hears a single snicker though, he’s airing out the room.

Even when you tell him it’s okay and he doesn’t have to, he’ll join in on group dates just because he gets FOMO lowkey. Will stand there menacingly and so super out of place he actually looks like he’s stalking the group. Makes everyone feel awkward and tense. 

Children get so scared of him that he’s been escorted out of premises before. You have to join him, apologising to everyone, otherwise he’ll kill all of your friends. Like children will full on start sobbing and hyperventilating and you’re ashamed to tell your friends he’s actually not allowed within a certain radius of a school. Their mind goes to the worst places.

[soobiary]

you’re in the passenger seat, hand shoved into his pants, and he’s gripping the steering wheel to tether him back to earth. “we shouldn’t—this is—I’m still on duty—” he stammers, but you stroke him fully once, and he nearly chokes.

“drive later,” you murmur. “cum now.”

his face is red as hell, glasses slipping down his nose while your hand works his cock, already soaked with pre cum and spit. you pump him slow at first, but his reactions are too good, how could you resist to hear his tiny whines? to see his thighs shaking? just trying so hard to stay still while you ruin him in the front seat of a damn car waiting for gojo.

“fuck, oh—please—don’t stop,” he gasps, hips fucking up into your fist. he can’t help it anymore. his eyes roll back just a little when you grip tighter, twisting your wrist.

he cums with a broken moan, cock pulsing in your hand, painting the inside of his pants and your fingers in hot, messy spurts. he slumps forward, forehead on the steering wheel, breathing like he just ran a marathon. his breath stutters, glasses slipping down the bridge of his nose, fogged and useless from the heat rolling off his face. he looks ruined - eyes glassy, lips parted, voice barely above a whisper when he says:

“i—i didn’t… i didn’t think it’d feel like that, i—oh my god… i’m sorry, i didn’t mean to, i couldn’t stop—”

[soobiary]

— 15:37, the fine art of quiet judgment .

nanami kento does not do weddings. not if he can help it. not unless it’s someone he can’t say no to—like the childhood friend currently beaming his way through a speech, holding back tears, standing in front of a tiered cake so extravagant it looks like it belongs in a museum.

you lean in, whispering behind your champagne glass, “i swear the cake is going to sprout wings and ascend.”

nanami presses his lips together, but you see the corner twitch. “i was going to say it looks like it’s judging us.”

“just like us,” you murmur.

your table is tucked away in the corner—mercifully far from the speakers, but close enough to the open bar that you’ve already witnessed one uncle trip over a child. twice.

nanami hadn’t wanted to come. you’d had to coax him, smooth your hand down his tie and tell him he looked unfairly good in a suit (he did), and that he could spend the whole evening sipping whiskey and looking unimpressed.

he didn’t need much more convincing after that.

“who’s the woman in the lime green dress again?” you ask, swirling the remnants of your champagne.

“bride’s cousin,” he replies without hesitation. “she’s been eyeing the groomsman with the unfortunate mustache since the cocktail hour.”

you snort. “unfortunate is generous.”

“i’m trying to be civil,” he says, sipping his drink, tone deadpan. “but it looks like a caterpillar lost its way.”

“and died on his face,” you whisper, just as someone clinks a glass. the resulting cheer masks your laughter, and nanami’s lip twitches again.

the evening stretches on, painfully slow. the food has been eaten, the cake is being cut, and somewhere near the dance floor, a small mob of bridesmaids is trying to wrangle a tipsy flower girl. the dj starts playing a song that was probably trendy five years ago.

nanami glances at you. “how much longer do we have to stay?”

you pretend to check your watch. “social obligation expires in… forty-three minutes.”

“i was hoping you’d say fifteen.”

you grin, nudging his shoe under the table. “you love it here. all the awkward speeches. the toddler screaming to be let down. the group of finance bros yelling about crypto.”

he makes a face like you’ve just described something grotesque. “they’re at table six.”

“of course you know which table.”

he leans closer, just enough that his voice hums against your ear. “i also know that the guy in the purple shirt has been refilling his flask under the table, and the woman in blue has tried to flirt with the bartender three times now.”

you glance over your shoulder. “oh my god, she just winked at him.”

“that was less a wink,” nanami mutters, “and more of a facial spasm.”

you clap a hand over your mouth, eyes watering from the effort not to laugh. “stop. we’re going to get kicked out.”

“good.”

your champagne flute is empty, and you toy with the rim, tilting it to watch the bubbles fizzle out. nanami’s hand is resting on the table between you, fingers curled slightly. you trace the air near his knuckles with your pinky.

“think anyone would notice if we slipped out early?”

he glances toward the head table. the bride and groom are distracted—giddy, surrounded by cameras and overly enthusiastic family. no one is looking this far back.

“not if we’re subtle.”

“we’re never subtle,” you say, but you’re already standing, reaching for your clutch. nanami rises beside you with practiced ease, suit jacket sharp, expression unreadable. he is the picture of grace.

you are tipsy and giggling.

the coat check is quiet. nanami retrieves your jacket without needing a ticket—of course he remembers the number. of course. when he helps you into it, his hands linger at your shoulders, warm through the fabric. you really want to kiss him.

“that bad, huh?” you murmur as you step outside into the cool night.

“it wasn’t that bad,” he says. “the shrimp was decent.”

“high praise.”

he huffs, hand brushing yours as you start walking. you bump your knuckles together, waiting. he doesn’t make you wait long. his fingers slot through yours, firm and sure, and the tension in your chest dissolves.

you find a bench a few blocks down, near a quiet park with a view of the city lights. the stars are invisible, but the sky is clear, and nanami’s presence is steady beside you. he exhales like he’s been holding it in for hours.

“what a night,” you sigh, leaning against him.

“you say that like we weren’t sitting in the back making fun of everyone.”

“it’s a coping mechanism.”

he hums, low and amused.

after a moment, you glance up. “did you hate it?”

he’s quiet, gazing out at the skyline, then down at you. “not the whole thing.”

you smile, resting your chin on his shoulder. “just the part where they made us play that weird couple trivia game?”

“yes.”

“and the bouquet toss?”

“absolutely.”

“and the cake-cutting?”

“pointless ritual.”

you laugh softly. “but?”

his mouth brushes your temple. “but you looked good in that dress, my love.”

you scoff, flattered and exasperated. “you could’ve just said that earlier and we wouldn’t have had to sit through the speeches.”

“i was distracted,” he says, like it’s a fact. “you looked good, and i was trying not to stare.”

you blink, caught off guard.

kento doesn’t flirt like other people. it’s always calm. thoughtful. quiet like a tide you don’t notice rising until it’s soaked your feet. you like it.

you nudge his knee with yours, heart feeling too full. “next time we get invited to a wedding, let’s just send a card.”

“and a check,” he adds.

“and a very polite excuse.”

he smiles, warm and rare, like a secret just for you. “deal.”

you sit there until your feet stop hurting. until the stars are still invisible but the city glows a little softer. until your hands go cold and nanami pulls you close again, arm around your shoulder like he can shield you from everything. he probably could.

but for now, you’ll settle for this. the quiet bench, the end of a long night, and your favorite person whispering snide comments about cake sculptures and caterpillar mustaches until you’re breathless with laughter.

and maybe, just maybe, the next wedding won’t feel so bad.

as long as it’s with him.

[soobiary]

we won! they are making a hentai of "Oohata-san Is my Dream Gyaru" 100% otaku!gojo and bunny bimbo!reader vibes!! i wrote otaku!gojo before i read this one but it's totally alt universe of them. the hentai should come out on 7/11 but the preview (NSFW & need adblock ON & headphones IN) looks so good!!!

maybe ill write an alt universe otaku!gojo one day of him being obsessed with gyarus jhdfbvhdbffn.

[soobiary]

yum yum yum 😆

━━━ ✧˖° 𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐘𝐋 𝐃𝐈𝐗𝐎𝐍 𝐱 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑

you kiss daryl’s arms and have to explain what cuteness aggression is after you bite his bicep ♡

“the hell are you doin’?” daryl asks, yanking his arm away from you. you bite the inside of your cheek to stop from laughing, shrugging your shoulders while he scoots away from you on the couch so that you’re no longer touching.

such a big baby, you think, although you did just try to sink your teeth into his arm. you can’t help it, and honestly, you’ve been trying to control your weird urges - but it’s daryl’s fault. all those sleeveless shirts, showing off his biceps like it’s his job. his arms are so strong, so muscular, so hot. especially when he’s sweaty and tan from being outside and -

with the thought in your mind, you reach towards him and pull his arm to you again. “hey,” he protests, making an irritated grunt at your movement. he tries to yank his arm away from you but you tighten your grip. daryl could easily grab it back, but not without hurting you. which he’d never do. again, you find yourself biting back the smirk of victory. “the fuck is wrong with you?”

you hold his arm in front of your face and press a kiss to his bicep. every single man in alexandria is in shape, with bulging muscles from all the physical activity they do.

but nobody’s got arms like daryl.

maybe it’s from holding and using that crossbow all the time. you squeeze your legs together, one crossed over the other in your sitting position on the sofa, because thinking of daryl wielding a weapon turns you on. you press another kiss to his bicep, and then you scoot closer to kiss up to his shoulder, leaving a trail of faded lipstick marks all along the way.

“just,” you pause, another kiss, “love your arms, is all. they’re so big,” and daryl scoffs, but he makes no move to pull away. he actually leans back against the couch, lets himself enjoy whatever you’re doing, but you see from the corner of your eye that he’s looking around the room. making sure nobody else can see.

you giggle.

“yer really something, you know that? fuckin’ weird,” he grumbles, but when he lets you rotate his arm, you know he likes it. you know daryl well enough now to know that he does want affection. just - not in front of anyone else, and he doesn’t want to ask for it or make a big deal out of it.

which makes you perfect for each other, because you’ve always been overly affectionate. he never has to ask for anything from you, because you’re already giving it.

“‘m not weird,” is your rebuttal, mischief glinting in your eyes. daryl just looks so cute, cheeks pink and a shy expression on his face while you love on his arm. and, okay - maybe you are a little weird, but you don’t really care. “just love your arms is all,” and then your teeth graze his bicep, the part where the muscle slightly bulges out, perfectly built and -

you bite down on him. gently!

daryl pulls his arm away from you so fast, hisses like he’s a kitten who’s tail was just pulled. you feel a little bad, but he’s being so dramatic. he’s been stabbed and shot at, and a little bite is making him act like this? you roll your eyes, even when he stands up to put distance between you two. he shakes his head like you’re insane.

to be fair, you sort of are?

“stop biting me. jesus christ,” he’s grumbling, looking over his arm like someone just tried to saw it off. drama queen. “you left teeth marks. what, you been around walkers too much, so you wanna act like one? you,” he goes on, but you cut him off, trying not to burst out laughing at how funny it is that he’s comparing you to a walker.

“cuteness aggression,” you say simply, standing up and walking over to him. you swear he backs up, likes he afraid of you, even though he’s twice your size. daryl looks at you like you’re crazy, obviously not familiar with the expression. you explain.

“you’re so cute, it makes me sort of angry. you know, when you see a really cute puppy or a baby? like judith, when she smiles and starts to crawl,” daryl obviously doesn’t understand, and every word out of your mouth seems to be making him more and more confused. disturbed, even. you try harder.

“when something or someone is so cute, you just wanna hurt them, not really but your brain does. they’re so cute that you can’t handle it. you get it?”

daryl literally gazes out the window like a widow waiting for her husband to return from war, then turns back towards you but looks at the ground first. he shakes his head, then pauses, before his eyes meet yours.

“nah,” he finally says, letting out a deep sigh. “you wanna hurt judith?”

you sigh, then walk towards him and grab his hand. he lets you tug him to the couch but comes willingly, sitting down, keeping a little bit distance between the both of you. “babies and puppies are just an example. i don’t want to hurt anyone, i just,” you lace your fingers with his, resting your entwined hands on his thigh. “you make me feel so much, ‘s like it comes out of me in a weird way. you know?”

daryl doesn’t know, but he gives in, lets you cuddle close to his side and rub his arm again, kiss over the lipstick marks you already left. bicep worship? is that a thing? that’d be a freaky new kink even for you.

a second later, something must click for daryl. maybe it’s because his dick is hardening, watching the physical manifestation of how much you love him, or maybe it’s just because he’s a…hands on learner. he pulls his arm away, scoffing playfully at your disappointed whine, and he wraps that arm around your shoulders. his fingers play with your hair that he can reach.

“think i get it now,” he tests, humor in his tone. “cuteness - whatever the fuck you called it. like the way i feel when your eyes water when you’re suckin’ on my,” you pull away and smack him on the arm.

“daryl, no!”

“hey,” he says, pulling you back to him. he kisses the top of your head. “‘m just trying to learn!”

[soobiary]

ohhh this eats

you’ve been reaped for the 66th hunger games.

it made sense. you put your name in so many times for tessera that you would’ve been shocked you weren’t called. district eleven didn’t usually feed its orphans.

you knew you were going to die, didn’t try to hard to make allies or make an impression on the game makers. the odds wouldn’t be in your favor, so why try fighting them?

when it comes time for the games you run away from the bloodbath, not wanting to die such a gruesome death. you find yourself alone in the island they had created, taking refuge in a sprawling tree with great leaves.

you didn’t mean to hide out for so long, nor be witness to one of the careers dumping somebody from district one, one of their own, at the base of your tree.

gojo satoru, who you had bet on winning, was dying right beneath you. and maybe you didn’t want to die alone. and maybe he was just to pretty to let die.

so maybe you took him under your wing, despite the blaring protests from your brain and the obvious danger it could put you in. and sure, he was hostile at first, it was the hunger games after all.

but when you told him you had no intention of killing him, quite the obvious, he stopped fighting. over time, he stopped wanting to kill you all together.

did the game makers, capitol, or even districts expect such an odd pairing? no.

but then again, nobody ever expects love to bloom from the games.

[soobiary]

oh my days this was amazing

sex with a stoner

fratboy!choso x bestfriend!reader

wc: 16k

smut with so, so much plot.

choso kamo is the kind of boy people notice without realizing they’re staring. he’s not loud, never one to demand a room’s attention, but something about him pulls you in, the lazy grace of someone who’s always just a little bit stoned and completely at peace with himself.

he throws the best parties on campus, the kind that aren’t just about getting drunk or high, but about the vibe. incense burning in the corner, led lights set to red or purple, trap playing softly over speakers. and yet, you’re the only one who really knows him.

you, the sweet girl who never misses a single one of his parties. the one always curled up next to him on the couch with a red solo cup of something you can barely taste, your legs draped over his lap, your cheek pressed to his shoulder. it’s always been like this. ever since freshman year, when you met him during that stupid icebreaker event on campus that neither of you wanted to go to.

somehow, you’d ended up next to him. not even talking at first. just being. and then he’d pulled one earbud out and offered it to you without saying anything, and you’d heard frank ocean’s “ivy” playing soft and crackly from his phone. you’d smiled at him, and he’d smiled back. just a little.

after that, it was like something clicked. you didn’t have to try with choso. you just existed in each other’s space like you were meant to.

you’re sweet, outgoing, a little flirty, always the first one to compliment someone’s outfit or remember their birthday. people love you for your light, your laughter, the way you make everyone feel seen.

but when it comes to closeness, to real comfort? that’s reserved for choso.

it’s a mystery to most people. you, the glittering, glowing party girl, and choso, the stoner boy who doesn’t even have social media. but it makes perfect sense to anyone who’s seen the two of you together.

you show up to his parties before anyone else does. you help him string the lights, pick the playlist, bring snacks no one asked for but everyone eats. you’re the one sitting on the counter while he rolls, sipping from a straw and babbling about your week while he nods, smiling faintly, muttering things like “that’s wild, ma,” or “yo, you’re too nice for them.”

and during the parties, you’re never far. you gravitate toward each other like magnets, slipping into place the way you always do. choso’s usually on the couch, arms stretched over the backrest, and you’re tucked under his arm without even thinking. you lean into him when you laugh. he rests his chin on your shoulder. he passes you drinks and you take tiny sips before handing them back to him with a wrinkle of your nose.

and it’s so easy. dangerously easy.

choso’s never been one to push. he’s got feelings, real ones, deeper than he’ll ever admit out loud, but he keeps them buried. not because he doesn’t want you. he wants you in a way that scares him sometimes. in quiet moments, when he’s too high and you’re asleep on his chest, he thinks about what it would feel like to kiss you. to be yours for real. but he’s content, at least for now. content to have you like this.

you give choso a kind of peace he didn’t know he was missing. before you, things were kind of blurry. background noise. but with you, it’s all color. you laugh and the whole room tilts toward you. you touch his hand and it’s like static electricity under his skin. he pretends he doesn’t notice. he jokes, he teases, he lets it pass.

because he thinks he’d rather have you like this, close and real and warm, than risk losing you completely.

and you? you love him. maybe too much.

you’ve never said it out loud, not even to maki or shoko, but you know it. you feel it every time you see him laugh at something you said, every time he lifts your chin to tuck your hair behind your ear, every time he waits for you outside class just because he felt like it. choso is yours, in a way no one else is. and you don’t know what to do with that.

maybe you’re scared to ruin it too.

it’s not just the friendship, it’s the rhythm. the quiet glances, the shared playlists, the way you always, always end up in his bed after parties, clothes still on, hearts too full.

you’ll lay there in the dark, both of you wide awake, and you’ll wonder if he feels it too. if he notices the way your breath hitches when his fingers brush your waist. if he hears the way your voice gets softer when you say his name.

but neither of you ever says anything. not really. not yet.

there’s something unsaid between you, always has been, something glowing and soft and maybe a little fragile. like the chords of “ivy” hanging in the air, too tender to touch. it’s in the way he looks at you when you’re not watching. in the way you linger at his door after a party, lip gloss smudged and heart aching. in the way he lets his hand rest on the small of your back just a little too long.

it’s a love that’s still blooming. hesitant. deep-rooted. and for now, maybe that’s enough.

maybe not forever.

~

the party’s already full by the time you get there, but you know exactly where to find him.

bass thumps through the floor like a second pulse, red lights spilling down the hallway, laughter echoing from the kitchen where someone’s poured jungle juice into a mixing bowl. bodies press close in the living room, the air thick with smoke, perfume, sweat, but none of it touches you. not really. not when you know where you’re going.

you slip past people who call your name, who compliment your outfit, who try to keep you still, but you’re already moving, already smiling like you’ve got a secret. because you do.

he’s on the couch. he always is.

slouched like he was poured there, long legs spread, a blunt pinched between his fingers. there’s a few people around him, suguru’s sitting on the floor, half-asleep against his knee, gojo’s perched on the armrest talking to some girl, but he doesn’t really look at anyone. just stares at the smoke curling above him, the red light making shadows under his eyes.

until he sees you.

choso’s head tilts slightly. his gaze sharpens, just barely. his mouth softens, corners curling up into something small, lazy, private.

“yo,” he says, voice low and smooth like honeyed smoke. “there you are.”

and just like that, you’re home.

you drop down next to him without a word, tucking your legs up on the couch, leaning into his side like you were made to fit there. his arm lifts automatically to rest behind you, and your bare shoulder brushes against his chest, skin to skin. he smells like weed and citrus and something warm, like sunbaked cotton. familiar. dangerous.

“i brought you chips,” you say, holding up a bag. “because you never remember to feed people when you throw these things.”

he laughs, soft and breathy, and takes the bag, tossing it onto the table without looking.

“you’re the only one who eats at my parties,” he murmurs, dragging the blunt to his lips. “they’re lucky you show up.”

he inhales, slow and deep. lets it sit in his chest for a moment. then he turns his head toward you and exhales, deliberately, slow, a trail of smoke that ghosts over your collarbone. it’s not on purpose, but it is. everything choso does is like that. unbothered. intimate. effortless.

your heart stutters.

“you look good,” he adds, like it just occurred to him. his eyes dip, trace your legs, the cut of your dress, the gloss on your lips. “real good.”

you smile, sweet and slow, like you’re soaking it in.

“you’re stoned.”

he shrugs. “yeah. still true, though.”

you nudge his thigh with your knee, and he smirks that lazy, barely-there grin that never quite reaches his eyes unless it’s you.

the party swells around you. bodies dance in the center of the room, the music gets louder, someone’s yelling in the kitchen about the beer pong table. but in your little corner of the couch, everything is slowed down. hazy. sacred.

he keeps passing the blunt, and you keep refusing with that little scrunch of your nose he always teases you about.

“don’t know how you come to my house every week and still don’t smoke,” he says, flicking ash into a red solo cup.

“don’t know how you survive without eating dinner like an adult,” you shoot back.

he chuckles, tipping his head back. his throat stretches long, his hoodie slipping off one shoulder to reveal the black ink of a tattoo just under his collarbone. you don’t even pretend not to look. choso doesn’t pretend not to notice.

“you missed me?” he asks after a beat, quieter now. the smoke’s made him slow, softer around the edges. more honest.

you glance up at him, lips parted. “i was here last weekend.”

“yeah, and then the whole week happened.” he shrugs, lazily. “i got bored.”

you nudge your way closer. your knee slides between his. “you say that like you don’t have other friends.”

he hums. “don’t hit the same.”

you’re both quiet for a second. it’s a thick, heady silence, not awkward, not tense. just full. full of everything that’s been building since freshman year. everything you don’t say. everything you both feel in moments like this, when you’re a little too close and he’s looking at your mouth and his hand is resting just a little too low on your waist.

you want to kiss him. god, you do. but not yet. not here.

so instead you lean forward, just enough to rest your head on his shoulder. you feel him go still for a second, then relax, melting back into you.

you stay like that. for a long time

later, when the house gets louder and hotter and someone pulls you up to dance, you feel his eyes on you.

you’re not a wild dancer, you move like you’re in your own little world, fluid and soft and smiling. some guy tries to grind up behind you and you immediately peel away, laughing as you shake your head. but when you look over, just once, you see choso watching from the couch.

his eyes are darker now. still lazy, still half-lidded, but focused. pinned on you like he’s memorizing the way your dress moves, the way your hair sticks to the sweat on your collarbone. one hand resting on his knee. the blunt long gone.

you move back to him eventually, of course you do, and he opens the space beside him again like he knew you would.

“have fun out there, superstar?” he asks, gaze flicking over you.

you shrug, settling back into him. “missed my favorite dance partner.”

he raises a brow. “you don’t dance with me.”

you grin. “exactly.”

he snorts, shaking his head. you rest your hand on his thigh, fingers splayed over ripped denim, and he doesn’t flinch. doesn’t move. just lets you stay there. touching him. like you always do.

like you always will.

when the party starts dying down and the lights dim even lower, when suguru’s asleep and gojo’s disappeared and the couch is just the two of you again, you curl into him like you belong there.

he yawns, one arm around your shoulders, hand playing lazily with the strap of your dress.

“you crashing here?” he asks, already knowing the answer.

you nod, cheek pressed to his chest. “if that’s cool.”

he makes a soft sound, something between a hum and a laugh, and dips his chin to brush his mouth against your temple. not a kiss, exactly. just a press. warm, soft. barely there.

“always.”

you smile, closing your eyes for a second. his hand is still resting on your waist, fingers tracing absent little shapes into your skin like he’s not even thinking about it.

you could fall asleep like this. you’ve done it before.

but he shifts a little, murmurs, “come on, ma. let’s get off this fuckin’ couch. my back’s killin’ me.”

you whine quietly as he moves, and he laughs again, a lazy rumble in his chest and slides an arm around your waist to help you up.

“drama queen,” he says, tugging you to your feet with effortless strength.

he doesn’t let go.

you move through the sea of red cups and leftover smoke, past the people half-passed out in the hallway, with his hand still slung around your waist. like it’s normal. like it’s instinct. your arm hooks around his middle, and you lean into his side as you walk, slow and steady, like you’ve done this a hundred times. because you have.

choso’s room is down the hall. it’s the only one with a broken doorknob and a blacklight taped above the bed, buzzing faintly. it smells like weed and clean laundry and him.

you kick off your shoes the second you walk in and collapse face-first into the unmade bed, limbs spread.

he laughs, low and indulgent, then flops down beside you.

“yo, scoot over,” he mumbles, nudgin your hip with his.

“you scoot,” you shoot back, voice muffled by the blanket.

he doesn’t argue. just lets his body melt sideways until your shoulders touch again. you shift your head onto his chest without thinking, cheek to the soft fabric of his hoodie.

and there it is again. home.

“this party was kinda ass,” you say.

“nah,” he says softly. “you were here.”

your stomach flips.

but you don’t say anything. don’t need to. you just lie there, breathing in sync, your hands curled in the hem of his hoodie while his fingers play with your hair, slow, lazy twirls that make your eyelids flutter.

“remember the first one?” you ask, voice hushed now. “the freshman-year party where we met?”

choso smiles at the ceiling. “fuck yeah. you were wearing that little white dress and yellin’ at some guy who spilled beer on your shoes.”

“he ruined them,” you murmur indignantly.

“and i was just sittin’ on the porch, watchin’ the whole thing,” he grins. “high as shit. thought you were hot as hell.”

you lift your head to look at him, one brow raised. “you still say you don’t remember how we ended up talking.”

“i don’t. swear to god.” he shrugs. “one second i’m finishing a blunt, next thing i know you’re sitting next to me like you’d been there forever.”

“i probably just decided you looked safe,” you say, settling back down. “and hot. but, like, quiet hot.”

he chuckles, slow and low. “quiet hot?”

you nod. “like… hot in a way that doesn’t try. like you didn’t even know it.”

“damn,” he mutters. “flirting with me now?”

“always.”

his hand slides down from your hair to your shoulder, warm and broad and steady.

“that’s why i fuck with you,” he says after a moment. “you’re real.”

you blink.

“like, people show up to my parties for the vibes or whatever. you show up to make sure i eat dinner.”

you laugh. “well someone has to.”

“nah, but for real,” he says. “you’ve been showin’ up since day one. always got my back. always know what i need before i even do. shit’s crazy.”

your throat goes tight. but he doesn’t sound emotional. he sounds calm. sure. like it’s just a fact of life, gravity, weed, you.

he doesn’t say it like it’s a confession.

he says it like it’s just the truth.

“you do the same for me,” you murmur, voice small.

his thumb strokes your arm, slow.

“yeah,” he says. “i know.”

the room hums with silence after that. not heavy. not awkward. just real.

he lets you lie there on his chest, the beat of his heart under your ear, the rise and fall of his breathing making you feel safe in a way nothing else does.

you shift after a few minutes, and his hand moves automatically , tugs the blanket up over you both, settles you closer, fingers smoothing over your arm like it’s second nature.

he doesn’t flirt with anyone the way he does with you. doesn’t touch anyone like this. people know you’re close, but they don’t get it.

they don’t know how choso listens to you rant for hours about your classes even when he’s half-asleep. how he always keeps snacks in his room he doesn’t like, just because you do. how he’s seen you cry at 3am and didn’t say a word, just pulled you onto his chest and played with your hair until you calmed down.

how you’ve cleaned up after every party. how you always know when he needs water. how you never smoke but you always light his blunts for him.

they don’t know that you’ve been doing this, just like this, since freshman year.

you’re not together.

but this? this is something else.

“you good?” he mumbles, his voice starting to get gravelly with sleep.

you nod, curled into his side.

“you?”

“mhmm.” he exhales through his nose, deep and slow. “don’t leave before i wake up.”

“i never do.”

he hums, already drifting.

you close your eyes.

"night, cho."

"night, babe."

and in the dark, in his bed, wrapped in the quiet warmth of choso’s heartbeat and the hush of something unspoken between you, you fall asleep.

right where you’re supposed to be.

~

the sun’s too fucking bright.

choso’s got his hood pulled low, hands stuffed in the front pocket of his faded sweatshirt, hoodie sleeves bunched at his wrists like armor against the cold. his airpods are in, but he’s not playing anything. just using them to avoid eye contact. to avoid people.

his chem lecture starts in twelve minutes. he’s not rushing.

he’s never rushing.

the quad’s half-full with undergrads moving in packs, laughing too loud for this hour. he weaves through them like a shadow, dark-eyed and slow-moving, sleep still clinging to his bones.

he hasn’t showered. hasn’t brushed his hair. smells faintly like weed and sleep and your lotion, the floral kind you always keep in your bag.

he’s halfway across the quad when he hears it.

“yo.”

he looks up.

toji.

posted up on a low wall near the main staircase, nursing a large iced coffee and wearing the same zip-up he’s worn every morning since choso met him. he looks good, like he always does, jaw sharp, eyes tired, posture loose in that older-guy way that makes people think twice about messing with him.

choso pulls out one airpod. “yo.”

“you look like shit,” toji says, amused.

choso shrugs. “feel fine.”

“late night?”

“always.”

toji grins. “bet.”

choso wanders over, boots crunching gravel, and leans against the wall next to him. toji’s got that lazy menace vibe, like he could break someone’s nose or fall asleep in the sun, it could go either way. choso respects it.

they’re not close, but they’re good.

“you throw last night?” toji asks.

“yeah. packed out.”

“heard. saw some dude getting dragged out by the neck around one.”

choso huffs a little. “sukuna. again.”

“no shit?” toji laughs. “that guy’s a walking lawsuit.”

“got blood on my stairs,” choso mutters. “ruined the rug.”

“tragic.”

they’re quiet for a second. choso watches a squirrel dart across the walkway. toji sips his coffee.

“how much you make off the door?”

“couple hundred. enough for groceries. gas. weed.”

toji nods like that’s the natural order of things. “you ever think about pledging?”

choso snorts. “nah.”

“you’d run that shit,” toji says. “turn those little rich boys inside out.”

“i’m not good with rules.”

“fuck rules.”

choso grins a little. “you sound like yuki.”

“i taught yuki,” toji says, deadpan.

that gets a real laugh out of choso, low and amused, breath curling in the cold air.

“you got chem?” toji asks after a moment.

“yeah. lab.”

“tough.”

“i'm so fucking hungover.”

toji smirks. “so. last night. you go home alone?”

choso shrugs. “nah. crashed with her.”

toji looks at him. not surprised. not shocked. just curious.

“y/n?”

“yeah.”

a beat.

“you guys together now or what?”

choso looks up, brows drawn. “nah.”

toji raises an eyebrow. “huh. figured that would’ve happened by now.”

“why?”

“you’re always with her.”

“yeah.”

“you sleep in the same bed?”

choso shrugs again, easy and lowkey like it doesn’t mean anything. like it’s normal. “all the time.”

toji whistles under his breath, grinning. “you’re a better man than me.”

“not like that,” choso mutters, looking away.

“right,” toji says, smirking. “not like that.”

choso stays quiet. doesn’t explain. doesn’t elaborate. he just lets it sit in the air between them like secondhand smoke, warm, familiar, a little dangerous.

because it isn’t like that.

not yet.

but toji doesn’t push. just nods, takes another slow sip of his coffee, and claps choso on the shoulder with a rough hand.

“you’re cool,” he says. “but if you ever fuck that up, someone else won’t be.”

choso just exhales through his nose. shrugs.

he knows.

he knows.

~

choso slouches in his stool at station 4B, safety goggles pushed up into his messy hair, long fingers lazily rotating a test tube over the bunsen flame. he’s supposed to be running a titration, but he’s running on three hours of sleep and an edible that hasn’t stopped hitting since breakfast.

there’s a small chemical fire happening at the next table over. he doesn’t care.

his partner, some girl from his gen chem section who only speaks in whispers and perfume, scribbles answers onto their worksheet like her life depends on it. she’s never once asked him to help. choso’s fine with that.

his phone buzzes in his hoodie pocket. he pulls it out without looking, thumb unlocking the screen by feel. it’s instinct. the way he always knows when it’s you.

[10:37am] you: what class r u in rn

[10:38am] choso: chem

[10:38am] you: ew

[10:38am] choso: yea

[10:39am] you: wanna meet up after?? i’m bored

[10:39am] choso: wya

the response comes fast.

[10:40am] you: bleachers behind the field. bring snacks or i’ll cry.

choso smiles.

it’s the kind of smile he never shows anyone but you. lazy. lowkey. like a secret he doesn’t need to say out loud.

he texts back a thumbs up emoji. tucks his phone away. watches the blue flame flicker under the test tube like it’s trying to tell him something.

~

the bleachers behind the athletic field are barely standing. rusted metal, cracked paint, half the steps warped from years of cleat-stomped abuse. it’s one of the only spots on campus that still feels untouched, still feels yours. people don’t hang out here. it’s too open, too weird, too quiet.

perfect.

you’re already there when he shows up, sprawled across the middle row like it’s a chaise lounge, sunglasses perched low on your nose and a bag of kettle chips open in your lap.

you perk up when you see him. smile wide and lazy. “you brought me snacks?”

he lifts a 7/11 bag in greeting.

“you’re an angel,” you say, and you sound like you mean it. choso climbs up beside you, drops the bag between you, and sits with a long sigh like the weight of the whole morning finally got the memo that it can fuck off.

he lets himself lean back on his elbows, head tipped toward the sky. hoodie sleeves pushed up to the elbow. hands ringed in silver, knuckles faintly bruised from last night. jaw sharp, neck tattoo peeking just above his collar.

you glance over at him, bottom lip tucked between your teeth for a second too long.

he doesn’t notice.

or maybe he does.

but he doesn’t say anything.

“what happened in chem?” you ask, voice slow with sunlight.

“almost set the bench on fire,” he says. “again."

you laugh, and it’s the good kind, low and warm and familiar, like something soft you wrap yourself in. “you’re gonna fail.”

“nah,” he murmurs. “i got you. you’ll cry to shoko for me.”

you shrug. “probably.”

he grins.

you eat chips together for a while in comfortable silence. people jog past on the track below, but it’s like the two of you exist in another timeline, quieter, slower, deeper. every time your shoulders bump, he doesn’t move away. every time your fingers brush in the snack bag, he lets it linger.

you pull out a cherry lollipop from your tote. unwrap it with delicate, distracted fingers. stick it between your lips and suck thoughtfully.

choso looks over. blinks once.

his throat bobs. “you eat candy like you’re in a music video.”

“duh,” you say. “gotta stay on brand.”

“your brand is slutty candy princess?”

you flash him a wink. “you know it.”

he groans into his hands. “you’re gonna kill me.”

“you’d like it.”

“maybe.”

you both laugh.

but underneath it, there’s a tension you don’t touch. not yet. not today. not when the sun is this warm and the wind is this soft and the space between you feels like a bubble no one else can pop.

“so what’d you tell toji?” you ask suddenly, pulling your legs up under you. “he asked about us, right?”

choso blinks. shifts.

“how’d you know that?”

“i just saw him talking to you this morning and you rushed of before i could catch up.”

he sighs. rubs a hand over his face. “just asked about some dumb shit, was surprised we aren't fucking.”

“oh yeah?”

“yeah.”

you hum. “what’d you say?”

he shrugs. “told him we’re just friends.”

you nod.

but your fingers are tight around your lollipop stick. “did he buy it?”

choso looks over at you. eyes half-lidded, lazy. “dunno. didn’t really care.”

you don’t speak for a second.

then—

“you know,” you say lightly, “if we were dating, people wouldn’t question it.”

he raises a brow. “you wanna date me?”

you laugh like it’s a joke. like the idea’s crazy. “obviously not. i’d ruin your whole vibe.”

“nah,” he says, quiet and cool. “you are my vibe.”

it knocks the air out of you a little.

you don’t reply.

he doesn’t push.

instead, he pulls a lighter from his pocket. a faded red bic with a sticker of a cartoon frog on the side.

“you mind?” he asks.

you shake your head. “go for it.”

he lights the joint behind the bleachers, careful to block the wind, and takes a slow hit like he’s been doing it his whole life. like breathing.

you watch the way his lips part. the way the smoke curls from his mouth. the way he blinks up at the sky, exhaling slow, like there’s nothing in the world that could ruin this moment.

he passes it to you.

you hold it between two fingers. bring it to your lips, but don’t inhale. you just like the closeness. the ritual. the rhythm of it.

“you always smell like weed and coconuts,” you say absently.

“you always smell like sleep and candy.”

“that a compliment?”

“you know it is.”

you smile.

and then, like always, you shift until your head is in his lap, knees bent, lollipop back between your lips.

he threads his fingers into your hair like it’s automatic. like muscle memory.

you don’t say anything.

you don’t have to.

“there’s a party saturday,” choso says, like it’s just a passing thought. his voice is mellow, dragged slow with smoke and sun.

you squint up at him from his lap, one leg kicking idly off the edge of the bleachers. “yours?”

he shakes his head, dragging another pull from the joint before it sizzles low. “nah. kappa’s.”

“toji’s place?”

“mhm. sukuna’s throwin’ it.”

you make a face. “ew.”

he laughs, lazy and low. “yeah, i know.”

“what kinda party is it?”

he shrugs, flicking ash off to the side. “dunno. probly loud. messy. overrun with freshmen.”

“my favorite,” you say sarcastically.

“come anyway.”

you raise a brow. “you want me to go?”

he nods, eyes still soft from the joint. “yeah. all our people are gonna be there. gojo’s bringing that speaker he stole from the rec center. suguru’s bringing weed from the plug that scares everyone but him. shoko said she’s pre-gaming at yours.”

“she didn’t tell me that,” you mutter, amused.

“she said quote, ‘i’m getting blackout on your floor so you better have mixers.’”

“classic.”

“maki’s going too,” he adds. “and yuuji. megumi. nobara. y’all can take over the kitchen or whatever.”

you snort. “we always end up doing that. turning some random frat kitchen into our private lounge.”

“better lighting.”

“less vomit.”

he taps his knuckle to your forehead. “so?”

you blink at him. “so what?”

“you comin’?”

you stretch your arms over your head, lollipop tucked in your cheek like a secret. “mmm, depends. who’s walking me home if i black out?”

he gives you a look. “me."

“who’s holding my hair if i puke?”

“me.”

“who’s dancing with me when they put on early 2000s throwbacks?”

he smirks. “you already know.”

you grin and nuzzle into his thigh dramatically. “ugh, fine. i guess i’ll go.”

“what an honor.”

“you’re welcome.”

he flicks the roach away and leans back again, hood falling down to rest at the nape of his neck. you stare up at him for a second, at the sharp angle of his jaw, the lashes curled against his cheeks, the faint bruises of exhaustion under his eyes.

there’s something warm in your chest.

like always.

“what time’s it at?” you ask.

“late.”

“when are we getting there?”

“later.”

you smile. “as always.”

“as always,” he echoes.

you reach over, fingers brushing the side of his hoodie pocket where his lighter peeks out, red and fading, sticker peeling at the edges.

he doesn’t notice.

but you do.

you always do.

~

the sun has long since set when you’re back in your dorm.

shoko’s stuff is already half-scattered across your bed, a tote bag overflowing with lip gloss and tequila, her ripped denim skirt folded beside your pillow like it lives here. your bluetooth speaker is charging in the corner. your fairy lights are glowing dim, and the whole room smells like something between vanilla lotion and sharpie markers.

because you’re painting.

your desk is a mess of scattered brushes, scratched acrylics, and an empty matcha can you’ve been using as a water cup. right in the center sits the new bic lighter you picked up after social, jet black, perfectly smooth, untouched.

you’re painting red spider lilies across the front, his favourite.

the petals curl across the plastic like veins, wet with gloss and attention. you’re careful with the details. you’ve looked up references. you’ve done this before.

but this time’s different.

this one’s for him.

you don’t know why, exactly. maybe it’s because his old one’s going dead.

maybe it’s because you love him.

not like that.

not yet.

but in the way you know exactly how he likes his ramen. in the way he texts you “home?” when it’s late and doesn’t sleep until you answer. in the way he rolls his blunts left-handed and always lights yours first. in the way he remembers your mom’s birthday even though he’s never met her.

in the way he makes you feel safe in a room full of noise.

in the way he never tries to make you anything other than yourself.

you lean over the lighter, the brush held steady between your fingers, and add the final line of gold detailing around the petals. your breath fogs the surface. you wait for it to dry.

outside, someone blasts a bad edm remix. the party’s already pulsing down the block.

you aren’t ready yet.

but you will be.

because he asked.

because you always go when he asks.

by the time you and shoko step into the kappa house, it’s already hell in there.

there’s music vibrating the walls, some mashup of jersey club and distorted britney spears, smoke curling from doorways, the reek of beer and weed and something you hope is a vape cloud drifting from the stairs. someone’s already swinging a half-finished bottle of patrón in the foyer, and a guy in a spiked collar is passed out half-naked on the pool table. red LEDs paint the room like a warning.

“jesus,” shoko mutters, pushing through a knot of people. “it’s worse than last time.”

“that’s saying a lot,” you reply, laughing.

you pass a makeshift tattoo station set up in the kitchen, a foldable table, three guys with gloves and prison-grade guns, girls taking shots with their shirts off, someone yelling about cross-contamination. someone else is already screaming into a paper towel, gripping their friend’s thigh as ink bleeds into skin.

“how much you wanna bet that guy’s not even licensed?” shoko asks, pointing with her cup.

a few feet away, a couple is practically devouring each other on the couch, hands in places that definitely shouldn’t be public, their moans barely muffled over the bassline. you and shoko share a glance.

“ten bucks says they’ll be upstairs in five,” she says.

“two,” you shoot back.

you find the rest of your girls near the island, maki’s drinking straight from a bottle of dark rum, nobara’s yelling at some guy for calling her “sweetheart,” and miwa looks like she’s trying to spiritually leave her body.

“there you bitches are,” nobara says, throwing an arm over your shoulders. “i was gonna beat some freshman’s ass for trying to say you weren’t on the guest list.”

“please tell me you’re drinking tonight,” maki says, eyes already glossy.

“i just got here!” you laugh, letting shoko pull you in tighter. “i haven’t even taken my jacket off!"

“well hurry up,” nobara insists, pouring something violently pink into a solo cup and handing it to you. “this night’s cursed already.”

you take a cautious sip, bubblegum and battery acid. “what the hell is this?”

“it’s called the thong dropper,” shoko says helpfully.

“girl.”

you let the chaos swirl around you for a bit, settling into the rhythm of things, catching up on nonsense, swapping wild stories, dodging spilled drinks and clumsy hands. nobara starts talking about some guy she hooked up with last week, rolling her eyes and groaning dramatically.

“his stroke game was so weak,” she says, slamming her cup down. “he kept asking me ‘is that good?’ like—cmon. do you not hear me faking it?”

maki snorts. “you faked it?”

“of course i did. i had to get it over with.”

shoko leans in. “rookie mistake. just tell ‘em straight up.”

“i can’t crush a man’s ego like that,” nobara defends.

“they’ll live,” maki says.

you giggle into your drink, letting the warmth buzz up your spine.

“what about you?” shoko nudges. “you getting any lately?”

you shrug, trying to hide your smirk. “define ‘getting.’”

they all ooh at that, but you wave them off.

“nah,” you add quickly. “just been… chillin’.”

nobara raises a brow. “chillin’ with who?”

you don’t answer.

you don’t have to.

because you just spotted him.

across the room, slouched low on the ratty couch like a king on a broken throne, hoodie slipping off one shoulder, blunt glowing between his fingers, is choso.

he’s got his head tipped back, laughing at something gojo just said, eyes heavy-lidded and hazy, lips pink and glossy from smoke. his legs are spread wide, rings catching the LED lights, and there’s a plastic crown crooked on his head like someone dared him to wear it and he just went along with it.

you hand your cup to shoko. “back in a sec.”

you beeline straight to him.

he sees you coming, of course. always does.

“yo,” he says, voice syrup-thick, laced in that lazy drawl you know too well. “there she is.”

you plop onto the couch next to him, thigh pressed to his instantly, as natural as breathing.

“hey, babe.”

he pulls the blunt from his lips and passes it to gojo. “you look hot,” he murmurs, eyes scanning over you. “like… stupid hot.”

you grin. “you’re high.”

“and you’re hot.”

“so high.”

gojo chuckles. “he’s been saying that about everyone for the last twenty minutes. told sukuna his chains looked ‘shiny as fuck’ and that he was proud of him.”

“and i meant it,” choso says, nodding solemnly.

“sukunas a menace,” you laugh.

“a sweet menace,” choso adds.

gojo tosses the blunt into an ashtray and stretches. “aight. i’m gonna go find the aux before someone puts on country again.”

“godspeed,” you tell him.

choso watches him disappear into the crowd before turning back to you. “you good?”

you nod. “girls are wild tonight.”

“when aren’t they?”

you smile. “party’s kinda gross, though.”

he grins. “yeah. it’s ass.”

“i missed your parties.”

he hums, dragging a slow breath through his nose. “next week. tuesday.”

“a tuesday party?”

“hell yeah.”

you laugh softly, eyes dropping to the front pocket of his hoodie. his lighter’s there again, the red one. the same one from earlier, edges worn down like it’s been used a thousand times.

without saying anything, you reach into your jacket pocket.

he watches you curiously as you pull out the lighter you painted, black and glossy, the spider lilies blooming across the surface in blood-red ink and gold veins.

you hand it to him wordlessly.

his fingers brush yours as he takes it, and something in his face shifts, softens, quiets.

he turns it over slowly in his palm, eyes scanning every detail like he’s memorizing it.

“you painted this?”

you nod.

“ma…” he says under his breath, almost like it’s too much. “yo. this is… this is fucking beautiful.”

“your other one’s dying,” you say, a little shy now. “figured you needed a new one.”

he’s quiet for a second, blinking slowly.

then—

“you’re such a fuckin’ angel.”

you laugh. “it’s literally just a lighter.”

he doesn’t let his gaze leave it. “nah. it’s you.”

you blink.

he says it so casually. so high. so him.

like it’s just a fact.

you don’t say anything, and neither does he. the music swells. the lights flicker. people scream and laugh and break things somewhere in the background.

but right now, it’s just the two of you, and a lighter between your palms.

“you’re gonna make me cry,” you joke, even though the way he keeps looking at the lighter makes your chest feel a little too full.

choso doesn’t answer, just keeps running his thumb over the curves of it like it’s some delicate artifact, black with the glossy gleam of fresh paint, those red lilies blooming across the surface like blood in water.

he flicks it once. flame bursts up.

“perfect,” he mumbles.

“it works?”

“better than my soul, babe.”

you laugh, leaning your head against his shoulder, and for a few seconds everything around you falls away, just the throb of the music, the warm press of him, and the soft flicker of that tiny orange flame between his fingers.

you sit like that for a little while, talking about nothing. him complaining about a group project he hasn’t started. you teasing him for skipping chem lab again. him promising you some “next-level weed” for tuesday’s party that “tastes like peaches and existential dread.”

his voice is slow, syrup-thick, a little slurred at the ends. he’s stoned, clearly, but you’re used to this. used to the way he leans into you when he’s like this, heavy and unguarded, every thought coming out a little slower and more unfiltered. it’s a version of him that doesn’t get tired of looking at you.

he tugs at the hem of your jacket playfully. “you gonna stay with me tonight?”

you raise a brow. “didn’t plan on going anywhere else.”

he grins, that sleepy smile that makes your heart tick funny.

then your name cuts through the room, pitched over the music.

“oh shit,” you say, glancing over your shoulder. “they’re calling me.”

choso hums, not looking away. “tell ‘em i said hi.”

you hesitate for a second, not wanting to leave the warm bubble you’ve curled into. but shoko’s waving you over, and maki’s already halfway across the room with a bottle in her hand and trouble in her eyes.

“i’ll be back,” you say, giving his knee a squeeze as you get up.

he watches you go, eyes dragging over your silhouette, that sway in your hips, the flash of your smile as nobara yells something at you that makes you laugh and flip her off in the same breath.

then he’s alone.

not really, the house is packed, pulsing with bodies and music and smoke, but alone in the way that matters.

the lighter’s still in his hand.

and it won’t stop looking like you.

'she fuckin’ made this.'

that thought loops through his head in lazy spirals. he stares down at it like he’s still not fully processing that it’s his now, the way it fits so perfect in his palm, like you painted it with him in mind, like you know his hands that well.

(which you do.)

'what an angel', he thinks again, your face still ghosted in his mind.

he’s high. so high. his body feels like a heartbeat, slow and deep and pulsing warm. and the lighter, it keeps dragging him back to that moment on the couch, your thigh against his, your fingers brushing his, your quiet little smile when he lit it up for the first time.

'she always does shit like this. just makes stuff better. without even tryin’.'

it hits him all at once, sudden and full-body.

he needs to mark this. this moment. this feeling.

he’s already pulling out his phone before the thought’s even fully formed, scrolling through the camera roll he swore he didn’t care about but secretly checks too often. blurry candids, selfies with you curled against his chest, that pic from two weeks ago when you were looking up at him from the floor of his room with a red gummy in your mouth and sleep in your eyes.

he pauses there.

your eyes in that picture. big, soft, glassy, sexy.

his thumb hovers over the screen.

“yo,” a familiar voice calls, sauntering through the haze. “you look fried.”

sukuna.

choso glances up. “am fried.”

sukuna grins. “figured. that couch is cursed, by the way. guy got a blowie on it last week during pong night.”

choso shrugs. “adds flavor.”

they lean on the wall together, easy silence for a second.

“you see the tat guys?” sukuna asks, chin-jerking toward the kitchen. “someone just got a fucking worm on their calf. like a literal earthworm. said it was ‘symbolic.’”

choso laughs, low and thick. “symbolic of what?”

“dunno. being dirt, i guess.”

he doesn’t respond. just looks back at his phone.

sukuna raises a brow. “you good, dude?”

“yeah.”

“you look like you just had a vision.”

choso finally meets his eye.

“yo,” he says slowly. “you ever just feel something and know you gotta do somethin’ about it right now or you’ll bitch out?”

sukuna squints. “uh. like what?”

choso doesn’t answer.

instead, he pushes off the wall, hoodie slipping off one shoulder again, lighter still clutched in one hand, phone in the other, and starts walking.

sukuna watches him go, a little amused. “damn. alright.”

the air is thick with smoke and bass as he weaves through the crowd, bumping shoulders, dodging a girl dancing with her heels off and her hair in her face.

he reaches the makeshift tattoo stand.

it smells like rubbing alcohol and regret.

“yo,” he says, voice smooth as silk and twice as slow.

the guy behind the table, ink sleeves up to the neck, black gloves, sunglasses indoors, glances up.

“what’s up, man?”

choso leans down slightly, eyes low-lidded and unreadable, body loose and stoned and sexy in that careless way he always carries.

he holds out his phone.

“can you do this,” he asks, “on my arm?”

the artist blinks, then looks at the screen.

it’s a close-up of a girl’s eyes, wide, seductive, yet still glowing with laughter. looking up at the camera like whoever took the photo was the only thing in the world.

looking up at him.

choso taps the screen once. “those are hers.”

the guy raises a brow. “like… your girl?”

choso shrugs one shoulder. his eyes never leave the photo.

the buzz of the needle starts soft, a low, persistent hum, and choso doesn’t even flinch. he just leans back, one arm draped lazily across the armrest, hoodie shoved halfway up his bicep where the artist wiped him down with alcohol. his eyes are half-lidded, bloodshot from whatever gojo rolled earlier, but locked on the phone he’s holding out in his opposite hand.

the picture’s still up. her eyes, warm and wide, lashes curled, looking up at him like she trusts him with her whole heart.

“pretty,” the tattoo guy mutters, angling a small light to get a better look as he sketches the stencil. “yours?”

choso’s mouth curves slow. doesn’t answer right away. just flicks his lighter open and closed, click, click, click, the red spider lilies catching the light each time.

then finally:

“nah.”

the guy hums. “girlfriend?”

he huffs a little, amused. “not that either.”

he sets the lighter down on the table beside him, keeps his eyes on the screen.

“she’s just,” he pauses, then shrugs, soft and slow, “her. y’know?”

the artist side-eyes him. “deep.”

choso smiles again, eyes unfocused. “nah, i’m just fuckin’ high.” the guy presses the warm stencil into choso’s arm, smooths it into place.

“you sure you wanna do this while you’re, uh,” he glances at choso’s glassy expression, the faint grin still tugging at his mouth, “clearly not sober?”

“i’m not wasted,” choso says lazily. “and i’m not dumb. it’s not a mistake.” the artist nods once, respects it. “alright, man.” he flips on the machine again, lines it up.

“you done this before?” choso grunts a laugh. “y’think i got these in my sleep?” he gestures vaguely at the black ink already crawling across both arms, jagged, abstract lines, constellations and waves, some faded with age. some done in basements like this one. “first time sober was the weirdest one.”

the guy snorts. “fair.”

the needle hits skin.

choso exhales slow. doesn’t flinch, doesn’t shift, doesn’t even blink hard. just stares at the wall across the room, jaw slack, hoodie sliding off his shoulder, the buzz settling into the meat of his arm like a low hum of intention. “you ever tattoo someone like this before?” he murmurs after a beat.

“like what?”

he shrugs again. “someone who’s… y’know.” the guy doesn’t answer right away.

choso elaborates, voice softer this time. “she’s not mine. i don’t want her to be. not right now. it’s not like that. it’s just…” he trails off, brows furrowing a little, tongue tucked against the inside of his cheek.

“she just means somethin’. don’t got a word for it.”

the artist doesn’t look up from his work, but his tone’s gentler when he speaks again. “yeah. i’ve seen that before.” choso sinks deeper into the chair, breathing even. the pain’s dull and constant, but it grounds him. keeps his thoughts from spiraling too far out, keeps his high in this exact moment.

“you think she’d be mad?” he asks, voice airy. “if she saw it?”

“dunno,” the guy says. “you gonna tell her?” he blinks slow, head rolling back against the headrest.

“nah.”

another pause.

“not now. it’s just for me.” the tattooer gives a small nod. “that’s real.”

a silence settles between them, the steady hum of the needle, the sound of someone vomiting into a bush outside the window, a muffled scream from the beer pong table two rooms over.

“looks good,” the artist murmurs, wiping excess ink from the forming lines of the eyes. “she’s got crazy lashes.”

choso huffs out a small laugh. “she’d fuckin’ love that you noticed that.”

“yeah?”

he smiles again, softer now. “talked about lash serum for like a week. gave me a whole presentation.”

the guy chuckles under his breath. “sounds like she talks a lot.”

choso closes his eyes.

“she talks just enough.” the buzz continues. the lines take shape. her eyes, right there, etched into his skin. not to claim. not to confess. just to remember.

just for him.

~

the buzz dies down gradually, tapering into a low hum before the artist finally flicks the switch and pulls back. the sudden quiet settles like a heavy blanket over the both of them, just the soft thud of bass from the next room and the subtle scrape of latex gloves against skin.

“alright, man,” the artist says, leaning back with a stretch. “done.”

choso blinks slow, still slouched deep in the chair like he’s been there for hours, like the cushion molded around his bones. he lifts his head, eyes hazy but laser-locked on the strip of bandage being pressed to his upper arm.

“yo, hold up, lemme see it before you cover it,” he says, voice low and hoarse from either weed or reverence, maybe both.

the guy lifts a brow, but obliges. carefully wipes the skin one last time, blood and excess ink coming away in soft red-black smears. the room’s fluorescent lights hit the raw lines at an angle, shining off the freshly tattooed skin like it’s something holy.

and fuck.

there it is.

your eyes.

wide and soft and open, curved lashes sweeping upward in a way no stencil should’ve captured but somehow did. that quiet way you look at him, like he hung the stars, like he’s yours even if the two of you never say it out loud. inked permanent on the soft part of his bicep, nestled between a set of waves and the jagged edge of a half-finished constellation.

for a second, he doesn’t speak. doesn’t move.

he just stares.

it hits him slow, like a good edible, starts behind his eyes, low and warm in his chest, then spreads.

yo.

he’s obsessed.

like fully, all the way, brain-meltingly obsessed.

he turns his arm slightly under the light, eyes tracing the lines, the slight curve of your upper lid, the detail around the corners like you're mid-laugh or mid-thought or both. it looks exactly like you, his favorite version of you. the version that looks up at him like nothing else exists in the room.

god.

you look good on him. not in the possessive way. not even close. it’s not that.

it’s something else. something way quieter. something he can’t even name when he’s sober, and definitely not now, baked out of his skull with his arm still tingling and his hoodie falling half off.

but still, he’s wearing you now. and it feels like something that’s always been true, just waiting for the ink to make it real.

“you good?” the artist asks, half amused, already reaching for the plastic wrap again. “yeah,” choso says, slow, mouth crooked into a lazy grin. “looks fuckin’ sick, dude.” the guy chuckles under his breath. “kinda figured you’d say that.”

“you killed it,” choso adds, finally dragging his eyes off the tattoo. “like, actually.”

the artist nods, pleased. “appreciate it. was fun as hell to do, honestly. you sure you don’t want her name or somethin’? under it?” choso snorts. “nah. that’d make it weird.”

“fair.”

he watches the guy gently press a clean dressing over the fresh ink, tape it up. the sensation’s a dull sting under his skin, not quite pain, just awareness. a reminder that it’s real now. that it’s his, for good.

she doesn’t know. you might never know. and that’s kinda the whole point. he’s not gonna flash it at you mid-party or say anything slick when you sit beside him later like you always do, throwing your legs over his lap and stealing his drink.

nah.

this one’s just for him. a secret under his sleeve, tucked into the curve of his body like a memory.

“you gonna keep it under wraps?” the guy asks, like he can read choso’s whole plan off his face.

“yeah,” choso mutters, grabbing his hoodie and tugging the sleeve back down with a practiced flick. “at least for now. don’t need her freakin’ out or nothing.”

“bet,” the guy says with a short laugh. “i get it.”

choso stands slow, body still heavy from sitting too long and smoking too much. he sways a bit but rights himself, shaking out his arms like he’s just come up from underwater. the whole basement smells like blood and rubbing alcohol and resin, but it’s warm, and the energy buzzes low and steady around him.

he digs in his pocket for a few bills, slaps them into the artist’s open palm.

“appreciate you, man.”

“anytime, bro. take care of that, don’t go dunkin’ it in a keg or anything.” choso grins. “no promises.”

he walks out with his hoodie draped low, sleeve tugged all the way to his wrist despite the heat and the crowd and the chaotic press of bodies funneling in from the hallway. music floods back in slow, a pulse of bass syncing up with his own heartbeat.

but he can’t stop thinking about it. every step he takes, every time the sleeve brushes against the fresh ink, it reminds him.

not of what they are.

but of what you mean.

upu didn’t need to give him that lighter. you didn’t have to think about him in that little quiet way you always did, like he’s more than just a weed plug or the guy you party with every weekend. that little moment, just you in your dorm, painting red spider lilies on a bic you knew he’d never throw away? that shit went straight to his chest. and now you're on his skin. maybe you'd freak out if you saw it. maybe you'd cry. maybe you'd laugh.

maybe you'd get real quiet and never say anything again. or maybe you'd look at him the way you did in that photo. maybe you'd look at him like you knew.

but all that’s for later. for now, he’s just stoned as hell, arm warm and throbbing, and so unbelievably content that it’s almost embarrassing.

he spots gojo again across the room, already perched on the arm of someone else’s couch with a red solo cup and a grin like he owns the house. choso veers toward him, slips back into the noise like he never left.

sleeve tugged down.

lighter in his pocket.

eyes on his arm, just for him.

~

later that night you navigate yourself back to choso after your banter with the girls.

you spot him sunk deep into the cushions, hood half up, curls falling into his face, a bottle of water in one hand and his eyes half-lidded and sleepy with that lazy high he wears better than anyone. he’s surrounded, gojo splayed on one armrest like he owns the place, sukuna lounged sideways with his feet on the table, and suguru perched on the edge, nursing a half-finished blunt.

“yo, look who it is,” gojo grins as you walk up, already clocking the way you move like you’re headed home, not just to a guy. “princess finally found her prince.”

you don’t say anything, just slide right into the little space at choso���s side like it was made for you. his arm shifts automatically, pulling you in like it’s instinct, and you tuck your face into his shoulder, letting out the softest exhale. you can feel the thrum of his voice in your cheek when he speaks.

“hey, ma.”

his hand’s warm against your hip, steady, grounding. he smells like weed and cedar and the faintest trace of paint from the lighter you gave him. it’s in his pocket now, safe like something sacred.

“so anyway,” suguru picks back up like you didn’t just crash-land in choso’s lap, “i’m telling you, the guy had no idea what he was doing. tried to roll with a swisher, no guts, just dumped the weed in and twisted the end like a fuckin’ lollipop.”

“god, not the lollipop roll,” sukuna groans, dragging a hand over his face. “freshman?”

“of course it was a freshman,” gojo says, grinning. “those little guys think watching one youtube tutorial makes them bob marley.”

“yo, remember that one dude at the delta party?” choso says, head tilting back slightly. “rolled a joint with a bible page.”

“amen,” sukuna snorts.

“nah, for real,” choso laughs, hand tightening just slightly where it rests on your side. “he said it made the high holier.” you huff against his hoodie, and his fingers flex like he felt it, like it was the best sound he’d heard all night.

they keep going, weed stories, party war stories, the dumbest shit they’ve ever seen in a frat house at 3am. it’s relentless, loud, chaotic, but you stay quiet, tucked against choso’s side like he’s the only still thing in the room. his thumb runs in slow circles against your waist through the fabric of your top, and you feel the way he laughs before you hear it.

“yo,” gojo says, leaning across suguru to point at choso. “what’s the craziest thing you’ve ever done at a party?”

“besides adopt a girlfriend he doesn’t kiss?” sukuna adds. choso blinks slow. doesn’t rise to the bait, doesn’t even twitch.

“probably that time at theta when i fell asleep in the bathtub and woke up with a raccoon in my lap.” suguru chokes. “you serious?”

“deadass.”

“was it… alive?”

“bro. it was chillin’. just vibin’ with me.”

“you probably hotboxed the tub,” gojo says, wiping tears of laughter from his eyes. “raccoon was just tryna get high.”

choso grins, soft and slow, and you nudge your nose into his hoodie like you’re hiding your own smile. “what about women?” sukuna says suddenly, eyes glinting like he’s fishing. “y’all ever hook up at your own party?”

“you’re disgusting, that's against reg” gojo tells him cheerfully.

“don’t lie,” sukuna drawls. “you know you have.”

“alright, once,” gojo admits. “but i kicked her out after because she tried to name my bongs.” “you’re heartless,” suguru says, deadpan.

“you don’t name the bongs,” gojo insists. “they earn names. it’s sacred.”

“what about you, choso?” sukuna’s gaze cuts sideways. “you got bodies stacked in your stoner dungeon?” choso hums, slow and easy. you feel the low sound in his chest, pressed flush to your cheek.

“nah,” he says. “i don’t hook up with girls who don’t know how to roll.” the boys howl, gojo nearly falling off the couch.

“that’s so on brand,” suguru laughs. “you need standards,” choso mumbles, amused, and leans his cheek briefly against the top of your head.

the lighter’s still in his pocket. his arm’s still over your shoulders. and beneath the sleeve of his hoodie, hidden from the world, your eyes are inked into his skin.

you shift a little, just enough to tuck your legs under yourself, settling more fully into him, and he adjusts without thinking — arm around you tighter now, palm spread warm across your ribs, thumb grazing your side through the fabric. he’s careful. doesn’t let the hoodie ride up. doesn’t let anyone see. the tattoo’s still fresh, still tender, and it’s just for him.

“yo, you good?” suguru asks, nodding at him. choso blinks slow. “yeah man’.”

“that weed hit hard,” gojo says. “i feel like i’m seein’ sounds.”

“you ever tried dabs?” sukuna asks. “that’s when shit gets spiritual.”

“you tryna kill someone?” suguru laughs. “every time i hit one, i feel like my soul’s leaving my body.”

“shit’s a rite of passage,” sukuna shrugs.

“nah, a rite of passage is hosting a rager with a cop at your door and acting like you live there,” gojo grins. “have you?” choso asks, amused.

“bro, i’ve answered the door in a bathrobe before,” gojo says proudly. they all crack up again. you don’t say anything, but your smile’s pressed right into choso’s chest, and he dips his head for a second to nuzzle his nose into your hair.

“she’s real quiet tonight,” suguru says, noticing. “nah, she’s just comfy,” choso says easily. “she don’t need to talk when she’s like this.”

you don’t. not when you’ve got his warmth, his arm around you, his voice rumbling low in your ear with every lazy joke. it’s always like this, like no one else in the room really matters, like you could fall asleep right here and he’d keep the world spinning while you did.

“that’s love,” gojo says mock-serious.

“shut up,” choso mutters. but he doesn’t stop smiling. and the lighter’s still warm in his pocket.

and your eyes are still inked into his arm, safe and secret beneath layers of cotton and smoke.

~

the house is still going when you two finally get up. it’s past 2am, maybe closer to 3, but the music hasn’t let up and there’s still people on the floor, drinks in hand, voices loud and slurred over each other. someone’s passed out with a sharpie mustache, another guy’s making out with a pillow. classic kappa chaos.

choso’s the one who moves first. you feel it in the way his arm shifts, in the soft brush of his thumb against your side like a nudge. he leans in close, voice barely above a murmur.

“you good to dip?”

you nod into his hoodie, eyes half-lidded, heart heavy with warmth and weed.

he helps you up slow, palm steady at your back. when you stand, the cold air from the open back door hits your legs and you shiver a little, instinctively leaning back into his side. he shrugs his hoodie higher and throws an arm around your shoulders like he already knew it’d happen.

“yo,” choso calls out over the couch, voice scratchy and low. “we out.”

gojo perks up from where he’s still posted with a half-spilled drink, eyes bright. “tell your girlfriend goodnight for us.”

you don’t say anything, just press your face into choso’s shoulder again, and he laughs under his breath.

“night, man,” suguru says with a nod, already halfway into rolling another blunt.

sukuna lifts a hand lazily. “text if you end up in a ditch.”

“if i do, i’m takin’ you with me,” choso mutters.

they all laugh again, and it follows you both out the front door, the porch light buzzing weak and yellow above you. the night’s cooler now, quiet in a way that makes everything feel soft around the edges. your heels click against the pavement as you walk, but only for a second, choso notices and without a word, crouches down in front of you, glancing back over his shoulder.

“get on.”

you blink, amused. “seriously?”

“c’mon, ma,” he mumbles, tugging at your wrist. “your feet hurt.”

you climb onto his back with a little laugh, arms wrapped loose around his shoulders, and he stands like it’s nothing, steady under your weight. his steps are slow and sure down the sidewalk, the frat house lights shrinking behind you, the sounds of the party fading with every step.

“you always take care of me,” you mumble against his neck.

he hums low. “’course i do. you're my.. best friend.”

you walk like that for a while, his hoodie soft against your cheek, his hair brushing your face every time the wind shifts. he doesn’t say much, just hums sometimes or comments on dumb shit you pass, a traffic cone in a bush, a raccoon on the curb that freezes when it sees you, like it knows choso somehow.

he sets you down once you’re close, only when his own building’s steps are in sight. his hand stays in yours as he leads you inside, up the stairs, past the other bedrooms where people are either passed out or definitely not sleeping. his door clicks shut behind you with a soft thud, and everything goes quiet.

his room’s the same as always, warm, dim, the faint smell of weed and whatever incense he burned earlier in the week still lingering in the corners. one sock on the floor, a hoodie thrown over the back of his chair. you’ve been here a hundred times, maybe more.

but tonight feels different. softer. warmer.

he pulls his hoodie off slow, careful of the sleeve, and tosses it toward the desk chair. the bandage underneath catches the light for a second, but he turns before you see too much.

you toe your shoes off and crawl onto the bed without thinking. he follows, slower, body still heavy with high and heat and something else he can’t name.

you’re both under the blanket when he finally speaks.

“hey.”

you look over, curled on your side facing him.

his eyes are half-lidded, soft. one arm tucked behind his head, the other stretched toward you, palm open on the comforter like he’s offering it.

“i really fuckin’ love that lighter.”

your heart stutters a little. “yeah?”

he nods, slow. “like… a lot. been using it all night. even switched pockets for it, kept checking to make sure it didn’t fall out or get swiped.”

you smile, something small and full blooming in your chest. “good. it’s supposed to be yours.”

“feels like it.”

he looks at you for a long second. the space between you shrinks until his arm slides around your waist and pulls you in close.

you go easy, always do, settling into him like he’s your own bed, your own pillow, the place you always end up no matter how far you drift.

he breathes in slow, his nose brushing your hair.

“the flowers… why’d you paint those?”

you press your face into his chest.

“they reminded me of you,” you say quietly. “red spider lilies. they’re kind of… complicated. people think they’re about death or goodbye, but they also mean memory. rebirth. starting over. they grow in all the places nothing else does.”

choso’s quiet for a second.

then, soft, “you think i’m like that?”

you shrug against him, voice even softer. “i think you’re the kind of person who sticks. who stays even when shit gets hard. and you don’t always say how you feel but… you’re steady. like those flowers. like fire.”

he exhales slow.

“fuck, ma.”

“what?”

“you’re gonna make me cry or some shit.”

you laugh, a quiet huff against his chest. he wraps both arms around you now, tucking you into the space beneath his chin, his hand sliding up into your hair.

his fingers stroke slow, gentle. again and again.

“you can cry,” you mumble. “i won’t tell.”

he chuckles low, the sound vibrating through you.

“nah, i’m good. just… i dunno. not used to someone thinkin’ about me like that.”

you don’t say anything. just curl closer, your fingers fisting lightly in the fabric of his shirt.

the room settles into silence. soft and slow. your breaths even out together.

his hand keeps stroking through your hair, steady and grounding. like he could do it forever. like maybe he will.

his voice comes again, quieter this time.

“gonna keep that lighter forever.”

you smile, eyes fluttering shut. “good.”

“not even gonna let gojo touch it."

“definitely good.”

his lips brush your hair, a ghost of a kiss.

you feel it all, the warmth, the safety, the way his body curls slightly to fit around yours like a shield, like a home.

his heartbeat’s slow against your cheek.

“night, ma,” he whispers, already half-asleep.

you murmur it back, voice slurred with sleep, breath syncing with his.

his fingers keep moving, slow circles through your hair.

and in the soft dark, beneath the blanket, beneath the silence, his arm curls around you just enough to press the fresh ink on his bicep to your side, a quiet secret. a permanent truth.

just for him.

just for tonight.

just for you.

~

~

it’s been a chill afternoon, sun’s out, classes dragging, brain fried. choso’s walking out of the lab building with his earbuds in, hoodie half-zipped, replaying your last message in his head. a pic of your shoes kicked off under a library table, captioned come save me, three broken hearts. made him smile. still does.

he’s almost past the quad when a shadow cuts across the sidewalk.

“yo, choso.”

doesn’t need to look up to know who it is.

that voice, too smooth. familiar in the kind of way that feels like smoke curling up your back.

he pulls one earbud out and slows.

toji’s leaned against the trunk of an oak tree like he’s been waiting. sunglasses on, black tee snug across his chest, arms crossed like he’s got all day. his smirk’s already half-there.

“what’s up?” choso mutters.

“you got a sec?”

choso gives him a long look. he knows toji. knows the kind of calm that means something’s coming.

“…yeah,” he says anyway.

they walk.

they’ve done this before, that time a few weeks ago before his lab, once or twice after parties, when everyone else was loud and drunk and messy. toji’s always been different. sharper. like he watches the room just to see where it bleeds.

“how’s life at delta mu?” toji asks after a few steps. casual. fake.

“same shit.”

“yeah?” he smirks. “you still throwing those weed parties with your little mascot?”

choso’s jaw ticks. “you mean y/n?”

toji chuckles. “yeah. her.”

he tosses a glance sideways. too casual.

“she’s got some energy, huh? always bouncing around, arms all over you. she like that with everybody or just you?”

choso doesn’t answer. toji doesn’t need one.

“nah, i’ve seen it,” he continues. “always tucked up next to you. on your lap. wrapped around your arm. clinging to your hoodie like it’s the last blunt in the world.”

he laughs under his breath. “kinda cute.”

choso’s fists go deep in his pockets.

“she’s just like that,” he says flatly.

toji hums. “you sure?”

choso looks over.

“what’s your point?”

“just wondering,” toji shrugs, still smiling like it’s harmless. “you’ve told me before, you two aren’t dating.”

“we’re not.”

“but you hang out every day.”

“yeah.”

“sleep in the same bed sometimes, right?”

choso’s mouth tightens.

toji grins like he caught something.

“so she’s single?”

choso stares straight ahead.

“…yeah.”

“good to know.”

silence.

the wind brushes through the quad. students chatter behind them. someone’s playing music from a bluetooth speaker in the grass, something smooth, almost romantic. it doesn’t help.

“she’s just real… open, you know?” toji says. “like, warm. sweet as hell. makes you feel like you’ve known her forever.” choso stays quiet.

“i ran into her the other day,” toji adds like it’s nothing. “outside the gym. we talked for a sec.” his tone is lighter now. teasing. like he’s digging.

“she remembered my name. smiled real nice, too. said she was headed to meet you.”

no surprise there. you always say where you're going. always talking about choso like he’s the center of your world. and maybe that’s why this stings. and toji knows it.

“you ever wonder if she does that for you?” he asks. “tells other guys she’s headed to see you. uses your name like a shield.”

he doesn’t wait for a reply.

“or maybe it’s just habit. maybe she’s comfortable. you ever think about that?”

“don’t do this.”

choso’s voice is low now. warning. toji just smirks.

“look, man. i’m not trying to piss you off. just… trying to understand. ‘cause you act like you’re her boyfriend, but then you say you’re not.”

he tilts his head.

“so which is it?”

choso breathes slow through his nose.

“we’re close. we’ve always been close. that’s it.” toji nods. like he buys it.

but he doesn’t.

“damn,” he says. “you got more patience than me.”

“what’s that mean?”

“means if a girl like that was pressed up on me every night, i wouldn’t be wasting time calling her my friend.” he says it with a grin, but there’s something sharp underneath.

“you really never tried?” toji asks. “never kissed her? not once?” choso doesn’t respond. he can’t. he kisses you all the time, on the head, bebe ron the lips.

because the truth’s stuck in his throat, the way you fall asleep in his arms, the way you hold his lighter like it means something, the way you always come back to him like he’s home. and he’s the dumbass who never claimed you.

“so she’s single, then?” toji repeats.

“yeah,” choso says, barely above a whisper.

toji gives him one last nod.

“cool,” he says. “just wanted to be sure.” and then he walks away. choso doesn’t move. not for a long time.

just stands there, fists clenched, teeth gritted, watching toji’s silhouette disappear down the path like it’s a threat, because it is. he knew.

he knew before he asked.

and now he’s coming.

because choso left the door wide open.

and you?

you’re free to walk through it.

~

choso’s room, late afternoon

your legs are curled under you on choso’s bed, hoodie three sizes too big hanging off your shoulder, his, of course. the windows are cracked open, letting in the soft hum of birds and the echo of some guys yelling down at the basketball court. his room smells like incense, sage and something deeper, something him, warm, sleepy. you’ve been here a hundred times like this. maybe more.

his hoodie sleeves keep sliding past your wrists as you text, thumbs quick, quiet smile pulling at your lips. he’s across the room, digging through a drawer for his rolling tray. you can feel his presence without even looking. always do.

“yo, did you move my grinder?” he calls, glancing over his shoulder.

“nope,” you answer, distracted, fingers still flying over your screen. your phone lights again.

toji [3:04pm]: you looked cute at that mixer last night.

you bite your lip. thumbs hover.

then you type:

you [3:07pm]: oh you're stalking me noww?

you don’t see choso pause. you don’t see how long his eyes linger on your phone. you don’t realize he saw the name, until he speaks.

“who you texting?”

you blink up, tone of his voice unfamiliar.

“hm? oh—” you shift your phone in your hand, instinctive. “just… someone.”

he tilts his head.

“someone, huh.”

you laugh a little. “why do you sound like that?”

he doesn’t answer. he crosses the room instead, slow steps. plants himself at the edge of the bed, arms folded. you look up at him and that warm energy’s gone. replaced with something colder. sharp.

“that toji?”

your breath stalls.

“…yeah.”

choso stares at you. unreadable.

“why?”

“what do you mean why?” you ask, eyebrows tugging. “he messaged me. we were just talking.”

he hums. low. not buying it.

“just talking,” he echoes. “what about?” you sit up straighter. “what’s going on?”

“what’d he say?”

“choso—”

“lemme see.”

he gestures at your phone. you clutch it instinctively. like muscle memory. like guilt? “are you serious right now?” he doesn’t answer. jaw’s tight. eyes dark.

“what’d he say?” he asks again. your fingers squeeze your phone. you feel a flush crawl up your neck. not from embarrassment, but shock.

“you’re not serious,” you say again, this time quieter. he just looks at you. so you speak.

“he said i was cute when i was bored. and i said maybe. that’s it.”

his jaw ticks.

“you flirting with him?”

“what?”

“you heard me.”

you scoff. “no. i wasn’t. it wasn’t even- i didn’t mean it like that.” choso steps back, runs a hand through his hair. pacing now.

“you texting him while you’re in my bed?”

“what does that matter?”

“it matters.”

his voice is sharper now. rough around the edges. not loud, but tight, like it’s fighting to stay inside his chest. “you know how i feel about that guy.”

“choso, he’s been nothing but nice lately—”

“he’s not nice. he’s not interested in being friends. he’s waiting. he’s circling. you don’t see it?” you blink.

“so what, you’re mad ‘cause i texted him back?” he looks at you like you just spit on the floor. “i’m mad ‘cause you’re in my fucking hoodie, in my bed, telling some other guy he’s got a shot.”

you freeze.

the silence that falls is loud.

so loud.

your eyes widen. you stare at him, lips parted. unsure if you heard that right. unsure if he meant to say it.

“a shot?” you echo. he looks away. exhales hard.

“never mind.”

“no,” you say, voice firm now. “say it again.”

he doesn’t. but you both feel the truth echoing off the walls.

you look down. suddenly too warm. like the hoodie’s burning your skin. “…i didn’t know you’d care,” you say, almost to yourself.

choso swallows. “i do.” you glance back up.

“why?”

he doesn’t answer. but you already know. and now the air is thick with it. the unspoken thing. and for the first time, it’s not sweet. not warm. it hurts.

because it means everything he’s never said, everything he’s been, came with conditions you never agreed to. came with borders he never drew, but expected you not to cross.

you breathe slow. he watches you. you speak first.

“if you wanted to be the only one texting me like that, you should’ve said something.” choso’s face shifts. his mouth opens like he’s going to say something, defend himself, maybe, argue the way he always stays quiet because he doesn’t want to lose you,but nothing comes out.

instead, his brows knit together, lips pressed in a tight line. his fingers curl at his sides.

“you really think i don’t wanna be that?” he says, voice rough. “you think this shit’s been casual for me?” you blink at him. your breath catches.

“you’ve never said it was anything else, choso. what was i supposed to think?”

“fuck,” he growls, pacing again. “you were supposed to know. i thought you knew.”

his voice rises, not yelling, but loud with frustration. he’s unraveling in real time, and it’s shaking something loose in you, too. “how was i supposed to know?” you shoot back. “you flirt but you never say anything. you touch me like i’m yours but act like i’m just your best friend—”

“you are mine.” your voice dies in your throat.

he stares at you. and when he speaks again, it’s quieter, but no less intense.

“you’re mine,” he says again, like a confession. like a curse. “always been mine.” your stomach flips.

“then why—” your voice cracks — “why didn’t you ever tell me?”

choso runs a hand through his hair again, like he’s trying to physically hold himself together. like it hurts.

“’cause i was scared,” he snaps. “scared that if i said it out loud, it’d fuck everything up. that you’d look at me different. that you’d leave.” you stare.

“so you’d rather let someone else have me?”

he stiffens. you rise onto your knees on the bed, fire lighting behind your ribs now. “you’d rather let toji of all people try it?”

his jaw clenches. “he’s not gonna have you.” your heartbeat skids.

he moves in fast, faster than he ever has, and grabs your wrist, firm but not rough, like he can’t bear to let the distance exist any longer.

“i’m not letting him have you,” he mutters.

you’re still frozen, looking up at him. something between fear and thrill curling in your gut.

“choso,” you whisper. he doesn’t stop. he pushes you back gently onto the bed, one hand catching your waist, the other bracing against the mattress. he hovers over you, breath heavy, eyes searching your face like he’s begging you to see it, really see it this time.

“i’m fucking in love with you.”

your heart punches into your throat. his forehead dips, pressing against yours, voice hoarse.

“i’ve been in love with you since you showed up to my first party and we listened to that dumb song together.”

you let out a shaky laugh, but your eyes are wet his thumb brushes your cheek.

“i never said it ‘cause i thought this was enough. thought just having you close was better than risking it all. but i can’t—” he pulls in a breath, voice shaking now too — “i can’t sit quiet while other people try to take you from me.”

you’re blinking fast now. breath catching. every inch of your skin feels like it’s on fire beneath his touch.

“you’re my girl,” he says again, softer this time. “you’ve always been mine.”

you don’t answer right away. your chest rises and falls beneath his, shallow and unsteady. your palm is still on his cheek, but your eyes have shifted, staring past him now. unfocused. wet.

“you’re only saying that,” you murmur, “because someone else finally had the balls to go after me.”

his breath catches. your voice is quieter, but sharp now, like you’re trying to convince yourself. like you want to believe it, but the cracks are there, and they’re splitting open.

“you didn’t say anything until he got involved. until he started asking about me. texting me. seeing me.” your hand falls away from his face. “and now suddenly, i’m yours?”

his eyes widen. “no—”

“you had so long to tell me, choso. so many chances.”

“y/n, it’s not like that—”

“then what is it like?” you breathe. “’cause i don’t get to be the girl you only want when someone else does.”

choso stares at you, heart hammering. like you just ripped something raw and bloody straight out of his chest.

he swallows.

and then, slowly, he pushes back, just far enough to sit up on his knees beside you. the mattress dips with the weight shift. his hands fumble for the hem of his hoodie.

he pulls it up and over his head in one quick move. your breath stutters.

there, inked into the inside of his upper arm, where he’d hidden it every time you curled up against him, is a tattoo.

of your eyes.

staring straight back at you.

your real breath, the one stuck in your throat, finally punches out of you.

choso watches your expression shift, eyes flicking from the ink to his face and back. he swallows once, hard, and says:

“got it the night of the party. when you gave me the lighter.” you blink.

“you were curled up on me. whole time i was talking with the boys, i couldn’t stop thinking about you. how close you were. how you looked at me like that was your home.” he swipes a thumb under his nose, like he doesn’t know what else to do with his hands. “so i got up, high as fuck, to the guy tatting people in the corner. told him to ink your eyes on me.”

your lips part, but nothing comes out. his voice softens.

“i didn’t say anything ‘cause i thought it was enough. just having you near. but it’s not. not anymore.”

your heart pounds so hard you feel it in your ears.

he looks at you like you’re the only thing in the room. like he needs you to believe it. really believe it.

“this isn’t about toji. it’s never been about him. i wanted you long before he ever said your name.”

you’re still staring at the tattoo.

he moves closer again. his hand brushes your knee, gentle.

“you think i’d get your fucking eyes on me just ‘cause i’m jealous?” you blink fast.

his hand finds your face again. tender. grounding “you’re it for me.”

his voice is low, raspy. not just from the emotion, but from how hard he’s holding it in, like if he lets go, everything he’s ever felt for you will come spilling out and drown him.

but he lets it go anyway.

“you’re all i think about,” choso says, brushing his thumb over your cheek again. “when i’m high, when i’m sober, when you’re across the room and laughing at someone’s stupid joke, when you’re asleep in my bed, wearing my shirt, you’re in my head all the time, ma.”your breath catches.

“every song reminds me of you. every little thing you do drives me crazy. you don’t even know how much of me you’ve got.”

he leans closer, forehead nearly touching yours.

“you gave me that lighter and i wanted to kiss you right there in the middle of the street. when you paint your nails i stare at your hands for hours. when you fall asleep on me at parties, i sit still like a statue so you don’t move. i’m always lookin’ at you like i already lost you. and it kills me.”

his hand finds your jaw, warm and steady, fingers curling behind your ear. your breath hitches, and he’s close enough to feel it.

“you’ve had my heart since freshman year. and i didn’t say anything ‘cause i thought maybe you didn’t want it. or maybe you already had it and didn’t need to hear it out loud.”

you swallow, shaky. lips parted. cheeks flushed.

and choso looks down at them, your lips, like he’s been holding himself back from kissing you for a lifetime.

and then he doesn’t anymore.

he crashes into you like he’s starving.

the kind of kiss that drags a sound out of your throat before you even realize it, all heat and pressure and ache, all the months and years and everything he’s shoved down, poured out into the way his lips mold against yours. he kisses you like he’s afraid you’ll pull away, and like he knows you won’t.

your hands claw at his shoulders, winding into the mess of his hair, tugging him in even closer. and choso groans, deep in his throat, pressing you down into the bed, slotting his hips against yours.

his mouth moves fast, desperate, lips, tongue, teeth, like he can’t get enough. like the taste of you is something he needs in his lungs.

“fuck,” he breathes against your mouth, dragging his lips down your jaw, “you don’t get it, do you?”

your back arches, lips parting when he sucks lightly under your ear.

“how bad i’ve wanted this. you.”

his hands roam, over your waist, under your shirt, up your sides like he’s trying to memorize all of you at once. and every place he touches leaves a trail of fire.

you moan his name, soft and shaky, and he loses it a little more, bites your bottom lip as he grinds his hips down into yours, heavy and hot and so there.

“say it again,” he mutters, eyes half-lidded, forehead pressed to yours. “say my name.”

“choso.”

he shudders.

“again.”

“cho!.”

he kisses you so deep it knocks the breath out of your lungs. kisses you like he owns you, like you’ve always belonged to him, and like he’s finally letting himself claim what’s already his.

and fuck, you let him.

you’ve wanted this just as long. needed him just as bad.

and now, with your limbs tangled, your body burning under his, your heart thudding like a war drum in your chest, there’s no more pretending.

you’re his. he’s yours. and it’s written all over his face.

choso looks at you like you’re the only thing he’s ever wanted, like he’s starved for you, but still savoring the moment. his eyes are dark, heavy-lidded, but soft. reverent. he cups your cheek with a hand that’s just slightly trembling, brushing his thumb along your skin like he can’t believe you’re real.

he kisses your forehead, slow and grounding, like a promise. then your nose. then your lips, and that one lingers. warm, aching, deep enough that it steals the air from your lungs. it’s not just desire. it’s everything he’s never said until now.

“please let me see you, ma." he whispers, voice hoarse, like he’s been holding back forever.

you nod, lips parted, eyes locked with his. your breath stutters as his fingers ghost over the hem of your shirt, lifting it inch by inch like he’s unwrapping something precious. he tosses it aside, only to pull you in again. his palms spread wide across your ribs, thumbs brushing just beneath your chest.

“fuck,” he breathes, low and to himself. “so fucking beautiful.”

he leans in, mouth dragging hot and open along your neck, kissing and breathing you in, his lips trembling against your pulse like he’s drunk off you. he murmurs something there, a soft, almost desperate, “mine,” before he undoes your bra with one practiced flick.

and when it falls away, he doesn’t touch you right away. he just stares, like the sight of you has knocked the wind out of him.

his hands come up slow, palms warm as they cup you like he’s afraid to break something delicate. “been dreaming about this,” he says. “about you. here. like this. in my bed. lookin’ up at me like you already know i’d give you everything.”

you shiver under the weight of it all, his voice, his gaze, his touch. and then his mouth is on your chest, lips sealing around your nipple, tongue flicking before he sucks — slow, deep, just enough to make you arch into him with a needy whimper.

“choso…”

he groans, hand sliding lower, fingers hooking into the waistband of your shorts. he pulls them down with your panties in one motion, dragging his palms down your thighs on the way. and when he sits back, just to take you in, bare, breathless, flushed, his eyes go wide, like he’s trying to commit you to memory. “look at you,” he murmurs, chest rising with each ragged breath. “you don’t even know what you do to me, do you?”

you reach for him, tugging his shirt up and over his head, palms skating down the strong lines of his chest, stopping only when your fingers find his arm. your breath catches.

your eyes. inked in black and red over his skin, etched like a confession. you won't ever get sick of seeing it.

he watches you take it in, sees the exact moment you understand, and he doesn’t say anything. not at first. he just leans in, takes your hand in his, and presses it over his heart.

“see?” he whispers. “been yours. always.”

your eyes brim, chest tight with something that has no name. and then he kisses you again, slow and deep, tongue stroking yours, hand sliding between your thighs. he groans into your mouth when he feels you, warm, wet, already trembling.

“so wet for me,” he mutters, lips brushing yours. “all this for me, huh?”

his fingers dip into you, one at first, then two, slow and deep, curling just right. your back arches, mouth falling open with a gasp as he starts to move them, watching every twitch and shiver you give him like he’s memorizing the way you come apart. “fuck, baby,” he breathes. “you feel so good, been wantin’ this for so long. just wanted to take care of you. make you feel good.”

his lips trail back down, mouth closing around your nipple again as his fingers keep working you open, the room echoing with your broken gasps and soft moans. he kisses your sternum, your ribs, every inch of you he can reach like he’s trying to make up for every second he didn’t have you.

and when your legs start to tremble, when your thighs squeeze around his hand and you whimper his name into the crook of his neck, he groans, low and sexy, and pulls back just enough to strip the last of his clothes.

his cock is flushed, hard, already leaking, and still, he pauses.

he leans in, pressing his forehead to yours, breathing hard. “you sure you wanna do this hun?”

“i want you,” you whisper, voice cracking. “i want all of you.”

and when he slides in, slow, deliberate, it’s overwhelming. your nails dig into his shoulders, mouth open in a silent gasp, and he just groans, long and low, burying his face in your neck.

“fuck, baby… you feel so fuckin’ good, made for me, huh?”

his hips rock into you, slow and deep, dragging along every sensitive inch inside you until you’re trembling again, mouth parted in helpless moans. he kisses you through it, messy and uncoordinated, full of teeth and tongue and need.

he doesn’t hold back anymore. not his body, not his voice. he’s everywhere, his hands, his mouth, his words, and every thrust is rougher, deeper, hotter than the last.

“been yours since the day i met you,” he breathes against your skin. “you’re mine, baby. mine. no one else gets to have you like this. no one else even fuckin’ compares.”

you believe him. how could you not, when he’s saying it like he’s been waiting years to let it out?

you fall apart first, clenching around him with a strangled moan, whole body trembling as your orgasm crashes through you, and choso follows, grinding into you with a low growl, holding you close as he spills into you.

he doesn’t let go. not even after. he stays buried deep, forehead to yours, one hand cradling your jaw like it’s fragile.

“not lettin’ you go,” he whispers. “not now. not ever.”

~

the party’s already in full swing when you two walk in. the bass thrums under your feet, bodies packed tight in the kappa house. familiar faces flash by in strobes of color and sound, solo cups raised, someone laughing too loud, gojo shouting across the room with a bottle in each hand.

and then you and choso step into the chaos like it’s nothing. except tonight, it’s not nothing. it’s everything. your hand is in his. his thumb strokes over your knuckles like it’s second nature, and you’re tucked into his side like you’ve always belonged there. he’s wearing that hoodie you love, and you’ve got it slung off your shoulder like it’s yours now. he hasn’t let go of you since you walked through the door, and he doesn’t plan to. people notice.

gojo sees first. his mouth falls open around the mouth of a beer can, and he drops it on the counter with a dramatic gasp. “oh my god.” choso raises an eyebrow, smirking. “no fuckin way,” sukuna mutters, eyes narrowing. “this for real?” you don’t say anything. just smile, nuzzling into choso’s chest. and choso, god, he melts. his arm tightens around you like instinct, like he’s not even thinking about it. “you’re kidding,” maki blurts from across the room. she’s half-drunk and squinting, pointing her beer bottle at you two like she’s trying to make sense of a mirage. “you finally fucked?”

“maki,” shoko hisses, slapping her arm, but she’s already grinning. “i knew it. i knew it.” suguru lifts his drink with a slow, knowing smile. “took you long enough.” gojo, meanwhile, is spinning in a circle like he just witnessed a miracle. “wait wait wait,” he says, pointing between the two of you. “you’re telling me this entire time, we’ve been watching you two eye-fuck each other across every frat house on campus, and now you’re just casually showing up like this?”

“what can i say,” choso murmurs, pulling you even closer, “i figured it was time.” “look at his hand placement,” shoko says, leaning into maki. “that’s not friends. that’s boyfriend hand placement.”

“yeah and look at her,” maki laughs. “she looks like she just got dicked down and praised like a goddess.” you duck your head a little, embarrassed, but choso leans in and kisses your cheek, then your temple. it’s so soft, so easy, and when he pulls back, he looks straight at toji who’s staring wide eyed, steady, calm, but with a flicker of challenge in his eyes.

“don’t look at her like that,” he says, voice low. “not tonight. not ever.” toji scoffs, raising his hands in mock surrender, but his grin is sharp. “damn. someone’s possessive now.”

“been possessive,” choso mutters, like it’s not even up for debate. he turns his attention back to you instantly, brushing your hair behind your ear.

“you okay?” you nod. “i’m perfect.” and then he kisses you. not a peck. not for show. it’s slow, unhurried, with his hand cupping your jaw and his lips moving with the kind of tenderness that makes your knees weak. the room could be burning down and he wouldn’t stop. you don’t even hear gojo’s dramatic screech until you break apart.

“yo this is crazy,” he says, spinning around and yelling to no one in particular. “choso is off the market. choso kamo, resident stoner-lover of no one but his weed and his hoodie collection, is now cuffed.”

“what’s it feel like,” suguru asks with a smirk, raising an eyebrow at choso, “to be someone’s boyfriend?”

“feels like i shoulda done it years ago,” choso says. you blink up at him, heart catching in your throat. “yo,” yuuji calls from the other side of the room. “does this mean we’re finally allowed to say you two have been in love since freshman year?” “i always said it,” nobara yells, shoving through the crowd with a drink. “don’t act like y’all didn’t see them cuddled up at every party like an old married couple.”

“wait does this mean she’s moving into his room?” gojo asks, visibly spiraling. “what’s gonna happen to the guest bed? who’s gonna roll for me when choso’s too busy being in love?”

“die mad,” choso says flatly, and everyone laughs. but even through all the noise and teasing and attention, his focus never strays from you. his hand stays on your waist. his eyes keep dropping to your mouth like he’s remembering exactly what it feels like.

“you good?” he murmurs again, like he just wants to hear you say it.

you press your nose to his chest and nod, smiling. “more than good.”

he kisses you again, slower this time, like it’s just for you. like no one else is in the room. like he’s exactly where he’s always wanted to be.

and the thing is — he is.

he’s yours. fully, finally, publicly.

awe wasn't that sweet 👩‍❤️‍💋‍👨 masterlist !!

[soobiary]

holy moly may this love find me

shy girls suck the best!

fratjo x nerd!reader, fluff & smut, m receiving, overstimulation, whimpering toru. 3.5k wc, 18+ only, MDNI.

satoru gojo is experienced.

he’s cocky for a reason. he’s made girls scream his name more times than he can count, and he knows exactly how to make someone fold in under five minutes—ten if he’s playing nice. he’s all confidence, charm, and unearned a’s from professors who don’t want to deal with his antics. his reputation precedes him in every room, and he walks like the world’s already bent over backwards just to please him.

everything about him screams untouchable, and he’s used to people treating him that way. he wears his varsity jacket like armor, a walking billboard of fratboy glory, all swagger and smirks and lazy confidence that makes people gravitate toward him like he’s got his own gravity field.

but then there’s you.

the shy girl in glasses, always scribbling in your notebook with an absurdly cute pen, whispering apologies when you bump into people, hiding in the back row of class like you owe the world an explanation just for existing. you don’t talk unless spoken to, don’t make eye contact, and definitely don’t give satoru the attention he’s used to. it’s not that you’re cold—it’s that you seem like you live in your own quiet little world, and satoru’s never wanted to be invited somewhere so badly.

and maybe what undoes him first is that he sees you before you see him. you’re already there, present in the corners of his attention before he understands why he’s looking. he notices you one day during lecture, tucking your hair behind your ear as you underline a sentence three times with an intense little frown. it doesn’t seem like much. but something in him clicks.

at first it’s curiosity. then amusement. then it festers into irritation—because why the fuck aren’t you reacting to him like everyone else?—and then fascination. and then something deeper that coils in his chest and makes his throat tight every time he sees you. he tries not to care. he wants not to care. but you’re already rooting yourself in places inside him he didn’t know were hollow.

satoru notices you because you don’t notice him. not the way everyone else does. you don’t flutter your lashes when he smirks. you don’t laugh at his jokes like they’re scripture. you don’t even flinch when he calls you “baby” out of nowhere—just blink at him like he’s an equation you don’t understand. it bruises his ego. and for some unholy reason, he loves it.

the problem is, you’re not immune to him at all. you’re just hiding it better than anyone ever has.

because what he doesn’t know is—you’ve always had a crush on him. from the very first time he walked into class, sleepy-eyed and bright-smiled, wearing that damn jacket like it belonged on a movie screen. you just figured he’d never notice someone like you. so you admired from afar. watched him flirt with others, watched the way he filled a room with laughter, memorized the cadence of his voice like it was part of your playlist.

your crush was harmless. private. something you never expected to act on. you played it safe. after all, guys like satoru gojo don’t fall for quiet girls with awkward posture and color-coded notes.

but maybe that’s what draws him in—the absence of performance. the quiet genuine way you exist. no theatrics. no games. just you, completely unaware that you’ve started haunting his every thought.

it starts small.

he catches himself watching the way your hands move. the way your nose scrunches when you’re deep in thought. the way you roll your pen between your fingers when you're anxious. it becomes a loop, a soft little addiction. he remembers details he shouldn’t. what color post-its you use. your preferred snack during study sessions. your favorite seat in the library. you don’t change. he just tunes in.

and then, one day, he realizes he’s rearranging his life around yours.

he starts showing up everywhere you are. loiters in the library, conveniently always around during your shifts at the campus café, makes excuses to sit next to you in class. offers to carry your books, asks you about calculus even though he already passed it. satoru gojo, golden boy of his frat, reducing himself to extra tutoring just to see you smile. it’s humiliating in theory, but it feels like worship in practice.

and it’s not just your smile. it’s the way you get passionate when you talk about obscure theories. the way you light up when you don’t think anyone’s watching. the way you stammer when he gets too close, but don’t pull away.

you don’t feed his ego. you feed something softer. quieter. something he didn’t think he had in him. he tells himself it’s because you’re innocent. because you’re shy and sweet and you deserve to be treated right.

he wants to be good for you. slow, patient, gentle. he holds doors open. he listens. he lets you rant about your thesis for forty-five uninterrupted minutes and actually understands it. he even looks up the books you reference, reads them just to impress you. he takes an annotated copy of your favorite book. he starts writing your name in the corners of his notebook like some love-struck high schooler. you haunt him in the best way.

and then—you kiss him.

it’s after a late-night study session. the campus is quiet. the lights in the library flicker like they’re caught between timelines. your voice shakes when you say “thank you for walking me back.” you pause, fidget with the strap of your bag. and then, like you’ve been gearing up for battle, you rise onto your toes and kiss him.

it’s chaste. hesitant. warm. like you're afraid he'll vanish if you lean in too much.

you pull back like you’ve done something wrong, but satoru’s frozen, staring at you like he’s just been baptized. you’re blushing so hard he can feel the heat radiating off your skin.

“you… sure?” he whispers, voice ragged, leaning in like he’s afraid you’ll disappear.

you nod, barely audible: “i’ve read… a lot. i think… i wanna try. with you.”

and he short circuits.

he thought he’d lead. thought he’d ease you into it, kiss your forehead, hold your hand like a gentleman. but then your hands are on his chest, pushing up under his shirt—the varsity jacket creaking as it shifts on his shoulders, the cotton brushing your fingertips. your eyes are searching his like you’re looking for confirmation that he’s real. you study every reaction like a research project. when he shivers, you smile, barely-there, and go back to tracing the line of his abs with trembling fingertips.

it’s not even mischief.

it’s curiosity. slow-burning, chest-aching, and barely held together by your own hesitation. the sort of yearning that tastes like nervous giggles and the edge of something terrifyingly new. you pause between touches like you're checking your hypothesis, calculating the way his muscles tense under your fingers. each brush of your skin feels like a question he's too dazed to answer properly.

“does that… feel good?” you whisper, lips barely moving, as though you’re scared to break the spell.

“f-fuck—yes, baby, yeah,” he gasps, throwing his head back, one hand clutching the edge of the couch like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded.

your lips trail down his throat, each kiss a trembling prayer, following a path only you can see. his skin is fever-hot, tasting of mint and salt, boyish charm unraveling under your mouth. when you press a soft, open-mouthed kiss to his collarbone, his pulse jumps, a twitch rippling beneath your lips. his breath catches, a sharp stutter that makes his chest lurch, and his hands hover, fingers flexing like he’s afraid touching you will break the spell.

satoru gojo—fratboy, golden boy, untouchable—is quiet. too quiet. his eyes are hazy, pupils wide and unfocused, lips parted like words have abandoned him. his varsity jacket is bunched at his elbows, leather creaking, shirt rucked up to his ribs, abs clenching under your trembling fingers. he could take charge, flip this with a smirk—he’s done it countless times, effortless and expert. but now? he just watches, reverent, like you’re a deity he’s too awestruck to approach.

he’s known mouths. polished ones with perfect rhythm, greedy ones that took without giving, bold ones that knew every angle. but yours? it’s hesitant, new, like you’re crossing a threshold you’re not sure you’re worthy of. the way you look at him—eyes flickering behind slipping glasses, wide with awe—shouldn’t hit this hard. shouldn’t feel this fucking intense. but your fingers, shaking as they tug at his waistband, send a jolt through him that makes his vision spark.

satoru’s hand grazes your cheek, a trembling brush of knuckles. “baby… keep going. please.”

you nod, glasses sliding, your breath hitching as your fingers slip under his jeans, easing them down. your eyes flick up, catching his—flushed, jaw tight, his whole body fighting to stay still. it hits you like a blade: he’s done this a thousand times, fucked girls who knew every trick, but you’ve got him like this. trembling. aching. satoru gojo, invincible, unraveling because of you.

guilt stabs your chest, sharp and fleeting. you shouldn’t have him like this, shouldn’t be the reason his hands clutch the couch like it’s his only anchor. he’s always cocky, untouchable, the center of every orbit. now he’s breaking, and it’s your fault—your lips, your touch, your fault. but the guilt only fans the heat in your core, makes your thighs press together as you lean closer, your breath ghosting over his skin.

satoru is used to being wanted. but not like this. not with this aching, earnest hunger that makes his chest tighten.

you press shaky, open-mouthed kisses to his hip, tongue flicking out to taste the salt of his skin. spit gathers at the corner of your mouth, a slick trail left behind as you suck softly at the sensitive skin just above his cock. he jolts, hips jerking before he catches himself, a low curse slipping free, his hands clenching until his knuckles bleach. the sound he makes—fuck, it’s a choked gasp, raw and ragged, like you’ve torn it from his core.

you shift lower, hands sliding up his thighs, fingers digging into the taut muscle. your kisses grow bolder, sloppier, your tongue dragging along the crease where his thigh meets his groin, leaving a glistening streak of drool that catches the dim light.

he tastes like heat and need, and the way his skin trembles under your mouth makes your own pulse hammer. you pause, lips hovering over his cock, spit pooling on your tongue, and glance up—his head is thrown back, throat bobbing as he swallows, a groan clawing its way out of him.

“holy shit—baby, you—fuck,” satoru gasps, eyes snapping open, blown wide as his hand grips the couch, fabric groaning under his fist.

you take him in your mouth, lips wrapping around the tip, soft and slick with spit that drips down his length. your tongue swirls, slow and deliberate, tracing the ridge as drool spills from the corners of your mouth, coating him in a wet sheen.

he’s hot, heavy against your tongue, and you hum—a low, vibrating sound that pulls a whimper from his throat. your fingers curl around the base, stroking in time with the bob of your head, slick with the spit that pools at his base, making your grip slippery. you suck, gentle at first, then harder, lips stretching around him as spit slicks your chin, a glistening trail dripping onto his thighs.

he’s panting, desperate, each breath a ragged plea. his abs flex, thighs trembling under your palms, and he’s biting back whimpers, trying not to overwhelm you. that restraint—fuck, it’s gorgeous, the way his jaw clenches, the way his eyes flutter shut like he’s fighting to stay grounded. he doesn’t push, doesn’t guide, just moans your name like it’s a prayer, raw and broken. “that’s it, baby—fuck—just like that—your mouth’s so fucking perfect—”

the satoru gojo is unraveling, and it’s because of you. the way you glance up, glasses fogging, eyes glassy with effort, lips shiny and stretched around him, spit dripping down your chin in messy strings. the way your tongue flicks, catching the sensitive spot under the head, makes his hips buck, a choked sob escaping.

your hand slides lower, fingers brushing his balls, tentative but deliberate, slick with the drool that’s pooled at his base. you cup them, rolling gently, and his whole body seizes, a string of curses spilling out as his hand fists the couch tighter, the fabric creaking under the strain.

he’s had every fantasy, every trick, but this—your mouth, slow and reverent, full of wonder, messy with spit that coats him like a second skin—hits like a fucking freight train. it’s too much, too good. he wants to last, to let you explore, but you’re too fucking intent.

you hollow your cheeks, sucking harder, tongue swirling in tight, wet circles, spit bubbling at the corners of your mouth as you take him deeper, throat tightening around him. he chokes, hips jerking as his control frays. “gonna—baby, gonna cum, wait, fuck—”

you don’t stop. your lips slide further, tongue flattening, taking him as deep as you can. it’s filthy—spit drips down your chin in thick strings, pooling on his thighs, your glasses fogging as breaths puff through your nose. you’re focused, watching his every twitch, adjusting when he gasps, slowing when he whimpers, like you’re mapping him.

his hand grips the couch, knuckles white, and he breaks with a sound that’s barely human—a shattered cry as he spills, hot and pulsing against your tongue.

you try to swallow it all, but it’s overwhelming—cum mixes with the spit already coating your lips, spilling past them in a slick, messy rush, dripping down your chin, onto his thighs, and pooling on the couch. you pull back, gasping, wiping your mouth with trembling fingers, but the slickness clings, smearing across your skin as your eyes stay wide behind crooked glasses. he’s trembling, chest heaving, shirt clinging to sweat-slick skin, pupils blown like he’s seen the divine.

you should stop.

you fucking should.

he’s wrecked, twitching, fucked out beyond reason. but the ache in your chest—the sharp, flickering guilt of breaking him—only makes you hungrier. you lick your lips, tasting the salty mix of him, and your thighs press together, a soft whimper escaping as you lean in again, spit still clinging to your chin.

“just once more?” you whisper, voice barely audible, like you’re afraid the words will burn you.

his eyes flutter open, unfocused, dazed. he groans, raw and low. “baby… you’re gonna fucking kill me.”

but he doesn’t stop you. doesn’t even try.

you start again, slower, your mouth softer but hungrier, lips wrapping around him with a reverence that makes him twitch instantly. he’s sensitive, still pulsing, and the second your tongue grazes him, he whines—a high, broken sound that makes your stomach twist. you suck lightly, lips gliding along his length, spit pooling at the base and dripping onto his thighs in slow, glistening trails. 

satoru buries his face in a cushion, muffling a sob. “s-sensitive—fuck, it’s too much—”

his thighs tremble under your hands, hips jerking as you kiss the tip, tongue darting out to lap at the bead of cum still leaking from him, your spit mixing with it in a slick, glossy sheen. you linger, savoring the taste, the way it coats your tongue in a sticky film, and he whimpers again, louder, his hand flying to his mouth to bite his knuckles.

your fingers slide to his balls again, rolling them gently, slick with the drool and cum that’s dripped down, making your touch slippery and warm. he arches, a desperate, “please—fuck—please—” spilling from his lips like he’s begging for mercy but craving more.

you don’t rush. your tongue traces every inch, slow and deliberate, swirling around the head before dipping lower, dragging along the vein with a wet, sloppy kiss that leaves a trail of spit in its wake. your breath is hot, teasing, each exhale making him twitch, and you pause to suck at the base, lips lingering as your tongue flicks out, tasting the musk of him through the sticky mess. his hand finds your hair, fingers threading loosely, not pushing, just holding—like he needs to feel you’re real.

you grow bolder, hungrier, your lips tightening as you take him deeper, throat fluttering around him, spit bubbling up and spilling over, coating his cock in a thick, glossy layer. you hum, low and vibrating, and he chokes, a wet, pathetic whimper breaking free.

your hand strokes the base, slick with spit and cum, fingers sliding in the mess, and you slide a finger lower, brushing the sensitive skin behind his balls, now slippery with the drool that’s dripped down. he jolts, a high, keening sound tearing from his throat, his hips bucking as his whole body trembles.

“baby—god—please—fuck, i can’t—” satoru’s voice cracks, raw and whining, as you suck harder, tongue swirling in relentless, wet circles, spit and cum mixing in a frothy mess that drips onto the couch. every noise is desperate—gasps, whimpers, sobs that he tries to muffle but can’t. his body arches, twitching like he’s unraveling at the seams, and you feel it: the moment he breaks again.

he cums with a wail, sudden and violent, hips jerking as he spills into your mouth. it’s messier, hotter, a flood of cum and spit that overwhelms you, spilling out in thick, sticky ropes that coat your lips, your chin, your glasses, dripping onto his thighs and pooling in the creases of his skin.

you swallow what you can, lips still wrapped around him, tongue lapping at the oversensitive tip through the slick mess until he’s twitching, a broken, “n-no more—please—” escaping as he clutches the cushion.

time slips. minutes? hours? you’re tugging his shirt, pulling him closer like he’s the only thing keeping you grounded. ten minutes later, he’s gripping the sheets, praying, fucked senseless by every move you make. you flinch when he whines too loud, hands flying to your mouth, eyes wide with guilt—but then you lean in again, bolder, hungrier, chasing every twitch, every broken gasp of your name.

he’s never felt so cherished and so destroyed at the same time.

every touch is careful, but determined. you’re hesitant but thorough, like you’ve read the same passage in a smutty fanfiction a hundred times and are finally getting the chance to test it out. and the worst part? you’re good at it. really good.

your mouth, your hands, the way you watch his face for every twitch of pleasure—it’s enough to make him lose all sense of pride. the way you keep glancing at his reactions, as if adjusting your technique in real time, is insane. terrifying. he’s never been studied so hard. he likes it. he needs it. he’s suffering in the best way.

he’s never had to hold back like this. never had to breathe through it. never felt this fucking sensitive. he’s gripping the cushions like a man possessed. he’s whispering your name like a prayer. he’s not even sure he’s still speaking coherent sentences. you’ve wrecked him. utterly and entirely.

you pull back, panting, your hands shaking as you adjust your glasses, eyes glassy and wide. your lips are swollen, chin wet with a glistening mix of spit and cum, and you lick them, tasting him again, a soft moan slipping free as your thighs press together.

satoru is ruined—sprawled on the couch, shirt clinging to his chest, chest heaving like he’s fought a war. his hand is still in your hair, loose, trembling, and he’s staring at you like you’re a fucking goddess.

“thought you were the innocent one,” he chokes out, breathless, watching you nibble your lip and adjust your glasses with shaking fingers.

“i still am,” you murmur, face tucked into his shoulder. “kind of.”

he huffs out a laugh, dazed and wrecked. he can feel your heartbeat against his ribs. he doesn’t want to move. his hands are still trembling from how hard he tried to keep it together for you—and yet, you’re the one who took the lead. you’re the one who made him forget how to function. you kiss the edge of his jaw, soft and uncertain, and it undoes him more than anything else.

satoru gojo, campus heartthrob, ruined by a shy nerd girl who reads too much smut on her kindle late at night under the covers. who probably has a secret ao3 account and bookmarked folders. who looks like a timid schoolgirl but fucks like she’s been studying him like a midterm exam. and passed with extra credit. honors. valedictorian. summa cum laude of making him lose his damn mind.

he’s never been so obsessed.

and you? you’re already pressing your forehead to his chest, voice small, eyes wide with want and something raw and messy and needy as you look up at him.

“can we… try again? i think i missed a step.”

he doesn’t know if he wants to laugh, cry, or propose.

he’s never been more in love. and all he knows is he’s done for.