#*Both desks are covered in mess

[doriansbutt]

I’ve played thru da4 5 times now and have ~200 hrs in the game and have played it almost every day this month and now i have a rly busy week at work and can’t play til like Friday what the heck am i gonna do w myself

[fushitoru]

worth the wait a nerdjo fic

pairing ⸺ nerd/academic rival/rich boy!gojo x reader

summary ⸺ you abhor your academic rival, satoru gojo. he's a cocky asshole that you fight with constantly for the spot at first place. but when you finally discover what's underneath all those lame sweaters of his with a once in a blue moon visit at the gym (spoiler alert: he's not a scrawny nerd), you'll be fighting your severe attraction to the man who makes your life a bit harder. and maybe fall in love with him, too, in the process.

warnings ⸺ smut, f recieving oral, praise, he makes you beg for it lol, p i v sex, making out, angst if you squint, a lot of fluff, college AU, nerd!gojo, reader gets insecure sometimes and is treated horribly by her discord mod TA/research advisor, typical misogyny/sexism in STEM fields, but gojo defends her!!!, sleeper build gojo with a happy trail because im a slut, the good old pining and yearning i like. art by @/deltapork

a/n thank u to all my beta readers for editing part of this for me :3 happy valentines day!!!

general masterlist

You blink at your paper.

98.

You suppose you should be happy—it’s a graduate level physics class, anyways. For a moment, you stare at the red markings of the TA that graded it, as if willing an error in the one problem you made a mistake on could make it go away. 

2+2=5.

You exhaled sharply, almost fighting back tears. You’d think you could avoid simple arithmetic mistakes, but apparently doing tensor products comes easier than simple addition to you. Shoving your backpack on your chair, you stuff in your laptop and the test haphazardly, not caring that it’s going to get messed and crumpled up in your backpack after your folders and binders jostle around. Fuck that test.

You wouldn’t normally act as if the test had personally wronged you—trust, you were not going to get that heated were it any class. But because of this one class, one person, you knew it was coming. The inevitable.

"Better luck next time." The voice, drenched in smug satisfaction, slithered through the air behind you, his voice and demeanor like a slimy, slimy snake. 

Your jaw tightened, but you forced yourself to remain calm as you turned around. And there he was—Gojo Satoru, the bane of your existence, a plague upon your academic record, a walking, talking statistical anomaly who somehow managed to be both infuriatingly brilliant and aggressively insufferable.

He leaned against the desk beside yours, glasses sliding down just enough to reveal the glint of those ridiculously blue eyes. He crosses his arms while they’re covered in that ridiculous, ugly sweater he’s wearing—he’s probably going for the old money aesthetic, but he doesn’t need to know he gives off more “finance bro that helps billionaires evade taxes,” or whatever finance bros do.

“I have no clue what you’re talking about,” you sniff, pretending to act nonchalant while you grab your backpack, swinging it roughly on your shoulder like it was the weight of your grievances against him.

"The test." Gojo unfolded a crisp sheet of paper with the kind of theatrical flourish reserved for revealing royal decrees. A perfect 100, circled in bold red ink.

Your stomach twisted. This is what those two points meant. Two stupid, meaningless, soul-crushing, rage-inducing points.

"Guess that makes it… what, five to three this semester?" He tapped his chin, pretending to count, as if the score wasn’t already seared into your brain like an irreversible branding. "My lead, obviously. But hey, if you ever need tutoring, I could always squeeze you in."

You bite the inside of your cheek in frustration. “I wouldn’t want to impose on the time for any of your hobbies. After all, when will you get the time to watch anime? My 5000 Year Old Girlfriend is Stuck in a Twelve Year Old’s Body, was it?”

He presses a hand to his chest in mock hurt, as if your words had truly pierced him through his chest. “Tut, tut. After all this time, I’d think you’d have my anime preferences memorized since you’re so obsessed with me. It’s Digimon, not whatever pedophilic shit you think I jerk off too.” He pauses, and then his voice drops into a conspiratorial whisper. “But you know Fred, the grad student TA that holds recitation every Wednesday? I just know he’s probably a Discord mod of a server that sends, like, daily tentacle porn. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s on the Megan's law registry either.”

Now, you have to hold back your smile because Gojo has a point. Fred is not just any TA. Fred is the grad student that mentors you on a research project; the program’s super selective, so when you realized you got him, you couldn’t just back out and give up the opportunity. However, Fred isn’t just a weird–-he’s sooo handsy with his greasy ass hands, so you accept any and all Fred slander. Because he’s your research advisor, you can’t wait to finish the project any faster. He probably would be into underage girls, but you don’t need to express your approval to Gojo, or worst of all, let him think he’s funny. God knows that would get into his head. “Yea, yea. Whatever. Anyways, I hope you have fun with your Pokemon—”

“Digimon.”

“—or whatever. I’m leaving. Some of us have things to do. Later, Gojo.”

You turned on your heel, lest Gojo hook you in with another taunt. 

Maybe you needed to blow off some steam, if you’re allowing yourself to lose to Gojo. 

Worst of all, it’s become a streak, like two times in a row—one on this quiz, and the other on the midterm a few weeks back. Your mind goes back to the last women in STEM recruiting event you had went to, and, how, in the middle of taking a bite of the delicious margherita pizza they offered, you registered that the woman in the panel had insisted that what helped her power through her PhD and dickwad supervisors was by exercising. Her fervor over pilates could almost qualify as a cult pitch, but it made you pause at the moment. Before you continued to further engorge yourself on the food offered on the charcuterie board. 

But maybe it was time to hone your focus in, and some sweaty endorphins might help you get just that. 

You’re not really surprised the demographic at your university’s gym looks like the way it does. After all, not only was it renowned for its academics (from all the nepo babies like Gojo whose families donated buildings and had like four generations of alumnus), but it was also a Division I school. So not only was the gym packed but it was packed with men.

As you walked in the hallway towards the room that contained weight machines, gym bag slung over your shoulder, you eyed the glistening backs of the (D1, mind you) men’s swim team through the glass that separated your path and the swimming pool. 

Wow, those Speedos really hugged their asses. You imagined Gojo in one, and almost snorted. Rich boy nerd Satoru definitely didn’t  learn how to swim; his family’s mansion probably had a twenty year old personal lifeguard that Gojo lost his virginity to, or something. Regardless, he would squint in his silly swim goggles, the exact antithesis of sex appeal while his glow-in-the-dark eyes lit up the pool while he stroked, cheeks puffed like a pufferfish.

Regardless, the smell of testosterone that hits you when you enter the weight area is almost nauseating, and, if you’re honest, a little intimidating. You’re not exactly the fittest of people, so you quickly speed walk past the grunting and sweaty men at the squat machines and barbells, avoiding eye contact and praying furiously that none of them perceive you.

 When you reach the dumbbell stands, you hunch over, taking random light weights. Then, you pretend you know what you’re doing while jumping every so slightly whenever anyone comes in six foot distance of you. It’s only when another girl comes in to grab a weight (and when she bends over, you definitely ogle her ass in a way that would get you slapped if you were a man) that your gaze removes itself from where it was focused on the 2.5 lb dumbbell you were previously bicep curling with. To see him.

The glint of ivory hair is unmistakable—you’ve basically gotten off to the fantasy of razoring it off in his sleep. His blue eyes are bored, pretty boy face framed in glasses. Now, he’s giving teenage boy turned to Andrew Tate after a breakup. Black sweatshirt and sweatpants that are too small, because they cling to his legs in a form-defining way. He’s walking over, hands in his pockets, to a barbell station. Slaps some guys on the shoulder as he goes through, gets a lot of daps. 

Which is weird to you, because you only the Gojo inside your physics class, not outside. He’s a fucking nerd—a loser that spends his time beefing with you, so why is he so popular when he gives you the time of day?

There are three dimensions to gaining alpha status, or whatever they call male popularity. You have to be 1) rich, 2) really physically fit, or 3) just really charismatic. Considering that Gojo—in all his clothing—-looks like a twink moreso than ripped gym bro, it’s definitely not dimension two. So you conclude that it’s because he’s rich and probably throws yacht parties so these ripped guys don’t push him into a locker, or something.

When he finally reaches his destination, you smirk to yourself. With that scrawny build underneath all those loose sweaters, you know he’s only going to be able to lift the bar, no plates. After all, he was warming up. insulting Gojo in countless of ways by taking jabs at his physique mentally, so you barely register that he’s grabbing for the hem of his sweatshirt, peeling it up—

To reveal his bare torso.

Your first thought: Wow, he has huge bazonkas.

That has easily got to be one of the most built physiques you’ve seen at your college so far. His pectorals basically pop out out of his torso as he moves to grab plates. First, he grabs a really big plate—you’re not a gym expert, so you wouldn’t know the weight—and stacks it. And stacks another. And another. And another, until you’re sure it’s definitely more than your bodyweight.

As you’re staring at him in awe, your 2.5 lb dumbbells hang limply by your sides, abandoning all pretense of training to openly gawk at the clench of his biceps, the sweat rolling down his temple, and the set of his jaw as he stares holes into the bar. And by the way there’s heat creeping up your cheeks you realize one thing:

You’re screwed.

“You know what?”

You keep your eyes on your notes firmly, refusing to look at Gojo sitting right next to you. You don’t know why he always chooses to sit next to you on recitation, really—it’s not like you’re receptive to his company. After all, he could be doing other things—like metaphorically sucking a TA’s dick by talking about their research, where Gojo probably knows more about the TA’s research than they do themselves. 

From your periphery, you notice Gojo pouting, then scooting his chair (dragging it, so it makes a god awful screeching noise against the floor tiles that has you cringing) until he’s so close that he slings an arm on the back of your chair and leans in closer and closer. You’re fighting to keep your eyes on your notes, face heating up traitorously until you feel his breath fan across your neck because he’s just so close.

“Rude, ignoring me. Look where that got you.” He then points to a problem on your paper, one you were currently working on. “You’re doing that wrong.”

You finally turn to glare at him, but he’s closer than you anticipated, his face just inches from yours. His grin is all sharp edges and knowing amusement, and it makes your stomach flip in a way you refuse to acknowledge.

“I’m not doing it wrong,” you argue, despite the creeping suspicion that, okay, maybe you did mess up somewhere.

“Oh, really?” Gojo drawls, tilting his head slightly. “Then why is your integral off by a factor of two?”

Your eyes snap back to your notes, scanning through the equations—and, dammit, he’s right.

You huff, begrudgingly erasing the mistake. “Whatever.”

“You know, you should really be thanking me,” Gojo muses, still leaning way too close for comfort. “If I weren’t here, who knows how many mistakes you’d make?”

“She’d have me,” comes a greasy voice, and you have to fight the tears in your eyes that arise when Fred (the aforementioned pedophilic TA and your research advisor) comes, his moldy cheese stench following him as he takes a seat from across you and Gojo. You grudgingly turn your face away from where it was so close to Gojo’s to look at him and sigh inwardly. At least Gojo’s face was prettier to look at.

“Hi, Fred,” you smile tightly, willing him to go away. “We’re good here, so you can help out other students—”

“How was your weekend?” He instead replies, and you wince. Stealing a quick glance at Gojo, it seems that his jaw and posture are uncharacteristically tense. 

“Lot of work for the class and for, uh, our research,” you respond, nodding and averting your gaze to your paper and feigning working on a problem so that he would get the hint.

Fred, unfortunately, does not get the hint. Instead, he leans forward, elbows on the table, eyes too focused on you. “You really ought to take breaks, you know. You can give me the code late. Someone as cute as you shouldn’t stress so much. You’ll get wrinkles.”

Your fingers tighten around your pencil, your skin crawling at the way his tone veers into something too familiar, too patronizing. You open your mouth to give a clipped response, but Gojo beats you to it.

“Oh? Didn’t know you were an expert on skincare, Fred,” Gojo drawls, his voice deceptively light. His arm, which was still resting on the back of your chair, shifts just slightly—not quite pulling you in, but making his presence more noticeable. “Though, if we’re giving out advice, maybe you should take your own. I mean, stress must be rough on you too, right? All those late nights grading papers, staring at screens. Takes a toll.”

Fred bristles, but Gojo just smiles lazily, pushing up his glasses as he tilts his head. “Actually, you know what? Maybe we should all focus on our own business. Like, say, teaching, instead of weirdly hovering over students. Crazy thought, huh?”

You swear you see the muscle in Fred’s jaw twitch, but he forces out an awkward chuckle, shifting uncomfortably. “Right, right. Just looking out for her.”

“Don’t worry,” Gojo interrupts smoothly, now fully leaning into your space, his arm draping a little lower behind your chair, “I think she’s got plenty of people looking out for her already.” His voice is soft, but there’s an undeniable edge beneath the words.

Fred lingers for a second too long, but finally, he mutters something about helping another student and stands, walking off with an air of forced nonchalance.

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, slumping slightly in your seat. Gojo hums beside you, his fingers tapping idly against the back of your chair.

“You’re welcome, by the way,” he teases, but there’s something in his tone that’s softer than usual. He then makes a show of stretching, raising his arms. His sweater rides up a bit, exposing his lower abs and peeks of white that has you averting your gaze, the heat creeping up at his proximity once again. Then, his arm back on your chair. Weirdly, you find that you don’t mind it.

You sigh, resigned. You’ll figure out these feelings later. “Yeah. Thanks, Gojo.”

But you don’t immediately go back to your work, because Gojo suddenly hunches down and whispers in your ear. “Yea, I definitely saw an underage anime girl sticker on his laptop.”

Your responding snort is so loud everyone turns to look at you and Gojo, who is now sporting a mischievous and satisfied smile.

It starts with a single drop, fat and cold where it splats against your wrist. You glance up from your phone just in time to see the sky split open.

“Shit,” you mutter, stuffing your phone into your bag. The library doors shut behind you with a heavy clang, sealing away the scent of old books and the quiet hum of studying students. Outside, the air is thick with the petrichor of freshly fallen rain, and within seconds, the pavement is slick, puddles forming in the uneven cracks of the sidewalk. The streetlights reflect off the wet ground, casting fragmented golden glows against the darkening sky. You’d been studying to grind for the upcoming assignments; after all, to rival Gojo is a no small feat. It’s just unfortunate it seems to take you thousand times more effort than it does for Gojo.

“Guess we’re stuck together, huh?”

You don’t have to turn to know who it is.

Satoru Gojo, standing beside you under the library’s narrow overhang, wearing that insufferable grin like he’s amused by the entire situation. Like the rain personally fell from the sky just to give him an opportunity to bother you.

“I’ll take my chances,” you say flatly, shifting your bag on your shoulder. But as you peer past the downpour, your stomach sinks. The rain is merciless, an unrelenting sheet of water stretching as far as you can see. There’s no way you’re making it back to your dorm without looking like you took a fully clothed shower.

Gojo hums, pulling something out of his bag. You blink when he flicks open a half-broken umbrella, the metal ribs slightly bent like it’s barely holding itself together. He gives it a little shake, sending droplets flying, before glancing at you with a smirk.

“Well?” He lifts a brow. “Wanna be smart about this?”

You do not want to be smart about this. You want to wait out the rain or make a break for it. But the storm shows no signs of letting up, and the thought of walking through it alone makes you hesitate.

Reluctantly, you sigh. “Fine. But I get most of the cover.”

“Hey, sharing is caring.” He tilts the umbrella slightly, just enough to make a point.

With great reluctance, you step closer. The moment you do, you regret it.

Gojo is warm. Even in the damp, chilled air, he radiates heat, standing so close that his sleeve brushes against yours. He smells good, too—like expensive laundry detergent with a faint undercurrent of something sweet, something distinctly him.

You swallow hard, forcing yourself to stare straight ahead as the two of you start walking. The rain pounds against the umbrella, droplets cascading off the edges, and with every step, you’re hyper-aware of the way Gojo moves beside you—loose-limbed, annoyingly graceful, a stark contrast to the crooked metal above your heads.

“Man, this thing’s on its last leg,” he muses, tilting the umbrella just slightly. Water dribbles off the side, landing directly onto your shoulder.

“Gojo!” you yelp, recoiling as the cold soaks through your shirt.

“Oops.” He does not sound remotely sorry.

You glare at him, but before you can snap back, he shrugs off his jacket and—without preamble—drapes it over you.

You freeze.

It’s warm, still carrying the heat of his body, and it smells so much like him—clean, sweet, dizzyingly familiar. Your brain short-circuits.

You force yourself to breathe, keeping your gaze firmly ahead. “You didn’t have to do that,” you say, voice tight.

“I wanted to.”

Something in his tone makes your stomach flip. You glance at him from the corner of your eye, and—

Damn him. Damn him.

Water drips from his bangs, clinging to the sharp edges of his jawline, sliding down the curve of his throat. His shirt sticks to his skin, fabric clinging in a way that reveals the toned lines of his arms, the broad plane of his chest. He’s watching the rain, the usual teasing glint in his eyes softened into something contemplative.

You swear your eggs just recently got released, for you cannot help but avoid your ever going attraction to Satoru Gojo except the age-old excuse: ovulation. Your mind wanders to how his arms would feel around your head, to lay on his chest, how he’d be able to manhandle you, force you to take it—

But you’re snapped out of your inappropriate thoughts by what he says next.

“You know,” he says, voice quieter now, “I like this. Just us, no grades, no competing.”

You pause.

He says it so simply, so easily, like it’s nothing at all. But the words settle deep, curling somewhere warm inside you, and you don’t know what to do with them.

So you do what you do best: you shove them away, bury them beneath years of rivalry, of late-night study sessions fueled by caffeine and stubbornness, of sharp words and sharper glances.

You roll your eyes, forcing a scoff. “Don’t get used to it.”

But even as you say it, your fingers curl into the fabric of his jacket, holding it a little tighter.

It’s been a week since you saw Gojo. He had dropped you at your dorm in a surprisingly gentlemanly way, and you had insisted on returning the jacket only after washing it, to be courteous. What you didn’t mention was how you kept repeatedly smelling it in your dorm whenever you got a reprieve from your roommate’s eyes because Gojo smelled like expensive cologne and he did one thing most nerds / physics majors don’t do: shower. This fact, unfortunately, made you more attracted to him because the bar is truly in hell.

You’ve concluded that these…feelings can’t hurt you and that it isn’t real, like a beefy and shirtless Gojo-looking demon that’ll jump and surprise you from under your bed. So you move on your life, caught in the ever perpetual slog of studying and researching. 

Thus, you find yourself at the library once more.

The night hums low around you, quiet except for the occasional shuffle of paper and the distant hum of the library’s espresso machine (only librarians could use it, however. you fervently thought that was a form of elitism, but you digress). You’re at the corner table, the one by the window, where the dim light pools just enough to illuminate your notes but not enough to make you feel like you’re being studied under a microscope. You think you’re alone—until you aren’t.

You don’t have to look up to know it’s him.

Satoru Gojo is hard to miss, even when he’s not trying. He slides into the chair across from you with the kind of ease that makes it seem like he belongs there, like he was always going to end up sitting across from you tonight. His hair is tousled, white strands falling forward in a way that makes him look softer under the warm light. His glasses are perched low on his nose, a rare sight given that he usually has them pushed up like some kind of pretentious scholar.

The two of you don’t speak.

It’s surprising, really. Gojo never runs out of things to say, whether it’s an obnoxious quip or some unnecessarily insightful observation that makes you want to throw your textbook at his face. But tonight, he just pulls out his own notes, taps his pen against the edge of his lips, and starts reading.

You should focus on your own studying, but something about this—this silence, this late-night haze, this tiny moment carved out of time—makes your mind wander. You steal glances when you think he won’t notice. His brows furrow when he’s concentrating, his jaw tightens when he’s stuck on something, and when he exhales, it’s this slow, measured thing, like he’s trying not to get frustrated. He’s just—

He’s just really there.

You’ve spent years defining Gojo as your rival. Your competition. The person standing in your way at every academic milestone. And yet, somehow, somewhere, he’s slipped into something else, something harder to define. Because you’ve seen him like this before—when he’s so focused that he forgets the world around him, when he bites his lip in thought, when he gets so caught up in something that he mutters under his breath without realizing it. And for the first time, it dawns on you: you don’t actually hate it.

You don’t hate this comfortable silence. This moment of peace, a white flag waving lazily between you both.

The hours blur. The café starts to empty. Your notes turn into background noise. It’s late, and the warmth from inside lulls you into something dangerously close to comfort.

A soft sound breaks through the quiet.

You glance up and freeze.

Gojo’s head has tilted to the side, his glasses slipping slightly down the bridge of his nose. His hand is curled loosely around his pen, and his breathing has evened out. He’s asleep.

For a moment, you don’t move. You barely breathe.

Gojo, asleep, is not something you’ve seen before. He’s always in motion, always buzzing with energy, always running his mouth about something. But right now, he’s still. His long lashes cast faint shadows over his cheekbones, and the tension he always carries—the cocky bravado, the smirking sharpness—is nowhere to be found. He just looks… peaceful.

Cutie.

What?

The thought slips in so quickly, so effortlessly, that it nearly makes you jolt. But when you look at him again—head tilted just slightly, glasses slipping down his nose, breathing slow and even—you can’t deny that the word fits. He looks like a lazy cat napping in a sunbeam, limbs loose, utterly unguarded. It’s so unlike him that you find yourself staring, caught in the contrast.

Your fingers twitch. Before you can stop yourself, you reach forward, slow and hesitant, to push his glasses back up his nose. But you catch yourself just before you touch him, as if the warmth of his skin might burn. Your hand hovers in the air for a fraction of a second too long, and then—

You pull away.

Your heart is pounding. It’s fine. It’s nothing. You just need to get out of here.

You gather your things quietly, glancing back at him one last time before slipping out the door into the cool night air. The moment you step outside, you take a breath, deep and shaking. The world feels different now. You feel different now.

Because for the first time, it isn’t just that you find Gojo attractive.

It’s that you care.

And you don’t know what the hell to do about it.

The gym, once again, smells like sweat and overpriced protein powder.

You don’t know what’s possessed you to come here today. Maybe it’s because you keep telling yourself that you need to exercise more, or maybe it’s because you need to take a break from studying before your brain melts. But deep down, if you’re really being honest with yourself, you know the real reason.

Gojo is here.

You spotted him the first time by accident. You were on the treadmill, barely jogging at a pace that wouldn’t embarrass you, when you caught a flash of white hair across the gym floor. And there he was—dressed in a fitted black sleeveless top and joggers, casually loading plates onto a barbell.

And he wasn’t wearing his glasses.

It was a stupid, inconsequential detail, but it made all the difference. Without them, he didn’t look like the annoying academic rival who constantly got under your skin, flashing his smug grin as he beat you in exams by the smallest possible margins. He looked… sharp. Unfiltered. Effortlessly attractive in a way that made your stomach tighten in ways you didn’t like.

You’d seen him in his regular clothes before, of course. You knew he had broad shoulders and long legs, that his body wasn’t just a lanky frame hidden behind layers of sweaters. But here, in the gym, watching him roll his shoulders as he prepped for another set—it hit differently. He was lean but muscular, his arms flexing as he adjusted his grip on the bar, and for some godforsaken reason, you couldn’t look away.

You shouldn’t be watching him. You should be focusing on your own workout, pretending you don’t care. But the way his shirt clung to his back, the way his forearms tensed, the way he exhaled sharply as he lifted—

You’re so screwed.

You force yourself to look away, grabbing the smallest dumbbells available and curling them in what has to be the weakest excuse for a workout imaginable. You’re barely paying attention to what you’re doing, too busy sneaking glances at Gojo between sets. It’s pathetic, but at least no one else is watching you.

Or so you think.

Because then she appears.

A girl.

Tall, toned, and effortlessly gorgeous, with sleek hair pulled into a high ponytail. She strides over to Gojo with a confidence you could never dream of and smiles at him, saying something that makes him laugh. Her ass is definitely bigger than yours, and she’s in this coordinated, cute, pink set, looking like she walked straight out of a fitness TikTok. You can’t hear what they’re talking about over the sound of weights clanking and some obnoxious EDM song blasting through the speakers, but you can see it. The way she leans in, the way she tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear, the way Gojo—

—smiles at her. That easy, lazy grin he always wears when he’s teasing you, except this time, it isn’t for you.

Your grip tightens around the dumbbells, something ugly curling in your chest. It gets worse when she gestures toward the squat rack, and Gojo nods before moving behind her, hands hovering just slightly as she sets up for a squat. You watch as he spots her, one hand resting lightly on her lower back, close enough to correct her form but far enough to be polite. He’s focused, watching her movements carefully, murmuring something that makes her laugh before she drops into another rep.

Your stomach twists.

This is stupid. You have no reason to be feeling this way.

It’s then that it hits you—you can have your silly little academic rival moments with Gojo, but, in the end, you’re just a footnote in his story, a fleeting challenge in a life where everything already belongs to him. He quite literally has generational wealth; he’s not going to spend his life buried in grant applications or clawing for recognition in a field that demands twice the effort for half the reward. He’ll be the one funding the research, sitting at the head of the table, making decisions that shape the future. And you? You’ll be one of the many who struggle just to be in the same room.

He’s the guy who spends his vacations on yachts or private islands—not just surrounded by wealth, but by people who belong there. Girls who glide through life with the same effortless ease as him, girls who don’t second-guess if they deserve to be in the spaces they occupy. Girls who don’t have to fight for their place at the table because it was always set for them.

Girls that are his equal—equally attractive, equally smart, equally rich.

Not you.

You swallow hard, forcing yourself to look away, but the image is burned into your mind. The easy way he talks to her. The way she tilts her head when she listens. The way he doesn’t even know you’re here.

You shouldn’t care. You shouldn’t care. You shouldn’t care.

But you do.

You grip the dumbbells tighter, exhaling sharply. Then you put them back, pick up your water bottle, and walk out of the gym before you do something stupid.

The office is too small. Too suffocating. Too filled with the weight of unspoken words and the sharp-edged smile of Fred, the TA, as he leans back in his chair and laces his fingers together.

"You know," he begins, voice sickly sweet, "I really expected more from you."

You sit stiffly in the chair across from him, your hands curled into fists in your lap, nails digging crescents into your skin. Your heart pounds, but your face remains carefully neutral. You've been called into his office under the guise of "academic guidance," but you know better. You always know better.

"I don't know what you mean," you say, keeping your voice even.

Fred exhales dramatically, shaking his head. "Come on. You and I both know you're barely keeping up in this project of ours."

You grit your teeth. You're not barely keeping up. You're giving him your work at the highest level, at its best. But Fred—Fred has always had a way of twisting things, making you feel small, insignificant, like your achievements are nothing more than accidents.

“I think my progress speaks for itself,” you respond tightly. Mind you, while he was supposed to be your mentor, you’ve done 80% of the work.

But you think Gojo’s defense of you ran deep into Fred’s heart because by the way he’s sleazily smirking at you, you know he’s trying to get back at you.

He smirks. "Your progress? Sure, you’re smart. But you think that’s enough? You think anyone’s going to care about a girl like you when there are people out there who don’t have to struggle to be exceptional?" He leans forward, voice dropping into something conspiratorial. "You’re wasting your time. The best you can hope for is being someone’s assistant. Maybe a glorified research grunt if you’re lucky. Just like for me."

Your stomach twists. You shouldn’t care. You know you shouldn’t care. But the words burrow deep, hitting a place inside you that already doubts, that already wonders if you’re nothing more than a temporary obstacle in a world built for people like Gojo Satoru—people born brilliant, born wealthy, born effortless.

Fred’s eyes flick over you, assessing, smug. "You’re working yourself to the bone for what? You’ll never be at the top. Not really."

The bitterness of the situation really dawns on you—Gojo’s the one who took a jab at Fred last week, not you. But you’re the one who’s left to deal with its consequences. You’re not going to assign blame and lament that it’s not Gojo in this office dealing with him. It was in your defense, after all. 

But Fred’s words remind you. You’ll never be at the top. At Gojo’s level, who’s at the top without even seeming to put in effort.

You’ll never be his equal.

You stand abruptly, shoving your chair back so hard it scrapes against the floor. "If that’s all, I have work to do."

Fred chuckles, leaning back, clearly pleased with himself. "Sure, sure. Don’t say I never tried to give you advice."

You don’t respond. You just walk out, gripping your bag so tightly your knuckles turn white, the echo of his words following you down the hall, settling in your bones like lead.

The hallway is too bright. Too loud. Too full of people who don’t know that you’re on the verge of crumpling in on yourself like a dying star.

Your breath feels too shallow, too quick, and there’s a weight pressing down on your chest that no amount of rationalizing can shake off. It’s not even your meeting with Fred—just a slow accumulation of stress and exhaustion and frustration that’s settled deep in your bones. A grade lower than expected, an upcoming deadline you’re nowhere near prepared for, a general sense of drowning no matter how hard you try to keep up. It’s all too much, and your hands are starting to shake from how tightly you’re gripping the strap of your bag.

You just need to get out of here. You need air, space, something.

But, of course, the universe has a cruel sense of humor, because when you round the corner, you slam straight into Satoru Gojo.

“Whoa—”

Your balance is already precarious from the way you were rushing, and the impact sends you stumbling. For a split second, you think you might actually fall—your ankle twists awkwardly, the world tilts—and then there’s a strong hand gripping your wrist, another bracing against your back, steadying you before you can hit the ground.

You don’t process what happens immediately. Your mind is still stuck on too much, too fast, can’t breathe, and it takes you a second to realize that Gojo is holding you upright, his hands firm but careful, his expression hovering somewhere between amusement and concern.

“Jeez, what’s the rush?” he teases, but his voice lacks its usual careless lilt. He’s searching your face now, eyes narrowing behind his glasses, and that’s when you realize: you must look as bad as you feel.

Shit.

You jerk away from him, a little too fast, a little too sharp. “I’m fine.”

Gojo doesn’t look convinced. “You sure? Because it kinda seemed like you were about to pass out on the spot.”

“I said I’m fine.” You adjust your bag over your shoulder, shifting your weight onto your other foot, ignoring the faint throb in your ankle. “Go bother someone else.”

Most of the time, that’s enough to send him off with an exaggerated sigh and a smirk. But not today.

Today, Gojo just stands there, watching you like he’s trying to piece something together—like you’re a problem he wants to solve. He doesn’t press, not yet, but the silence stretches, and it’s unbearable, because you can feel the weight of his gaze, and you don’t want to be seen like this. Not by him.

So you give him a tight nod in dismissal, and walk away.

There’s a knock at your door. You frown because you didn’t expect any visitors, and you’re in your sleepwear. Regardless, you pad your way lazily and open the door.

To see Gojo.

What the fuck.

He’s drenched in the glow of the hallway light, looking entirely too at home despite standing on your threshold. His hair is still slightly damp from the rain, white strands falling over his forehead in careless disarray. He’s not wearing his glasses.

"Why are you here?" you demand, gripping the doorframe, willing your voice to stay steady.

He quirks an eyebrow, tilting his head just slightly. “You’re holding my jacket hostage.”

Oh. Right.

You make your way to your wardrobe, where the now-cleaned jacket hangs neatly on a hanger. Grabbing it, you hand it over to Gojo, who’s standing at your threshold while eyeing the insides of your dorm, as if trying to take in what your living space looks like. You shove it into his chest, stepping back like the heat of it burns. "Here."

Gojo takes it, but instead of leaving like a normal person, he lingers, running his fingers over the material like he’s checking for something. Then,, he lifts a hand to the back of his neck, rubbing it in that way that only makes his biceps flex, his lean muscles shifting beneath his shirt. You hate that you notice.

A beat passes.

"You know," he muses, far too casually, "you seemed a little disheveled back there."

Your stomach twists. "It's not a big deal—"

"—Bullshit." His voice cuts through yours, sharp and immediate. He shifts, stepping just the tiniest bit closer, his tone losing its usual teasing lilt. “You’re lying. I saw what you looked like. What happened?”

“It's none of your business,” you say, stiffening. “Nor is it a big deal, really.”

Gojo exhales, something heavy in the sound. His eyes don’t leave yours, and for once, they aren’t filled with their usual mirth or mischief. Just something searching, something that makes your chest ache in a way you don’t have the strength to deal with right now.

"You always do that," he says, softer now, but no less intense. “Act like no one’s supposed to care. Like you’re carrying the world alone.”

Your fingers curl into your palms. Your lips press together. You don’t want to hear this. You don’t want to acknowledge the way his words settle too close to the truth.

And then, quietly, Gojo asks, “Do you not consider me your equal?”

You swallow.

Your silence must be enough of an answer because something shifts in his expression. It isn’t anger exactly, but it’s something close—something bitter and disappointed and aching all at once.

"You’re the one who shuts me out, you know." His voice is sharp now, edged with frustration. "You act like I'm the one keeping you at a distance, but every time I try to get close, you push me away."

Your throat tightens. “Why do you even care?”

Gojo lets out a breath, his head tilting just slightly, eyes scanning your face like you’re something he’s trying to figure out. Then he laughs, quiet and humorless.

“You really don’t know?”

“I—” Your voice wavers. “What do you mean—”

“For a girl so smart, you sure do act stupid.” He steps forward then, closing the space between you just enough to make you want to back away, but your feet don’t move. His voice drops lower. "Do you think I talk to you because I give a fuck about physics?"

Your brain short-circuits. “What—”

He groans, dragging a hand through his hair, frustrated. “I give zero fucks about the class or any class, trust me. I have better things to do than to try to aim for 100s on every test."

Your heart is pounding now, too loud, too fast. “Then why—”

"God," he exhales, tipping his head back, like he's debating whether or not he should even say it. Then, after a beat, he looks at you again, and whatever is in his eyes makes your stomach flip, makes your breath hitch.

Something in your chest lurches, but before you can even process it, he huffs a laugh—like he’s just remembered something ridiculous.

"You didn’t even look my way the first week," he says, eyes flicking over your face, searching. "I could tell you only cared about anyone that could challenge you. Like, it wasn’t even until I did better than you on the second midterm that you even talked to me."

You open your mouth, then close it, heat prickling at the back of your neck. Because—yeah. He’s not wrong. You had ignored him, dismissed him as just another overconfident rich kid who thought he was smarter than he was. It wasn’t until he proved himself, until he became a real obstacle in your path, that you bothered to acknowledge him.

Gojo smiles, but it’s not cocky this time—it’s small, almost rueful. "And then you looked at me like I was finally real. Like I existed."

Your breath hitches.

He shrugs, eyes dropping for a brief second before snapping back up to yours. "So, yeah. Maybe I started trying harder. Maybe I cared about all those stupid tests because it meant I got to see that fire in your eyes, that I got to be the one you were pushing against." He rubs the back of his neck, his biceps flexing in a way that would usually annoy you, but right now, you’re too busy trying to remember how to breathe.

Gojo stares at you for a long moment, gaze unwavering, like he’s daring you to say something—anything.

Your chest feels too tight, your pulse erratic, and you don’t know what to do with the way Gojo is looking at you—like you’re something precious, something worth holding onto.

But he’s wrong. He has to be wrong.

“You can’t like me,” you whisper.

Gojo frowns, expression shifting. “What?”

Your throat clenches, and before you can stop it, heat pricks at your eyes, blurring your vision. “You can’t like me,” you say again, voice cracking. “I can’t even match you.”

Gojo's face slackens, his teasing demeanor completely gone.

"You do everything so effortlessly," you force out, your fists clenching at your sides. "It’s so infuriating." A shaky breath escapes you, and you shake your head, looking down. “So why would you even want this? You make me feel this way, and I—I hate you for it.”

For a second, there’s only silence.

Then, Gojo exhales softly.

“Is that what you think?” His voice is so gentle it makes something inside you ache.

You don’t answer. You can’t.

Gojo shifts, stepping forward slowly, carefully, like you’re something fragile. And then—then he reaches out, his fingers ghosting along your wrist before curling around it, grounding you. “It’s not effortless,” he murmurs. “I try so hard. You just don’t see it because I don’t want you to.”

"You really don’t get it, do you?" His voice is quieter now, something dangerously close to vulnerable. His fingers twitch at his sides. "I care because it’s you."

You shake your head, still not understanding, still unable to believe it.

Gojo watches you for a moment, then exhales, running a hand through his hair. “You act like I just woke up one day and decided to like you.” He huffs a quiet laugh, but there’s no real amusement in it. “Do you know how long I’ve been stuck on you? How infuriating it was, realizing that no matter how much attention I got, the only person I wanted it from was too busy treating me like an obstacle?”

Your breath catches.

“I tried everything,” he continues, voice rougher now. “Teasing you, annoying you, beating you in tests, losing to you in tests. It didn’t matter what I did, because you—” He breaks off, shaking his head. “You only saw me when I gave you a reason to compete.”

Your fingers tremble slightly at your sides. You don’t know what to say, don’t even know what you can say.

And suddenly, everything—the teasing, the constant pestering, the way he always had to be around you—it all clicks into place.

Your heart hammers in your chest, and before you can second-guess it, before you can even think, you surge forward and kiss him.

It’s a mess of a kiss—too rushed, too desperate, all clashing teeth and uneven breaths—but Gojo groans softly against your lips, like he’s been waiting for this. His hands are on you immediately, one slipping around your waist, the other cradling the back of your head as he presses you flush against him.

You’re dizzy. Overwhelmed. But it’s good. It’s him, and you don’t want to stop.

When you finally pull away, breathless and unsteady, Gojo is grinning, his lips slightly swollen.

“Worth the wait,” he murmurs, eyes shining.

You avert your gaze, fully blushing now. “But I—” You take a look at him, then hide your face in your hands. “I’m a stalker.”

“Maybe I’m into that.”

“No,” you bemoan. “I’ve stalked you at the gym, and I—” Your voice drops into a shameful whisper. “You were good. Like, stupidly good. Like, making everyone stare at you good.”

His lips twitch. “You were staring too, huh?”

You glare at him, but he just grins, all teeth, clearly eating this up.

“I hated it,” you insist, heat prickling at the back of your neck. “I hated that you’re already smarter than me, that you already have all these advantages, and then—and then you also have that? Like, it’s just unfair. You’re unfair.”

Gojo is silent for a second, and you think you’ve screwed up, but then exhales a sharp laugh, shaking his head. “You are so cute.”

“Stop it!” you whine, but you don’t protest when he pulls you closer and locks your lips with his another time. You clutch the front of his shirt, drag your hands on his chest, his arms, everywhere. Then, you guide his to firmly clutch your ass, to which he freezes.

“We can stop here. We don’t have to do anymore than this, and—”

But you interrupt him, slamming your lips against his once more. Grabbing him by the shoulder you pull him into your room and slam the door behind you, pushing him against the door. “Fuck no.”

He laughs breathlessly, then continues to switch your position, now you against the door. “Thank god. Now, jump.”

You do, and you almost moan at how easily he grabs you in his arms, your legs straddling him. It’s like you weigh nothing to him as he carries you over to your bed and manhandles you into it, following not long after.

When he gets on top of you, he maintains eye contact as he pulls your shirt over your head, trailing kisses down to your neck, the valley of your breasts (but not before giving each of the girls their own tender kiss), and your stomach. With his eyes boring into you, he slowly, teasingly drags the pants you were wearing down your legs until you’re just in your panties.

You let out a noise, and he coos. “I know, I know, baby.” He gives you a gentle kiss on the top of your mound, and you clench, squirming from the contact. “Let me take my time, though.”

He gently, but firmly, lays a hand on your hip as he starts licking the crotch of your panties. It’s truly maddening—the sensation is there, but you oh so wish his skilled tongue was meeting your skin, bare and electric.

He’s taking his time laving, ravishing your taste, but you’ve had enough. “Gojo, please,” you sob, throwing your head back and grinding further into his tongue, which he welcomes. “Stop teasing.”

“Mmmm,” he pretends to think, all while focused and looking only at your crotch, now rubbing your clit in small, miniscule circles. “I can, but,” and now he’s just mocking you, with the way he adopts a babying tone, “I think you’re going to have to beg for it.”

You groan in frustration as a response, but he only clicks his tongue as his fingers reach and finally rid you of your panties. He spreads your folds with two fingers, his face oh so close to your bare pussy. But instead of finally giving you what you want,  he clicks his tongue, pouting as if you’re the one forcing him to be a bastard. “Yea, I’m sorry, but you’re going to have to earn it.”

Before you can respond, he holds out his tongue and inches his face even closer to your bare folds until you can feel his warm breath over it. “You just have to say please.” Then, he ahhh-s, as if holding his tongue out to a doctor and says, “Look I’m so close—ahhh.”

You can only plead with him. “Please, Gojo.”

“No, it’s Satoru to you now, baby.”

“Satoru, please eat me out.”

He smiles. “Yeaa, that’s my girl.” And proceeds to eat you out in a way that has your toes curling.

He acts like a man eating his last meal on death row. It’s the masterful combination of laving over your folds, kissing your clit, and groaning and making noises that has you inching closer and closer to your orgasm. When you tell him, you’re close, he does exactly what he’s supposed to do—keep doing what he’s doing, same spot, same tempo, same pressure.

With a cry of his name, you come quickly, and he takes your writhing hips and their motion like a champ, easing you through it. When you feel the all-too-familiar feel of over sensitivity, you grab his hair and pull him towards your face, kissing him tenderly. 

He maneuvers his huge frame to lay down next to you, and you fall easily into a gentle embrace. It’s a comfortable silence, as he burrows his face into your chest and you stroke his hair gently.

Gentler than how you’ve ever treated him.

It’s this thought exactly that you voice to him. “You know,” you muse softly. “I was such a bitch to you.” This gets his attention, because he moves from where he was comfortable (your boobs) to look at you in alarm. “Like, I was always mean, and like acting all high and mighty—”

“Whatever you think you did, it was hot,” he interrupts you, grinning boyishly. “Like damn when you insult me I get all fired up—”

“Satoru!” You laugh, shocked, looking down at him. “You’re crazy.”

“Yea,” he winks. “Crazy for you.”

You smile softly at that, biting your lip. “I mean, I get that.” You feel his curious gaze rove over you and heat creeps up your neck as you confess, “Like I was stalking you at the gym. I saw you one time, and um. You definitely have a sleeper build.”

He hums. “I get that a lot.”

“Yea,” you blurt. “you’re really hot. Like you have really big arms, which I definitely didn’t notice in all those sweaters you wear. You could definitely throw me around.”

Silence.

When you look down at him, he’s looking at you mischievously. He sits up, takes off his shirt, and says, “Want to test that theory?”

The both of you test the theory, indeed—it’s a nice nod to your guys’ academic, theoretical physics roots. But instead of some theory involving dark matter or quantum physics debated while in class, this theory takes all night to prove.

general masterlist

a/n special thank you to @purplegemadventures ily pookie <3 we were discussing how a lot of fics so far have made seem nerd gojo really cute and shy but we tried to envision a shit eating sassy diva just like hidden inventory arc <3 like what that one anon said i need my gojo to be a little annoying cocky (but cute) bastard (or, i quote, "your gojo makes me want to oil his scalp and give him an aggressive head massage and mess his hair up"). ANYWAYS props to that one anon that dropped the "nerd gojo with sleeper build" and my beloved @tiramisuandlove i love you forever

comment and reblog to let me know ur thots!

[sixeyesonathiel]

satoru is terrible at keeping secrets.

especially when that secret is you finally, after two years of relentless, dramatic, embarrassingly persistent courting, agreeing to be his girlfriend.

he swore up and down he could handle it—“…sure, sure, lowkey, hush-hush, i got you, baby,” he said, practically bouncing in place like the golden retriever he is, his white hair a fluffy mess, bouncing with every nod, bright blue eyes sparkling behind his blindfold—because, yeah, okay, it made sense. things were complicated. it would be messy if people found out too soon.

but also? it was satoru.

it was the lovesick man who has been hopelessly, pathetically down bad for you since the moment he laid eyes on you, and turns out, yeah, he can’t hide shit.

he’s doing the most. failing the most.

he’s staring at you during work like you’re the moon, the stars, the air he breathes, and probably breakfast, lunch, and dinner, too. the kind of gaze that has hearts practically floating out of his head like a bad shoujo manga. his lips tug upward in a soft, lopsided grin every time you so much as sigh. and it doesn’t help that he smiles like an absolute idiot every time you speak—his fingers fiddling with his pen, twirling it with that restless energy, like he’s got nowhere else to look but you. sometimes he props his chin on his hand, elbow on the desk, feet swinging beneath his chair, eyes glimmering with obvious affection. sometimes he kicks his feet, like he’s writing your name in hearts all over his notes.

and when people tease him about it?

“uh…uh…she’s just…” he chokes, rubbing the back of his neck, his white hair falling into his flushed face. his sunglasses slide down his nose as he stammers, his fingers nervously drumming on the table. “she’s cool! yeah! a really… really… cool… coworker!”

uh huh.

people start noticing real fast. the way you bring two drinks into meetings, both his favorite. the way his jacket mysteriously ends up on your chair, like he’s perpetually cold even though he’s not. the way you two walk in separately but somehow always leave together. the way satoru is always hovering two inches behind you like he’s your personal security detail, or maybe just your lovesick guard dog, his long legs struggling to slow his stride to match yours. his glasses slips sometimes, revealing those ridiculously bright eyes trained on you and only you.

and when you whip your head slightly and whisper scoldings under your breath, lips barely moving—"“you’re gonna blow our cover, dumbass”—he just beams, a grin so wide his cheeks push up against his blindfold. his fingers twitch, aching to reach out and tuck a stray hair behind your ear. it’s the kind of smile that could knock the air out of your lungs if you weren’t already holding your breath trying not to combust. he tilts his head like he’s imagining sliding a ring on your finger already, the soft flush on his cheeks betraying how much he’s already too far gone.

it’s not just the staring. it’s the giddiness. the way he forgets to keep his distance when you’re around. the way his shoulders instantly straighten when you walk into the room, like his whole body is magnetized to you. the way his fingers tap against the desk like he can’t wait to talk to you again. the way he fumbles, dropping his pen or knocking over his water bottle, when someone catches him looking at you like you’re his entire universe. it’s the way he instantly brings you snacks he swore were “for everyone” but somehow always end up on your desk, the wrappers piling up as you pretend not to enjoy the attention.

it’s also the way you’re absolutely pissed when you realize he’s blowing the secret wide open. your jaw tightens, your foot taps the floor, your arms cross, and your glare sharpens to a laser beam. you’ve warned him. you’ve scolded him. you’ve threatened to dump him—half-joking, half-very-much-not—if he keeps being so obvious. you press your palm to your temple in frustration as you whisper, "you're killing me here, satoru."

and suddenly, he’s panicking. his hands flail, baby blues orbs widening . his voice cracks, desperate. his fingers clutch the air like he's trying to grab the right words before they scatter.

“no, no, no, babe… please don’t dump me. i’ll do better, i swear. i’ll look less. i’ll… i’ll stare at the wall instead. i’ll wear sunglasses indoors. i’ll look at the floor forever. i’ll… i’ll even switch departments. please, please don’t leave me. i won’t survive it. i’ll just crumble into dust. i’ll haunt you. but like… in a hot way.”

he's clutching his chest dramatically, leaning into the nearest table for support like he’s seconds from collapsing. his bottom lip juts out in a pitiful pout, and his fingers twitch like he wants to reach for you but knows he can’t—not here, not now. his feet shuffle in place like he’s trying to root himself to the ground, but his whole body screams to be closer to you.

“you’re so bad at this,” you deadpan, arms crossed, eyes half-lidded, pretending you’re not melting inside because you’re emotionally constipated and you like to act like you’re not just as whipped. but your ears are pink. you know they are. you can feel the heat blooming across your skin. you shift your weight onto one leg, tapping your finger against your elbow in mock annoyance, but your foot has already inched closer to his.

“but you still love me right?” he pouts, voice softening, tilting his head as he leans closer like a puppy waiting for a treat. his hair flops forward over his blindfold, his grin tentative, hopeful, like he’s staking his entire existence on your next words. his toes point toward you, his shoulders curling in, like you’re his center of gravity.

“you’re lucky you’re cute,” you grumble, rolling your eyes, but you’re already reaching for his hand beneath the table, already letting him lace his fingers with yours, his thumb stroking soft circles into your skin like it’s instinct, like it’s home. he squeezes your hand like he never plans to let go.

he brightens instantly, a soundless laugh puffing from his chest, his white hair bouncing with the force of his excitement. his entire body relaxes, his feet kicking slightly under the table. “i’ll be better! i’ll be so sneaky, baby! like a ninja! you won’t even see me coming! i’ll be a ghost! you’ll be so proud of me!”

spoiler: he does not, in fact, get any sneakier.

he gets worse. because now he’s trying so hard to “be sneaky” that he ends up staring harder. he waves at you across the room with a smile that’s way too fond, his hand flopping in a lazy, unmistakable greeting that lingers just a second too long. he trips over his own feet when you so much as glance in his direction, scrambling to play it cool like his heart didn’t just somersault into his throat. he texts you from three desks away: “do you miss me?” like you’re not in the same building, like he hasn’t seen you in five minutes. he sends you selfies from the next room with captions like, “thinking of you” and “missing my girl.”

he's a terrible liar. but he’s the best boyfriend.

so you let him. you let him slip up. you let him look at you like you’re his whole world. you let him wear that stupid grin. you let him love you loudly, even when he’s supposed to be quiet about it. you let him text you unnecessarily, bring you snacks with your name written on the wrapper, and you let him keep leaving his jacket on your chair.

you’re just as hopeless, aren’t you?

[metranart]

Imagine Gojo setting a condition to his Clan for him to give them an heir. "It's HER or no one." The elders aren't happy that he chose a non-sorcerer, but they reluctantly agree... that is, if Gojo manages to convince you.

“Come here-...I’m far from done, kitten.”

God, Gojo still makes you nervous, with his mouth buried between your legs for longer than you can even imagine. Why are you still so nervous? Is it the proximity? Is it the way he leans in to make eye contact while he licks you? Is it those blue piercing eyes? Or that immensely amused smirk that twists his lips just enough so he can keep eating you out?

"Mmmmm... stop moving so much, (Y/N). We are making a mess of my desk..." he purrs, all too pleased to watch your eyes roll to the back of your skull. "That’s my good girl..." the man between your legs, praises, "my future bride to be...-"

"T-...that's still u-...under discussion, S-Satoru." Your quivering protests are sweet chords of music for him, "I already t-.... told you that I d-don't want to be part of the jujutsu world.... nor b-belong to a-.... any clan."

"Not any clan, pretty. MY clan." 

You hear him slurp greedily at your folds and feel a warm trick of saliva run down your ass, and when your mouth is about to throw another protest-... Satoru Gojo makes a vacuum on your quivering clit with that annoying mouth of his. Your thighs tense and the muscles of your stomach follow, a quake that rakes your entire form, making you a pathetic mock of a human.

Both your hands fly to cover your mouth and Satoru chuckles deep, amused rumble that cracks the rest of your self-control. Your cheeks grow in the most adorable shade of pink, and your breathing hastens.

"So CUTE~"

Satoru whimpers, dumb founded, his broad chest puffing with so much fervor, so much blinding endearment that he feels like about to explode. He can see the doubt in your beautifully contorted features, and he dips his tongue inside you, fucking you with that fat tongue to try to make you agree to his terms, to be HIS.

Dammit! You feel… amaaaaaazing. Why? It’s like a flip inside you only he can switch at will—... even so, he’s dangerous, you remember. He’s a special grade sorcerer, you remember. He’s a mystery, he’s unpredictable—he’s invincible, unreadable, impenetrable and lethal with a playful smile, and you really know absolutely nothing about him. 

Yet, he insists that you belong together. He insists on putting his child inside you, he insists that he will take care of you and his life will be yours. He insists that you belong in his world and if you're not there, he won't be there either. He insists on fucking you stupid every chance he gets, bending you over surfaces, of course! Always putting his coat or his shirt or any piece of his clothing, just so your skin never comes into contact with any unworthy surface. He insists, he insists and insists and insists...

“Fuck—” he growls, grabbing your hips, “—why are you... h-how do you manage to always have me wrapped around your little finger—?” 

“I want you, Satoru-u... but I can't-” 

He stops you with a soft but firm, squeeze to your waist. 

“Not like this,” he pants, tipping his head to slowly lick a strip down your sweet cunt, a farewell caress, the whisper of a kiss to his last effort before lunch time is over and he can try again, later. “Let me pretend just for a little longer that you said yes—"

Your gaze drops to his trembling thighs and the warmth that settles in the pit of your tummy is intensified by the clear drop of precum shining at the tip of his gloriously thick and long cock, now achingly swollen and a mouthwatering shade darker in color than the rest of him.  

“I'm yours, Satoru-” you offer in a quiet whisper and can feel him shake his head. “You aren't.... but I’ll make you change your mind. You, just watch me, kitten."

➡️ 👀 NSFW Sneak Peek artwork HERE ;)

➡️ FULL NSFW ART of this story

[bywons]

AFTER THE STORM ✿ 𝗉𝗈𝗌𝗍 𝖺𝗋𝗀𝗎𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗌 𝖾𝗇𝗁𝗒𝗉𝖾𝗇

𝗔𝗟𝗧𝗘𝗥𝗡𝗔𝗧𝗜𝗩𝗘𝗟𝗬────𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖻𝖾𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗆𝖺𝖽 𝖺𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗆 𝗂𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗌𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋

❪ 𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐂𝒾𝐒 ❫ ｡ 𝖾𝗇𝗁𝗒𝗉𝖾𝗇 𝗑 𝖿!𝗋 1496wc 𝖿𝗅𝗎𝖿𝖿 𝖼𝗈𝗆𝖿𝗈𝗋𝗍 ✿ 𝗄𝗂𝗌𝗌𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗌𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗌𝗁𝗂𝗉 𝖼𝗋𝗒𝗂𝗇𝗀 贅沢 ／ 𝐌𝐀𝐆𝐀𝐙𝐈𝐍𝐄

★REBLOG4KISS

LEE HEESEUNG

“so, you won’t talk to me at all?” heeseung pouts, staring at your back as you sit away from him on the couch, busy on some magazines. you flip through a page, the glossy sound a poor cover for the ache in your heart.

he sighs soft and slow, you hear the rustle of his socks against the carpet as he inches closer.

“y/n…” heeseung’s voice cracks as he calls out your name like a prayer, “i didn’t mean to lash out. i was angry— no, i was dumb. and i hurt you, i know.”

you stiffen, his words cutting deeper through you than he intended. heeseung notices.

he walks around, kneeling in front of you on the couch as his warm palms make contact with your knees, which pulls a gasp out of you. his eyes search your face—eyes rimmed with regret, his brows drawn together. “please look at me.”

your lips tremble, “you said that i make everything harder. that i’m exhausting.”

heeseung’s face crumples, heart beating faster in his ears as he feels his throat going dry, “i didn’t mean it. i was overwhelmed, but that doesn’t excuse anything.” he rests his forehead on your lap. “i love you. even when things are messy. especially then.”

you hesitate. then slowly tread your fingers through his hair. his grip around your waist tightens, “i’m never letting you go.”

PARK JONGSEONG

jay makes sure his footsteps are soft enough as he enters the kitchen like a cat— sneaking up behind you and wrapping your waist with his hands, his head resting on your shoulders.

“jay, what—” you gasp at his suddenness, pausing all your actions, “let go jay, i’m working.”

“i could help,” he whispers softly against your neck, lips warm on your skin, “tell you that i’m sorry?”

you lean into his touch involuntarily, his hair tickling your cheeks, “you always do this.”

“and i mean it everytime,” jay sighs. he guides your own hands as he holds them in his, slowly slicing the apples on the counter. “i’m sorry, darling. i meant none of it, i was just tired and well, i was being a jerk.”

you breathe in the sight, it’s impossible to stay angry at park jongseong. “and what if i’m still not impressed?”

jay laughs, sending a sweet vibration through your body as he presses soft kisses along your shoulders and neck, upto your jaw.

“then i’ll keep apologizing,” he murmurs, nuzzling closer, “until you are.”

you turn your head slightly, lips brushing his in the softest kiss, lingering.

“you’re such a menace,” you whisper.

“your menace,” jay smiles against your mouth, arms never letting go, the fruit knife long forgotten.

SIM JAEYUN

you glance at the collection of tulips,.baby breath, roses and what not. bouquets on your desk, on the bed, even a trail leading to where he stands.

“what is all this?” you ask, crossing your arms, your brows furrowed, refusing to let the flowers soften you just yet, “you think flowers can fix however you acted last night?”

jake shifts in his place, clearly uncomfortable of his behaviour. slowly, he takes a step towards you, “no, of course not. but i was afraid of approaching you.”

you roll your eyes, trying to ignore his pleading eyes and your favourite flowers laid out in front of you.

he swiftly picks up a single red rose from a bunch, and towers in front of you in no time. you don’t dare to look at him, and he prays to the universe that you do.

jake slowly gets down on one knee, holding the rose out to you with both hands like it’s everything he has.

“i messed up,” he murmurs, gaze unwavering. “but i swear, i’ll never let my temper speak louder than my love for you again.”

your breath hitches. he offers the rose gently. “please… just don’t walk away from me.”

you take the rose, eyes finally meeting his—and in that quiet beat, he stands up, pressing the softest kiss to your lips.

“i’m still mad,” you whisper.

he smiles. “i know.”

PARK SUNGHOON

sunghoon inches closer to you as the bed dips under his weight, waking you up.

“why- why are you here?” you groan in your drowsy state, hair disheveled as you look at sunghoon next to you— eyes puffy, lips swollen with a tired smile playing on it.

he was crying. “i couldn’t sleep,” he confesses, pushing a strand of hair behind your ears, “and… i missed you. come back to our bed?”

you sigh, heart softening at the sight of him—eyes red, voice fragile.

“hoon…” you whisper, reaching up to cup his cheek, thumb brushing beneath his eye. “don’t cry.”

“i messed up,” he murmurs, leaning into your touch, eyes fluttering closed. “i said awful things. i hate myself for it.”

you shift closer, wrapping your arms around him, pulling him down beside you. “you’re here now,” you whisper, forehead pressing to his. “we’re okay.”

he exhales shakily, arms curling around your waist as he buries his face in your neck.

“i’m sorry,” he whispers again, lips brushing your skin as he holds you tight. prepping kisses all over as he traces shapes on your back, “i’m so sorry, princess. i love you, so so much.”

KIM SUNOO

“but you don’t like chocolate,” you murmur softly as you pick around the ice cream with your spoon.

“anything for you,” sunoo says, giving you a smile which was both nervous and hopeful, “i think i deserve this punishment.” he takes a bite out of his own chocolate ice cream.

he scoops a bite of his chocolate ice cream and eats it, face scrunching immediately at the bitterness.

you try to suppress your laughter, but it comes out anyways as you punch his forearm, “sunoo! you don’t have to suffer through chocolate for me—”

“oh, no,” sunoo scoffs, pulling the bowl of chocolate closer to him in desperation, “i made you angry and…called you mean, i deserve this.”

you stifle a laugh. “you look like you’re in pain.”

“i am,” he says dramatically, placing a hand over his heart. “but i’d rather eat a hundred bowls of this than go another minute with you mad at me.”

you set your spoon down and reach for his hand across the table. “you don’t need to suffer through chocolate, dummy. you just need to be honest with me next time.”

his fingers curl around yours, a soft sigh leaving his lips.

“deal,” he whispers, leaning in to gently kiss your knuckles.

YANG JUNGWON

“i can’t stand you crying,” jungwon gulps, his own throat aching as he notices your tear-stricken cheeks. “drink some water, please?”

you sniffle, taking the water bottle from him as he sits down beside you. “can i touch you?”

you want to say no after the argument you had with him, after he made you sob on your own. but god, it’s the way he never lets you go through anything alone, and it's the way he notices everything— melts your heart every time.

“yes,” you whisper.

jungwon sighs out of relief, not wasting a second before he pulls you into his lap, surprising you, as he wraps his arms tightly around you.

“i’m sorry,” he breathes, barely louder than the hum of your shaky breaths. “i should’ve listened. i should’ve stayed.”

you stay quiet, the comfort of his hold unraveling the tight knot in your chest.

“i hate that i made you cry,” he whispers, arms tightening slightly around your waist. “i know sorry isn’t enough, but... i’ll make it right. just don’t shut me out, please.”

his voice cracks at the end, and you turn your head slightly, just enough to see the sorrow in his eyes.

your lips meet his in a soft, trembling kiss—slow, searching, tender. his hand cups your cheek, thumb brushing a tear away as he kisses you again, like a silent vow.

NISHIMURA RIKI

“the punching bag didn’t upset you, did it?” riki gets startled by your words, turning quickly on his heels to meet you.

“y/n?” he whispers, almost running towards you as he towers over your nervous and disturbed figure. “are you finally… not mad at me?”

you huff, hesitating to touch him. “if i didn’t come to you, all this useless boxing would go on forever.”

riki knows that. he hates himself the most when you’re mad at him, and finds his solace in overworking himself. “do you..still hate me?” his voice cracks.

“no, riki. we solved it already,” you give in and cup his face, “we were both messed up and, i forgot about it. i let it go.”

riki leans into your touch, walking closer as he kisses the corner of your lips. once, twice and then you lose count as he pulls you in by the waist. “i’m still sorry though,” he whispers, voice full of guilt, “let me make it up to you, doll?”

스루 ܃ couldn’t sleep, so i locked in for this. heh .. can’t have sru nation starving 💌

© bywons, 2025 div ctto —taglist open ! nets. @/k-labels @kflixnet @k-films

[plutotheplum]

ᡣ𐭩 sylus | cockwarming ᡣ𐭩

sylus needs you to stick around. 

he doesn’t like when you try to leave for linkon after spending the night together, persuading you to stay with slow, syrupy kisses that have your knees weak and a fog rolling over your mind, clouding all rational judgment. 

sylus knows how to make you needy. he’ll give you as many kisses as you want, stroke your pussy through your panties until your cunt is wet with slick, but he won’t fuck you. instead, he pulls you up onto his lap, trousers pushed down and your panties discarded on the edge of his desk as he helps you sink down on his cock.

he hushes your whimpers and soft mewls by pressing soothing kisses to your forehead and guides your head into the crook of your neck, large hand rubbing over your back as he works on whatever situation requires attention. your pussy clenches around him every now and then, whimpers dying down as the warmth of his body lulls you to sleep.

sylus fucks you after of course - he’s not that cruel. you wake up to the feeling of his mouth on your breasts, your fingers running through his hair as he lifts you up onto his desk, fucking you with slow, rolling thrusts that have your eyes rolling back.

it’s addicting for him, to have you close, body flush against his. sylus gets carried away sometimes, pulls you into meetings under false pretenses of needing a different perspective only to jostle you up onto his lap, his lithe fingers pulling your panties to the side so he can stuff his cock into your pussy. your initial gasps of surprise are quietened by his lips of yours, his eyes narrowing when he catches the inconsequential vermin of the n109 zone staring at you leeringly.

he keeps you on his cock for the entirety of the meetings, rewarding with soft kisses every now and then, sweet little pecks that make your eyes light up in the way he likes. the meetings tend to finish early, sylus’ men entering to find you curled into their boss’ arms, asleep and sated, while those that garnered sylus’ wrath lay sprawled across the floor,  unconscious. 

sylus has you cockwarm him the drive home, his hands squeezing at your waist in the backseat of the car, your arms wrapped around his neck as you makeout lazily. soon after, you both stumble into his room and he laughs, scooping you up into his arms and guides his cock into you, his words a low, slurring mess, utterly drunk on the feeling of your pussy hugging his cock.

“don’t go,” he murmurs sleepily when you rouse from your sleep, eyes darkening when he sees the marks he left on your body last night, hips covered in pretty, blossoming bruises.

“i have to,” you mumble, rolling towards the edge of the bed only to have his evol curling around your body and pulling you back into him.

you try again and again, groaning and shoving your face into his chest when his evol keeps bringing you back to him. “dork.”

sylus smiles into your hair, fingers smoothing over your bruised hips gently.

“i love you.”

he’d like to keep you here for a little longer. 

forever, preferably.

[vasito-de-leche]

I love, LOVE your characterization of the Saja Boys, and while I know you’ve only written complete dating hcs for Baby and Abs, I was hoping if it was okay if I could request something with the Saja Boys (separately) where it follows the prompt “you're about to argue but you're so pretty that his brain short circuits”? If you don’t want to write for all of them, then maybe you could do Baby and Abs (separately)?

;KPOP DEMON HUNTERS SAJA BOYS - "Too Pretty"

Saja Boys (separate) x Reader 2.5k words silly, fluff Being a demon's soft spot has its benefits. Who would've thought?

i'm so glad you like the way I write them!! this prompt sounded so fun, I just had to try my hand at it, thank you!

this also served as a way for me to slowly figure out how I'd like to characterize the other members o7 I tried to keep the relationship vague enough to be read as whatever people want, so hope that comes across well enough. also also, dont let these dramatic edgy idols fool you, all drabbles end up being silly and cute

JINU

"Are you even listening, Jinu?"

He is, of course. But he'd rather not, especially when you're getting worked up over nothing; so much for escaping an endless cycle of torture in the underworld, he now has to deal with a brand new mess, pacing behind him like a madman. By now, you've probably noticed the monotonous and non-committal answers he's been giving on loop.

"Uh-huh," Jinu's eyes never stray from the notebook in front of him, attempting to come up with a better verse for an upcoming song. And he knows he's fucked up when he hears you groan, stomping towards him.

"Okay, okay. Maybe I stopped listening abooout ... five or ten minutes ago, who's counting, but--"

Your hand comes into view, fast as lighting, and he can only look as you snatch the notebook away from him. Great, awesome.

There goes the perfect verse in his head. He remains frozen for a moment, the hand holding a pen still hovering over the now empty spot on his desk until your voice reaches him once more.

"If you're not going to listen, at least tell me so I don't waste my time talking to you."

Jinu slouches in his seat, raising both hands to cover his face, before sliding them upwards to slick back his hair in a feeble attempt at regaining his composure. You can't even see him from this angle, his back turned to you, but he still rolls his eyes.

You want to argue? Get it out of your system? Fine, he can give you the fight you want.

In one swift motion, his position changes; now he's straddling the chair, a powerplay he's come to master after bickering with his own band for so long, eyes closed as he prepares to deliver a devastating comeback to rile you up. But when he looks up, the golden glow in his eyes wavers--you're standing so close in front of him, looking down at his seated form with your arms crossed, as if daring him to speak.

He doesn't, and you tilt forwards, hair cascading over him so that the only thing he can focus is your face in this one-sided glaring contest.

Jinu has seen you at your best and your worst, but this is the first time he's found himself at the other end of your undivided attention and anger. It is as intimidating as it is alluring. What are you doing to him? Is this allowed? His neck feels hot, his face feels hot. The room feels like it's on fire, but not the same type of hellfire he's grown used to; it's a different sort of warmth, equal parts shame and pleasure as he takes in the sight. His lips part without him noticing, whispering ever so gently.

"Pretty ..."

"What was that?" Fuckfuckfuckfuck.

"Shitty. I said you look. Shitty. As in, you look like shit. Being angry isn't doing you any favors, you know? You should get some rest, okay. Byeee."

Without giving you any time to react, Jinu fumbles over his words, trips over your furniture and he stumbles out of your apartment in a rush, almost breaking into a sprint for the elevator. It's only when the doors close that he allows himself to breathe in and out, finally noticing the extra passenger inside with him. His bird companion chirps smugly, and Jinu groans into his palms.

"I don't want to talk about it."

ROMANCE

"I didn't mean it like that!"

Romance scoffs at your words, still refusing to leave his room. All the heart shaped decorations seem to mock him as he leans his full weight against the door, easily preventing you from entering no matter how hard you try to rattle the doorknob.

Both of you find yourself at the edge of an argument, and the decision to escalate things lies solely on his hands. He knows this because he can practically hear the affection in your words, even as you whine and tell him to get over himself to talk to you, face to face. That alone is enough to make Romance's chest tighten--no matter how many times he does this, this game of push and pull, you still make sure to chase after him time and time again.

Surely you must be reaching your breaking point; nobody is strong enough to withstand this much heartbreak. Maybe if he tries a little harder, you'll realize that there's nothing good in a future with him.

All he has to do is stay silent and wait for you to leave.

"Then what did you mean?" His voice is whiny, it always is. But you always insist that you love that about him, the way he feels so deeply about everything.

"You really want to argue about something like this?" You're right, you usually are--he's making things difficult when he's not even officially yours. "Well, I don't. So you can call me once you've cooled off."

And just like that, it's quiet; there's no more pressure pushing against him from the other side of the door, no more cutesy nicknames and attempts at coercing him out. Romance's heart drops, and he practically claws his way out, torn between cursing you out for proving him right and leaving, or begging you to take him back and sort everything out as if he hadn't been the one to start this. He's taken only a single step out of the threshold of his sanctuary when your smile greets him--you're leaning casually against the door frame, pretending to inspect your nails.

"So, are you done brooding all by yourself, handsome?"

That playful grin renders Romance speechless; the contrast of your casual attitude against his frenzied panic is impossible to ignore, he's gone through all five stages of grief in under a minute while your trust in him never wavered. Absence truly makes the heart grow fonder because there's a glint in your eyes that tugs at his heartstrings, wild strands of hair that he'd love to twirl in his fingers and kiss ever so gently. Romance knows that you'll let him if he asks for permission, and a knot forms in his throat, face flushed bright pink.

"No." It's all he manages to squeak out before closing the door once more.

"Rommie! Are you mad at me or not?!"

"I don't??? Know??? I need a moment! Just stay there!"

ABBY

"That's the last time I take you anywhere. You can't just pick a fight like that, Abby!" Abby sinks even deeper into the plush cushions of the couch as you continue to scold him, as if his sulking and his silence could single-handedly help him win this argument.

He's already found himself a comfortable spot, but you're still fussing about the living room, throwing your shoes to the side, sending your jacket flying onto the backrest of the sofa, pausing to drink and slamming the glass on the counter a little harder than necessary. Abby knows better than to try and stop you, so he stays put, waiting for his opening.

"What if anyone saw? Did you even think about that? The amount of trouble you'd be in?"

Those are all very good questions that he never bothered to consider; in fact, he still refuses to think about the consequences. There's no point in doing so when you managed to pull him away before he could do any damage to anyone, or to his own reputation as an idol.

"Like they'd even care," Abby huffs, trying to blow a strand of hair out of his eyes. "Just catching a glimpse of us outside is enough to make everyone turn a blind eye, it's almost too easy to work the crowd. One flex of these guns and any broken noses will be totally forgotten."

He makes an attempt to flex said guns, but he finds you looming over him from behind the couch, your grasp on his wrists as steady as death. There is a wild look in your expression, one he can't quite understand, but he finds it impossible to tear his eyes away from you. Getting to play the part of guard dog for you comes as easy as breathing, Abby can't get enough of the little tells that give you away, letting him know that you enjoy his antics--but it never crossed his mind that the tables could be reversed like this.

"Fine, let me put it this way! What if you got in trouble or worse, what if you got hurt? Ever thought of that one? Just because you're an all mighty demon doesn't mean you're--"

"You're hot when you're mad." He blurts out.

"I--What?"

A chance to rectify his mistake is presented to him, and he immediately pivots away from it when you blink your pretty eyes at him in confusion. "I said that you're hot when you're--"

"I heard you the first time, Abby. It's just--were you listening to what I was saying?" Okay, this is his chance to steer the conversation back on track. It's very easy, he just has to--

"If I say no, will you scold me some more?"

"Oh my God. Abby. Nevermind."

MYSTERY

Arguing with you is a rare occurrence.

But so is speaking to you, or engaging in any sort of conversation at all with anyone. This is one of the many perks that came with his role as the cool, mysterious and aloof member of the Saja Boys; anything he didn't feel like addressing could be easily swept under the rug and left ignored for centuries. This had been Mystery's modus operandi for years, and he wasn't planning on changing it any time soon.

You, on the other hand, were the opposite, filling the silence he often sought so desperately, until your voice became background noise in his life, a constant, confusing and somewhat comforting presence that simply followed him around.

Mystery still remembers the first time he deigned himself to reply, something off-handed that didn't matter at all, and yet you clung to his every word and went the extra mile to include him in your one-sided talks. It took a long time for the demon to get used to this, and an even longer time to acknowledge the fact that he enjoys the sound of your laughter, way better than the miserable voices crawling in the back of his mind.

Which is why the claustrophobic and oppressive silence lingering in the room irks him to no end. You're supposed to be talking, not playing hard to get or ignoring him over a stupid argument; the way you brush past him, barely acknowledging his existence as you go about your day is getting under his skin in ways he never knew were possible.

And then, for a fleeting second, you meet his gaze--this moment lasts for an eternity in his eyes, and he opens his mouth to speak, to seize the opportunity and break the ice, but before he can get a single word out, you turn around and begin to scroll through your phone. That's the last straw.

Mystery stands up and forces himself into your peripheral, hands firmly planted on the wall, trapping you in.

For the first time in forever, he wants to scream, to bark, to growl and give you a piece of his mind. But when he sees the way you awkwardly avoid his gaze, fiddling with your hands and standing at your tiptoes, Mystery relents and his frustration is replaced with something else; endearment. You're still wearing his merch, one of the very first shirts the Saja Boys released long ago with his name written on it, you're still attempting to hide from him despite knowing there's nowhere in the world you could go without him finding you.

Slowly, Mystery raises a hand towards you, enjoying your half-hearted attempt at shaking him off, pretending to bite the air near him.

And then he pinches your nose. "Cute."

After that, he leaves. You'll come around when you feel like it.

BABY

"You went too far this time, there was no need to get so personal back there."

"That's the entire point of dissing someone, duh. So, was it good? Did you like it?" Baby kicks his feet, hands cupping his cheeks to make himself look as innocent as possible. "I didn't know I could rhyme that many words with 'cunt' but it was soooo fun! Right, right?"

"Baby!"

Tsk. Guess it's the hard way today. That cute expression quickly turns into a scowl and he makes a bee-line for the fridge, if only to find something to drink and distract himself with.

He blows bubbles into the silly straw, sulking in the kitchen. "What? They got what they deserved. What kind of idiot would challenge me to a rap battle if they can't take the heat? Hellooooo, it's Baby Saja we're talking about."

"But it was a friendly thing, you turned it into a massacre for no reason."

"Heh," he knows he shouldn't, but he snickers to himself anyway. "Guess I did, huh? What, do you wanna have a go in their place?"

This is how Baby likes to play, to earn a reaction and entertain himself if only for a little--but you always know better than to play into his shenanigans. And you also know how to get a message through his thick skull, something that continues to astonish him to this day.

Baby continues to sip away on his drink as you busy yourself, fully believing himself to be the victor of this round. But dread starts to make its presence known deep in his chest as he sees you slowly gathering your things--this isn't how things usually go, you always stay the night at his place to keep him company, watching horrible romcoms, eating snacks and falling asleep at 5 a.m.

So why were you leaving?

"Hey, hey. Woaaah! Are you really going to ditch me because I got a little mean to some rando? That's so unfair." The look you give him is enough for his act to crumble, and Baby groans dramatically before hurrying to your side, tugging onto the hem of your sleeves. "Stay here! Pleeeeeeaase? I'll behave next time!"

It doesn't work; you pinch his cheeks and pull, stretching them like mochi. Your voice is stern, even after you let go. "You're old enough to know that what you have to say is 'sorry,' Baby. But if you want to beg for forgiveness, you'll have to try a little harder than that."

Shit. So much for being unfair, the tone of your voice and that look in your eye are more than enough to get all the thoughts in his mind twisted up--Baby hates when you don't indulge him, but even he has to admit that he loves that stubborn streak in you.

"What? Cat got your tongue? I know you well enough by now, there's no way you have nothing to say."

You never waver, meeting his eyes with the same intensity, running a hand through your hair. Baby's mouth turns into a fine line, followed by a pout. If he says anything right now, he'll most likely end up digging his own grave. You look SUPER hot right now, is that good enough to make up and get you to stay? Something like that would most likely earn him the silent treatment for a week.

"Sssssssorry ..."

"See, that wasn't so hard, was it--"

"...for being soooo damn good at my job. Like it's my fault?"

"I'll see you tomorrow Baby."

"Aw, c'mon!"

[foreid]

smoke and stack come into the shop looking for bo chow only to find y/n at front desk and bo chow discreetly under her hehe

anon i love the way u think! one eater chow blurb coming right up :3

your hair was a mess, curls sticking up through every end and frizz spiking through its texture.

lips parted letting strings of whines as your husband was kneeled down in front of you, tongue lapping slow stripes against your slit.

the day was slow, only usual customers coming in and barely even meeting you at the counter.

bo thought he could use it to his advantage, missing the taste of your every aspect against his lips.

forearms holding you up against the counter, legs trembling from behind it as you hid moans between your lips.

“b— bo… someone’s comin’.” you gasped out, nails digging into the edge of the counter as he started to suck against your clit, knees buckling beneath your dress the more he continued.

he was humming in content, devouring you with full lips, his entire upper body hid by the fullness of your skirt.

your hand quickly covered a moan trying to escape your mouth as two men stepped through the doors, the jingle of the bell alerting you back to reality.

they walked sternly towards the counter, they were broad and a lot taller than you, staring down at you as they stood a respectable distance from the counter.

you swallowed dryly, the extra bodies in the room seeming to not stop bo at all.

“h— good evenin’, how ca— can i help ya?” a chirpy yet cracked voice, as if a moan was threatening to escape past your words.

the twin wearing red sort of just stood there, staring around the market curiously.

the other man, wearing blue, stared for a moment before he opened his mouth to speak.

“we mean no harm, missus, jus’ lookin’ for bo chow.” he spoke to you and his voice was low, gruttal, but he looked like he meant business, intimidating you for just a moment.

“is he here?”

only for a moment did you almost forget about the sensation between your legs.

and just as you thought, bo was not about to let you go through this without a fight.

before you spoke up, you felt a digit teasing your entrance, and as you were opening your mouth to speak, he was shoving it inside of you. knuckles deep.

“he’s— oh!” you perked up, gasping and quickly slapping your hand against your mouth.

you stared up at the two men, eyes wide as if even you were shocked at the noise you just made.

they both just looked at you with an insane amount of concern in their eyes.

you held a finger up, signaling them to give you a second as you swallowed dryly. clearing your throat.

when you tried speaking up again, all you did was choke up. so you decided to just expect your fate.

shaking your head ‘no’, and they seemed to get the hint.

one of them slowly nodded, a cocked up brow as if he was trying to figure out what the hell was happening.

“well. in that case, tell ‘im smoke needs t’ talk to ‘im.” with one last nod, as if to say ‘thank you’, he and his twin walked out the clear doors.

when their figures discarded out the stores line of view, you slammed your forehead against the countertop, letting out all the choked moans you’ve been trying to hide.

your hands grabbed at whatever was near, lips parted as bo started to fuck you with his fingers, plunging an extra one inside.

his tongue didn’t stop, and your hips started to rut against his face, your clit bumping against his nose, adding onto the pleasure.

he somehow managed to fit two digits knuckles deep inside of you, curling them against the plush of your walls.

that was it. he hit a familiar spot and you came undone against his lips.

your moans were unhinged and loud, legs feeling weak and knees practically giving out.

bo let you ride out your orgasm against him, letting you come down from your star-seeing peak.

one last moan of his name and a string of curses, your upper body became slack against the counter.

he appeared in front of you at some point that you couldn’t recollect because of the state of euphoria the orgasm had you in.

you managed to pick yourself back up, eyes meeting with a very proud bo chow.

his lips were glistening, eyes low and full of nothing but lust.

the look of frustration on your face made him chuckle, his hand reaching to your lower back in order to hold you close.

“did s’good, darlin’. taste j’s as good.” he murmured against your mouth, pressing his lips with yours.

lewdly tasting yourself momentarily. you still had a brain of putty, melting into the kiss as easy as ever.

“‘m give it to ya s’good tonigh’. my pretty lil’ wife.” he hummed as he broke off the kiss, hands grabbing at your ass through the dress, somehow simultaneously pulling you closer.

his words and actions screwed a quiet giggle out of you, fingers curling around his suspenders.

“i’d like that. maybe.” you teased, staring at your fingers as they played with the suspenders then back up into his eyes.

his head tilted a bit, grinning against your mouth again. “yeah? tha’s what ya want, peach?” before you could even respond, he was kissing you again.

this time with more fever, a hand grabbing beneath your knee to hold your leg against his side while he devoured your lips.

this is exactly what life was about.

a sexy husband who loved everything about you,

and that's exactly who bo chow was.

[madamechrissy]

Teacher's Pet

Pairings- Boyfriend Takuma Ino x F! reader x Professor Nanami

Warnings absolutely MDNI - oral (f receiving from Ino and Nanami) fingering, messy kissing, Nanami is 35, reader and Ino are like 21, so age gap. Threesome aspects and general freakiness, light choking, dom daddy type Nanami, masturbation (Nanami) and panty stealing

A/N- had a request for college AU Ino/reader/Nanami where Nanami is your 'professor' and teaches you some ahem... things? I haven't written Ino before so I hope I don't fuck him up here - it's PWP lol

Takuma Ino had never thought he would get this, get to feel your slick heat against his fingers, your sweet little cries in his ears as you arch your hips against his hand, trembling as it touches you over your panties. It had been just a harmless kiss, really, after class - only for you both to fall into each other, mouths hungrier and hungrier, even as they're clumsy.

Ino was still a virgin senior year of college, but he swears it's because he was waiting for you, he can't even see anyone but you, long before you decided to date him. Now his cock is throbbing, he's willing it to go down as he tries to find what you like. What is it, here, where he presses and your hips jerk? Or here, slipping under the elastic of your panties now, and finding you soaked.

"Oh, baby you're so wet, d-do you like this?" He asks softly, chocolate brown eyes almost black as he studies your face in earnest, you nod shakily, eyes fluttering shut as he watches you.

"I love it, f-feels so good," you want to guide him a bit, but he's having so much fun exploring you, devoted as he presses kisses across your cheeks, hands fumbling until one dips into your soppy interest. "Ah!"

"There, that's good?" He pulls back again, asking softly, you nod in response and he sinks it just a little deeper, exhaling as he pulls his finger out then.

"Back in, back in!" You're whining out, you're spread wide on Professor Nanami's desk, the thrill rushing through you, making you drip along his polished cherry wood in the empty class.

"Wanna taste it, though," you're a flustered mess when Ino sucks you right off his finger, moaning, cheeks hollowing as if you're the sweetest thing. "Oh my god, you're so yummy..."

"I am?" He kneels now, and you're panicking just a bit, tugging at his sleek brown strands.

"Wanna kiss you here, is it okay?"

"Y-yes if you- oh!" He's flicking his tongue up your slit, pushing your plump lips apart to eye you, breath hitting as you hold up your pleated skirt for him. "Ino!"

"It's so pretty," he doesn't know where to lick or what to do, pressing a kiss against your hood and stealing more of that flavor on his lips, feeling you tugging at his hair and exhaling, hands pressing firmly into your thighs, when the lock clicks, but he doesn't hear it over your soft whines, and neither do you.

Which leads Professor Nanami, exhausted and ready to take a nap in his damn office, to see his prettiest straight A student spread wide on his desk, and his other straight A student kissing her between her thighs. Nanami shuts the door quickly, locking it and striding up, when your fucked out eyes widen and see him, and you panic, shoving off the desk and gesturing wildly.

Ino, who worships the ground Nanami walks on, is clearly pussy drunk - and Nanami can understand, he got a glimpse of it, and just that has his cock throbbing.

He's jerked off to you more times than he'd ever admit, he shouldn't, you're his student and his law student at that, he can't think that way about you, especially being one of his brightest, and with a good kid like Ino. But fuck if he hasn't pictured being between your thighs instead, teaching you what it's like to really get fucked, now he wasn't too much older at thirty five, but he still felt shitty thinking it all.

"Professor Nanami, I'm so sorry! Oh my god, please, I..." You're panicked while Ino is furiously red, covering his face while Nanami crosses his broad arms.

"It's my fault, Mr. Nanami, not her, don't get her in trouble, I couldn't stop myself," he rubs the back of his neck and Nanami eyes his now discheveled desk, sighing and rubbing the bridge of his nose.

"Looked like you weren't doing it correctly," he says, making the both of you pause now, and you're blushing furiously as Nanami eyes you, hazel gaze drifting down your body like a caress. Every girl fawned over his handsome features, you weren't immune to them, but to have him look at you like that, made your situation worse.

"I have no clue what I'm doing, no." You look at Ino with wide eyes. "Can you... show me?"

"Show you!? Ino have you lost it!?" You're tugging at his black sweater, and he brushes a thumb across your cheek.

"I wanna know how to please you, baby." You melt at how sweet he is, fully expecting Professor Nanami to deny the request, but his huge, veiny hand loosens his silky tie as he comes closer now, leaning over you, the scent of his cologne filling your senses.

"Up on the desk then, love," his soft command is met with him lifting you like you're nothing, sitting your right on the desk now, his desk, tilting your chin up to look at him. "So tell me, when you play with your pretty pussy, do you stick your little fingers in, or rub your clit?"

Your mouth goes dry at the statement, Ino is looking at you with those pretty eyes, ever curious, your cheeks heat up, decorating your skin with color. "My clit, Professor."

"So we'll focus there first." Nanami methodically slips your panties down your thighs, biting back a moan when your scent hits him, panties that may or may not have ended up in his pocket. Nanami may or may not need these later. "Come on then," he gestures and Ino eagerly gets on his knees - your boyfriend and your stupidly hot professor, this was not how you thought your first time getting eaten out would be. "Look here."

"Pretty, so pretty," Ino's words make Nanami chuckle, spreading you wide so he can show Ino where your clit is, lifting your hood, and that's when Nanami and Ino see your twitchy little clit, you whine out, biting your lip.

"She is pretty." You can't even look at them then, covering your face. "You'd focus there since that's how she plays with herself." He looks up then, fingers pressing against your calf to get your attention. "Should I demonstrate?"

"Yes, please." Your whisper ends his resolve, shoving him off the deep end, flicking the tip of his tongue on your little clit now, you gasp as it hits, and he moans as your sweetness pours against his slender lips, coating them in your gloss. "Oh!"

"You can finger her too, but she's tiny," he slips a digit in, feeling you grip him tightly, groaning as he thinks how good it'd be to slip inside your hot, slick little cunt. "So be gentle."

"I wouldn't hurt her," you're torn between embarrassment and utter lust, when Nanami curls his thick finger up, pressing on your spot while his tongue works in methodical little flicks, and your hands yank his perfect hair before you can stop yourself. "Oh, look, she loves it,"

"Mnh!" You're gushing down your law professor's face now, he has to palm the bulge over his slacks with his free hand, looking up at your pretty face, all contorted in pleasure.

"Are you close, baby?" Ino leans up now, caressing your face sweetly, you nod, gripping his sweater with your free hand while Nanami drags your cunt against his face. "Then cum, let me see you, then I'll make you cum again."

"Y-you sure?" You ask, he just nods, gripping your breasts, while Nanami's finger curls just so in your gummy walls, and you shatter, screaming out into Ino's lips while Nanami slurps you up, positively filthy - you have never cum like that, even with toys. He's lapping at you, eliciting more and more drooling arousal as you struggle to blink anything into vision. "Oh my god... mnh... Professor Nanami..."

He presses a kiss on your cunt now, and Ino eagerly sinks to his knees, kissing an overstimulated clit when Nanami is just an inch from your face, you flush as you see you've made a mess of him too, thumb brushing his slick on his chin, he grips your wrist then, while Ino slips his tongue up to your clit, and you bite back a moan.

"She likes it, good job," Nanami murmurs, Ino buries his face then, sucking your clit into his mouth without thinking, your thighs are trembling, cunt throbbing while Nanami places a hand under your chin, wrapping your throat. "A little light choking can make it even better, but you have to be careful. Want me to show you?"

You nod weakly, and Nanami squeezes your throat now, giving into the temptation and kissing you, letting you taste yourself on his lips and squeezing your delicate neck, delighting in your whines and cries, muffled as he squeezes. He almost cums just kissing you, seeing your innocent face lost in the pleasure, hearing your squelching wet cunt in his classroom. He's grabbing you, tongue sliding into your sweet mouth, while your cunt spasms around Ino's long, slender finger, delicately curling up.

"You're doing so well, darling," he whispers to you, encouraging you while you cling to his silky cheetah tie, oxygen fading while he squeezes, thumb pressing against your racing pulse while your eyes roll back in your skull, Ino is whining out desperately, his cock already leaking precum as he feels your aftershocks grip his finger, your arousal coating his face.

"Mnh!" You almost faint, ears ringing now, floating damn near blinded when Nanami releases his hand, and gently kisses against it, all while you're gripping his broad shoulders, almost falling the fuck over.

"Oh fuck..." Ino murmurs, leaning up and looking at you, you kiss him eagerly, hips twitching when Nanami runs his fingers over you, already so sensitive you almost cum from the contact, before giving you a firm smack, making you gasp out.

"That's for being bad." He says with a little smirk, you exhale, cunt stinging, before he glares at the two of you, fixing his collar and tie that you've led askew, crossing his arms again. "I better not find the two of you doing this again... without my permission."

"No, we won't, we are sorry Professor." Nanami just hums a bit, sitting with his legs spread wide in his seat, while Ino helps you down, fixing your skirt and eyeing you. "Are you okay? Was it good?"

"Good isn't even the word..." You bury your face a bit, embarassed as he pulls you against him, feeling Nanami's hungry eyes on you.

"I wanna do that all the time now." Ino murmurs, you giggle, taking his hands, before looking at the man who licks your cunt off his lips, raising a thin brow.

Never in a million years did you think Professor Nanami would have devoured you like that, the feeling makes your tummy tense, as you snuggle your boyfriend, who you feel his arousal, making you ever so curious, you touch it just a bit, watching his reaction.

"Baby you don't have to do anything." He's so sweet, you sigh, looking over at Nanami again.

"Maybe you can show me a lesson next?" You say softly, and his cock twitches in response, picturing giving you lessons on your knees, as you look up with those eyes that are fucking Nanami up currently.

"Yes, well, I'll see if I fit it in my schedule," he sets his glasses firmly on the bridge of his nose. "Out you two, now."

"Thank you, Professor." You two run off, and Nanami catches your gaze on him before you two shut the door, when he breaks down, thick cock slapping his dress shirt and drooling pre out of his reddened tip. He hisses as he touches it, panties slipped out of his pocket and right on his face.

"Ino that was insane!?" You're whispering, breathless, he smiles just a bit then, pressing you against the wall, where on the other side your professor is cumming to your taste he's lapping off your missing panties.

"You loved it though. But... I wanna do it alone," his whisper rushes across your skin as he whispers in your ear. "What do you think?"

"Yes," the two of you rush off to your dorm, leaving Nanami to contemplate just what lesson he has for you next while he's busting hot ropes into his hand of his classroom, cursing the clock when he realizes he's not getting a nap and it's your fault... surely a punishment is in order.

LMAO this was so dumb and smutty

perm tags @alt--er--love @nanasukii28 @cuntphoric @loafteaw @n1vi @indiewritesxoxo @miizuzu @beachaddict48 @honeybunnnnie @re-tired-succubus @gojosukuna2268 @waterfal-ling @1brii @wise-fangirl @moncher-ire @orikixx @uhnosav @baepsays @designerpvssy @orixxxana @airandyeah @nina-from-317 @evelynxxo @naammiii @soyokosuguru @espresso1patronum @tomboy-disaster @iam-souless @lanii-i @cristy-101 @doeeyestoji @cvixmei @mutsu422 @ivyvenus333 @g00seg1rl @suki91 @satoao-main @fairygardenprincesss @theonlyjuggernaut @huntyhuntycunty @lovelockdownff @ibreathesmut @s777athv @twinklywinkly @akiii143 @squeezyvalkyrie @cookielovesbook-akie @oinksa @grignardsreagent @shokosbunny

[fckmebarnes]

˗ˏˋ ★ obedience ★ ˎˊ˗

lawyer!bucky x assistant!reader

+18 MEN + MINORS DNI — smut! public sex: please do NOT read if you’re uncomfortable. this one is a little twisted…you’re cock warming bucky during a meeting. rope play, multiple orgasms, you clean up a leather chair, oral (bucky receives) exhibitionism honestly. if i miss anything please let me know!

a/n: hope you enjoy! this was an older fic & i thought it fit perfectly for this. @maryevm this one’s for us

“sit. still.” bucky pinched the inside of your thigh as you sat in his lap, his cocked stuffed deep in you. you gulped, whining softly but nodded as he spoke loudly behind you, the tone of his voice leveling as he spoke to whoever was behind the doors. 

the way his fingers dug deeper into your thigh knew you had to behave. there was no point in arguing. 

“come in.” you cursed under your breath as three of bucky’s partners from other firms came in and all took a seat around the desk. they looked between each other with a worried look and back at bucky.

“is there an issue?” the authority tone in his voice made you pussy throb, and his cock twitched in response, a soft pinch on the inside of your thigh to your pussy throbbing.

the men shook their head and sat back as bucky sat back in his seat, meaning his hips positioned themselves upwards a little bit and deeper into your cunt.

they knew better to not question what you were doing here — they knew that you were an important asset to bucky, to the firm. you knew he needed you, this place would fall apart without you. 

you sorta wished you werent here, but you were so glad you were finally stuffed full of his cock.

you gave him such a hard time throughout the day just because you wanted attention, since he was working on getting documents together for a trial, he had barely asked you for anything. so you wore the shortest skirt you could find in the back of your closet, with one of his white dress t-shirts haphazardly tucked in and a few buttons undone.

you didn’t know you were going to have to cockwarm while he had a small meeting with his his business partners to discuss the trial.

there were people even on the conference phone call for crying out loud. it felt absolutely humiliating, but you would be lying if you said it ddidmt make you pussy drip.

“you are going to warm my cock with your pretty pussy until we are done. and then im going to tie your legs to the side of the chair and hands behind your back while i fuck you. got it?” you could only gulp with a nod as you sunk down on his cock, both of you moaning softly in unison as he stretched you out. but that was short lived as he told you to behave and sit still.

the pain of his cock just sitting in your tight cunt burned but you loved it deep down. you loved feeling his cock sit in your pussy as he filled you up, and you knew you could just cum like this.

his fingers trailed up your thigh towards your exposed clit under the table and pressed two fingers onto the bud, pressing small circles. he could feel your cunt drip down to his balls, creating a little spot on the leather chair, and he knew exactly waht he wanted to make you do afterwards.

you felt a moan bubble in your throat so you covered it with a cough which made your pussy clench his cock, and you felt a pull of your clit gently at the action.

you sat back against bucky’s chest and tried your best to not cum on his cock as he messed with your clit but the pressure was building in the pit of your stomach and before you knew it your pussy was clenching around him and you came.

you felt bucky’s chest rumble under your back.

fuck.

“shit, forgot i have an appointment. fella’s, can we settle this another time?” the men exchanged a knowing glance as they looked at you for a second before they stood and walked away quickly and closed the door behind them. the second they left. you felt bucky smack your clit harshly.

“did you just fucking cum?”

“n-no i-” you stammered, blushing darkly as bucky bunched your skirt at your hips and exposed his cock in your cunt.


“fucking liar. your cum is covering my cock. such a filthy little whore.” you moaned at the words and felt him push you off of him and leaned you over the desk and stripped the skirt off of you tossing it somewhere in the room. you yelped as you felt a harsh smack against your ass, pushing you forward on the mahogany table and your hips digging into the wood.

he stopped, reaching over and opening a drawer, pulling out a pair of handcuffs and quickly taking your arms behind your back and cuffing them to your wrist. he pulled you up by the elbow and pushed you into the chair he was just sitting in. he rolled his sleeves up, and shoved his pants and boxers down, reaching over and grabbing the rope he kept in the drawer.

“gonna teach you a fucking lesson.” you nodded your head and saw him smirk, pushing your legs up so the bottoms of your feet were on the chair and your legs were spread wide against the arm rests of the seat.

he wrapped the rope around your thigh and calf and then secured it to the sides of the chair, your glistening cunt on view just for him.

“you know, i was gonna eat this pretty pussy after they left, but now im just gonna stuff it full of my cum and not let you cum. since you already did.” he stroked his cock a few times before pushing the chair all the way up before he could finally sink his cock in you. he bottomed out immediately but you werent surprised, you were already stretched out from cockwarming him for 45 minutes that you knew he would slide in so easily.

“think you can just use my cock to get yourself off? in front of other men? fucking whore.” he groaned out loud as he thursted out of you and slammed back into you, your head hitting the back of the chair with each thrust and moans started to fill the room from the two of you. you so badly wanted to touch him, but with your hand being handcuffed behind your back, you couldn’t 

all you could do was let him fuck you in the chair. he clamped a hand over your mouth, shoving two of his fingers in your mouth to the point where you were gagging on his thick fingers and drool was falling down your chin and onto your shirt.

“god you suck my fingers so good. just like youre sucking cock.” he moaned under his breath as he quickened his pace, his other hand wrapping tightly around your throat.

you heard a knock on the door and a soft “james?” from the other side and your eyes widened.

“dont come in. what do you need?” bucky yelled out to the door and looked back at you, mouthing a soft “stay fucking quiet”. you could only nod as the man behind the door started asking a plethora of questions while bucky pounded into you, keeping his voice steady as can be.

his hips faltered slightly, and you felt his cock twitch in your pussy and you knew he was close. he took his fingers from your mouth and wrapped his other hand around your throat, pressing tightly. the conversation with the man ended in what felt like forever.

“fuck babygirl. you got wetter during that conversation. does that shit turn you on? knowing someone could easily walk in on us as im fucking you?” you could only nod, your jaw falling slack and moving with his thrusts, the knot in your tummy forming quickly, and you felt his thick cock twitch inside of you again.

“dont you dare fucking cum. i swear to god dont you cum.” he growled lowly, his thrusts becoming sloppy as he felt his balls clench and you felt his hot cum shooting inside your cunt, so much to the brim that it leaked out of your cunt and onto the leather chair. he cursed softly, watching as your wrecked body took his cum, took his whole cock. he fucked your body splitting you apart and putting you back together.

you thought he was done and was going to let you cum, until he pulled out and untied the rope, standing you up and then kneeling in front of the leather chair you were just fucked in.

“you know what to do, dont you baby?” you licked your lips as you nodded, licking the cum that spilled on the leather and moaned softly as you tasted your cum from earlier mixing together.

“fuck babygirl. that just got you your chance to cum later tonight.” he stood over you, watching as you looked over at him licking your lips from cleaning his cum from the chair. your shirt was drenched with spit, and there was a faint outline of his hands from grabbing at your throat. 

and fuck, you were still handcuffed looking up at him absolutely fucking wrecked. 

he couldn’t help himself as he grabbed a fistful of your hand and shoved your mouth on his cock. but you weren’t complaining. he knew what you were. 

“my cockdrunk little slut, huh?” you moaned as he spoke, the tip of his thick cock hitting the back of your throat and that moan send a vibration straight to his balls, the grip on your hair tightening and you couldn’t help but groan again. 

the sight of you on your knees, handcuffed and listening to you gag on his cock made his balls tighten, thrusting into your mouth as he emptied another load down your throat.

“such a good fucking girl.. swallowing all of my cum like the whore you are. fuck.” he panted heavily watching as you met his gaze under fucked out eyes, more spit covering your chin and dripping down to the floor as your spread your legs further. 

“get up.” he ordered and you did as said, his hand under your elbow helping you stand and guiding you to the leather couch that sat in front of windows. he pushed you on the couch, your chest coming into contact with the back of the couch. he smacked your ass, making you moan out in pleasure. he held onto your cuffed wrists as he pushed into you, your cheek leaning on the leather as he pounded into you. the moans that came from your lips were something else, you didn’t know that you could make those sounds but it fueled him to fucked you harder. 

he moved you to the length of the couch and pushed down on your back so it arched, and he swore he would’ve came to the noise you made as the tip of his cock kissed your cervix. 

“hush baby. don’t want anyone to hear how good i’m fucking you. unless that’s what you want, huh? want the whole building to hear how you’re about to cream on my cock?” he grunted as he pushed in and out of you, his balls slapping against you and you felt the knot about to snap.

“i’m gonna cum bucky fuck- i’m coming-�� you moaned out, his hands tightening around your wrists as he fucked you through your intense orgasm, biting the couch to muffle your scream. 

“that’s it, my sweet girl sound so fucking hot.. look how well you take me. gonna make me cum again.” the only reason he could easily fuck you was not only from the cum that was slowly dripping down the inside of your thighs from not even two minutes ago, but also because you cum mixed with his, and it made it feel like absolute heaven around his cock.

he felt your pussy clench his cock and he let out a moan, hips faltering as he came inside of you and his hands went to grips your ass harshly, fucking his cum back into you to milk his high.

“so fucking good baby. you’re such a good fucking girl for me.”

[fictionalmenxyn]

𝐋𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐍𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐍𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐬

Pairing: frat!rafe x sorority!reader

Warnings: SMUT, language, fingering, p in v, no mentions of protection (wrap it!), breeding, self pleasure (Rafe)

꥟꥟꥟

You had come over to hang out with Rafe. You both haven’t seen each other since yesterday since college was busy for you both. Rafe needed his daily dose of you, so he spammed texted you to sleepover.

So here you were, lying in his bed. Wearing just his old football jersey and a pair of Calvin Kline underwear. You laid in his bed watching tv. Rafe was playing cod with the guys. His headset on but one ear off just in case you wanted to chat or needed anything. He sat in his gaming chair at his desk. His eyes glued to the monitor, but occasionally glanced over to you.

You watched the tv on his wall, enjoying the company and finding it funny how the boys talk in chat.

You felt drowsy, your eyelids felt heavier each blink. You moved your head into the pillow more, turning over to lay on your stomach as you went to sleep.

Rafe glanced over to you as he heard you shift around in bed. His eyes raked over you. Seeing the jersey had rode up resting on your kid back. Showing off one of his favourite things about you, your ass. He could stare at it all day if he could. His hands on it most of the time. But it was the fact that you laid in his bed. Tangled up in the covers, wearing his jersey. Looking peaceful and relaxed, that made him hard in his sweatpants.

He groaned as he looked down at his sweats, seeing the newly formed tent. He didn’t bother putting on boxers as he had only just got out of the shower and just wanted to throw something on. Besides he does it most of the time when he lounges around.

He turned his attention back to the game. Trying to calm down the hard on in his sweats. But he can’t help but look over to you every so often. He couldn’t do anything about it yet. You were asleep. And he wasn’t the type to do such things without you knowing. He knew better.

He moved his right hand over his bulge. His controller in his left hand. The guys and himself were in the lobby of the game. Some of the guys either going to the bathroom or getting snacks. He quickly muted himself.

Moving his hand into his boxers, he closed his eyes and leaned his head back. Stroking the long length of his as he thought about you sat on top of him on his gaming chair. Like you have many times.

He just couldn’t budge it. Not even his hand was helping anymore. He had enough. He was going to climb into bed and sleep it off. He quickly made an excuse for him to end the game with the guys. He logged off and turned his ps5 off.

He climbed into bed beside you. Pulling you close to him. Letting out a long sigh, he closed his eyes and tried to relax.

He soon fell asleep. Then to be only woken up at two in the morning. He groaned to himself when he felt his hips subconsciously grid against your side.

He was tried, so were you. But he had to get rid of it. And he’d know you’d most def would help him.

He brushed a few strands of hair out of your face. Then whispering in his deep husky tired voice “baby… need you to wake up f’me…”

You turned over, rubbing your eye “hm?”

He grinned softly “c’mon… I need some help… you looked so good in my jersey earlier… I couldn’t shift it…” he pressed his hard on against your hip to show you.

You resting your forehead against his lips “but ‘m tired, Rafey…” “I know, I know, could you just stay awake? I’ll do all the work… just relaxed and help me out, yeah?” God his voice did things to you no one could ever explain. His raspy along with the deep mess of the accent and his overall tone. Sent shivers down your spine.

He pressed a kiss to your forehead, then your lips, then your neck. Gently turning you over and lifting your right thigh up more. He moved his hand along your side and down to your entrance.

His palm against you, already feeling your underwear to be damp. He smirked lazily “that’s my girl…” he moved his hand in slow, lazy circles.

You moaned softly, he pulled your underwear to the side. Moving his middle finger inside of you. He lazily pushed it in and out. Curling his finger every other time. You pushed your ass back into his hard on. Causing him to groan and rock his hips into you.

He slipped his ring finger into you next. Prepping you for him. Causing you to tiredly rock your hips against his hand.

He pulled his fingers away and move his hand into his sweats. He then tugged his sweats down just enough to let his cock out. He was hung. No doubt about it. All the girls in college would die to get what you got most nights. But you took it all the way each time. Nothing like the girls he had in the past. Nothing compares to you.

He ran his tip along your slit, gently pushing it inside. Causing you to moan softly. He went in, inch by inch.

He moved his hand to your jaw. Holding it and turn your head enough so he could kiss you. As he would lazily and slowly thrust in and out of you.

You liked this side of him. Most of the time you both were rough or loud. This was quiet and relaxing for a change.

He bit your bottom lip gently as he pulls away a little. He looked into your eyes with pure lust. His lips brushing against yours as he mumbled “so fucking tight f’me… best fucking pussy, all mine, baby, yeah? All mine…love it so much” you moaned softly. Looking into his eyes with tiredness and attraction. God the look you’re giving him right now drove him insane.

He kept moving his large length in you. He moved a little so he was on top of you more. Getting a better angle and also going deeper in you. Causing you to moan a little louder. He moved his left hand next to your head in the bed, stabilising himself. As his right went under the jersey and over your breast. Massaging your breast as he rest his forehead on the side of your head. He breathing heavy and ragged.

He felt you tighten around him, causing him to groan lowly “fuuuccckk…”

He picked up his pace, you were about to moan when he shoved his hand over your mouth gently. He whispered “gotta stay quiet, baby, I don’t want the guys hearing how good I make you feel… don’t wanna wake em up now, yeah?” You nodded.

As you feel your climax approaching, Rafe smirked. Knowing your body inside and out. He knew you were close. He picked up his pace more. The room filled with heavy breathing and cheek smacking.

Your jaw slackens as you tighten around him and finish. He groans “thaaatss it, come all over my cock, yeah? Mhm fuck, so hot…”

He moved his mouth to your ear “want me to come in ya? Want it, baby? I know you do, tell me, do you?” You nodded “yes, Rafey, want you too… so bad, please…” he smirked.

Feeling himself finishing in you was amazing. Knowing it was him that made you feel this good and him being the one to finish in you, was a dream to him.

He stayed there for a moment. Giving you a ‘thank you’ kiss. He mumbled against your cheek “thank you for helping, babe… did so good f’me… I’ll treat you in the morning, you don’t have class till the afternoon… I’ll eat you out all morning, hm? Wanna do it so bad, been craving you…”

You nodded eagerly, one of your favourite things he does was just that.

He gently pulled out, watching his seed go down your thigh. He grabbed some tissues on the side of his bed and wiped it. Knowing you’d probably not want to sleep with it all over you.

Tossing the tissue into the trash can. He laid back beside you. Pulling on his sweats again. And wrapping his arms around your waist. Whispering sweet nothings into your ear as you fall back asleep.

And best believe he kept his word for the next morning.

꥟꥟꥟

[ssahotchnerr]

okay but when the team actually starts calling the reader and aaron mom and dad behind their backs and one day someone lets it slip out in front of them??

i just… aaron’s reaction?????

the parentals

i love this dynamic SO MUCH cw; fem!bau!reader, established relationship, fluff <3

as you and aaron entered the bullpen, you were both quick to notice the others huddled around spencer's desk, surely for a new session of physics magic.

a smile immediately twitched at aaron's lips, tossing you a mischievous look. as long as it didn't make a mess, or a disruption - per his and reid's previous discussions - he really didn't mind the recurring demonstrations.

but would he ever miss an opportunity to get the blood rushing in this scenario - never.

"be nice." you teased, laughing softly under your breath as you followed him over.

"i'm always nice." aaron playfully insisted, those brown eyes flickering in that way that just melted your heart. "what do you mean?"

"better be careful," emily's warning came into earshot as you neared, completely oblivious to the two of you - the timing just perfect. "or else dad's gonna ground you."

aaron's expression quirked at the title, his eyebrows lightly furrowing.

"oh please," spencer said, his fingers making quick work of whatever the experiment happened to be. "he's too busy with mom-"

jj's eyes happened to lift right at mom, made direct eye contact with you, and immediately choked back a laugh. some horror timidly filled her eyes, and she didn't cover up her sound too adequately. it caused the others to instantly look up too, and freeze.

"busted." jj mumbled, her gaze finding the ground.

aaron's smile resurfaced, crossing his arms. his tone was playful, yet confused and utterly amused nonetheless. "dad?"

spencer flushed. "uh..."

"oh c'mon. cut the crap." emily interrupted with an eye roll, looking between the two of you. "like it's not shocking at this point. just look at what the two of you were about to do, lecture us-"

"hey no," with a laugh you cut in, arching an eyebrow. "i don't lecture."

"exactly. he does," emily crossed her arms also with a smitten smirk - her point thoroughly exhibited. "you're the flexible one. see, mom and dad."

"i always thought rossi was dad." aaron expressed openly, a small chuckle shaking through his chest.

"no, you were always dad," jj shook her head, "rossi was mom, until," once again, her eyes found yours, smiling softly this time. "until someone else came around, and took on the role wholeheartedly."

you grinned, exchanging a quick, loving glance with aaron. "what's dave now, then?"

"old."

[little-jana]

"Flirt Lines Are Open"

Pairing: Spencer Reid x reader

Genre: fluff

Warnings: use of Y/N, Spencer being a flustered and blushing mess, flirting, teasing from the team

Wordcount: 800

Summary: You work behind the scenes at the BAU. Every time Spencer calls you for information, it turns into a full-blown flirt fest.

You barely looked up from your multiple monitors as your phone buzzed on your desk. Without checking the caller ID, you already knew who it was.

You grinned, adjusting your headset before answering in your most sultry voice, “BAU Information Hotline, you’ve reached your number-one fan. How may I assist you, Doctor Reid?”

There was a pause, followed by the sound of Spencer clearing his throat. “You, uh—you really need to stop answering like that.”

“Oh, come on,” you teased, leaning back in your chair. “If I don’t flirt with you over the phone, how else am I supposed to keep you entertained in the field? What do you need, handsome?”

Across the bullpen, Emily and JJ exchanged looks. Morgan, who was within earshot of Spencer’s end of the call, slowly turned his head with an expression of pure amusement.

Spencer sighed but didn’t hide the tiny smile in his voice. “I need you to cross-check a list of known aliases for our unsub against financial records from the last six months.”

“Anything for you, genius,” you purred. “But if you wanted to hear my voice, you could’ve just said so.”

“(Y/N)…” Spencer warned, but you could hear the slight hitch in his breath.

Morgan’s eyebrows shot up, and he looked around the jet where several agents were now trying (and failing) to suppress their giggles.

“I mean, come on, Spence,” you continued. “You always call me first, even when I’m not the best person to ask. Is it because I have the best research skills, or because you just can’t resist the sound of my voice?”

“Both?” Spencer offered hesitantly.

You let out a dramatic sigh. “You really know how to make a girl feel special.”

Emily stifled a laugh by covering her mouth, while Hotch subtly shook his head as if resigning himself to the reality that this was just… how you and Spencer operated.

Morgan, however, was in full entertainment mode. “Oh, hell no,” he muttered under his breath, before turning toward Spencer with a smirk.

Spencer had turned red, holding the phone slightly away from his ear as if that would somehow make the situation less embarrassing.

Morgan leaned forward. “Pretty Boy, I never—ever—wanna hear that again.” He paused, then smirked. “Actually…?”

Spencer groaned and pressed the phone closer to his ear again. “Ignore him.”

“Oh, don’t worry, sweetheart,” you replied, clearly having heard Morgan. “I only have ears for you.”

Spencer let out a soft, almost pained laugh. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet, you keep calling.”

Morgan shook his head. “I don’t know if I should be impressed or horrified.”

“I’d go with impressed,” JJ added, barely containing her laughter.

Spencer pinched the bridge of his nose. “Just—do you have the records?”

“Of course, Spence. I had them pulled up five minutes ago, but I was having too much fun hearing you squirm,” you admitted.

There was a chorus of “oohs” from the team as Spencer groaned again.

“You’re evil,” he mumbled.

“But you love it,” you teased.

Morgan leaned in once more, voice dripping with amusement. “Hey, (Y/N), when Pretty Boy gets back, you should tell him how much you love his brain.”

“I do love his brain,” you said easily. “And the rest of him isn’t bad either.”

Spencer, now completely red, abruptly ended the call.

The jet erupted into laughter.

---

When the team finally returned to Quantico, Spencer found you waiting at your desk, an innocent smile on your lips. “Hey, genius. Missed me?”

Spencer sighed, rubbing his face. “I have never been more humiliated.”

You grinned. “So, same time tomorrow?”

He huffed, but the small, fond smile on his lips gave him away.

Morgan walked past, clapping him on the shoulder. “Man, you’re so whipped.”

Spencer just shook his head. Maybe he was. But with you? He didn’t really mind.

[theliving-radio]

The reader turning into a child due to a potion has planted an idea into my brain and I feel like I have to share.

Reader getting hit with a potion that turns them into a baby dragon (like how baby Mal looked during chapter 7) :>

Omg BABY DRAGON SIBLING!!!

----------------------------------------------------------------

It would make more sense if it was ADeuce and Grim causing the problem again, Professor Crewel felt like it would make tons of sense if it was! What didn’t make sense was the fact that the cause of it was Sebek, Epel, and Jack.

Crewel was currently looking down at where the Prefect was once standing. Now, sitting in their place was a lizard the size of a purse dog. The creature looked up at him with their big glossy eyes, then tilted their head to the side.

Epel, Jack, and Sebek just stood nearby, unsure what to say. Yeah, they might have made the wrong potion… yeah they might have accidentally spilled it on the Prefect… and yeah, they don’t know how to fix it…

Professor Crewel doesn’t say anything and just walks away, getting ready to make an antidote.

“… so does that mean we have to watch them now?” Epel finally spoke up as he looked down at the little lizard… wait were those wings?

Jack crouches down and picks up the transformed Prefect. “I don’t think we have much of a choice… did they turn into a dragon?”

“Humph! Are you trying to compare this useless creature to what Waka-sama represents?! Malleus is ten times better than what the Prefect is now!”

At Sebek’s words, you turn your head towards him… and blow out green flames towards the half-fae.

Jack holds you away from him.

Epel lets out a startled scream.

And Sebek is now currently trying to put out the fire that is on his uniform jacket.

Meanwhile you were just staring at the chaotic mess you created, blinking at Sebek as he was patting down at the green fire. Epel pointed his mage pen at Sebek and doused him in water.

Now stood a wet, and irritated Sebek.

“YOU- HOW DARE-!” Sebek was filled with so much anger he couldn’t even properly finish his sentence.

Jack walked over to one of the desks and placed your tiny lizard body there. You stare up at the Wolf Beast-men and start letting out small clicking sounds, as if trying to say something.

You start to stand on your hind legs and try to lean more forward, wanting to be held again. Unfortunately Jack didn’t get the memo, and you started screeching.

All three of the first-years cover their ears at the sound of your high pitch cry.

“Ah! What do we do?! What does the Prefect want!”

“YOU THINK I SHOULD KNOW?!” Sebek snapped at Epel, making them both argue as Jack tried to cover his large ears the best he could.

The loud yelling and screeching stopped as the classroom door swung open. There, stood Malleus Draconia in all his glory, heaving and panting as he ran all the way here.

"Where? Where are they?" Malleus huffs out as he scans around the room.

Another screech was let out from your tiny body, and Malleus quickly turns his gaze and locks onto you. His breath gets caught in his throat as he's suddenly hit with a sense of déjà vu.

"W-waka-sama!? What are you doing here?!"

Malleus ignores Sebek as he makes his way over to you. Once you notice his presence, you began clicking at him. Through all your clicking, all Malleus could hear is:

"Mal Mal! Mal Mal!"

This was his Baby Sibling!

Without a second thought, Malleus scoops you up and holds your tiny dragon body close to his own. You began to purr, causing the dragon fae to smile.

"Um... Malleus-senpai?" Epel spoke up, hoping to get the fae's attention, but he was ignored.

Malleus makes his own clicking sounds, clearly communicating with the dragon version of his baby sibling. You let out a loud yawn, followed by a small squeak. Malleus had to hold himself together before he crumbled into dust from how cute you were.

The first years all held their breath as Malleus turned to them. This was it, wasn't it? They were gonna die due to their stupid mistake.

"Sebek... I need you to stall Professor Crewel from making the antidote."

Huh?

"Just as Spade and Trappola made their own mistake, I did not punish them. Just how I won't punish you three. Your mistake turned into a blessing. Now! I must find Lilia, hopefully he still has the baby carrier out."

Malleus gracefully walks past the first years and out of the classroom, happily holding onto his Baby Sibling who he continues to purr and make clicking sounds towards.

Sebek, Jack, and Epel just stood there in pure shock at what just occurred.

"Did that just happen? Did he just steal away the Prefect?" Epel broke the silence again, trying to make sense of what he just saw.

Sebek snaps out of his daze and quickly walks out of the classroom.

"Hey! Where are you going?" Jack blinks as the half-fae rushes by him.

"Waka-sama needs me to stall the Professor!"

Epel and Jack just watch as the croc sprints out to go find the professor.

Well, the rest of the day was gonna be eventful.

[g1rld1ary]

heart shaped doodles - james potter x gn!reader

wc: 836

summary: you accidentally get given james' essay, covered in doodles with your intials together

me: wrote this in one sitting i love loverboy james!!!!!

════ ⋆★⋆ ════

you were in agonies waiting for your latest potions essay. usually, you had a pretty good grasp of how you were doing academically, but this last project just had you muddled and confused.

the confusion you felt about your essay, though, was completely overshadowed by the utter bewilderment you experienced as you looked down at the piece of paper slughorn had handed you.

all over the heading and through the margins laid doodled hearts, slightly smudged from carelessness. even stranger than the hearts was that your initials sat right in the middle of them, paired with the unmistakable ‘j.p.’.

you quickly paged through the rest of the essay, face draining of colour at the characteristic chicken scratch — and even more so at the clearly accidental inclusion of a page in the middle, filled with doodles and the repeated mantra of ‘mr james’ followed by your last name.

before you could process what you’d just read slughorn snatched the essay out of your hands, booming laugh echoing through the potions classroom.

“sorry about that,” he shook his head as if to reprimand himself, “i must have gotten confused with your initials being all over it.” that got the class’ attention, and several gryffindors craned their necks to catch a glance of the paper as the professor passed.

when slughorn finally made it to james’ desk, dropping the essay down silently, the class erupted into chaos. teasing and heckling ensued as both you and james sunk into your seats, and you were sure your face was the same shade of red as his.

slughorn failed spectacularly at controlling the class after the revelation that the james potter had a crush on you. and not just any crush, a doodle-your-names-together-in-the-margins, down-bad kind of crush. knowing that no more learning was going to happen slughorn dismissed you all, and you had plans to run straight to your dorm and hide there until everyone stopped caring about the whole incident.

remus lupin was immediately at your side, chatting to you about something you weren’t particularly interested in, but you were too polite to tell him of your hibernation plans. you nodded and agreed with him until you were the only ones left in the classroom. apart from james.

you froze, panic overtaking you as you stumbled to put the last of your things in your bag and run when a voice called your name. you knew instantly it was james and turned slowly to face him, forcing yourself to reluctantly make eye contact.

there was still a light dusting of blush above his cheekbones, and the way he was rubbing the back of his neck betrayed his own nervousness.

“hey,” he said, hand clutching the single strap of his bag.

“hi,” you replied, trying to stop your hands from shaking.

“so you, uh, saw my paper?”

“yeah,” you breathed, “um, congrats on the ‘o’ by the way. wish it really was my essay.” james laughed softly at your joke, messing up his hair for something to do.

“i could help you sometime! if you need it, of course.” james cringed at his own reply, the instant realisation that it maybe wasn’t the right thing to say at the moment.

“right,” you trailed off, “well, i’m gonna—”

“wait!” james reached out, a hand catching your bicep lightly. it sent goosebumps up and down the length of your arm. you looked at james expectantly, heart hammering in your chest.

“look, i — fuck. there’s no point pretending we both don’t know now. i really like you. like, an embarrassing amount, as everyone’s discovered today. and i wasn’t gonna do anything about it because i figured you’re so out of my league and aren’t interested, but i suppose i’ve already made a fool out of myself today, might as well full send it. so, what do you say? can i take you out to hogsmeade sometime?”

you pretended to mull it over to give your internal voice time to scream. james potter was without a doubt the hottest guy in school, not to mention smart and funny and good at everything he tried. and he wanted to go out with you! if he wasn’t watching you with anxious interest you thought you might’ve passed out. instead, you played it cool.

“yeah,” you said, smile creeping out despite your best efforts, “yeah, that sounds like fun.”

you almost had to shield your eyes when james beamed, practically its own light source.

“cool!” he said, too loud and fast, “next weekend?” you nodded with almost equal enthusiasm, the two of you sharing the same giggly grins.

behind james you caught a glance of slughorn through the crack in his office door, smiling fondly at the both of you. maybe his slip-up wasn’t so accidental.

“so,” james said, intertwining your fingers boldly as you both turned to leave, “you need me to be your tutor?”

[hysteria-things]

MATT'S STREAM

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: dom!chris x reader

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: you and chris’ relationship isn’t out to the public just yet. when he’s on stream with matt, you tease him.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: SMUT, swearing, teasing, dry humping, cock warming, degradation if you squint, p in v, semi-public (?)

ASSUME YOU'RE ON THE PILL!

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 1,521

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: hiii i’m excited for this. let’s see how this goes :)

chris sits at his desk, spam clicking and smashing buttons on his keyboard. he talks to his brothers in his headset.

matt’s streaming on twitch right now, meaning that thousands of fans are watching the three of them play fortnite. you’ve been with chris for a few months, yet the fans have no idea. you both collectively agreed to keep your relationship out of the public eye.

hence why you are seated next to him out of frame, watching the stream go down. your eyes scan to his side profile. his brows furrow in concentration, his tongue sticking out as he focuses on the computer screen. you hear the boys scream in his headset, and he slams his hands onto his lap.

“damn.” he grunts out, glancing over at you for a moment and smiling.

“i’m gonna go to the bathroom.” he says into the mic before muting it and taking off his headset. he turns his face cam off and goes into the bathroom to do his business.

he comes out beats later, sitting back in the gaming chair, wiggling to get comfortable. you get up, which gains his attention. “you doing okay?” he asks.

“yeah. just need to stretch.”

before he could unmute his mic and turn the cam back on, you push the chair back slightly to have enough space to straddle his lap. he wraps his arms around your waist and welcomes you closer, kissing your collarbone. “they’re going to think i’m shitting.” he says jokingly.

your arms snake around his neck and you lean back to look at him. “say your camera broke.”

he smirks and puts back on his headset. “i’m back.” he starts. “for some reason, my camera is acting weird.”

“it’s all good. as long as we can still hear you.” matt’s voice replies.

the thin fabric you call panties rubs against his bulge through his red plaid pajama pants. you have a shirt on, one of chris’s FRESH LOVE t-shirts that covers you enough to look like a nightgown. a sensation tingles between your legs, and you start to move your hips slowly.

you hear chris groan, pressing a button on his keyboard. “what are you doing?” he asks sternly.

“i need to get comfortable.” you tease, rocking your hips harder. he opens his mouth to say something, but closes it and clicks unmute again.

you rest your head in the crook of his neck and continue to rock your hips, feeling him grow beneath you. he still talks to his brothers normally, but his performance on the game doesn’t look good.

“what the fuck is up with you, chris?” nick questions into the headphones.

“sorry,” he mumbles.

your hands find their way to the back of his neck and tug at his hair lightly. you breathe heavily to not make any noise since his mic is right next to your head. you don’t even notice your hips rutting and body tensing when you feel your release soak your underwear.

you exhale shakily, lifting your body and looking at the mess you made. there’s a wet stain on his pants on top of his hard-on. you don’t even have to look to know your underwear is ruined.

chris looks at you confused, before following your gaze. you go to get up but he grabs your hips and places you back to where you’re hovering over him. he unties his pants and pulls them down along with his boxers. he moves the mic away from his mouth, leaning toward your ear.

“don’t move or make a fucking sound,” he warns in a low tone you could barely hear.

he pushes your panties to the side and guides you down onto his cock, fighting off the hissing noise trying to escape your lips as he stretches you out tenderly and slowly. you and chris started having sex not long ago, but even after a few days without it, you had to readjust again.

this, however, is a first.

you guys never tried cock warming before. you felt so nervous. so excited. so full.

after multiple rounds of fortnite that felt like it lasted hours, your brain felt fuzzy despite not even doing anything. every time he talked, laughed, or celebrated a victory or loss, he’d thrust deep inside of you. and it drove you nuts.

you hear commotion on the other end of the headset. “fuck!” chris screams, jolting his hips further into you than at any other time. your eyes roll ever so slightly, mouth agape as your bottom lip grazes over his bare shoulder. it’s too late to take back the moan that came out of you.

chris’ hands make their way to your ass and squeeze hard, setting a reminder.

be quiet. right.

your patience becomes thinner and thinner, since it’s already been about thirty minutes. too desperate, you start to grind against him.

before he can do or say anything, you grab his mic and fist your hand over it so nobody can hear.

“please let me ride you. i promise i’ll be quiet.” you beg.

“so needy.” he sighs, taking your hand off of the mic and returning to the game.

rutting your hips forward, you start bouncing, your clit swollen from sitting still for so long without doing anything about it. you don’t know, but you could’ve sworn you heard chris groan.

too busy focusing to try to not make a sound by biting your lip, you hear sentences being scattered around from the boys.

“i don’t know, man.”

“this game sucks!”

“is your camera working yet?”

“no, sorry!”

little do they know, here you are, fucking yourself on your boyfriend’s dick like a bitch in heat.

you nuzzle your head in his neck and kiss a spot before biting down to stifle your pathetic sounds. chris hisses at the sudden contact and misses a kill, the other person killing him instead, costing them to lose.

“for fuck sake. chris, are you sure you’re okay?” matt asks in annoyance.

the tip of his cock brushes against your g-spot unexpectedly, forcing a whine out of you. “actually.” chris starts. “i don’t feel good, to be honest. i might log off for tonight.”

he quickly ends the discord call and shuts down his computer, stopping your movements. you look at him with glassy eyes, a frown portraying your face. he runs a finger up your spine before gripping onto your hair and yanking it, making you whimper. “first, you ruin my pants.”

he thrusts himself up into you, taking you by surprise with a gasp.

“then, you tease me.”

another thrust.

“now, you can’t follow simple fucking instructions.”

again.

a broken moan comes out of you, chris slapping your ass. “need me to fuck you so bad you can’t even wait two hours. instead, you get off by fucking yourself on my dick like your life depends on it. so pathetic.”

you whine of embarrassment, yet you don’t want this to stop.

“please.” you breathe out. “i’m sorry. please fuck me.”

with that, chris grabs your thigh with his free hand and starts plunging into you from below. his grip is still tight on your hair. you let out breathy moans left and right since each thrust takes the air out of your lungs. your eyes start prickling with tears from all of the built-up pleasure. “oh my— fucking— jesus— god.”

chris chuckles at your failed attempt to form a sentence. your moans transition into high-pitched squeals when he hits the angle that makes a knot form in your stomach. he releases his grip from your hair and moves it to your jaw, his hand that was on your thigh coming up to your mouth. he shoves in his middle and ring finger for you to suck on.

god, this felt good, and boy was it hot.

drool starts dribbling down your chin as you moan around his fingers and your eyes roll back. chris twitches inside you causing him to groan and take out his fingers, but your mouth still hangs open as unholy sounds come out of it. he releases your jaw and cups your ass with both hands.

“holy shit.” you whine. “i’m gonna cum.”

“let go, y/n. fuck you’re doing so good for me.”

because you certainly don’t have to be told twice, your whole body trembles and you fall forward. your hands cup the sides of his neck.

“i love you.” you moan into his neck as he continues thrusting to get to his release. “i love you so fucking much— jesus god.” you cry out when you feel chris filling you up.

he thrusts a few more times into your trembling body to get down from his high.

“look at me.” he says softly, bringing your head up to make eye contact. he smiles and kisses your lips. “i love you too, ma.”

when you come back to your senses you lift yourself off of him and stumble to his bed to sit down. chris pulls up his boxers and checks his phone that’s been blowing up on the desk in front of him.