bot1e4ter

[bot1e4ter]

Words can't describe how happy I am to see the Obey Me! fandom alive again >o<

Seeing that arrow near the tag got me giggling and jumping in joy!! After... what? Two years of absolutely NOTHING except merch, they slid in and decided to introduce us to the new app. ABSQAUSHJA I just hope Solmare doesn't nuke this new app though, it would suck :')

I saw that ring Karasu was holding, and it gave me a few ideas. I was thinking of writing small fanfics/headcanons about the brothers' married life with MC? Me not so sure :p

[bot1e4ter]

shy girls suck the best!

fratjo x nerd!reader, fluff & smut, m receiving, overstimulation, whimpering toru. 3.5k wc, 18+ only, MDNI.

satoru gojo is experienced.

he’s cocky for a reason. he’s made girls scream his name more times than he can count, and he knows exactly how to make someone fold in under five minutes—ten if he’s playing nice. he’s all confidence, charm, and unearned a’s from professors who don’t want to deal with his antics. his reputation precedes him in every room, and he walks like the world’s already bent over backwards just to please him.

everything about him screams untouchable, and he’s used to people treating him that way. he wears his varsity jacket like armor, a walking billboard of fratboy glory, all swagger and smirks and lazy confidence that makes people gravitate toward him like he’s got his own gravity field.

but then there’s you.

the shy girl in glasses, always scribbling in your notebook with an absurdly cute pen, whispering apologies when you bump into people, hiding in the back row of class like you owe the world an explanation just for existing. you don’t talk unless spoken to, don’t make eye contact, and definitely don’t give satoru the attention he’s used to. it’s not that you’re cold—it’s that you seem like you live in your own quiet little world, and satoru’s never wanted to be invited somewhere so badly.

and maybe what undoes him first is that he sees you before you see him. you’re already there, present in the corners of his attention before he understands why he’s looking. he notices you one day during lecture, tucking your hair behind your ear as you underline a sentence three times with an intense little frown. it doesn’t seem like much. but something in him clicks.

at first it’s curiosity. then amusement. then it festers into irritation—because why the fuck aren’t you reacting to him like everyone else?—and then fascination. and then something deeper that coils in his chest and makes his throat tight every time he sees you. he tries not to care. he wants not to care. but you’re already rooting yourself in places inside him he didn’t know were hollow.

satoru notices you because you don’t notice him. not the way everyone else does. you don’t flutter your lashes when he smirks. you don’t laugh at his jokes like they’re scripture. you don’t even flinch when he calls you “baby” out of nowhere—just blink at him like he’s an equation you don’t understand. it bruises his ego. and for some unholy reason, he loves it.

the problem is, you’re not immune to him at all. you’re just hiding it better than anyone ever has.

because what he doesn’t know is—you’ve always had a crush on him. from the very first time he walked into class, sleepy-eyed and bright-smiled, wearing that damn jacket like it belonged on a movie screen. you just figured he’d never notice someone like you. so you admired from afar. watched him flirt with others, watched the way he filled a room with laughter, memorized the cadence of his voice like it was part of your playlist.

your crush was harmless. private. something you never expected to act on. you played it safe. after all, guys like satoru gojo don’t fall for quiet girls with awkward posture and color-coded notes.

but maybe that’s what draws him in—the absence of performance. the quiet genuine way you exist. no theatrics. no games. just you, completely unaware that you’ve started haunting his every thought.

it starts small.

he catches himself watching the way your hands move. the way your nose scrunches when you’re deep in thought. the way you roll your pen between your fingers when you're anxious. it becomes a loop, a soft little addiction. he remembers details he shouldn’t. what color post-its you use. your preferred snack during study sessions. your favorite seat in the library. you don’t change. he just tunes in.

and then, one day, he realizes he’s rearranging his life around yours.

he starts showing up everywhere you are. loiters in the library, conveniently always around during your shifts at the campus café, makes excuses to sit next to you in class. offers to carry your books, asks you about calculus even though he already passed it. satoru gojo, golden boy of his frat, reducing himself to extra tutoring just to see you smile. it’s humiliating in theory, but it feels like worship in practice.

and it’s not just your smile. it’s the way you get passionate when you talk about obscure theories. the way you light up when you don’t think anyone’s watching. the way you stammer when he gets too close, but don’t pull away.

you don’t feed his ego. you feed something softer. quieter. something he didn’t think he had in him. he tells himself it’s because you’re innocent. because you’re shy and sweet and you deserve to be treated right.

he wants to be good for you. slow, patient, gentle. he holds doors open. he listens. he lets you rant about your thesis for forty-five uninterrupted minutes and actually understands it. he even looks up the books you reference, reads them just to impress you. he takes an annotated copy of your favorite book. he starts writing your name in the corners of his notebook like some love-struck high schooler. you haunt him in the best way.

and then—you kiss him.

it’s after a late-night study session. the campus is quiet. the lights in the library flicker like they’re caught between timelines. your voice shakes when you say “thank you for walking me back.” you pause, fidget with the strap of your bag. and then, like you’ve been gearing up for battle, you rise onto your toes and kiss him.

it’s chaste. hesitant. warm. like you're afraid he'll vanish if you lean in too much.

you pull back like you’ve done something wrong, but satoru’s frozen, staring at you like he’s just been baptized. you’re blushing so hard he can feel the heat radiating off your skin.

“you… sure?” he whispers, voice ragged, leaning in like he’s afraid you’ll disappear.

you nod, barely audible: “i’ve read… a lot. i think… i wanna try. with you.”

and he short circuits.

he thought he’d lead. thought he’d ease you into it, kiss your forehead, hold your hand like a gentleman. but then your hands are on his chest, pushing up under his shirt—the varsity jacket creaking as it shifts on his shoulders, the cotton brushing your fingertips. your eyes are searching his like you’re looking for confirmation that he’s real. you study every reaction like a research project. when he shivers, you smile, barely-there, and go back to tracing the line of his abs with trembling fingertips.

it’s not even mischief.

it’s curiosity. slow-burning, chest-aching, and barely held together by your own hesitation. the sort of yearning that tastes like nervous giggles and the edge of something terrifyingly new. you pause between touches like you're checking your hypothesis, calculating the way his muscles tense under your fingers. each brush of your skin feels like a question he's too dazed to answer properly.

“does that… feel good?” you whisper, lips barely moving, as though you’re scared to break the spell.

“f-fuck—yes, baby, yeah,” he gasps, throwing his head back, one hand clutching the edge of the couch like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded.

your lips trail down his throat, each kiss a trembling prayer, following a path only you can see. his skin is fever-hot, tasting of mint and salt, boyish charm unraveling under your mouth. when you press a soft, open-mouthed kiss to his collarbone, his pulse jumps, a twitch rippling beneath your lips. his breath catches, a sharp stutter that makes his chest lurch, and his hands hover, fingers flexing like he’s afraid touching you will break the spell.

satoru gojo—fratboy, golden boy, untouchable—is quiet. too quiet. his eyes are hazy, pupils wide and unfocused, lips parted like words have abandoned him. his varsity jacket is bunched at his elbows, leather creaking, shirt rucked up to his ribs, abs clenching under your trembling fingers. he could take charge, flip this with a smirk—he’s done it countless times, effortless and expert. but now? he just watches, reverent, like you’re a deity he’s too awestruck to approach.

he’s known mouths. polished ones with perfect rhythm, greedy ones that took without giving, bold ones that knew every angle. but yours? it’s hesitant, new, like you’re crossing a threshold you’re not sure you’re worthy of. the way you look at him—eyes flickering behind slipping glasses, wide with awe—shouldn’t hit this hard. shouldn’t feel this fucking intense. but your fingers, shaking as they tug at his waistband, send a jolt through him that makes his vision spark.

satoru’s hand grazes your cheek, a trembling brush of knuckles. “baby… keep going. please.”

you nod, glasses sliding, your breath hitching as your fingers slip under his jeans, easing them down. your eyes flick up, catching his—flushed, jaw tight, his whole body fighting to stay still. it hits you like a blade: he’s done this a thousand times, fucked girls who knew every trick, but you’ve got him like this. trembling. aching. satoru gojo, invincible, unraveling because of you.

guilt stabs your chest, sharp and fleeting. you shouldn’t have him like this, shouldn’t be the reason his hands clutch the couch like it’s his only anchor. he’s always cocky, untouchable, the center of every orbit. now he’s breaking, and it’s your fault—your lips, your touch, your fault. but the guilt only fans the heat in your core, makes your thighs press together as you lean closer, your breath ghosting over his skin.

satoru is used to being wanted. but not like this. not with this aching, earnest hunger that makes his chest tighten.

you press shaky, open-mouthed kisses to his hip, tongue flicking out to taste the salt of his skin. spit gathers at the corner of your mouth, a slick trail left behind as you suck softly at the sensitive skin just above his cock. he jolts, hips jerking before he catches himself, a low curse slipping free, his hands clenching until his knuckles bleach. the sound he makes—fuck, it’s a choked gasp, raw and ragged, like you’ve torn it from his core.

you shift lower, hands sliding up his thighs, fingers digging into the taut muscle. your kisses grow bolder, sloppier, your tongue dragging along the crease where his thigh meets his groin, leaving a glistening streak of drool that catches the dim light.

he tastes like heat and need, and the way his skin trembles under your mouth makes your own pulse hammer. you pause, lips hovering over his cock, spit pooling on your tongue, and glance up—his head is thrown back, throat bobbing as he swallows, a groan clawing its way out of him.

“holy shit—baby, you—fuck,” satoru gasps, eyes snapping open, blown wide as his hand grips the couch, fabric groaning under his fist.

you take him in your mouth, lips wrapping around the tip, soft and slick with spit that drips down his length. your tongue swirls, slow and deliberate, tracing the ridge as drool spills from the corners of your mouth, coating him in a wet sheen.

he’s hot, heavy against your tongue, and you hum—a low, vibrating sound that pulls a whimper from his throat. your fingers curl around the base, stroking in time with the bob of your head, slick with the spit that pools at his base, making your grip slippery. you suck, gentle at first, then harder, lips stretching around him as spit slicks your chin, a glistening trail dripping onto his thighs.

he’s panting, desperate, each breath a ragged plea. his abs flex, thighs trembling under your palms, and he’s biting back whimpers, trying not to overwhelm you. that restraint—fuck, it’s gorgeous, the way his jaw clenches, the way his eyes flutter shut like he’s fighting to stay grounded. he doesn’t push, doesn’t guide, just moans your name like it’s a prayer, raw and broken. “that’s it, baby—fuck—just like that—your mouth’s so fucking perfect—”

the satoru gojo is unraveling, and it’s because of you. the way you glance up, glasses fogging, eyes glassy with effort, lips shiny and stretched around him, spit dripping down your chin in messy strings. the way your tongue flicks, catching the sensitive spot under the head, makes his hips buck, a choked sob escaping.

your hand slides lower, fingers brushing his balls, tentative but deliberate, slick with the drool that’s pooled at his base. you cup them, rolling gently, and his whole body seizes, a string of curses spilling out as his hand fists the couch tighter, the fabric creaking under the strain.

he’s had every fantasy, every trick, but this—your mouth, slow and reverent, full of wonder, messy with spit that coats him like a second skin—hits like a fucking freight train. it’s too much, too good. he wants to last, to let you explore, but you’re too fucking intent.

you hollow your cheeks, sucking harder, tongue swirling in tight, wet circles, spit bubbling at the corners of your mouth as you take him deeper, throat tightening around him. he chokes, hips jerking as his control frays. “gonna—baby, gonna cum, wait, fuck—”

you don’t stop. your lips slide further, tongue flattening, taking him as deep as you can. it’s filthy—spit drips down your chin in thick strings, pooling on his thighs, your glasses fogging as breaths puff through your nose. you’re focused, watching his every twitch, adjusting when he gasps, slowing when he whimpers, like you’re mapping him.

his hand grips the couch, knuckles white, and he breaks with a sound that’s barely human—a shattered cry as he spills, hot and pulsing against your tongue.

you try to swallow it all, but it’s overwhelming—cum mixes with the spit already coating your lips, spilling past them in a slick, messy rush, dripping down your chin, onto his thighs, and pooling on the couch. you pull back, gasping, wiping your mouth with trembling fingers, but the slickness clings, smearing across your skin as your eyes stay wide behind crooked glasses. he’s trembling, chest heaving, shirt clinging to sweat-slick skin, pupils blown like he’s seen the divine.

you should stop.

you fucking should.

he’s wrecked, twitching, fucked out beyond reason. but the ache in your chest—the sharp, flickering guilt of breaking him—only makes you hungrier. you lick your lips, tasting the salty mix of him, and your thighs press together, a soft whimper escaping as you lean in again, spit still clinging to your chin.

“just once more?” you whisper, voice barely audible, like you’re afraid the words will burn you.

his eyes flutter open, unfocused, dazed. he groans, raw and low. “baby… you’re gonna fucking kill me.”

but he doesn’t stop you. doesn’t even try.

you start again, slower, your mouth softer but hungrier, lips wrapping around him with a reverence that makes him twitch instantly. he’s sensitive, still pulsing, and the second your tongue grazes him, he whines—a high, broken sound that makes your stomach twist. you suck lightly, lips gliding along his length, spit pooling at the base and dripping onto his thighs in slow, glistening trails. 

satoru buries his face in a cushion, muffling a sob. “s-sensitive—fuck, it’s too much—”

his thighs tremble under your hands, hips jerking as you kiss the tip, tongue darting out to lap at the bead of cum still leaking from him, your spit mixing with it in a slick, glossy sheen. you linger, savoring the taste, the way it coats your tongue in a sticky film, and he whimpers again, louder, his hand flying to his mouth to bite his knuckles.

your fingers slide to his balls again, rolling them gently, slick with the drool and cum that’s dripped down, making your touch slippery and warm. he arches, a desperate, “please—fuck—please—” spilling from his lips like he’s begging for mercy but craving more.

you don’t rush. your tongue traces every inch, slow and deliberate, swirling around the head before dipping lower, dragging along the vein with a wet, sloppy kiss that leaves a trail of spit in its wake. your breath is hot, teasing, each exhale making him twitch, and you pause to suck at the base, lips lingering as your tongue flicks out, tasting the musk of him through the sticky mess. his hand finds your hair, fingers threading loosely, not pushing, just holding—like he needs to feel you’re real.

you grow bolder, hungrier, your lips tightening as you take him deeper, throat fluttering around him, spit bubbling up and spilling over, coating his cock in a thick, glossy layer. you hum, low and vibrating, and he chokes, a wet, pathetic whimper breaking free.

your hand strokes the base, slick with spit and cum, fingers sliding in the mess, and you slide a finger lower, brushing the sensitive skin behind his balls, now slippery with the drool that’s dripped down. he jolts, a high, keening sound tearing from his throat, his hips bucking as his whole body trembles.

“baby—god—please—fuck, i can’t—” satoru’s voice cracks, raw and whining, as you suck harder, tongue swirling in relentless, wet circles, spit and cum mixing in a frothy mess that drips onto the couch. every noise is desperate—gasps, whimpers, sobs that he tries to muffle but can’t. his body arches, twitching like he’s unraveling at the seams, and you feel it: the moment he breaks again.

he cums with a wail, sudden and violent, hips jerking as he spills into your mouth. it’s messier, hotter, a flood of cum and spit that overwhelms you, spilling out in thick, sticky ropes that coat your lips, your chin, your glasses, dripping onto his thighs and pooling in the creases of his skin.

you swallow what you can, lips still wrapped around him, tongue lapping at the oversensitive tip through the slick mess until he’s twitching, a broken, “n-no more—please—” escaping as he clutches the cushion.

time slips. minutes? hours? you’re tugging his shirt, pulling him closer like he’s the only thing keeping you grounded. ten minutes later, he’s gripping the sheets, praying, fucked senseless by every move you make. you flinch when he whines too loud, hands flying to your mouth, eyes wide with guilt—but then you lean in again, bolder, hungrier, chasing every twitch, every broken gasp of your name.

he’s never felt so cherished and so destroyed at the same time.

every touch is careful, but determined. you’re hesitant but thorough, like you’ve read the same passage in a smutty fanfiction a hundred times and are finally getting the chance to test it out. and the worst part? you’re good at it. really good.

your mouth, your hands, the way you watch his face for every twitch of pleasure—it’s enough to make him lose all sense of pride. the way you keep glancing at his reactions, as if adjusting your technique in real time, is insane. terrifying. he’s never been studied so hard. he likes it. he needs it. he’s suffering in the best way.

he’s never had to hold back like this. never had to breathe through it. never felt this fucking sensitive. he’s gripping the cushions like a man possessed. he’s whispering your name like a prayer. he’s not even sure he’s still speaking coherent sentences. you’ve wrecked him. utterly and entirely.

you pull back, panting, your hands shaking as you adjust your glasses, eyes glassy and wide. your lips are swollen, chin wet with a glistening mix of spit and cum, and you lick them, tasting him again, a soft moan slipping free as your thighs press together.

satoru is ruined—sprawled on the couch, shirt clinging to his chest, chest heaving like he’s fought a war. his hand is still in your hair, loose, trembling, and he’s staring at you like you’re a fucking goddess.

“thought you were the innocent one,” he chokes out, breathless, watching you nibble your lip and adjust your glasses with shaking fingers.

“i still am,” you murmur, face tucked into his shoulder. “kind of.”

he huffs out a laugh, dazed and wrecked. he can feel your heartbeat against his ribs. he doesn’t want to move. his hands are still trembling from how hard he tried to keep it together for you—and yet, you’re the one who took the lead. you’re the one who made him forget how to function. you kiss the edge of his jaw, soft and uncertain, and it undoes him more than anything else.

satoru gojo, campus heartthrob, ruined by a shy nerd girl who reads too much smut on her kindle late at night under the covers. who probably has a secret ao3 account and bookmarked folders. who looks like a timid schoolgirl but fucks like she’s been studying him like a midterm exam. and passed with extra credit. honors. valedictorian. summa cum laude of making him lose his damn mind.

he’s never been so obsessed.

and you? you’re already pressing your forehead to his chest, voice small, eyes wide with want and something raw and messy and needy as you look up at him.

“can we… try again? i think i missed a step.”

he doesn’t know if he wants to laugh, cry, or propose.

he’s never been more in love. and all he knows is he’s done for.

[bot1e4ter]

Hot Nerd Summer - G.S.

Synopsis. The best way to beat your tall, nerdy, hot academic rival during finals? Fúck him!

Pairing. Gojo x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem!reader, nerd!Gojo, academic-rivals-to-Iovers, first times (Gojo), unprotected, hándjobs, semi-public (library), exhíbitíonism, he goes FÉRAL, coming back for more, slight switch!Gojo, face-sítting (fem rec.), 69, PÚSSYDRÚNK Gojo, size kínk, he’s BIG, rough s, running from it, creampíes, making him cúm dry, cúmplay, toys, punk!Geto cameo, pet names, swéaring.

Word count. 11.2k

A/N. Happy Vesak to anyone that celebrates!!

“That jerkwad got 0.4% higher than me again, Suguru.” You’re fighting the urge to wallow your face on top of the café’s cluttered table, instead shaking a weary Geto Suguru by his broad shoulders. “Again! I’ll never make the top of Yaga’s Dean’s List now.”

Geto wonders whether this would be a good time to slip away- no. He shudders, thinking about the way said ‘jerkwad’ was probably skulking around, looking to lament about the very same thing. 

Honestly, if this was a romcom it would be almost cute. Almost. 

“Gojo’s just too- too smart.” You’re rubbing your aching temples, as if the words pained you to utter. “And infuriating, of course. And cocky and a try-hard and-”

“Honestly, you two should just duke things out in the bedroom.” He takes a looong sip of his milkshake, letting the silence drag on as you gape. 

“Suguru that’s…” Bracing himself for yet another monologue on your supposed rival. Damn valedictorians- finals season was getting to you. “-that’s genius.”

He frowns. 

Okay, finals season was really getting to you. 

Taking a confused second to check his drink - strawberry milkshake, low sugar, as usual - he concludes that he definitely wasn’t spiked in any way and was definitely hearing you wrong. Of course, an understandable mistake. And so he’s clearing his gruff throat, “…what the fuck?”

Your long-time friend watches from across the table as you nod your head, a satisfied sort of smile plastering across your face - the very same one you often bore whenever you beat Gojo on a test, or a quiz, or a group project. 

Or anything, really.

“That’s exactly it- I should fuck him.”

Yeah, he sets down the cup he was holding, he was definitely spiked. Or, maybe he was dead and this was his own personal hell.

“Ooookay, that’s enough all-nighters.” Geto’s plastering one of his ringed hands across your forehead, searching for a high temperature. “How about we get you to Shoko for some examination-”

“No no, listen.”

“I’m scared.”

Swatting away his well-meaning palms, you’re leaning towards him, so close that your lips waft the silver piercings decorating his ear. “If I fuck him—” Geto shivers, one of his ripped arms settling on top of the table in conspiring unison. “-he won’t have time to study. And if he doesn’t have time to study…”

The snake bites lining his rosy lips glint as they formulate a smirk, sleazy. “Oh, you dirty girl.”

DING-DING–!

And it’s as if the universe was having a good laugh at your expense. 

Because right at that very moment, the cute lil’ bell on top of the café doorway sings as it swings open - and with it, ducks inside Gojo Satoru. 

In all his refined, cranky glory - wiry-framed glasses nestled high on his nosebridge, strong, sweater-covered arms straining with the weight of damn near half the library stacked in a column, snowy bangs doing very little to hide the withering glare he was immediately firing your way.

The spitting image of the other valedictorian you’d been fighting both tooth and nail against since the start of freshman year. 

You remember how it all started like it was just yesterday; you’d been sitting eagerly at the very front row of Professor Gakuganji’s lecture hall. Your sheer buzzing energy only matched by the white-haired boy seated next to you - perhaps a kindred spirit, maybe you’d even become friends, you naively thought.

That is, until Gakuganji had asked for a volunteer to start off ice-breakers that the both of you had shot up in your seat. Racing to be first. 

Faces snapping to each other in shock, mouths tightening. An invisible war - which had, very famously, turned into a palpable war over the last few semesters. One that you’re sure nearly every student on campus had heard about (and bet on, you remember Shoko tittering about some betting pool.)

It didn’t help that you two had practically the same classes each year - and it really didn’t help that Gojo put all he had into one-upping you any time since that fateful meeting.  

Always clamoring out of his seat to answer questions first, always trailing after teachers if he caught you sucking up to them, too, always checking out the same books after you did.

Hell, at one point you’d been convinced that he genuinely lived in the library.

“You’re staring~” Geto sing-songs, resting his grinning face on one hand as he watches the bee-line of your eyesight. 

“Ugh- I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Flashing, cerulean eyes narrow as you rip your own gaze away, and Gojo’s sauntering over to a cosy seat near the back with an audible ‘hmpf!’ 

Bastard- that was your second-favorite seat. You should sit there next time…

“Look at him.” You’re spitting, feeling only slightly ridiculous at the raw vitriol in that sentence until Gojo physically turns around in his chair to flip you off. Haughtily, he swivels back to shift through his countless textbooks, surely studying for the upcoming final exam in a few days. “Bet he cuddles those books to sleep and that’s how he beat me today.”

Rays of sunlight dappling his pale hair, the straps of his backpack make his shoulder muscles ripple. For a nerd, he sure did take care to make everyone on campus secretly swoon.

…except for you, of course. 

Crossing your arms, you roll your eyes - more to tear them away from the way that Gojo’s glasses made his eyes twinkle in the daytime.

“Not for long. Mark my words, Suguru, I’ll fuck him-” Murmuring, you pointedly ignore the gawking looks from the customers surrounding your table. “-I’ll fuck his brains out.”

Eyelids twitching slightly, Geto makes sure to graciously bow his head in an apology towards the older lady seated at the beside you two - clutching her chest as if she was about to have a cardiac arrest. “And you realize that by fucking him…he fucks you, too?”

“Oh.” Honestly, for someone so smart you could be so stupid sometimes. You ignore the heat that runs through your veins at the notion, and stuff your face into your long-cold coffee. Sputtering, “I-It’ll be fine.”

Famous last words. 

.

.

.

“A-are you following me or just obsessed?”

“Nothing to be obsessed about here.”

“Then why are you following-”

“Maybe you’re following me, bast- I mean, Gojo.”

BANG!

And Gojo really should’ve been worried about ruining his squeaky-clean record with the campus librarian, slamming a few thickset books down on his usual studying spot was very unlike her model helper, of course. 

But right now he couldn’t bring himself to care. 

Not when you - campus princess, top pick for valedictorian, pain-in-his-ass - were face-to-face with him and standing the closest you ever had amidst that time you’d sat together on your first day. 

And calling him by his name.

Jaw clenched, he steps towards his familiar chair by the shadowed corner - and you do, too.

Long legs maneuvering to claim his seat - and you do, too, right next to him.

Pushing his glasses-clad face into the first textbook he picks up, he doesn’t even notice that it’s upside down - not until you’re tapping your finger on the gilded corner of it and Gojo flinches. “You’re reading that the wrong way, y’know?”

“…it’s a form of studying.”

“I’m sure.”

“And- and what are you doing? Miss valedictorian has given up on being valedictorian so she’s here to bother me?” He seethes, finally taking a good look at you since you’d randomly ambushed him on his daily trip to the library. Tracking him around like a lost puppy and oh- oh, Gojo almost regrets it.

Because he might wear glasses, but he wasn’t blind.

Fuck, did you really have to wear a cutesy top so low-cut? And a skirt so tight, he hated how your thighs were so pretty - ones he’d only seen in his imagination- nightmares. His nightmares, for sure. 

It’s no wonder that half the student body in your department would kill to be in this position, and the other half would kill him for daring to sit his gloomy, unpopular self next to you.

Gojo gulps as he inadvertently memorizes the lacy black shade of your bra strap, barely catching onto your humming response. 

“Studying.” You casually raise your own book, something related to the content covered on the test tomorrow, surely. 

“B-but- here-”

“And here I was under the impression that the library was public to all.” You’re cutting off his rambling by creeping an inch forwards. So close that you’re wafted with a cloud of his homey, ink n’ vanilla scent. Purring, “Is it not?”

“No! I know you- you just wanna steal my super secret Satoru studying tips.” He points at you, accusatorial. 

Scoffing- why did you want to subject yourself to this nonsense again? Oh, right, that coveted spot at the forefront of Yaga’s Dean’s List, that’s why. “‘Studying tips’ my ass, you’re just scared I’ll beat you on the exam tomorrow.”

“You couldn’t beat me if Yaga stripped naked and danced with the answers in front of you.”

“Hmm–” You pretend to take down notes, “So is that what you think about before a final?”

“N-no- even if I did, I wouldn’t tell you.”

Raising a brow, “Right…” And by the way that Gojo trembled at your tone of voice, shifting his glasses higher into his unruly bangs, you knew you had him in the palm of your hand. “Because you’re scared.”

“Am not.”

“Am too.”

“Am not-”

“Am too. It’s alright, scaredy-cat-” You’re making a big show of letting the library chair screeeech against the polished hardwood floors as you stand up, fingers itching for your bag. “-I’ll just take my leave then, since you’re so sca-”

“Sit.”

And it wasn’t a plea, it wasn’t even a request.

Gojo had his warm, engulfing palm surrounding your wrist and all but dragging you back to sit back down with an unceremonious plop! 

Hard and rough. 

Before you’d even registered it - before you’d finished blinking - in an instant, he was back to his normally grouchy self. Grimacing face darted back between his pages, hulking body hunched low as he washed himself of the memory of your (unfairly) pretty self seated right next to him. 

This was all a bad dream, he repeated to himself, as if a mantra. But then why was he feeling so…hot? Maybe this was one of those annoying side quests in video games- if he doesn’t interact, he won’t react. 

Yeah, that sounded about right. He just won’t interact.

He will not–

“Your pen’s too loud.”

“Your breathing’s too loud.” 

“So you want me to die-”

“Yes, please.” You’re sniping back on autopilot, your exceptionally silent pen scribbling along one of your flashcards. This really wasn’t how you saw your masterplan going - but it was too late to back out now. If there was anything that was revealed during this lengthy rivalry, it was that you weren’t a quitter. Huffing, “Do you always talk so much when you study?”

“Oh- I’m sorry, princess, want me to kiss your feet while I’m at it?”

“Didn’t think you were one for a foot fetish.”

“H-huh? No! What are you-” 

And that slight waver in his voice makes you pause- it makes you snap your head up, just in time to catch the scorching red blush breezing down the back of Gojo’s neck. Visibly peeking through the edge of his creamy vest even as he buries his face into his upside-down book. 

“Awww- what’s that?” Snickering, you take your chance to nudge your chair closer to his. Teasing. Until thighs met shaky thighs, shoulders bumped sculptured shoulders, and your syrupy breath made the tips of his ears flush. Voice low, “Can’t handle a lil’ sex talk, Satoru?”

Saying his first name- fuck!

He’s slamming his left arm where the heat of your sighs had burned his sensitive earlobe, grumpy baritone cracking– “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Are you a virgin?” You blink, your scheme giving way to genuine curiosity. 

The way that Gojo’s mouth gapes is more than enough of an answer to you. Glasses slipping down his clammy skin, meaty legs shivering as you experimentally brush your palm to feel the flex of his outer thigh. He was…chiseled. 

Blinking, “Really? Not even a handjob?”

And fuck- were you glad that he’d chosen a slightly distant corner of the library. 

Because your hands might be rovering sensually underneath the table, but the tightness in Gojo’s slacks was obvious. 

And it’s not that you spent a lot of time thinking about how big your mortal enemy might be underneath all his formal, upright outfits - but you just didn’t think he’d be this staggering. Perhaps average, at best. 

But one slight glimpse through your peripheral vision left your greedy mouth parting - he was long. So, so long from the end of his body to way past halfway down his thick thigh. 

And so massively girthy that you’re half-counting each jolting throb from the edges of your eyesight. 

Your mouth waters something slick at the primal heat radiating from between his legs. Trying your very hardest not to let your jaw drop as your pupils dare to snake down, down, down—

“Wanna change that?” The words spill out of your mouth before you can even think of stopping them- and Gojo looks ruined at the very idea.

Eyes glittering, cherry-pink lips falling into a soft oh! “Wh-what are you…”

You hesitate, this was Gojo after all. And you might feel your panties getting damper by the minute but he… Finger balling into a fist as you start to pull away, “Want me to stop-”

“Backing out, miss valedictorian?” 

Fuck- it happens like a flash of lightining. 

In a nanosecond you’re thinking you should pull away, and the next Gojo has his slender fingers gripping your wrist. Tugging your palm to creep right down the bulging cylindrical length twitching between his legs as if you were weightless. 

He was desperate. He was shifting, lurching his hips up off the rickety chair completely so that your soft fingers brush further down his fat, weeping clothed cock. 

An uncharacteristically dark drawl seeping into his voice, “Couldn’t score on the exam and now you can’t score- ngh.”

But, of course, this Gojo Satoru was all talk - his spit-glossed lips wobbling with a whimper the very moment you slip your hands to skim the hem of his pants. 

Pop. 

There goes one of his polished buttons, all sensible. Anything but the way that Gojo’s sexily slouching his toned body into the library desk, a heady gasp departing his lips. “Finish what you- hah! started.”

Pop. 

And you knew that those dexterous digits of his could easily wander down his complicated buttons- but right now Gojo was fumbling. 

He was gnawing on the bubblegum insides of his cheek and keening as he struggled to remove his trousers. 

Pop.

Pop! 

One of the silvery buttons end up clattering down on the wooden floors. Finally - finally - freeing his aching, bloated cock. 

And you’re not just seeing it first - you’re hearing it. The very crown of his reddened tip hitting halfway up his cotton vest with a wettened splat! Eyeing the darkening patch of cloth with a gulp.

Gojo’s long lashes flap— hissing at the strike of cold air where he was most sensitive. “Wh-who’s the scaredy-cat now?”

But how could you not be spellbound?

Mentally, you’re counting nine - maybe even near ten - entire inches of his thick, vein-covered shaft. 

The mushroomed edge of his cockhead blushing the prettiest shade of strawberry pink, and he was just as needily swollen. Spraying out a few glistening trails of pre that puddle up cutely near the curly tufts of white lining his v-line. He was just aching for your touch.

Ruining. 

Jolting like he was zapped with a thousand bolts of electricity the moment your thumb smears the pearly bubble of precum that’d started to leak out of him. Breathless, “Who’s a scaredy-cat?”

“You-hngh!” He’s gritting down on his lower lip as a groan erupts from his throat, teary eyelids wrenching shut at the blissful sensation.

Your hand was so soft- so heavenly. 

Just the slightest trace of your fingerpads gliding down Gojo’s puffy pink veins sends him heaving, the heated figure of his body leaning into your touch. “W-wait-” He spits out through snarling pearly whites as the length of your fingers squeezes the fattened base of his cock sensually. “Fuh-fuck! What the fuck- s-sexual pleasure. Shared sexual pleasure feels like this?”

Just lightly pumping up to press the mountains of your palm into his tender underside. Gojo was so rock-hard that your skin’s memorizing every zig-zagging line of his pulsing veins. “Hmm–?”

“This- how-” Azure eyes pleading up at you, “Hck! How-”

And you’re unsure whether he was babbling at the simplest drag of your hand or yearning for actual responses - but you never did leave a question unanswered. “Mmm– yeah? Like it, Satoru?”

“L-lov-” That little confession almost dribbles from his lips just from the way you’re cooing his first name. Ethereal ivory strands plastering to his forehead as he hastily shakes the thought free, voice breaking. In disbelief. 

He’s tugging his slightly-fogged glasses up his nosebridge, “How does it feel like this- why- fuuuuck– should be…illegal.”

You’re fighting back a moan yourself, the dainty ends of your fingernails fluttering all the way from his drenched happy trail up, up, up, up to kiss his coral-pink slit. 

Glittering a webbed wad of pre that drips down to your wrist as you’re caressing his sensitive outline. Just loooong, lazy traces that feel so good he’s sweating bullets from the sides of his temples. 

“The arteries on the dorsal- Don’t stop–”

“So bossy.”

Gojo finds himself jerking impatiently. He finds himself flinching when you choose that very moment to lean your puckered lips over and plant a wet smack! of spit right down his bulbous, bulging tip. Starting up a sultry pace, “Think I like you better when you’re hah- like this, Satoru.”

“Shut up- fuck- mmm, right there-”

With two palms white-knuckled on the chair’s armrests, he’s stooping his muddled head over and rutting- animalistically. Milking himself on every drag of your plush hands, “Please- please.”

Oh, you really liked it when he begged. 

And you’re pacing your hand even slower, squeezing the pointed globe of his ruby-red tip with a resounding squeeelch! “H-haaaah! There? There? I-if you touch me there…”

“Say that for me again- that ‘pretty please.’” When he can only lower his head deeper and wetly mumble- “Again- oh.”

You shouldn’t have underestimated him - you really shouldn’t have underestimated him. 

Because the moment your wrist strains with the warning signs of slowing your tempo even more- Gojo’s snaps his right hand to hold your hand still and thrusts. 

The weeping thickness of his cocktip mazes between your fingers like a searchlight, he’s fountaining out a warm ribbon of pre that froths down your hand once his long length emerges. 

“F-for the distal end of the glans, the primary source of sexual pleasure- your hand’s fucking h-heaven…oh.” He’s letting rip a guttural grunt, the muscles on his neck ticking. Half-lidded, drunken eyes circling around dizzily until they finally fall upon your shocked oh! face. “Too bad I c-can’t say the same for your mouth-”

“Hey!” 

And you would’ve said something further - you should’ve. You were trying to, yet that very moment Gojo fucks his slenderly toned hips up in such a hard thrust that it makes your pinky nearly bruise at the thwack! of his heavy balls hitting yours. 

He was so fucking hard that the spank of his sagged balls make your skin sting, oh-so-tight that it leaves him standing uprightly erect even when you’re cupping his hilt. 

“Nghhhh f-fuck. Yeah- yeahhh take it- take it just like that, princess.” Gojo’s voice drops into a carnal growl as he’s hooding his eyes over and staring right at where he was using your hand. The thickened digits of his fingers squeezing your own righter ‘round the gummy tip, looser to pound his base. “No one’s ever touched me like this.”

Your hands were so much smaller than his own - than his cock, too.

Damn near dwarfing your touch, he’s throbbing his girth so much fucking fatter that every jolt makes your own wrist shiver with intensity. Faster. 

A few speckles of syrupy drool dribbling down the side of his curling lips, “Should’ve told me if- haaah-” And just then, you’re fingering your thumb to tease the flared ridge of his mushroom crownhead. Making Gojo shudder his pecs and droop his face to mouth down your neck. 

Red hot. Your poor nerdy rival was blushing so hard that wherever he made contact with your throat made your flesh sizzle. “-if this was what you wanted s-so badly—”

“Fuck, Satoru-”

“You guys?!” 

The sudden interruption of an upbeat voice is so abrupt that Gojo can’t do anything less incriminating than pushin’ his moaning, twisting face further into the crook of your neck. Hips subtly shifting on the chair to hide your sinfulness from view, it makes the pads of your fingers snag on one of Gojo’s prominent lightning bolted veins- and leaves him biting down on your throat to muddle a whimper. 

“H-Haibara?” Your voice breaks once you’re lifting your head to stare up at the beaming smile of your fellow classmate. “What umm– brings you here?”

Innocently oblivious to the mess Gojo was drooling from the orifice at his cock as your pace gets sloppier. Faster. You’re coughing lightly to mask the repeated fwop! emanating when the back of your fisted hand hits the front of his toned pelvis. 

“Same as you, of course.” Your audience replies, enunciating his point with a nod towards the papers and textbooks scattered about you two. Clapping his hands, “How wonderful it is to see the two of you studying together- I always did tell Kento you two would end up friends.”

And of course it wasn’t abnormal for Gojo Satoru to ignore anyone and everyone except his books. 

Of course it wasn’t strange- but Haibara sweetly asks, anyway. Tone dripping in concern, “Is he alright, though?”

Gojo’s bucking up to your touch when he’s addressed, one that he’s masking as a flinch. Using that as lewd leverage to squeeze and squeeze the delicate line of his tip, up n’ down. 

Forcing out a slight chuckle, “O-oh, he’s alright. Just resting.” Pointedly pumping your wrist until it was aching, all the way from the bloated bottom of his cock to thumb up his dripping crownhead that Gojo has to mask with shivers. Sneakily, you chance a grope of your free hand to tenderly squeeze his achy balls. “He can’t keep up with my…flashcards, y’know how it is.”

Haibara nods, “Right of course, of course- it’s so sweet how supportive the two of you are with each other’s studies.”

And underneath his panting, cloudy breath, you’re making out Gojo scoffing. The frigid rim of his glasses cratering against the pulse on the side of your neck as he throb-throb-throbs in your hand. 

Twitching. Slobbering. Rutting- everything he could possibly do to milk his fat, swollen cock on your hands without anyone else here noticing. Punishingly, he sinks his honed canines into your skin— “C-cum- gonna–”

Urgently, your cadence turns nearly frantic. Furious, tugging pulls that leave the mahogany chair creaking with slight rickets. 

“Y-yeah– Satoru- deserves it. He’s been working so hard.” You breathe, unsure who it was for. 

But it makes the man melting at your touch hiss— the candy-pink divot homed right on the top of his barreling length so hot with slippery cobwebs of pre. Drooling out more. Jolting even more. Glasses sliding down. 

Your classmate only grins, “Awww–” Taking the slightest step closer and your warm hand tightens in panic. “You two would make the cutest couple!”

And that’s just about when Gojo cums–

Hot, hard. 

So, so heavy with the sheer volume of buttery, sappy white cum he was spilling into your lap. You fight to keep your smile from widening at the way his heated pink shaft drizzles with streaming streaks of seed that stains the skin of your outer thighs.

Gojo lets out a soft gasp of breath once he’s twitching his lusty cock to slap down on your flesh and chase the heat of your cunt. 

Right where he feels himself slip n’ slide across the slick outer sheen dampening from your core— right where he needed to fuck you. Just the darkened edge of his dilated pupil peeks out from the crook of your neck to stare at your audience dead-on. In front of him, if he had to.

And you could sense it, too.

Which is why you’re hastily waving off Haibara’s comment– “Ahh– well, it’s too soon for that.”

“You never know~” Casually scratching the back of his neck, not a thing was amiss in the way that Haibara’s perking up. “I should leave you two to it, then. And I have to tell Kento about this new development and I haven’t studied and-”

You don’t dare let your sigh of relief escape until after he’d walked away with an eager wave. 

Gojo himself was letting go of the area he’d been gnawing on your neck with a soppy pwah! Unsteadily lifting his head just to inch forwards and teeter-

Oh, he looked absolutely fucked-out. 

All heavily-lidded eyes that blinked slowly, and a mouth now shiny with a fresh coating of transparent spittle. Spectacles askew, hair rumpled, collar hauled to the side as if he was undressing himself. 

Greedy slobber bubbles up by the side of his flushed lips and trickles when he catches sight of your hands still wrapped around his softening cock. 

Not looking ‘round you two - not even caring if anyone sees, he’s gently lifting your dominant wrist over to hover near his gulping maw. “Made me make s-such a mess, princess.”

Your fingers trembly at the sheer scorching gusts of his humid breath, Gojo bores right into your eyes as he unfastens his jaw and lets his pinkish tongue liiiiick right up your cream-coated fingers. And the only thing hotter than his ropes of seed were the slimy edges of his tongue. 

Weaving between your pinky, takin’ extra care on your ring finger. 

Each and every one. One by one, he’s sapping down wet slurps with his mouth as he sucks on each glob of white decorating your digits like his favorite lollies. 

“W-we’re–” Gojo starts, his glittering lips still speckled with a bead of frosting. Of cum as he cleans you off. Dry Adam’s apple bobbing, “We’re never– hah.” Before strangling his words with a pained grunt and salivating the ridges of his tastebuds down your fingers in a final French kiss. 

Then another. And another. And another- like he couldn’t fucking get enough. 

And it viscerally ached him somewhere deeply primal inside to curl his rugged palm around your wrist and wrench himself away with a moistened pop! that resonates like music in the empty library air. 

Mouth curling as he pushes up his glasses for the nth time, “We’re never studying together again.”

Speechless, it’s just then that you’re noticing that- oh. Gojo Satoru has dimples. 

.

.

.

Gojo Satoru failed that test.

He totally, totally failed that test. 

Which wouldn’t have been as completely soul-crushing to watch his streak of constant A++ grades be torn down before his very eyes had that final actually been difficult. But Yaga had, mercifully, decided to go easy on them this time - and Gojo should have been able to ace this exam in his sleep.

Which was quite difficult for him to pull off such a feat when he found himself unable to think about anything but you.

Well, given, that wasn’t exactly an outlandish state-of-mind for him. 

Though, usually it’s more along the lines of how ridiculous it was that you thought you’d top Yaga’s Dean’s List instead of him, how your essay wasn’t even that great (okay, maybe it was- but his was better!), or wondering whether it was part of your strategy to look so gorgeous that you distract the entire department into failing.

But today - even right now - all he could wonder about was how ah, question number five- you’d wrapped all five of your pretty lil’ fingers around his cock. 

How soft they were, how perfect they looked pumping his painfully hard girth and fuck- soon enough he was blessed with a half-chubbed dick tightening his pants, and a muddled brain that’d already started writing his answer about you, your damn hands, and you. 

Fuck, he could feel his skin flaring at the mere memory again. 

“Goddammit-” He’s grinding the backs of his molars until he’s tasting metal, staring at the empty lined paper that would usually have been filled and stapled to the backs of his final. “Goddammit.”

And then Gojo stands- so abruptly that several blissfully ignorant students recoil at the sudden movement from their stoic classmate. Papers flying, usual backpack left behind. 

It’s as if a storm, the steps leading him the row or two further up the lecture hall groan and protest at Gojo’s stomping. Closer to where you were - with your face in your hands, and your expression harrowed as if you’d just seen a ghost. 

“You.” He’s starting, rumbling voice low. 

You wince at the sound, as if only just noticing the man towering up to you. Settling your widened eyes off of your…curiously blank sheets of extra paper, only to stare up at Gojo and grimace again. “You.”

And any and all irritation regarding the little predicament you’d put him in vanishes as he realizes. 

You failed that test, too.

SLAM!

Two roughened hands of his strike down on your table to lean in so close, the rows surrounding you two hushing so quiet that you could hear every single one of Gojo’s ragged breaths. Close. 

So, so close. 

You’re counting every single white lash of his, every spike of pale blue in his sapphire irises, every glint in his snarl. So close that your nose tingles with the perfume of that familiar sultry vanilla. 

He watches, expressionless, as your thighs squeeze together beneath you. Shit. 

“Y-you.” Gojo’s voice was rough, as hoarse as if he was trying to keep something deep and dark out of it. “Tonight. My dorm.” Risking a glance around the nosy rest of the hall, his face burns at the unsuccessful way they were pretending not to be listening. “For…studying.”

A wolf whistle rings through the tense air— “Get a room!”

“They’re about to~”

“I knew this would happen.”

“Please keep talking to a minimum, some students are taking extra time on the test.” Yaga’s bored drone shatters the mirth - only to heighten it by twofold just as soon as Gojo feels the slightest hint of relief. “Please keep flirting to a minimum, too.”

And then he turns back to you and you wink.

Oh. 

Oh, fuck.

.

.

.

“Oh-ohhh mm, Gojo–” Your head throws back against the carpet of Gojo’s stifling bedroom, your lips gluing together with strands of spit as soon as he kisses your inner thigh and salivates. Mouth churning with wads of spit ready to devour you-

“Satoru.”

“Wh-what?” It takes you every ounce of strength in your sprawled-out body to question in response. 

Head lurching just the slightest few degrees to gaze upon the way he was stuffed nose-deep between your legs - glasses, cocky grin and all. 

Gojo takes the lecherous time to perk his flared nostrils over and sniiiiff–! the aroma of your wetness, his overeager maw spilling a thin trail of spittle at the saccharine-sweet scent of your dripping pussy. “Call me- hah! Satoru.”

Shit- how did you even get here?

Skirt and blouse off, needy.

It’s as if one second you’re explaining (quite ashamedly, mind you) how your plan had backfired and you’d bombed that test, sputtering as Gojo rolls his eyes knowingly. And the next…

Spank! You don’t have to look down to already feel the twisted curl of Gojo’s smirk against your thighs, one of his hands soothing across where he’d oh-so-rudely spanked the right of your ass cheek. 

“Zoning out already? Your Bartholin gland is working overtime to lubricate.” He hums, the frigid metal frames leaving your hips squirming. Tilting his head, “You’re wet.”

“Y-you wish-” You’re huffing and puffing despite the way you’re smearing your legs even more widely agape with primal need. Just begging him for something, anything, with each squelching wave of slick pouring from between your pussylips. 

Gojo leaves one kiss near your cute belly button, another on the hemline of your clingy panties. 

Mwah, mwah– soft, puckered lips trace allll over except where you were aching for him the most. He’s snickering at through a hot gasp once the sharp edges of his teeth snag on the forefront of your underwear and let it snap! back.

“Think you’re soooo fuckin’ smart, huh?”  Gojo spits, furiously. “Always so intelligent- so smug.” Dragging the crescent nubs of his fingernails down the sides of your body– 

Tearing down your panties, flopping through the crevice of your folds to give you just a singular push of his miry tongue. Just a singular kiss, a singular snog of his flattened muscle slapping down on your entrance. “Let’s see how s-smart you really are, then, miss valedictorian.”

And despite the way he’s running his mouth, his tongue sings a different tune. Just like jelly- shyly wobbling on the puffy outside of your pussylips and lapping up gulp after gulp of your sap. 

He was parched- and couldn’t help but tickle your cunt like a man thirsting for years. Thirsting for years, and yet, he couldn’t help the way he’s slouching back slightly on his knees with a burning blush–

“Y-you’re only saying that because-” He jolts at the sudden rut of your hips, sending a slobbering stroooke straightly down your slit. “-because you can’t handle anything else.”

Gojo quirks a cloudy brow, “Anything…oh.”

And though it pained a carnal part of you to - though your pussy was quivering in protest - you find your arm reaching out to grab the prim collar of Gojo’s white sweater and traaawl him all the way up. “Wan’ you in my hah- mouth, Satoru.”

“Ngh–” He’s nibbling his plush bottom lip to bite back a fucking whine– and the moment that slight smirk starts twitching your lips, Gojo scoops your legs up in a surprisingly strong hold. 

Big, beefy arms lifting you in midair and throwing you down on the bed. You yelp as you bounce- he’s careless, desperate, the only thing he needs right now is to have you on his bed. On his mouth-

“Th-think I can’t handle a b-blow- fellatio, huh?” 

He’s grumbling as he lays himself flatly on the cushy mattress, letting those navy sheets be rumpled once he’s sitting back sexily. And you’re almost wishing you could turn yourself around and ogle that handsome vision settling right between your legs. 

“Oh- oh.” Gojo mouths gapes as he really - really takes in the sight of you. All sopping wet and needy for him. Shuddering steadily in and out to regain his breath in some way, “Oh my god- fuck, what a prettyyy pussy.”

“H-hnghh, fuck–” Your mouth drops once large palms spread-spread-spreeead your cheeks apart and let your dewdropped slick drip! down into his throat. 

Shivering, every time his claggy breath stroked your pried-open entrance. Leaving a wide, hot open-mouthed kiss right where Gojo could spy your glistening hole winking. 

You were just a three-course meal sitting above him. And he was ready to crane his neck and diiive–

ZIIIIIIP–!

“Shit- princess, what are you- fuck!”

Your grin grows when you stagger off Gojo’s plaid pants and let his reddened, swollen cock hit your chin with a plap! “Whaaat–?” 

He was standing tall, proud. 

Soooo many swollen, throbbing inches standing up rock-hard n’ straight just from the mere idea of having your saccharine pussy on his mouth.

Thighs trembling where you were straddling his head, fuck, if Gojo was in any better state of mind he’d have registered the way your syrupy pussy grows wetter. “Scared?”

He blushes- he keens, mindlessly bucking his hips to chase the heat of your mouth. “N-no. It’s a perfectly normal reaction to sexual stimulation-”

“You talk too much.”

“Then…”

You’re whimpering, your spine bowing into the perfect curvature once Gojo claws a firm handful of your ass and pulls you to him to kiss your pretty pussy. “Get up here.” Letting the thickened air ring with the smack of his glossy lips gluing to your outer folds, “Get up- get up here so that I can fucking show you, miss valedictorian.”

And he might have absolutely zero experience - but that didn’t mean that Gojo wasn’t hungry. 

He’s not waiting around for you to tease him to death with your sweet, puckered lips. No- he’s tugging you down his lengthy body and latching ‘round the nub of your clit first. 

“She- she’s the clit, huh?”

“Sh-shit…oh my ngh- Satoru!”

Tittering, “Course she is- located at the top of the vulva and responsible f-for connecting the network of erectile tissue. And she has you alll stupid.”

Your treacly cunt was giving him the cutest lil’ welcome by pouring a wave of sticky slick right down his chin, he’s sliding the wetness against the innards of your squeezing thighs and pushing himself nose-deep.

Glasses cluttering, vein-decorated forearms flexing. “How’s that–?” Endlessly listing off the three-hundred different ways to toy with your sensitive clit, he’s swervin’ the glazed point of his tongue in cute hearts. Groaning into your pussy, “Mmmm– your turn- o-oh fuck!”

And you weren’t just teasing him, you were simply waiting for the perfect moment to plop your saturated mouth in a clammy smooch over Gojo’s round, smooth cockhead.

Lapping the narrowed margin of your tongue to rim that split-end on his tip, your tastebuds scorch with the warm cream of his pre. Buttering up your flat muscles as you jerk your head and draaaag a long, languid lick. “What’s that?”

Letting out the cutest pitched ‘fuck!’, Gojo bucks his hips to plunge between your hot maw with a wet fwop! 

Hissing, “I was mistaken, your mouth is heaven.” 

Gulping him deeper-

“Haaaah- wait.” It’s like he’s easing and then back- too much for his sensitive, inexperienced cock. “Stimulating my c-cock with a tongue so good. Now that’s- that’s just fucking- unfair-” 

Spanking your cunt with a splatter of wadded saliva before teething his canines along your clit and pinching. Groaning right into that mess, “Unfair- th-that’s unfair- fuck! Shit, how do you make everything feel so good- You always do hafta ch-cheat, huh?”

He has to battle with himself not to cum right then and there. 

But he wasn’t going down without a fight.

You’re just starting to lavish your silky tongue over the sensitive veins snaking along his meaty base, chin tickling with curly white hairs- when Gojo wraps an arm around your waist and pulls—

“Wh-who’s cheating now?”

“And who do ya think you are?” Gojo pleads- he strains. Your body being slightly bumped up n’ down like a rollercoaster after each heave of his broad pectorals. 

And just playing with your clit wasn’t enough, he needed to use his inhuman strength to make you rest your entire weight. “Just- sit–” Throat hatching with lilting groans once your mouth is sliiiding sensually down his pink shaft. Gojo’s speaking between French kisses to your cunt, grunting like it hurt him to break off. 

And even though he’s practically still closed, you swear you could count every one of his eight, ladder-like abs.

“But I could ngh- suffocate-”

Rutting- deep back into your mouth till his bawling mushroom tip swabs the very back of your throat. “So? Then it’ll be my ngh- first and last time. Respiration is overrated, just- fucking- sit.”

Yelping, it’s all you can do to claw your nails down each of Gojo’s thick, milky thighs once he grabs onto your body and slams you down on his readily awaiting mouth. 

“Fuck- fuck!” Eyes widened, tone crazed. He doesn’t know where to look when he’s slobbering his heated mouth in dragging licks up and down between your puffed-up folds, occasionally peeking inside your fluttering hole and giving your ring of muscle a sloooow stretched-out circle. 

Gojo slaps the velvety underside of his tongue down on your sensitive entrance and watches as your syrupy slick pooours. “Don’t know how long I-I’ve dreamt of this, princess-”

“Y-you have?”

Though, it comes out gurgled and half-moaned around the fattened circumference of Gojo’s pulsating, long cock. He was just so big that you’d barely even slid his heavy shaft down halfway until he’s probing your throat thoroughly. 

Fattened balls tightened once he speaks, “You- have- nooooo fucking idea-” Punctuated with heavy, slashing strokes of his tongue. 

You’re damn near sobbing at the sheer surprisingly strength of his - the pleasure. Gojo was technical in his approach, a snagging lil’ circle to make your hole stretch cutely- before gifting himself a looong lick from the base of your pussy right up to your clit. 

“Every time before a test- e-every time after. Ngh- every time someone would l-look at you in those pretty skirts and- fuuuuck! wanted to fuck that damn mouth shut every time you’d insult me. Every time- made you wanna scream.”

Swiping his simmering tastebuds down with circles. Hearts. Something that felt like an S–

“Tha’s right- goood girl, you got that one right.” He’s piping up from between your dampened inner thighs. Fucking you with his tongue just the way his weighty cock was bawling and begging to fuck you.

And it takes you one more sweltering kiss, two more until you’re lifting your mouth back off of Gojo’s fat cock in realization- did you just say that out loud? 

“Mhmm—” Gojo answers, voice breaking with a slight whine at the loss of heat. Promptly, you’re pushing your hips back to ride his mouth shut and gawking at the way it makes his shaft twitch wildly. Like a madman, he’s rutting up to capture your sweet, sweet lips once more- 

“Th-think I like it better when you- ngh-” You somehow manage to get out through sappy wet bobs of your mouth, every squelch! drawn out by the suction of your hollowed lips deafening in his cozy bedroom. You start to feverishly pump the solid inches of his you couldn’t fit inside, holding onto one side of his muscular glutes for balance. “-when you shut up.”

“N’ you’re better when you have- my-” It was even worse with every buzzzzing vibration of his voice tingling your clit. The bed rickets in unison with your whines as he drills up into your slickened mouth maddeningly, plummy tip scouring your inner cheeks. “-biiig fucking cock in y-your mouth.”

And then Gojo wasn’t just making out with your cunt till he’s pussydrunk- he’s slithering one of his slender, pale fingers until it’s all glazed with a satiny layer of sap and caressing your entrance. 

Tenderly, he slips just the thick first pad of it past the tight muscle before you’re clenching- being dragged even further up his face. 

“C’mon- c’mon c’mon c’mon please-” Pushing and pushing, he couldn’t handle the singlest bit of resistance unless he wanted to tear up. 

The size of his digit is just so looong and nimble enough that Gojo finds himself in awe at the way your snug hole opens up to swallow him eagerly. Crying out bulbous tears of sap, you’re just arching your back and taking every one thrust. Two. Three. Four–

Swatting your clit with the pointed fringe of his chin, he’s flopping his tongue over in a textured pattern on top of your perky clit. One that makes you gasp— “A? A?”

“Mhmm—” Teething your swollen folds at the grooving tickle of his prominent middle veins on the roof of your mouth, the way you’re announcing everything he spells is just so hot that Gojo bucks until you choke. “Next-”

Struggling, flowing so much damper at the muscles of his front. God- he was sooo fucking fit. Using every ounce to push– “Mmpf- ngh-” Mouth so full that your cheeks bulge, “J?”

“What’s that? Wha’s that?” Gojo almost throws his head back into the bedsprings and chuckles. “Miss vale-hah! valedictorian can’t even spell-” Toying the mushy tip of his tongue over your clit again, “What’s that?”

“T- please. Not gonna last-”

“Mmmm–” He’s so close now that you could feel the cold press of his glasses, all drenched at this point. Even more so when Gojo adds in a third finger and lets it just graze the splotchy area of your g-spot.

“Sa-toru, your glasses-”

He didn’t even care. He didn’t even need them at this point. 

“Use the momentum of your hips. Move. Ride.” 

In three different ways. Riding him exactly how he wanted you to in languid, slobbering drags and he’s never been more in heaven. The nubs of your hardened nipples rubbin’ all sensitive through your bra where Gojo manhandles you to glissade down his tensed core. 

His throbbing shaft twitching and striking the roof of your mouth, he’s getting fervent. Burning hot. “Aww- pretty princess is all dumb. What’s- that?”

His tongue’s so dexterous that even your hazed mind can make out each syllable, each letter. Faster. Harder. “O- ngh! S’an O-” Trembling palms cupping his balls, “R- M’so fucking close.”

And you could already guess the next looping drag of his tongue. The precise syllable on your tongue once you’re throwing your head back and shattering– “U- You- fuck! Satoru–!” You didn’t even have to try to open your mouth and let the wadded ribbon of saliva dangle off from it. 

Striking Gojo’s veiny shaft and making him buck-

“That’s it- nghhh- c’mon, princess, scream my name.”

“Saaa–toru. C-cummin- ngh.” You don’t even have the privilege of finishing your damn sentence before he’s plopping in four of his prolonged fingers and making your wave of euphoria burst. 

So hard that your vision dots with pure white. You’re leaking from both your maw and your fluttering eyelids now, “P-please.” Mouth flooded with so many whimpers and torrents of slobber. You’re so far thrust into your blissful high that you don’t even realize you’ve stuck the first few inches of Gojo’s spit-glazed cock inside your watered mouth. 

“Yeah- yeahhh what do ya want?”

“C-cum.”

“Hmm–?”

Shoveling right inside like your favorite pinkish ice cream once you’re peeking over your shoulder and mumbling– “C-cum, Toru–”

And there it was - that did it.

You, saying his first name. Like that.

The only thing more it takes before creeps his sweaty palm over the crown of your skull and pushes- straight down. Straight full of his lengthy, rummaging fat cock, until your nose nuzzles the slight fuzz of silky white at the base. 

Eyes sprinting to the back of your head, your throat gets all clogged-up with his throbbing inches before he fills it up even further.

Oh, oh- you never thought you could ever be so damn full. 

It’s as if he’s torn apart your throat and was probin’ the curve of his bulging mushroom tip right into the base of your lungs. Flooding it up with sploshing wires of stringy cum, pumping and pumping each ribbon until it’d formulated a buttery frosting everywhere he could reach.

“O-ohhh fuck- nghhhh fuck-” Bottomed-out, yet pushing down even further. “Y-you…”

With a splattering bubble of drool that trickles from the rosy corner of his lips- Gojo couldn’t even clearly see from his tear-shattered vision, and yet, he was staring dead-on at your relaxed throat. 

Mindlessly, the sensory tip of his index traces that bulging cylindrical outline being fucked against the underside of your neck. Dooown all nine inches. Gojo jostles your weakened knees apart and lets his overspilling cock dab the corners and crevices of your hot mouth.

The bloated, flaring ridge of his slit moving it all over. Breathlessly giggling, “You really- really t-took it ngh- all…you- oh.” Heavy, pink balls tightening as if he could cum again- “How’s that, little miss valedictorian?”

You swallowed.

“S’that…all you got?”

And he couldn’t get enough.

It was just too adorable how your snarky mouth was hoarse n’ all spellbound by the time Gojo slides his veined cock a few more vulgar times down your tongue and pulls out with a plop!

“Ngh- T-Toru-”

“Shiiit- don’t call me that- fuuuck don’t call me- oh.” He couldn’t even speak. The polished frames of his glasses nearly dangling off, Gojo manhandles your boneless body around to sit prettily on his manspread lap. 

To admire you properly.

And all it takes is that singular glimpse of you. 

That clouded vision of you above him - your eyes glassy with a film of lust, mouth sopping wet with milky wads of seed that drip! drip! drip! down between his toned pecs. 

Your fucked-out hips glissading back down the uprightly laid length of his girth - over every vein, every ridge - with a whine-

And the man damn near loses it.

He’s whining, bucking- his feet planting up to gyrate his hot cock against your skin like he was aching for more. “Need it.” You’re almost startled as two of Gojo’s palms latch onto your hips and make you push, “Please- I mean- fuck.” Shit, he couldn’t stop himself from babbling pussdrunkenly. 

That carnal urge pulsing from his bulging tip to push deeply inside you.

You’re feeling Gojo swell up even fatter - even harder - behind the cheeks of your ass and find yourself pushing back with a greedy pap! of skin-on-skin. “Don’t tell me…”

“Shut up.” Kissing you, he tastes salted caramel and nearly cums again.

Lecherous grin growing even wider, you break off. “Awww—” Your previous dazed state slowly fading with the last few tingles of your orgasm, “Wittle Toru’s first time?”

“Shut up.”

He’s straining his neck and snapping his jaw with a click! Honed canines threatening the fragile skin of your nipples, you’re pushing back on his feverish flesh. 

Gojo looked so pretty like this that you just couldn’t help it - all stinging, red cheeks, and your pussy slicking a gooey lustre that plasters from his dripping chin all the way to damn near the tips of his ears. 

Puddling. 

“No need to worry.” You shove on his blushing collarbones with a whimper, his cock was so hard that it hurt. “I’ll be ngh- gentle, Satoru, so oh- fuck!”

But Gojo Satoru didn’t wait this long to be fucking gentle. 

No- just like the way he’s longed to whenever you always got so close, so fiery shutting him up during arguments - Gojo thrusts the big, bulging tip of his cock between your swollen folds and pushes. 

His first. 

Finding his muscular thighs trembling, mouth parting, pupils rolling until all you could see was the pure white of his eyes. Something dark and primal breaks at the back of his ravaged throat, “O-oh.” And he’s gasping with the effort to compose himself- to say something snarky. 

But all Gojo can do is hold onto the girthy base of his shaft and let it drip with a glaze of syrupy pre. Mouth opening n’ closing, breath catching. 

“Wait- you’re so-” Bucking his hips just the slightest inch off the dampened sheets and letting it slide pointedly along your walls. “-y-you’re so soft- and warm. And ngh- nghhh fuck! Th-this is what the adventitia- what your pretty pussy feels like?”

Watery eyes widening once you nod, “Th-then m’neeever pulling out. Your lamina propria’s gonna mold to my cock, miss valedictorian.” 

Cooing, he hastily tugs off his cottony sweater, fumbling once the syrupy pool of slick you’d leaked all over his neckline makes it stick to his skin like an adhesive. And oh- fuck.

You’d felt every line and shapely curve of Gojo’s chiseled abs down your front. Hell, you could still feel the way your tummy was aching with the stinging ridges of him pressed up against you- and yet, it still doesn’t prepare you for just how sexily toned your smug rival was. 

All naturally muscular edges of his broad shoulders, and his ivory happy trail was wobbling with the bumps of his abs. All flexing. All tense. 

All heated against your naked thighs as he grips your ass cheeks and pushes you down, down, down–

“Ngh…oh– Toru!”

“S-soooo sweet.” Voice hitching, he’s squinting his eyes cutely in pleasure at that silken, soft hug of your walls. You’re shaping around his thickly barreling length so tight that he’s roughly handling you to lift up and down- up and down. Deeper. “So ngh- so much better than that…PocketPussy3000 I named after ya, princess.”

And you would be snarking back- teasing him, had it not been for the way that Gojo was so fucking big that he made your mind stupidly dizzy. 

“B-big?” Gojo croaks out from underneath you- oh, shit, you’d said that out loud. Again. “Am I…” Drifting his glassy eyes downwards to watch where your puffy pussylips were bulging whilst struggling to take him. “-really that big?”

Biting down on the insides of your cheek as you lie, “N-no.”

Experimentally, Gojo gives another feral rut. Watching as your pretty eyes nearly bulge out of your head, your maw falling ajar into a perfect ‘o’. 

He’s fucking up into you with his massive cock and barely even trying to dig the smooth, left-leaning curve of his achy girth into your every nook and cranny. Veins bloated up so wide that they carve a zig-zagged pattern against your tight channel after every ba-dump–!

Gojo really was that big. 

“H-heh.” Octaves higher, wild. He’s chuckling as if he still couldn’t even believe it when Gojo’s right hand creeps up the side of your hips to press down on your tummy. 

“Mmm– hck! If you’re gonna press there, Satoru-”

“Why? S’a biiig stretch for the poor stratified squamous epithelium isn’t it?” Feeling himself with the edges of his ravenous, long digits as he sliiiides in- rocking n’ rocking upwards against your snug resistance. Speaking over the creaky bedcoils, “Say it- tell me.”

Arms rested upon his flexing deltoids, you throw your head back after each solid inch he was blowing your cunt up with. Until it felt like your walls were being snagged on to the maximum, “B-big-”

“Nuh uh, princess- biiiig stretch. Say it w’me now-”

“Big- ngh!” You’re fighting against Gojo’s sloppy cadence from behind you to roll your hips back onto his trembling thighs. Deeper. Deeper. “Biiig stretch–”

“That’s right—” Oh, you’ve never been more irresistible to him. And Gojo’s palm massages the bumpin’ bulge being pounded against your tummy, until you can feel every crease of his palm lines. It makes his filthy mouth salivate to feel the stretch inside as you keep swallowing his cock deeper. “Again now- nghhh- biiig stretch.”

“Biiiig stretch- oh, fuck!”

Just about the only thing you can do is spit out a string of swears when Gojo bottoms out and hits the base of your pussy with a sharp spank! 

Tendrils of white rubbin’ your outer pussy raw, the circumference of his length bullying inside to stretch your hole into such a cute oh! The exact same shape that your mouth was turning into right now, “Please- fuck mmm–”

Squelches! ring out after every springy bounce you plant on Gojo’s length, your calves burning with the sheer effort it takes to smooch your puckered ring over his tip and slide, slide, slide all the way down to his hilt. 

Breathing out in a pant, “Oh, you’ve taken all of me- all of me? Seriously- fuck!” Gojo lets his inexperienced hips drive all the way upwards in carnal, uncontrolled ruts. “Tha’s just right- fuh-fuck back t’me like that mmm-”

“Getting hck! really cocky–” You’re biting, your overworked pussy quivering as you clench. “-Toru.”

And oh, that makes him shatter. 

Hips mindless, head flopping backwards, mouth opening with the prettiest, more pornographic whine. You’d just made the Gojo Satoru whine with your pussy.

His drunken gaze only half-opening to stare at you through dilated eyes, glasses completely fogged-up and useless now that you’re roughly riding him. Smart mouth babbling, “D-don’t think you’re- winning–”

It was a competition even now. 

Like a race to who could get the other to break first, he’s matching your papping cadence and even more. And through the tears clung to your lashes, you’re spying the way that Gojo’s v-line was swollen n’ red with slamming contact. 

Your hand glissading down his sweat-glistening skin to trace his sensitive abs, “Oh yeah? And you think- hck-” Another sluuurping clench, another topple of his head. His sanity. “-y-you’re winning?”

“Still haven’t found the mmm– Gräfenberg spot yet, princess.” He’s smirking, one hand rested upon your right ass cheek to keep on stirrin’ his rummaging length in swivels inside of you. The other thumbing over your neglected clit in the meantime, muttering. “Anterior wall under the urethra…roughly hnghhh– this many inches deep and part of the sensitive clitoral network…”

His split-ending, bawling cocktip probes your glossy walls like a spotlight. Your g-spot being the bullseye that he’s targeting dead on. Grinning. 

“-here.”

Precisely, you feel the heat of his prominent spherical cockhead drive up n’ down the entire length of that sensitive bundle of nerves. Digging the curve of his shaft generously into where you saw stars-

“Who’s winning hck! what now?”

Sloppily kissing him, just to quieten the man down. “Oh- sh-shut up.”

“Hm…” Gojo’s accurate whack! of his girth against your g-spot lets off the loudest, most lecherous squeeeelch. And he’s proddin’ his sensitive slit against your cervix just to feel it, “Can you shut up when I fuck you like- this-”

You can’t. 

Mewling, your knees hit halt and wedge the swollen n’ aching nub of your clit against his supple palm. Letting his skin streak a good rub over where your core was painfully needy, “Y-you grew bigger.”

“Hmmm–?”

You’re riding him craaaazy with your hips, pussy walls clinging onto his slick cock so tightly that you’re rendered weak with every vein. Every throb. Every growth of his shaft pounding even fatter until you could barely even clench-

Bigger. Harder. Tongue slathering with a glaze of syrupy spit, “B-big– got ngh! bigger.”

“What’s that? What’s thaaaat?” His pummeling dick scouring down your walls, erupting in a proud splosh of rich precum at that cute lil’ compliment. “Bigger? Heh- my princess ngh likes, big- don’tcha?”

At this point you’re driven wild, your dewy pupils circlin’ around the insides of your eye comically. Mouth hanging open with stupid little ‘oh’s’ and ‘yesses.’

Gojo narrows his eyes once you start blubbering, bashing his tip extra hard into your g-spot so that he could have you fully dumb on his cock. “Mmm– c’mon, miss valedictorian.” Lips twitching, “Use your big girl words.”

“Hngh- hard-”

“Yeahhh– m’pretty fucking- hard- huh?”

“Harder.”

Oh- it’s a wonder he didn’t cum right then- shit, Gojo thinks he almost is. 

A thin, ropey string of hot seed that hits your womb the moment he’s flattening his feet on the cushion of the bed to thrash a mean thwack! onto your spongy cervix. 

Digging his geysering divot so deep against the bottom of your glutinous cunt that he grits his teeth and plugs his weepy crown shut. 

Trying not to cum- praying not to cum, “Harder? Harder?” Repeated in such a high, unsteady pitch. His dazed eyes peeking over his glasses and widening, “My girl wants it harder?”

Nodding, “Please, Toru– m’soooo close.”

“Then- greedy fucking- girl- better- take it.” And he wasn’t just pummeling your poor pussy, he was pummeling it like a madman. You could practically see the rippling of his muscular body, sheer power that was being channeled into each thrust. 

Each strike. Each damp smooch with your g-spot. 

You didn’t even realize you were clawing at his shoulders in an attempt to crawl away until his left hand pushes down on your sweat-matted scalp. 

Holding your face still, Gojo watches every cute minute reaction of yours as he goes hard. Then slow. Then sloppy. Alternating his pace until you’re sure you’ve memorized the patterns of his hammering veins on each side. “N’ that means nghh- nooo running away.”

“No runnin’-” Babbling through tears, every strike makes your brain spin. “Not gonna last- nghh fuck…not gonna last, Toru.”

“Swallowing my cock so much- S’this what you wanted after every hah- argument? Every time you yelled? Filthy giiirl, shoulda just asked.”

And Gojo was murmuring such filth into your ear that you can’t help but shrill– “Let me cum- ngh- let me cum-”

“Tch- demanding.”

“Please-”

“Better…how about ‘pretty pl–’ oh fuck.” 

Before he can revel in his victory, before he can tease you any further - you’re reaching one of your jittery hands behind your back and palming at Gojo’s tight, aching ballsack. Tracing your sultry touch just where he was red n’ raw with the slamming impact of your ass.

Hips speeding up, creaking getting louder. 

“Oh hah- haaaa–” Gojo tosses his head back and bucks- bucks and bucks and bucks as if he was trying to milk your orgasm sooner. Rovering thumb pressing down on your clit like his favorite button, “Cheater, cheater~”

You didn’t know who was off worse - you who was drooling out a sappy puddle after every repeated three slams of his cock each passing second. Letting your droopy body be manhandled into bouncing in a S-A-T-O-R-U that you’re not even sure Gojo realizes he’s making you spell out. 

Didn’t even register. Didn’t even know. 

Or Gojo who was trembling with every squeeze of your gushing walls, frantically letting his glasses slide off even further so that he wasn’t hypnotized and on the verge of losing just by watching you ride him dry.

You’re too hot to handle. 

A perk that you’re immediately abusing as you push his glasses cleanly back onto his nosebridge n’ smudge away the misted fog. 

“Ngh f-fuck–” Chin hitting your sweaty chest once he’s manoeuvering you into a wiiiide O to muddle together the letters of his name. Claiming your pretty pussy. Claiming him. “-fuck you, Satoru.”

Gojo leans in closer with puckered lips, close enough to kiss. “I’m fucking you, princess.” To shut you up while sucking on your tongue while it hits. 

And Gojo’s so caught up in every movement of your body that he doesn’t even realize he’s finishing off in such a wet, voluminous way until it’s dripping out of you. Mouth parting, “O-oh…”

Your own orgasm takes over your body like a wave, being suddenly hit with strikes of white-hot pleasure that send goosebumps trailing down your spine. Every push of Gojo’s slick shaft feels so good that it makes your vision flash white, whimpering each time his slimy mushroom tip was kissin’ your sweetest spots. 

“Cumming–” You’re calling out belatedly, hips creaming yourself on his. “I’m– oh.”

“H-heh.” And Gojo was actually giggling- giggling. Faintly noting the hot-headed mess that was his brain right now, he could only flutter his long lashes at each spike of pleasure and stare. 

Ogling the way your puffy pussylips were gulping after every streak of his cum, the creamy white mess pouring out into you until your womb felt heavy. 

Over and over he’s thrusting inside, making- almost forcing his cock to pour out every drop. Every ounce until it was dry.

Showered, sloppy wads of seed plastered across your hole, you could feel the pearly mess dangling out of you each time your cunt hit his pelvis. Formulating a ring of syrupy cum that made Gojo just swallow past his parched throat, “I win.”

“No.” You’re huffing. Stubborn, even as you’re sagging down until your face was cushioned by his pecs, perking your hips to milk out his last few dredges until Gojo was cumming dry. “I win-”

Dry- you’d made him cum dry.

Humping upwards so that oodles of sap would slip down your cervix and make you shudder. Both your popped ears buzzing with the splat! of cobwebbed cum that glues down your thighs. “Nuh uh, princess. I totally won that.”

“Hngh- yuh uh.”

“Nuh-”

And maybe you were the least drunken of the two, because you’re the only one with enough murky sense right now to put an end to the endless argument. 

Shutting Gojo Satoru up for once in his life by reaching your hand over to dig underneath his navy pillow - searching for that glint of something you’re sure you’d caught in your lustful haze moments prior. 

He can only lay beneath you and blush and blush once you pull out…that.

The PocketPussy3000 he’d named after you– the very same one he’d fuck up into night after long, lonely night thinking about his damn “rival.” 

Fuck…he should’ve known the valedictorian wouldn’t forget. 

“Named after me, huh? Cute.”

Indignantly pushing up his frames, “Wh-what is the meaning of this-”

“Let’s consider it a tie.” You croon, in that exact tone he knew was dangerous. And his brainy suspicions are proven correct when, the very next moment, you’re pulling yourself off of him with a dampened pop! 

Letting a stream of ivory creamy swoosh down below to sheen his pale thighs - Gojo has never looked prettier, you think.

“Oh- oh my god…ngh- oh my god, princess.”

The apples of his cheeks scorching, mouth gaping, tired n’ thoroughly overstimulated pink cock flinching when you hover that rubbery toy over. Letting off a sopping slurp as you start to bully his reddened tip between the folds and jerk him off– “Round two?”

.

.

.

“It can’t be-”

“So that last time seriously wasn’t about studying?”

“You owe me five thousand yen.”

And you swear you’re catching about half the class and Yaga himself exchanges betting pools of money the very moment you and Gojo enter the lecture hall. Together. Hand-in-hand.

Fuck- was your rivalry really that infamous? 

Because Gojo’s fingers weave even tighter with yours as you pass by countless stares, numerous cellphones out to take paparazzi shots of the markings on your neck that you’re sure will end up on some sort of campus bulletin board by the end of the hour. 

Ah, maybe you should’ve done one of those ‘soft-launches’ first…

Too late for that, you think, seated at your usual spot on one of the first few rows and wearily watches as Yaga happily counts the spoils of his bet. 

Sneaking a glance at your gloomy boyfriend, you try not to snicker- not only did he receive a stupendous second placement on the last exam, tied with you, it’s as if every single person here blatantly couldn’t tear their eyes off of his hunched, blushing figure. 

Nervously pushing his glasses up to his bangs– “Maybe we should ah…‘cut class’ as they call it, princess-”

“So-” There’s a slamming weight of a strong forearm on your shoulder, ringed fingers possessive - and another one on Gojo’s - that could only mean one person. “Unless my milkshake was spiked again, I take it that the scheme- I mean, study session went well? Even though I did get first place on our last final.” 

Before you can answer, Geto’s husky voice heats up your ear, low. Dangerous. “Y’know, I hear this next assignment’s a…group project.”

A/N. Hehehe I MISSED Nerdjo so I just had to…

Plagiarism not authorized.

[bot1e4ter]

a treatise on inconvenient attraction — teaser.

pairing — undercover prince satoru x servant reader

synopsis : satoru is many things: a crown prince in disguise, a so-called eunuch draped in silk and secrets, and entirely too clever for his own good. but when you appear in the middle of palace chaos—calm, competent, and wholly unimpressed—satoru finds himself watching a little too closely. you cure what the court physicians couldn’t, ask the wrong questions with the right kind of precision, and somehow manage to look like you belong everywhere and nowhere at once. he tells himself it’s curiosity. it’s duty. it’s absolutely not personal.

but then again, inconvenient things rarely are.

tags — oneshot, apothecary diaries au, fluff, humor, slow burn, sexual tension, secret identities, enemies to lovers, royal court politics, witty banter, eventual smut

a/n: dropping this 3.2k teaser before finals devours me like a cursed koi in a reflecting pond. i am but a humble court scribe flinging words into the wind before academia drags me kicking and screaming into its gilded dungeon. this week will be pain. this week will be suffering. this week will be caffeine, tears, and the haunting echo of “you should’ve started studying earlier.”

to my beloved bbs—my ride-or-dies, my imperial council of enablers—i will miss you terribly. i’ll crawl back next week, dehydrated but victorious. until then… read well, thirst responsibly. TAGLIST IS OPEN, COMMENT IF U WANT TO BE ADDED

a calamity of cosmic proportions had just befallen the imperial court—or so the wrenching sobs reverberating through the silk-draped pavilion would have you believe. 

a hairpin, delicate as a poet’s ego, had snapped clean in two, its jade heart fractured like the dreams of a dynasty on the wane. the air thrummed with tragedy, thick with the scent of jasmine oil and the faint, acrid tang of ink from a nearby scholar’s overturned pot, as if the universe itself had taken offense at the ornament’s demise.

at the pavilion’s heart, satoru held court like the star of an imperial opera, his presence a spectacle of calculated excess. 

“it is truly a heartbreak of craftsmanship,” he intoned, cradling the broken shard as if it were a soldier felled in a war only he had the imagination to mourn. the jade caught the morning light, refracting it into mournful glints that danced across the lacquered floor—enough sorrowful symbolism to inspire three ballads, a minor diplomatic incident, and at least one overwrought ode penned by a lovesick scribe. “this was no mere ornament, madam. this—this was a poem carved in bone and stone, an elegy to elegance itself.”

the concubine, lady mei, sniffled with the fervor of a stage heroine, her silk sleeves fluttering like moth wings as she dabbed her eyes with a handkerchief monogrammed in gold thread. each sob was a performance, perfectly pitched, as if she’d rehearsed it in front of a mirror. her powdered cheeks glistened with artfully placed tears, and the faintest smudge of kohl at her eyes suggested she’d mastered the art of crying without ruining her face.

satoru sighed, the sound heartfelt and entirely performative, a maestro playing to an audience of one. he tilted his head just so, pale hair spilling over his shoulder like moonlight cascading over porcelain, catching the light with a shimmer that felt choreographed.

a breeze curled through the open lattice, lifting the hem of his embroidered robes with such enviable timing it seemed less nature’s doing and more the work of a bribed servant sliding a screen open at precisely the right second. with satoru, either was plausible—nay, probable.

behind him loomed suguru, a study in austere black, hands clasped behind his back with the rigidity of a man bracing for chaos. his expression was carved from stone, all sharp angles and weary resignation, as if he’d been sculpted to endure satoru’s theatrics for eternity. his hair, tied with habitual neatness, let a few rogue strands graze his cheek, like even his appearance knew better than to fully relax in such company. 

his gaze skimmed the scene, heavy with the exhaustion of a man who’d watched this exact farce, with only slight variations in props, more times than the palace cats had stolen fish from the kitchens.

“perhaps,” satoru declared, raising the jade fragment aloft as if offering it to the heavens for judgment, “we must mourn it properly. a vigil, steeped in moonlight? a commemorative tea ceremony, with cups etched in sorrow?”

“a funeral pyre,” suguru muttered, voice dry as the desert beyond the red cliffs. “i’ll fetch the kindling. maybe some incense to mask the absurdity.”

satoru ignored him with the serene grace of a man who’d long since perfected the art of selective hearing, his eyes never leaving lady mei’s trembling form.

“fear not, my lady,” he vowed, dropping to one knee with the flourish of a knight swearing fealty in a tale spun by drunken bards. he clasped her hands, his fingers cool and deliberate, adorned with a single ring that glinted like a conspirator’s promise. “i shall find a replacement—more exquisite, more divine, more… unbreakable. yes, even if i must scour every silk merchant, every jade carver, every whispering bazaar between here and the red cliffs, where the winds themselves sing of lost treasures.”

he let the silence stretch, heavy with portent, as if the gods themselves were taking notes. lady mei gasped, her breath catching like a plucked zither string. a single tear traced her cheek, glistening like a dew-drop on a lotus petal—a prop so perfectly placed it deserved its own stanza.

mission accomplished. satoru’s lips twitched, the faintest ghost of a smirk, gone before anyone but the narrator could catch it.

behind them, suguru pinched the bridge of his nose with the slow, methodical frustration of a man who knew it would do nothing but give his fingers something to do. his sigh was a silent prayer to deities who’d clearly abandoned him long ago.

when the theatrics finally subsided—lady mei comforted, her handkerchief sodden, the jade fragments swaddled in silk like relics of a forgotten saint—satoru glided from the pavilion with the poise of a swan who knew exactly how devastatingly beautiful he looked mid-stride. he trailed perfume, a heady blend of sandalwood and smug self-satisfaction, curling behind him like incense smoke in a temple to his own ego.

suguru followed, a silent shadow with a scowl etched so deeply it might’ve been carved by a jade artisan. his boots clicked against the stone tiles, each step a muted protest against the absurdity he was forced to endure.

once they slipped beneath a carved archway into a quieter corridor, the performance peeled away like silk robes sliding over lacquered floors. satoru’s spine straightened, the exaggerated flourishes vanished, and he walked with the easy, unyielding grace of a man born to command palaces and bend power to his will. 

the air here was cooler, scented with wisteria and the faint, medicinal bite of herbs drying in a distant courtyard, their bitterness a sharp counterpoint to the corridor’s polished serenity.

“what?” satoru asked, eyes gleaming with faux innocence as he adjusted the sapphire-studded sash at his waist, the fabric whispering against his fingers. “i was being helpful.”

“you were being ridiculous,” suguru replied, his voice flat as the surface of a frozen lake, though a faint twitch at his jaw betrayed the effort it took to keep it that way.

“ridiculously helpful,” satoru corrected, flashing a grin that could outshine the emperor’s polished jade throne. he flicked open his fan with a snap, the painted silk catching the light like a peacock’s tail, waved it twice, then forgot it entirely, leaving it to dangle like an afterthought.

suguru shot him a sidelong glance, more sigh than stare, the kind of look that carried the weight of a thousand unspoken retorts. 

now that the mask had fallen, subtle details sharpened into focus: the glint of satoru’s ceremonial earrings, small but forged from gold so pure they whispered of plundered kingdoms; the way his sleeves, just a touch too long, brushed the corridor’s tiles with a soft, deliberate drag, like a painter’s final stroke; his hair, nearly waist-length, swaying like a silk banner unfurled for a procession, catching the latticed sunlight in a cascade of silver.

“a hairpin emergency,” suguru deadpanned, his voice slicing through the air like a blade through silk. “you skipped a logistics meeting—where, might i add, we were discussing grain shortages—for a hairpin emergency.”

“it was tragic. deeply symbolic. that hairpin was the fragility of desire itself, suguru,” satoru said, his tone lofty, as if lecturing a particularly dense pupil. he gestured with the fan, now remembered, its arc as grand as a courtier’s bow. “a metaphor for the fleeting nature of beauty, shattered in an instant.”

suguru glanced skyward, seeking divine intervention from a heavens that had long since stopped answering. 

the corridor stretched before them, vermilion pillars rising in regal procession, their surfaces carved with dragons that seemed to smirk at the absurdity below. sunlight filtered through the screens, painting latticed shadows that danced over the tiles like a secret script only the palace walls could read.

“and your grand plan to unravel the true nature of court politics,” suguru said, each word measured, “involves… hosting interpretive grief sessions for concubines over broken accessories?”

“the best disguises become second nature,” satoru replied, winking with the confidence of a man who’d never doubted himself a day in his life. “besides, would you rather i play the stuffy prince, droning on about grain quotas and tax ledgers?”

suguru didn’t respond, which, to satoru, was as good as a standing ovation.

they turned a corner, the air shifting as they passed a courtyard where a fountain burbled, its water catching the light like scattered pearls. a pair of palace cats, sleek as whispers, darted across their path, their eyes glinting with the smugness of creatures who answered to no one. 

a servant, her robes the muted gray of dawn, bowed deeply as they passed, her gaze fixed on the floor, though the faintest tremble in her hands suggested she’d heard the hairpin saga and was bracing for its inevitable sequel.

and beneath it all, beyond the red walls and silk screens, something stirred. not fate—not yet. but close, like the first ripple on a still pond, or the faintest creak of a palace gate left ajar. 

for now, there was only satoru, strutting like a peacock in the emperor’s garden, his voice lilting, his feathers flashing in the sunlight—and suguru, the poor bastard doomed to trail him, shoulders squared, expression grim, half a pace behind like the world’s most disapproving shadow, forever caught in the orbit of a star that burned too bright to ever dim.

the palace hummed with a frenetic buzz—not the charming, festival-lanterns-and-rice-wine kind, where moonlight glints off sake cups and laughter spills like cherry blossoms, but the swarming, fretful, everyone’s-talking-and-no-one’s-hearing kind that screamed someone important was either sick, scandalized, or both. 

lucky for the court, it was a two-for-one special: the emperor’s favored concubine, lady hua, had taken ill, and the whispers swirling through the vermilion halls were ripe with intrigue sharp enough to cut silk.

it began with fainting spells, delicate as a willow branch snapping under snow. then came the headaches, each one described with the reverence of a poet lamenting lost love.

by the time rumors slithered to satoru’s ears, the court physicians had added skin lesions to the list—delicate ones, naturally, because heaven forbid a woman of the inner court suffer anything less than poetic. “female temperament,” the physicians declared with the smugness of men who’d never questioned their own brilliance, waving it off as a trifle. “probably just the summer heat, thickened by her delicate constitution.”

maybe it was. maybe it wasn’t. but satoru was bored—a state as dangerous as a spark in a lacquered pavilion when paired with his curiosity and the kind of power that hid beneath shimmering silk like a blade in a jeweled sheath.

he sprawled across a divan like a cat claiming its throne, pale hair spilling over the brocade cushion in a cascade that caught the lantern light like spun silver. “i want to see her,” he said lazily, one hand dangling over the edge, fingers brushing the cool jade inlay of the table beside him.

the air carried the faint sweetness of osmanthus from a nearby brazier, undercut by the sharp bite of ink drying on a discarded scroll.

suguru didn’t look up from the scroll he was pretending to read, arms crossed over his dark robes like a disapproving older sibling teetering on the edge of committing murder by eye-roll alone. his hair, tied with a cord of black silk, gleamed faintly in the slanted light, as if even it resented being dragged into satoru’s orbit.

“the emperor hasn’t summoned you,” he said, voice flat, though the faintest twitch of his brow betrayed his dwindling patience.

“that’s the beauty of being a fake eunuch,” satoru replied, already rising with the fluid grace of a dancer who knew every eye was on him. his robes—silver threaded with blue embroidery, obnoxiously tasteful—shimmered like moonlight on a still pond, the hem brushing the polished floor with a whisper. “every door swings open if you smile just right and flash a bit of charm.”

suguru exhaled through his nose, a sound that carried the weight of a thousand unspoken curses. “your highness, court gossip is beneath your station.”

“nothing is beneath my station when i’m playing eunuch,” satoru chirped, swiping a rice cake from a lacquered tray as he sauntered toward the door. he popped it into his mouth, the sesame seeds crunching faintly, and shot suguru a grin that was equal parts mischief and menace. “in fact, it’s half the fun.”

and just like that, he was gone, robes flaring behind him like a comet’s tail, leaving a trail of sandalwood perfume and impending chaos. 

suguru muttered a curse under his breath—something about peacocks and their inevitable reckoning—and followed, because someone had to keep the idiot from plummeting headfirst into disaster.

what they found at lady hua’s quarters was chaos distilled into a single, suffocating room. maids scurried like ants fleeing a crushed nest, their silk slippers whispering frantically against the floor. 

physicians argued in hushed but venomous tones, their sleeves flapping like indignant birds, while someone—likely a junior attendant—sobbed into a brass basin, the sound muffled but piercing. the air reeked of camphor, sharp and medicinal, tangled with the cloying sweetness of sandalwood incense and the sour undercurrent of barely-contained hysteria. 

a breeze from an open screen carried the faint tang of lotus blossoms from the courtyard, but it did little to ease the oppressive weight of the room.

satoru leaned against the doorframe, one hand languidly fanning himself with a jade-inlaid fan, its painted silk fluttering like a butterfly’s wing. the other hand rested lightly on the fan’s hilt, fingers tracing the carved dragon as if it might whisper secrets.

he looked like a man at the theater, idly amused by a tragedy he had no stake in—and to be fair, he was. his eyes, sharp as a hawk’s beneath their lazy half-lids, scanned the room with the casual precision of someone who missed nothing.

then his gaze snagged on something—or rather, someone.

you.

in the heart of the maelstrom, you were an island of calm, steady and still as a stone in a raging river.

you weren’t dressed like a physician—no embroidered insignia, no silk badge pinned to your belt like the pompous healers squawking nearby. your robe was simple, utilitarian, the color of weathered slate, its sleeves pinned up past your elbows to reveal forearms smudged with the faint green of crushed herbs. 

you crouched beside lady hua, movements quick, efficient, precise, as if the chaos around you was merely background noise to be tuned out. the room bent around you, maids and physicians alike giving you a wide berth, like you were the eye of a storm they dared not cross.

satoru straightened, just a fraction, the motion so subtle it might’ve gone unnoticed by anyone but suguru. his fan slowed, the silk shivering in the pause.

“who’s that?” he murmured, voice low, the words curling like smoke as he tilted his head, pale hair slipping over his shoulder like a waterfall of moonlight.

suguru had already clocked you, his arms now crossed tighter over his chest, the dark fabric of his robes creasing under the pressure. his jaw tightened, a flicker of suspicion in his eyes. “not a court physician. not officially,” he said, each word clipped, as if he resented having to state the obvious.

“well,” satoru said, his lips curving into a smile that was equal parts intrigue and trouble, “now she’s interesting.”

you were wrapping lady hua’s wrist in linen soaked in something pungent—fangfeng root, if satoru’s nose didn’t betray him, mixed with the bitter bite of yanhusuo and a faint trace of ginseng. old-school herbs, the kind not dispensed in the palace’s pristine apothecary but ground by hand in shadowed apothecaries far from the emperor’s gaze. 

your fingers moved with the deftness of a musician, tying the linen with a knot so precise it could’ve shamed a sailor. beside you sat a worn wooden box, its corners scuffed from years of travel, but its contents were meticulously organized—vials labeled in a script too small to read from the door, tools gleaming faintly in the lantern light.

satoru’s eyes narrowed as he watched you work. your movements were too clean, too practiced, like someone who’d stitched wounds in the dark long before stepping into a palace. 

lady hua groaned softly, her face pale as the moon, and you pressed your fingers to her pulse, murmuring something under your breath. there was no softness in it, no coddling, just the calm precision of someone who knew exactly what they were doing—and didn’t care who saw.

and then—your eyes.

they flicked up, not to the patient, not to the bickering physicians, but to the room’s edges. to the guards in their lacquered armor, their spears glinting like threats in the corner. to the doors, half-open, where shadows shifted in the corridor. to the windows, where the lattice cast jagged shadows across the floor. 

your gaze moved like a soldier’s, mapping exits, calculating distances, noting every potential threat with a speed that was almost instinctual.

satoru felt a thrill crawl up his spine, sharp and electric, like the first crack of thunder before a storm.

“she flinched when the guards shifted,” he whispered, his fan now still, its silk drooping like a forgotten prop.

suguru’s expression didn’t change, but his eyes darkened, a storm cloud gathering behind them. “trauma?” he asked, voice low, testing the word like it might bite.

“training,” satoru replied, folding his fan with a slow, deliberate snap, the sound cutting through the room’s din like a blade. “she’s not afraid of chaos. she’s afraid of uniforms. of order that isn’t hers.”

he glanced at you again, and this time, you felt it. your shoulders stiffened, just for a heartbeat, as if you’d sensed a predator in the room. 

you didn’t look up, didn’t meet his eyes, but the way you angled your body—back to the wall, never cornered, one hand hovering near your box like it held more than herbs—told him everything. 

your kit was no mere healer’s tool; it was a survivor’s arsenal, scuffed and worn but as familiar to you as your own skin. the faint scar on your knuckle, barely visible, gleamed like a silent boast of battles won.

“is that why you’re smiling?” suguru asked, his voice bone-dry, cutting through satoru’s thoughts like a knife through silk.

satoru didn’t answer. not aloud. but oh, yes, he was smiling, lips curved like a crescent moon, because the emperor’s concubine might be fading, her breath shallow as a winter breeze.

but you?

you were alive—vibrantly, dangerously alive, a spark in a room full of smoke. your every movement screamed secrets, and your eyes held a story no one in this palace had the guts to read. 

lady hua’s illness might’ve been the court’s obsession, but you were something else entirely—a puzzle, a threat, a flame flickering just out of reach.

and satoru, with his boredom and his power and his peacock’s flair, had just found a problem worth solving. the air thrummed with it, heavy with the scent of camphor and intrigue, as the palace walls seemed to lean in, whispering of the chaos yet to come.

[bot1e4ter]

JUICY!

Synopsis. The first time the cóndom breaks? Raw, next question.

Pairings. [SEPARATE] Gojo x Reader, Ino x Reader, Sukuna x Reader, Choso x Reader, Geto x Reader, Nanami x Reader, Toji x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, cóndom tearing, unprotected, creampíes, they’re PÚSSYDRÚNK, breaking furniture, GOJO’S POWERS, first time raw, going feraI, brèeding, proposals, true form Sukuna, dp, manhandIing, full neIsons, headIocks, best friend!Ino, spítting, p talking, p sIapping, they’re big, tummy buIges, pet names, swéaring.

A/N. Hope you have a lovely week!

♡ TOJI FUSHIGURO - 10/10

“O-oh.” His gruff baritone echoes out a slight crack - a crack. Toji Fushiguro never lets his voice shake, he never stutters. You gaze over your clammy shoulder in confusion as the knobbly shape of his Adam’s apple bobs dryly, “It…broke.”

Honestly, with Toji’s sheer barreling size, how could that flimsy lil’ rubber not have broken?

Callused fingertips dig ravenously upon either side of your hips, you’re feeling the ends of his curly happy trail scratch your back as he motions to pull out—

“Oh my god, doll. Doll.” Right before scorching panted gasps hit the middle of your spine and he’s moving his sculpted v-line to rut- animalistically. “You- you feel like-” Buck after buck. Groans strangled, eyes half-lidded, one of Toji’s massive palms come slamming down on the rickety headboard. “-th-this?”

“S’alright.” Toji flinches once your pretty voice speaks up, dazed pupils looking anywhere but at your cutely needy expression. “I wan’ it raw, Toji–”

“R-raw?”

You gawk as veins start decorating his flexing forearm, pointed knuckles white where he was gripping onto the bedframe for dear life. It snap-snap-snaps! faintly underneath his strength, “What have I said about talking outta ya haaaah- pussy, mama?”

“To not.” Your lower lip puckers into a pout that makes him gulp, his head shaking slightly in an effort to regain his senses. “But m’not- see?”

CRACK! That mahogany now fully splintered underneath his carnally itching digits, “You’re- oh.”

To prove your point, your knees push firmly against the springy bedcoils and grind backwards in a slooooow figure-eight that makes his bawling tip slurp ‘round your walls. That makes the hulking man bite back handful of raspy whimpers-

Oh. Making the big, bad Toji whimper?

Though, how could he not when the torn ends of the condom were flapping open to let him gift your deepest insides with the slowest, wettest smooch. Every miniature movement making the crowned top of his swollen cockhead splatter out heavy bucketloads of pre that stuck to your cervix in a steaming hot gloss. Slipping n’ sliding.

Toji flinches as he feels your bloated lips struggle to clench around his plump circumference. So soft. So warm. 

“Warm?” Fuck- did he say that out loud? You’re letting your spit-glued mouth curve up into a smile at the way his maw drops with drunken realization. “See? I told you I-”

He cuts you off with a grumble of something that sounds like ‘shaddup.’ And it almost gives you whiplash when, in mere nanoseconds, Toji forces himself to reel back n’ leave your gooey innards squeezing instinctively around nothing - for only the briefest, quickest moment before completely tugging that tattered rubber off of him and sheathing himself silly.

“Can’t- can’t even- fuck! Why does it feel so fuckin’ good-” 

Lazy and savoring every mushy ridge and crevice inside of your wet pussy. 

Your words croon out, “More- more.”

He snickers, though there’s something octaves higher in his tonality - something unsteady. Abs tensing as he slouches over, Toji traps your throat in a headlock and growls, “T-take it then. Take it take it, dammit.”

It was almost ridiculous just how much he was throbbing, leaving your legs weak every time his puffy veins rawly massaged a lil’ ba-dump–! on top of the tenderest spots along your elastic walls. 

“Ngh- To-Tooooji! S’in sooo deep.” You scramble, your body thrashing once a meaty, capped knee pushes up against the base of your spine to make you bend.

“Tha’s it- yeah. Aaaaarch f’me, atta girl.”

“You feel so ngh–” Torrents of sappy saliva dribble out of your mouth and drench the poor pillows see-through, eyes rolling to the back of your skull at the swerving crashes of his perfectly spherical crownhead. Over n’ over. “-feels so gooood!”

He was ruthless, pillaging your treasure trove of sensitive spots with bruising batters. Deeper. Deeper.

And you’re so caught up in Toji’s relentless cadence that you almost don’t notice the way his husky breaths grow quieter, something like awe shining in those jade eyes. 

Not until a wet splat! of slobber hits your back, “Fuck. Fuck! N’ you can feel me t-too, huh? You- you can feel me- c-can really feel me. Heh- can feel me fucking you all deep inside, huh?” Honed canines nibble down on your earlobe as you nod, pinning you down with his hefty weight. “Can ya feel every thrust? Every inch? Every vein, mama?”

“Yes- yes yes yes yesss–!” Comes out your garbled answer, tiny sobs hiccuping at the back of your throat at the sheer force of his gyrations. Toji was fucking a bright red branding onto his humidly perspired pelvis in memoir of you. 

“A-always wanted to try something…count them.”

“Wh-what?”

“Count.” It takes a few slimy snogs to your gummy cervix before you’re realizing what he means, the underside of one of his zig-zagging lightning bolts slithering just against your g-spot and making you whine. 

He wanted you counting every winding vein without the condom on.

“O-one.” You’re shrilling out, and Toji was so gone that his glassy irises dilated pure Stygian black. Tendrils of his shaggy bangs tickling the back of your neck, he’s aligning his thick, rock-hard length to rub your sweet walls with two more prominent veins. “Two- hck! three.”

Awe-struck, funneling in great heaving gasps to grunt out, “Ohhh, atta- atta girl. S’that it?”

“No- ngh-” One more vein wrapping underneath the ridge of his slippery slit, two more where his glittery glossed hilt was bulging your entrance wiiiidely agape. And you’re crawling away from the slamming impact of his rummaging strikes. “Six- six!”

“Good giiiirl.”

Leaving you so sappily wet with aroused pre, Toji’s filthy headlock curls tighter around your neck and puuuulls your boneless body further into him.

Practically melting into you. He had you bowed like such a slut, your back glissading down every bumpy ridge of his sweat-dampened abs. You’re counting eight of them in your fuzzy mind before Toji’s calmed his harrowing breaths down enough to spit out, “Don’t run. W-we are going to have soooo much fun, doll.”

And that certainly couldn’t have boded well for your poor pussy.

Because without warning, he slips off a free hand down to cradle the rotund outline on your tummy where his bludgeoning mushroom tip was stirrin’. A thick sensory pad daring to push down–

“Fuh-fuuuuuck—” Toji’s dark brows furrow at the shocks of pressure, biceps bulging once he tightens his lecherous hold on you. You turn to see then that a languid smile rests upon his face as his hips give you a thorough pound, easily pinpointing your g-spot with a beaded few slivers of precum. “N’ when we’re ngh- done…” A soft peck skims across your lips, almost mockingly innocent. “M’gonna hafta buy you about ten Plan Bs.”

♡ NANAMI KENTO - Princess treatment

“...my w-wife.”

“Yes, Ken–?” You’re cooing in a low, honeyed tone - the exact type that makes your towering husband bite back a primal snarl. Gasping. Heaving. 

Your hands tighten on the fringe of his work desk, splayed out on top of so many documents like a slut. You’re about to ask again before-

“My…wife.” Nanami’s handsome jaw shuts with a sharp click! rasping grunts threatening to escape his stern lips as if he couldn’t even control them. He loosens his silky yellow tie still on, “I-I can’t- oh…my god. M’gonna marry you- m’gonna marry you.” Trying - yearning for some semblance of control before the blushing hot cap of his cockhead skims your slicked entrance once more and he’s shivering all over again, “The- the condom- broke.”

And the way your pretty mouth falls into a sweet oh! only makes that clingy rubber crack open even further, completely useless against the way that his pounding length was endlessly growing. Bigger. Thicker. 

So many copious bloated inches stiffening up until the ridges n’ puffy veins on his cock rip past even the stretchiest condom - your husband grew so big.

Sensually, your hot fluttering insides squeeze around him just once more and it’s enough for Nanami’s forehead to fall into the crook of your neck with a groan. Sweaty blond bangs gluing to your feverish skin, “Don’t- don’t do that, my love- I hafta pull out…hafta- new condom.”

But for every slimy inch that he was squeezing out of your tight pussy, Nanami was stirring in two more. Chasing the slippery smooch of your raw cunt slurping his rummaging length, enough to drive the man mad.

“Well, you don’t have to.” You’re piping up, knees weakening at the way his strawberry divot squelches out an excited lil’ wad of pre at the notion. 

And he’s wasting no time scooping up a clingy hold on your hips, supporting your weight until the globes of your ass were swung almost midair as he pounded you into his frigid desk. “You- you just said–” Guttural, generous lungfuls of air being intaken to help him secure his breath, following every plap after plap after plap. “-you want me to- ohhhh–” 

It’s as if his intelligent mind was clouding over after even a glimpse downwards at the way your raw folds were glossing out such a thick frothing of slick all down his girth. Stuffed to the brim and throbbing as his ringed finger pries apart your glittery folds to see - just to make sure he wasn’t dreaming.

You’re so wet that it’s splattering everywhere, and he easily slides out the now-useless condom in-between sloppy slams. Muttering to himself as if in disbelief, “Really…really want it raw- fuck!” 

“Ken- mmpf–!”

And just as soon as Nanami’s fully barreling cock sheaths fully rawly inside of you, your husband’s pinning you laid flat on top of the desk - hiccuping, flinching, simply taking a second to let his thick, veiny shaft draaaag around your dripping wet cunt. 

“O-oh.” You’re feeling his meaty thighs kissed behind your own shiver once the dribbling orifice homed on top of his cockhead pushes a deep crater into your spongy cervix. A slurring slew of swears leaves him, gasping. “You– m’really gonna m-marry you, darlin’.”

“Kentooo–” Your hips lurch up n’ down whilst he remains sluggishly unmoving, as if he couldn’t bring himself to unless he wanted to snap. Struggling to push onto your elbows with the way the sheer stretch had you dizzy, it’s like he was impaling you sinfully. “-we a-already married. Fuck- need you to move- please-”

“A-already married?”

In disbelief, his molten eyes flit from the matching wedding rings on your fingers to the way you were adorably whining and begging for his cock.

And he feels his mouth water-

“S-so we’re…married.” Words coming out dry, harsh. But there was something so darkly sexy in his usually-gentle tone that it made your adhesive-like walls clench- “Fuck! Don’t-”

Before you know it - before even Nanami seems to know it - that speckled tie dangling from his neck finds its way wrapped around your wrists, tight. The ends of his thick fingertips holding onto the restraint and tugging you bodily, “Don’t move- don’t you dare– fuuuuck I could cum from just that. I-if you want it raw, you needa hah- behave, my love.”

Honestly, he could’ve cum just from the way your sugary insides were pulsing around him. Just from the way you were so gorgeous underneath him like this.

You’re whimpering, eyes slithering to the dark depths of your head when his mazing divot probes ‘round your tender innards. Tugging on the tie, “Ken- S’sooo good, Ken–”

“Shhhh shh sh, I know I know–” And you swear he seems to grow even bigger at the velvety springs of slick leaking out of you, pulling your walls so taut that you could almost scream. The snaking patterns of his veins dig even further into your sweet spots, thicker. Bigger. 

Fuck- was Nanami getting even harder. Throbbing and throbbing every ounce of blood in his body, his temperature was just as feverish as his pace now that he didn’t have that damn rubber anymore. 

“O-oh…my god.” A shrilling wail seems to break out from your lips, speckles of saliva glossing your chin as they flap stupidly. “You got- you got even b-bigger, Ken–”

His plowing circumference snags on your rubbery hole, and he’s thumbing down between your sleek slick to help himself sink into your pretty cunt. “Lemme do a-all the work my…my wife.” You watch in awe as Nanami’s face breaks out into a dopey, pussydrunk grin at those very words. “My wife- my wife my wife my wife– such a filthy pussy you have.”

“Wh-what if it gets too big-”

With a thunderous bang! one of Nanami’s thick, muscular thighs comes striking on top of the flat plane of the desk.

Angling his stubby mushroom tip to poke the target of your g-spot like a dartboard, his wobbly lips graze your temple with a hum. “Take it- all you h-have to do is take it.” You’re keening with every mercilessly bludgeoning whack planted towards the very back of your pussy, “Follow my finger-”

“H-huh–” Flapping open your heavy, tear-dampened lashes, you’re following the lines that Nanami begins to draw straightly down your tummy.

All the way from the fat of your pussymound n’ up, up, up to where his bottomed-out length was pushing a circular bruise deeply into your cervix. Back and forth. 

“Uuuuup n’ down-”

And it was just as much to make him hold onto his rationality just as much as it was for you, “U-up and down.”

“Yeah? Yeahhhh–?” Nanami coos down at you, the edges of his plump lips twisting into such a sleazy smirk. And right now you were too dumb to even realize if he was pulsating even fatter, “S’not too big hah- now, huh? Look at you taking it like a champ- like my ngh- wife.”

Every uncovered pummel made his body tremble— but the only problem was that he couldn’t stop his foggy glasses from slipping. Hands reaching up to push and push, but he was so pussydrunk that he missed. 

“Kentooo–” His dumbifying pace coaxed a few carnal mewls out of you, shakily nudging your husband’s glasses to their rightful position so that he could gaze greedily down at you. 

The way your back arched off of the now-moistened desk into the perfect curvature, hips rutting–

“Oh.” Nanami’s sudden, harrowed gasp makes you still - almost. Before he’s scrambling a free hand to dangle off of your slamming flesh and manhandle you back into your swervin’ gyrations, genuinely asking. “Y-you’re my wife- but are you the hah- mother of my kids, yet, my love?”

♡ GETO SUGURU - Maxxximum

You’re whimpering as soon as Geto’s thickly padded fingertips descend down to your slobbering slit, thumb and index softly caressing it with a coo. “Awww she wants more, pretty pussy—” Before pinching—

“Fuh-fuck–!” Your head throws back and lands directly on top of his sharp collarbone, body writhing in this filthy full nelson he’d manhandled you into. Was pinning you down into- “Suguru- Sugu- don’t care about the condom, just put it iiiin–”

“Oh, you slut.” He’s mocking a hollow breath, curling his left hand ‘round your waist to glissade your back down his sweat-streaked core. Geto’s broad chest vibrates as he tuts, “And after you said that it was ‘t-t-too much–’”

Truly, he was so mean.

And the only thing meaner than Geto was the way he fucked - striking, vicious rams inside your dripping wet pussy that not even a condom could handle. It’d only taken a few merciless pounds into the deepest, goopiest depths of your cunt until he’d torn it clean through.

Needily, you’re edging your squirming hips further down his toned body. Hiccuping at every bumpy ridge of his abs as you inclined closer to the heated, throbbing length between his long legs–

“Whoops- upsy daisy.” He’s muttering smugly to himself as he draaaaags you back up to where you’d been splayed out all prettily, accidentally bucking upwards so that his crowned, cherry-red tip scrapes straight down your pussylips- fuck.

Gasping, rutting– and it’s all that Geto Suguru can do to try and force out a crazed little titter to try and save his cocky act. “W-well.” Throat dry, he’s never been more thankful that your beautiful eyes were too dazed to catch onto his angry blush. “Since you’re sooo desperate, gorgeous- beg.”

“P-please.”

Aligning the silver orb of his Prince Albert’s to give your flooded entrance a welcoming kiss, frigid and sinful. “More. Tell me you wan’ it raw.”

“Please, Sugu–” Your dewy lips flap desperately at the feeling of that metal piercing decorating the tip-top crown of his bloated cockhead, slick with so many numerous layers of glittering pre that splat! splat! splattered! down onto your pussymound. Your widened, shiny eyes turn to him, “J-just want you raw.”

Oh. Geto Suguru hadn’t even stopped to consider this being his first feeling of your cute cunt without a condom before he’s sinking in.

Slow, aching glides just to fit past that tightly ‘rounded entrance of yours and- shit, were you always this fucking tight?

“S-so soft…” He’s breathing out into your ear without realizing, the rounded curve of his ballsack flinching tenderly at the gummy feeling of your walls hugging him. Before he’d even realized, Geto was fucking addicted. 

He was salivating at the feeling of your velvety walls dripping goblets of slick down his veins, long raven lashes fluttering. Almost in disbelief - “So sweet-” And then your sweltering hot insides squeeze and– “So….”

Geto doesn’t even have the words to describe - doesn’t even have the brainpower. 

Only scrambling his tense fingertips urgently down to your pulsating damp clit and pinching- “C’mon- c’mon c’mon c’mon-” Gnawing down on his plush lower lip, “Squeeze me a-again, gorgeous–” 

“O-oh my god…Suguru.” 

Head dazed and heavy, the only thing that gives you some semblance of clearance is the splashing speckles of something wet sprinkling against your cheek. Oozing. And only after lifting your head from the musky nape of Geto’s neck do you realize that he was slobbering. A thin line of spit that hung off of the rosy-pink edges of his lips.

Gasping, “A-are you drooling?”

Fuck- was he? Nose wrinkling in almost-endearing fury, Geto’s nudging your jaw agape to scoop up his excess saliva and spit. Missing.

So dazed right now that he’s splattering about half of the webbed wad beside the unfastened corners of your mouth. A shimmering sheen that he can’t help but crane his head over to kiss away–

“S-so fuckin’ what?” Geto growls from the hoarse back of his throat, punishing your pussy with those signature rude thrusts of his. The ridges of his v-line scratch brandingly into the base of your spine, his thick thighs parting as he bludgeons his achy, sagging cock deeper. “Who’s fuckin’ idea were haaa condoms anyway? Looks so much prettier droolin’ over me l-like this. So much sweeter–”

He was so big that even the tiniest of gyrations had Geto reaching spots you didn’t even know existed, the circular decoration of his piercing acting like a spotlight mazing past every glutinous wall. Striking your g-spot dead on- “S-so much chattier.”

And he wasn’t just talking about those sweetly wailing sobs being torn out of you with every hammering thrust- no. 

Your perfect pussy was just as talkative, even more so now that he was rubberless - every slippery sliiiide slurring out the wettest, loudest songs of squelches that make Geto’s ears burn red.

You’re twistin’ and turning with every slap! of his breeder balls skin-to-skin with the treacly base of your cunt, babbling. “Sugu- fuck- Suguru—”

Tugging on one of his long, inky locks that makes him let out a soft oi! He’s squeezing his prolonged, manicured digits around your clit and draaaagging in return.

Grumbling from behind, “H-honestly- s’that all you know to say?” Though, he doesn’t sound the tiniest bit upset, “Ya can’t talk or you just hah- want her to?” Another pinch on your knobbled clit, another squeeze that makes Geto groan your name like a prayer. Sluuuurping, “Talkative girl- might as well let her make the speeches for the association instead o’ me.”

Hit after precise hit, the globular curve of his tip was spearheading you to the maximum. 

And Geto’s only growing more animalistic, more drunken – bottoming out till his strawberry-flavored orifice digs into your cervix and he’s forced to bite down on your shoulder to keep from whimpering.

“S-speaking of-” The warble in his baritone voice made your heart race, Geto’s bloated cock giving a sultry lil’ ba-dump–! that you feel all the way in your throat. He whispers scratchily into your ear, “I hear the association has a meeting in here soon…”

♡ CHOSO KAMO - Hey, emo boy!

“M’gonna put it in now, baby—” Choso’s breezy summer breaths fan your face, and the cute mahogany eyes he looks down at you with are sparkling. “M’gonna…”

Pushing apart your jittery legs with a slow sluuuurp–! emanating from your sap-glued folds, you’re watching with a coo as he furiously fists his angrily swollen cock at simply the sight of you. Hips bucking into his hand, condom stretching with every growing inch he’s filling out–

“S’gonna be a bit of a hngh- stretch.” He’s gulping, and the scent of his vanilla cologne wafts through your senses as Choso slouches in close. So close. An open palm resting on the mound of your pussy, “S’gonna be- oh.”

He’s not just gasping, he’s heaving.

Lurching back his strong hips, Choso’s rosy lips gape at the singular line of glistening slick that connects his bawling divot to your hole. Winking and just as needy as he is.

“Cho– are you okay, baby?”

A full-bodied shiver running viscerally throughout his limbs, your poor boyfriend grits down on the soft insides of his cheek hard enough to taste iron– “Baby–” He’s strangling out through a honeyed syrup watering his tastebuds, “-baby i-it broke.”

Your mouth drops into a perfectly sweet ‘o’ once you’re taking a look downwards for yourself, the sprayed sheen from between your inner thighs smearing against each other as you clench. “Aww, you pulled it too far down, Cho–” And before he can open his mouth with a few desperate apologies, you’re plowing on- “But, I don’t really mind…”

Choso pinches himself once, twice– he pinches himself five times already until his veined forearm was red n’ raw just to make sure that this was real life. 

The very same pinkish flush that was capping the top of his glistening globed tip, streaming out such thick wads of pre that were now beginning to plug up your quivering entrance.

“Choso?”

“Fuh-fuck–!” The fattened pad of his thumb comes collapsing down to cover the sobbing orifice homed at the end of his heavy, throbbing cock. So hard now that his length was beginning to sag n’ spank down on your bloated pussylips with a wettened thwack! “M’sorry- sorry I hafta- or else I’ll cum.”

“I don’t mind.” Ohhhh, Choso had half the mind to plant his ringed fingers over your mouth and make you stop him from losing it. “Wan’ it inside though, baby.”

“I-inside.” Comes out his echoing repetition, hazed peripherals falling to and fro from your needy expression to the way his cherry-red shaft lay sandwiched between your leaking folds.

Ba-dump–! Ba-dump–! Ba-dump–! Right where your perked clit was jolting in carnal tandem with his girth. Fat and aching for but the tiniest touch that it’s almost as if on autopilot that he’s tearing off the rest of that useless condom and letting his sensitive underside sliiiiide–

“O-oh shit.” Choso’s groaning out, half-blindly guiding one of your hands to latch onto his damp locks so that you could pull— stopping himself from throwing his head back because all he wanted to look at was you, you, you.

“Easy there- easy now, Cho.” You hum, the lecherous grin twisting your lips ever-growing once he’s squeezing and squeezing his curvaceous head just past your entrance - sensually. 

Ragged, mindless thrusts that fit his wide length inside - Choso was just so big that only a singular plump inch inside and you’re damn near being driven mad.

And that’s exactly all that it takes - an inch. 

An inch stuffed inside of your velvety, plush cunt before Choso snaps his hips and cums. Over. And over. And over. In thick, saccharine ribbons that dollop down the sides of your channel and stir like a slushy every time he’s swivelin’ his pointed tip into your softest innards. 

“Shit- shit shit shit I can’t believe I-”

“No need to be hngh! shy.”

“But I-”

“I-insiiiide-” Your arms wrap around his neck and crash an open-mouth kiss that he whimpers into, sharpened canines nibbling on your bottom lip like a candied gum. Hollow, rasping breaths every time he’s fucking and fucking his pounding cock. “All- all inside- fuck–”

And then your rubbery ring of muscle snags on one of his slimily scraping veins and tightens– “N-now tha’s just unfair.” He hiccups, dark eyeliner smearing with every gulping sluuuuurp your winking pussy milks out. “-sh-she feels like heaven.”

You’re flinching as one of his sensory tips scrape the milky outer edges of your sloped pussy, puddling a glutinous few cobwebs of seed that he promptly glides across your lips like a staining ivory gloss. Kissing you. 

“So soft. So…warm w-with my cum–” He’s drawling out, feverish forehead hitting yours with a dull thud. Choso’s boring dead-on into your hazily dilated pupils as his orifice constantly pumps out sploshes of sappy cum, “Think m’gonna m-marry her hngh- you. Her. You.”

“You’re too cute, baby–” You’re huffing n’ puffing with every pap! of his humid v-line stinging the base of your dripping cunt.

And Choso might have been sweet, but the way he was fucking you into the mattress was definitely not. Anything but. 

Brows furrowed, nerves on his neck popping, snarling his teeth like an animal— he’s gnawing down on the globes of your shoulder and drilling his swollen length into you like he was crazed. Feral. Your treasure trove of honeyed spots being upturned like never before, even when Choso was bludgeoning his hips back at the recoil you could still feel his probin’ circular bruises.

“Yours–” He’s punctuating his pants with a sharp gust of that particular word, like a mantra. Warm globules of drool and eyeliner seeping into your skin, “Yours yours yours- yours.”

You’re whimpering at the chilling drag of his pierced tongue swabbing down your bottom lip, “H-haaa, baby– cum in me once m-more, m’kaaaay–?”

“P-pinch me.”

With a questioning glint in your gaze, you’re pinching Choso and watching as he all but melts at the pinpricking pain. So he wasn’t dreaming.

Collapsing his hefty bodyweight on top of yours until the bumps of his washboard abs kept on glissadin’ down your front, moaning. “S-so it’s real. It’s real.”

Hiccuping, trembling. 

“M’gonna cum- gonna c-cum alllll for you now, baby—” He’s hissing through gleaming clenched teeth, and something in his voice shakes. Pitches octaves higher, “M’gonna cum- c-cum until you can’t- even- fit- it- and- and in return…”

Pound after pound after pound and yet Choso still finds the time to tenderly cradle your dominant hand and curl it possessively around his neck. Groaning, “-choke me.”

♡ RYOMEN SUKUNA - MILKYWAY?!

“Shit- shit, look at the mess you’re making.”

More like the mess that Sukuna himself was making - all in thick, clumpy ribbons of cum that poured from the crevice of your pussylips. It made such a saturated lil’ puddle on his cursed pair of lips, licking and grinning at the way your poor pussy couldn’t keep up with his sheer loads.

And, clearly, those puny human condoms couldn’t either.

“Keh– don’t need this shit anyway.” He’s scattering away the shattered remnants of rubber, holding your pretty hips hovering up in their cute lil’ reverse cowgirl as he watched you driiiiiip–

“R-raw, Kuna?” Your whimpering wails ring over the sultry squelches of his second tongue sliding up n’ down your puffy bloated folds. Every dragging movement of his globular tip making you flinch oh-so-adorably on top of his sculptured hips. “Can you even handle it?”

A thorough spank! on the globes of your ass leaves you whimpering instead, Sukuna’s snickers bellowing out. “Who’d you think yer talking to?”

“W-well if I get pregnant, I want a hngh- daughter though-”

“Tch- daughter or son, you’ll get my hah- heir, brat.” 

Precariously, you’re being jostled on top of him as he slouches back on his royal bed, third and fourth hands thumbing at your soppily glued-together folds and watching as their smeeeear with milky cum. 

A sploshing trail of it follows from the inner parts of Sukuna’s thick thighs to right where his dual raw mushroom tips were swabbing your sloppy entrance. Just the slightest smooch of his feverish, sensitive shaft slits leaves the king hissing– “N’ you’re gonna take it all like a good girl, mama.”

And oh- oh, fuck.

Ryomen Sukuna wasn’t prepared for this.

For the way your velvety folds pry apart and swallow him like your pretty pussy was starving. Rummaging length being bustled deeper n’ deeper, you were so fucking hot inside that he’s fighting not to let his crimson eyes sprint to the back of his head.

“O-oh you’re–” And Sukuna’s gruff baritone cracks; no matter how much he’s clearing his throat, it’s holed with so many voice breaks that you’re turning your head ‘round and smirking.

“Did you just-”

“Shut the fuck up.” 

He’s burning, feverish.

Another stinging slap and a few skitters of cursed energy flow through your body - like the lecherous brush of his bawling, swollen cocks was enough for him to be losing control over his own powers. 

“S-so this is what this pretty lil’ cunt feels like- hah-” With a solid plunge, he’s spearheading those plump, split-ended heads until they mark two fat circles on your sponged cervix. 

Your fluttering folds peck his coral-pink happy trail, tastebuds simmering with what felt like the savory taste of him - bottoming out, and Sukuna finds his devilish eyes fucking welling with tears. Head tumbling back because you were so soft and warm and tight. So, so tight–

“Tight, huh?” Did he even realize he was babbling all this out loud? Your lip-slicked lips struggle not to wobble into a dumbified pout, pupils wandering the whites of your eyes in circles every time his silky girths brushed up against you and each other and you– 

With a grouchy grumble, Sukuna’s planting another solid thwack! of his monstrously large fingertips on your right asscheek - or, at least, he tries to. 

Oh, does he try. 

The roughened plane of his palm coming down - missing. Hips instead bucking upwards with three repeated whacks into the bottom of your pussy, he’s caressing the slurping lips of your bulging cunt instead with an almost whine– “K-know your hck! place, human.”

Almost whining.

The lecherous ends of his second tongue slither around the sheeny insides of your thighs and start to toy lil’ hearts on top of your perked clit. Leaving Sukuna to ram, leaving Sukuna to gasp– “You’re never gettin’ off easy after this- oh, you’re never getting off easy.”

“Wh-what do you…” Your stupidly saliva-filled mouth goes completely dry at the look of complete and utter raw need on his face.

Eyes struggling to bat open, mouth glittery with spit, nostrils flared once he’s punishing the insides of your dripping wet cunt one slam. Two. Three. “Gonna hafta let m f-feel this ngh cute cunt allllll the fuckin’ time now, mama.” He’s croaking out through ragged bursts of breath, latched so deeply on your hips that he was clawing at you now. “Gonna hafta- feel her- breed her.”

“You- you already are–” You’re crying out at the jiggling cylindrical bulge being furiously fucked into your tummy, Sukuna’s barreling lengths pinpointing parts of you you didn’t even know existed with his swashing webs of cum. 

Over and over.

“You think this is me heh- breeding you, brat?” Glowing crimson eyes widen at you, feral. “This- no no no no- this s’me fucking you–” He’s creeping up a vice-like hold on your perspired neck, keeping you from crawling away – keeping you hostage to every vicious plap! of his rugged v-line hips. Matching twin cockheads stirrin’ you from the inside out, “-twice.”

Filthy, filthy splotches of pre leave a mess that slips from your treacly slit. You were so wet that you’re practically sobbing steamy torrents of sap that glistens down his thighs, and Sukuna’s finding himself in fucking heaven.

“Ohhh m’gonna breed ‘er-” He growls through his clenched teeth, abs tensing until the globes of your ass slipped over the ends of every ridge. “Breed her every day- every h-hour-”

Your body jerks at the sweltering hot gusts of his pants striking you from behind, attempting to keep up with his vulgar, vulgar pace. “Fuck- fuck fuck fuuuck. Dunno if I’ll last, Kuna–”

“Cum-” And the curling corners of his grin slant with something predatory, murky pheromones leaving your brain hypnotically heady. “-the momma’s s’pposed ta cum if we want a baby.” He didn’t even believe in old wives’ tales, but the way you moved your hips made him so dumbstruck. 

And you didn’t know who was faring worse - him or you once you’re letting him fuck you through your filthy high. 

The sparks n’ waves of your orgasm crashing into you all at once, Sukuna’s dabbing your tenderized g-spot with so many hits upon hits. Milking your high, ravaging his naturally veined cock until every inch of him was raw n’ red - so pussydrunk that he doesn’t even realize he’s bulldozed into his own high until you register it first.

“Sukuna—” Your mouth dangles wetly open, breezing gales of gasps ripping from you with every weighty splat! of something wet and gooey at the back of your pussy. Double the probes to your g-spot, double the ribbony wires of seed sprinkling into you - he’s never using a condom ever again as far as you let him.

“O-oh, mama…”

And the king of curses was so mesmerized at the creamy frothing dripping out of you. Sticky, syrupy white that glues to the backs of your thighs and makes his second mouth water - so much so that he doesn’t even realize that he’d whimpered. 

♡ INO TAKUMA - H.O.T.T.O.G.O.

“M’fucking you- I-I’m really fucking you-” The last word of that sentence ends up strained, scratchy and gone. “...raw.”

“Taku~”

“Fuck-” It was just too cute how Ino’s blushing cheeks just barely peeked from underneath his heavy, cotton ski mask. The humid fabric sticking to his heated skin as you swerved your hips in a slooow heart–

“Aww– c’mon now, Taku.” Your fingertips scratch down the sweat-matted tendrils of your best friend’s chestnut bangs, tugging - and it makes him let off the prettiest pitched groan. And the sinful noise itself is enough for you to slip yourself down just one more swollen inch, “No need to be shy—”

“B-but raw? Seriously?” Comes his answer, head throwing back into your satin pillows at your lecherous motion. And Ino’s hands are twitching - clawing at your hips as if he wasn’t sure whether he wanted you to slow down or ride the utter soul out of him. 

Traitorous hips arching off of the bed with a rickety creak–! he’s creeping his globed pink-tipped cock deeper past your softly saturated folds. Mumbling away, “F-friends don’t do this-”

“Well— d’you want me to stop, baby?” You’re scoffing, eyes flittering over to the golden foil you’d accidentally torn with your teeth. “Or, I could get another condom-”

“No.” And the answer is so sharp and hoarse that you’re both momentarily shocked - aroused. The temperature in the room rising about ten degrees, and Ino looks burning hot when his half-lidded eyes finally emerge from underneath his mask, “No.”

His slender fingerpads caving in to the curves of your hips, down. “N-no.” Ino’s gritting through clenched pearly whites as he’s grabbing a handful of your asscheeks and slamming you down. “No- no no no no- don’t move. Don’t-”

And fuck- you’re watching in awe as the realization hits him that he’s really, really inside you raw.

That heavenly gaze takes over his molten peripherals and turns them pure white with eye-curling bliss, strings of spittle departing with every babble. “Move- p-please move.”

Ino was so fucking looong that the outer parts of your thighs ached after every trawling drag from his burly base to his pink, dewy-tipped cockhead. Glossing your puffed-up pussylips over with a ribbon of creamy pre every time you bounced your hips vulgarly. 

“You should haaaah– make up your m-mind, Taku—” You’re giggling smugly, watching as his pert mouth drops deeper and deeper into an adorable oh!

“S’your fault- r-raw.” Lilting baritone cracking ‘round that last word as if his melty mind couldn’t even think to say it just yet. He’s nibbling down on the insides of his cheek with a grunt, “Your fault y-your ohhh fuck- your pussy feels t-too good, pretty–” 

Ino’s mahogany lashes flutter rapidly, blinking back shiny beads of tears at the sexy clenches n’ kisses of your gooey walls. Slouching further back, he gazes with labored breath as your parched cunt dribbles a sweltering rope of sap down one of his prominent veins. Dumbfounded. 

In love.

“Wh-why does it feel so good–” One of his thumbs brush down to your sprinkling folds as if confirming the absence of a condom. Sure, he’s had practically no experience but this was heaven. Moaning throatily, “Wh-why. Shouldn’t feel this- it shouldn’t feel this…” You’re catching a hint of something unreadable in his eyes as he drifts his fiery gaze to you, “C-can you write my name, sweetness?”

And how could you not listen to that request?

Copping a solid handful of his battle-toned pecs, you’re balancing yourself enough to spell out a sloppy T-A-K-U-M-A with his barreling girth - weakened bedsprings singing as you do. The swirlin’ on those U’s especially poking his cream-capped crownhead into your favorite nooks and crannies. 

Ino’s widened gaze glasses over as his muddled mind follows every letter and every squelching draaaaaag of his name. 

Letting a few slimy veins skid directly into a clash with your g-spot and watching as you whine– “Oh….birthing hips” He gasps as if just coming to the realization. 

“Birthing hips?” You’re cooing in amusement.

And Ino can only nod and nod and nod. Plunging his hips needily upwards to chase that engulfing snog of his ridged slit gliding along your silken insides. Soft. “Gonna make me lose it-” He’s gasping, free arm shooting up to curl around your neck and dragging you into a filthy, filthy French kiss. 

“T-Taku mmm—” You’re blabbing out, stupid on the way his tufts of tawny hair rubbed up against your clit so deliciously. 

“Gonna make me l-lose it–” And then you clench and Ino slobbers - he was fully fucked-out, gone. A blossoming blush taking over his body like a heatwave, silken locks heavy with perspiration until he had to just spy through them, cock twitching. “-gonna make me- oh…gonna m-make me…propose.” 

Before you can even think of responding to his little confession, he’s summoning every existing ounce of strength in his body to clamber up onto his elbows. Glittering droplets of spit slipping from his puckered lips, “Need to pull out- need to, but…” And murked clouds of candied breath depart from his maw as soon as he readily opens, “-wan’ you t-to spit in my mouth, pretty.”

And you do - in a thick, viscid wad that glues mostly to the side of Ino’s mouth with the way he was fucking you so urgently. Hips drilling in a feral motion like he couldn’t bring himself to stop, to slow down.

You find your brows raising in intoxicated surprise as Ino startles out a shocked, drawling giggle– his husked tone veering octaves higher at times. “Y-you missed.”

“Hey- mmpf!”

A fat thumb comes to wipe off the driveling excess decorating the side of his face - before he’s stuffin’ it into your pouted maw before you can even think to complain about your target. 

With his rummaging digit hooked inside your mouth, Ino drag-drag-draaaags you closer to him, his next few uttered words tickling the curve of your ear. “S-since you missed, I get to haaaa- cum inside now, sweetness. M’kay?”

♡ GOJO SATORU - “It’ll work.”

“N-no it won’t.”

“Yes it will.”

“No it- fuck!” And you can’t even get irritated with your overeager boyfriend’s cursed energy for crushing those flimsy condoms before he’s fucking you stupid with exactly that–

Raspy breaths labored, neat crescent nails clawing onto your hips - Gojo’s slamming his slenderly toned hips into yours so hard that sparking bolts of blue lightning flicker from his skin onto yours. 

“S-see–?” He’s cooing in a sultry smooth tone, one stray thumb catching on the saturated edges of your pussy and prying apart wiiiiide enough that he can glimpse the concentrated limitless wrapping ‘round his barrelling hard shaft. “S’working- h-heh, who needs fuckin’ condoms when you’ve got the ngh- strongest, sweetheart?”

“M’tell- telling you–” You’re struggling to puff out - to gasp. 

“Yeees?” 

“I-it’s not gonna- fuck–!” And Gojo - oh, he’s letting his hazed sapphire eyes circle with a ring of glowing power as his Six Eyes directs his spherical, sobbing tip precisely to your poor g-spot. Whack after sodden whack. 

Gojo was so fucking big that every one of even his tiniest grinds was bound to leave wet lil’ smooches on your cervix. Winding patterns of sappy pre that sploshes into every crevice and cranny he’s stuffing his scalding, limitless-decorated length inside of.

Cocky hums breezing against the tender lobe of your right ear, “What was thaaat?” You’re whimpering once a pair of his pale, lengthy fingertips creep down to your pursed pussylips and pinches. “C’mon squeeze ‘er t-tighter f’me, my girl-”

“Y-you’re sooo—” You’re sobbing out, heels flinching into the plush padding of his shoulder muscles as he’s rovering a targeted hit to your bulging g-spot. 

Until he’s sure you’ve memorized the exact rounded pinpoint of his divot, the exact shade of pretty pink nuzzling up to your delicate patch of nerves. 

“What was that? Huuuuh–?” Gojo’s perfectly pearly white smile twitches into something almost dangerous, “C’mon- you can hah! do it.” Smoky breaths hitching with every cute squeeeeze of your carnally heated innards, he’s clenching your oversaturated folds snugger. “Tighter. Tighter.”

And that’s exactly what you do.

Just the noisiest, most lecherous hug of your silken soft walls all kissin’ all over his sheathed girth and Gojo finds himself flinching.

Long lashes flapping his watery eyes shut, handsome jaw ticking with a sudden tension, gasping- bucking. And you’re throwing your head back with a sob when the doughy fingerpads gripping onto your pussymound buzz with the power of leaking cursed energy. 

As if Gojo wasn’t even in control anymore.

“Raw-” He’s strangling out - hoarse. Parched. “I’m- raw…”

“T-Toru, are you o- fuck.”

Your heart almost stops when the strongest finally lurches his head up at your announcement of that little nickname as if on primal instinct. Flinching. Heavy lids pulling open just the tiniest bit– and the look in his dilated, near-black told you that something in him had snapped.

That something in him was just about on the verge of racking up a kill count higher than the population right now. 

Against the tiny inkling of rationality flashing red in your muddled mind, you’re breathing out, “Toru, are you alright?”

“Do I look alright, sweetheart?”

“D-did it work?”

Gojo’s movements are rapid, jerky as if he’s being strung along by some external force– and those glassy eyes fall upon where your sloppy hole was readily swallowing his every lollipop-red, raw inch. And then he startles out a shock of laughter– “Didn’t work.”

His limitless had faltered and now so was he.

Your skin goosebumps with concern at the air, lilting octaves in his voice. The way that he’s ramming a thoroughly rummaging strike to your gooey core that you seem to feel all the way in your lungs.

“D-didn’t work.” He’s giggling into your ear, the raw - raw - scrape of his orbed divot digging a translucent line of pre all the way down, down, down to your womb and leaving him hissing. “Didn’t work didn’t work didn’t work- didn’t work n’ I haaaah- don’t regret it one bit.”

“Y-you don’t?” You’re blubbering out, every sappy smudge of his veins across your g-spot was leaving you oh-so-stupid on his fat, veiny cock. 

“Not- one- bit-” Every single word, every single syllable was punctuated with a thick, solid pillage of your gummy walls. Because now that Gojo Satoru had finally felt all of you - he couldn’t get enough. “Y-you’ve been holding out.”

Before you can even think to wonder what he meant, he’s sinfully leveraging those supernatural reflexes to swat down a few more digits on top of your dribbling cunt and spreeeead. 

“Look at her- feel her. So soft, so wet-” Hiccuping, a tiny sob crackles at the clogged-up back of Gojo’s throat every time he’s running his rounded cockhead into you. Great glittering tears dangle from those snowy lashes of his, “S-so heavenly and- ohhhh you’ve been holding out my girl– look at you.”

You’re wrenching your dizzily circlin’ gaze open to watch as he’s splurging a few stringy wads of slick onto his fingers and letting it streeeetch slimily between them. “Y-you’re filthy-”

“O-oh right, no playing with food…”

Hah, as if.

Not even nanoseconds later you’re feeling the buzzing spank of those very same digits rolling over your needy clit simply throbbin’ away. You whimper once he’s twisting the delicate nub in his touch to write a pretty TORU~♡ right on top.

“Might just b-be my new hngh- obsession.” Gojo’s purring against your cheek as you writhe and whine underneath him so cutely, glittering eyes dead-set on you. Recording every detail. “Never gonna let you go now- ngh- gonna fuck you forever- gonna feel her- haaaah- you’re m-my girl, right?”

And you’re simply nodding and nodding and nodding as he’s cooing at you through every shuddering ram. 

Right where his sculptured pelvis was riding against yours was now starting to burn bright red, the stinging impact seeping out such powerful waves of reverse cursed energy zapping through your body so that Gojo wouldn’t break you when his tempo got harder and harder–

“You’re gonna c-cum soon, sweetheart-” He’s choking in-between a gnawing kiss down on your syrupy tongue, feeling the way your scalding tastebuds water once you realize his Six Eyes was accurate. 

Your cottony head throwing back uselessly into the decadent pillows with a wail, “Please- please, let me cum- Toru–”

“Gonna cum- gonna cum f’me.” He’s muttering underneath his breath, and through the teary cracks in your lids you can make out the way that Gojo was snarling. Eyes wide, dimples cratered, a sheer raw intensity to him that you’d only seen in battle before. 

One of his knobbly-tipped indexes draws an invisible line halfway across your stomach, skin tingling wherever he caresses. “There.” Gulping, mouth dry, he’s battering your sloppy cunt with one-two-three more resounding hammers. “There.”

The euphoria that crashes into you is so strong that he’s displaying you with his big, beefy forearm to sink your teeth into and bite - hard enough that you’re tasting metal. 

He’s shoveling quick, exact pounds that hit you right when your highs peak, multiple. 

And it wasn’t just you cumming - it was your beloved Gojo, too.

Skin electric, eyes scrunched, the romantic lighting in your bedroom shattering and shooting out pieces of glass that bounce off of the limitless he’d cast over the two of you.

Hours and hours later you’ll be wondering why the entirety of Tokyo doesn’t have power, but for now you’re too amazed by the fact that Gojo didn’t even seem to realize he was cumming, almost like he couldn’t even stop now that he’d started. 

Raw, he was finally filling you up just the way he’d been dreaming of for so long. 

He’s only cooing at your marking gnaw as if it was a cute nibble, “Yeah- yeah take it.” Husking voice cracks bleeding out of him with every streaming spurt of seed that floods out like a waterfall inside of you. “Take it take it take it–”

So much that it splashes out of you and formulates a syrupy puddle that Gojo dips a few fingertips into and sucks. So much that your numb legs are thrashing with the dilemma to either run away or milk him for more, more more–

“No running.” 

Gojo’s voice has dipped back into a stern bass as he’s announcing, curling his left- no, right? - your mind was so sweet n’ cotton-filled that you could barely even think anymore - palm ‘round your throat and draaaagging you back to scratch the tufted white curls at his base with your sprinkling pussy.

He’s craning down enough that his spit-stained lips tickle the shell of your right ear, “My S-Six Eyes says it didn’t take…” Another probin’ thrust, this time pumping his sickly honeyed web of cum right against the door to your womb, “-yet.”

A/N. Quick question- was my Gojo favoritism showing this time-

Plagiarism not authorized.

[bot1e4ter]

needy!drunk!gojo satoru x gn reader-based off this post

synopsis: gojo is a lightweight, vowed to sobriety to keep whatever bit of shame he has left to his name. but he really can't help but take a few shots when he sees you doing the same.

warnings: sub gojo, gn dom reader, both reader and gojo are drunk, gojo's a lightweight, handjob, semi-public sex, he cries-like a lot, he also had nipple piercings bc i couldn't help myself, reader's kinda a hoe, feelings, think that's it

The warm press of hands against your hips is what makes you gasp. The soft touch of lips traced over your throat is what makes your head spin.

What a delightful feeling. 

What a human desire. 

“Touch me.” 

The room spins around you, the warm feeling of being held making you sigh, leaning into it. The scent of him, the greedy claiming of his presence in your mind. So selfish. Of him not to think of the effect that this has on you. To not care about the war going on in your mind. 

“Touch me, please?” A whine this time. A meek sound, spilling from his lips, making your body light up in return. 

“Satoru,” He practically purrs at his name on your lips. Pathetic. How easily riled up he is. How easily you’re able to make his knees feel weak. How much he loves the sound of your lips forming his name.

“Mmmm, say it again.”His nose sweeps delicately over your neck, working over a heavy sigh as he tries not to get drunk on the smell of your shampoo. Or more drunk than he already is, that is. 

“Your name?” You mutter slowly. 

“Yeah….” His words have been gradually slurring over the span of the night, with the amount of shots he’s taken, with the amount of drinks he’s had. With the inches of space between you closing until there’s nothing between you but the thin layer of clothing that does nothing to hide the bulge he shamelessly presses against you.

Even so, you know that he's always been far beyond measures of shame, but this is a whole new level, the way he continues to press his body impossibly closer to yours, his broad chest against your shoulders, his hips canting against you. 

You’ve always hated how he’s been taller than you, his incessant teasing when he throws you over his shoulder as you yell and pound on his back. He takes advantage of it all too often.

You don’t mind now.

“Why, Satoru?” Maybe you’re cruel for the teasing, for liking your friend’s reactions all too much. Shivering, nearly violently, throbbing against your lower back. 

He whines, “Sounds so…-so much better when you say it. Makes me wanna just…”

His breath is heavy with the scent of alcohol and you’re still not entirely sure how Shoko and Suguru managed to get him to break his vow of sobriety. Not when you’d seen him turning them down for the first bit of the night.

The next time you saw him he was getting dragged along by you, gulping down whatever liquids you shoved into his hands. 

With his feverish hands tracing up your body and his sinful hips pressing against yours. Muttering about how he wanted you and needed you, whispering about things he'd never have said in the harsh reality of day, but was that not the beauty of getting intoxicated beyond belief?

“Hmm? Just what?” 

He simpers, “Wan’ you to touch me, play with me, like I’m just a toy for you~” He grinds slowly and you wish you could kiss him. Kiss him until he’s breathless and red and can’t remember his own name. Dazed and dizzy and muttering gibberish while loosely gripping onto you. 

You don’t think if you’d even have to kiss him to do that right now, but the taste of his perfectly pink lips would just be an added pleasure to this delectable mix.

But you shouldn’t. And you won’t.

Not because he’s your friend and this will surely be crossing some unspoken line.

Or because it’ll throw off the axis of your entire friend group. You'd never let that stop you before. And you wouldn’t let something like that stop you now. Not when you've clumsily pressed your lips to Shoko’s, high out of your mind and hidden under the blanket of dark nights. Or when you let your hands wander along the lengths of Suguru’s skin, promising to make him feel things he’d never felt before. 

Not because Satoru Gojo is one of your best friends.

But because Satoru Gojo is currently drunk and so are you. And despite the fact that you’re practically drowning in the warmth of alcohol and all that is Satoru Gojo, you want whatever you do with him to mean something-be something. Not just a clumsy night of drunken mistakes and hazy flashes, not something you’ll forget in the morning and agree to never speak of again.

He’s too…important for you to treat him like that. And you’re too selfish to let anything you do to him to mean anything but the fact that he would be yours. But he’s not yours. And you’re not his. And all this thinking is only making a steady ache build behind your temples.

You sigh, twisting around in his arms. Blue eyes blinking back at you, slowly searching over yours and fuck, his lips are so kissable. Pink and plump, trapped between his too white teeth.

“Let’s get you back to Shoko and Suguru, they’ll take you home and make sure you don’t kill yourself.” You’re not entirely sure where they went or why they’ve left the two of you behind, all alone where they'd know neither of you were in the right mind to make good choices.

 “No,” He shakes his head, white hair tossing, ruffled and mussed from a night of clinging to you like this. Far too close for comfort though you still couldn’t bring yourself to pry him off.  “No, n-no, don’t wan’you  to leave…” 

You begin to tug him off either way. He’s not sane enough to make decisions for himself and you don’t think you are either. “C’mon baby, let’s go find your friends.”

He shudders and grips your hand, refusing to move an inch. Tears pool in his eyes and your jaw hardens.

You sigh. You didn’t know why you thought this was a fight you’d win either way. It was a losing game trying to argue with Satoru. His lips wobble and you can feel your resolve withering away by the second. Tearing down every single defence you put up around, being ripped away by him and his stupid tears as if they were paper. 

“Don’t leave.” He whispers and he looks pathetic but you know you’ll give in to him if he asks you to. “Don’t leave me…please.”

You cup his cheek and he purrs, melting into the touch as if he were a cat, pushing into you for more attention. Basking in your attention as you sweep his tears away with your thumb, letting him close his eyes and pull you into the soft cushioning of a booth. 

You feel heady or maybe it’s the alcohol talking. More tears roll down his cheeks, tracking along the slopes of his flushed face. Crystalline and sacred and you realize with a twist in the pit of your stomach that it’s arousing.

The sight of him. His sweat-soaked skin and his eyes big and glassy. And the fragile mask he’s worked so hard to keep up deteriorating beneath your very eyes, each tear breaking and cracking apart the image of the powerful man he claims to be.

A crumpled facade of a God into a something more, something divine and corrupt, something vulnerable and weak and so very human in your arms, falling apart by a mere touch.

Maybe you’re more fucked up than you realized. Maybe you’re just horny. Maybe because it’s him. And he’s Satoru Gojo and everything about him is perfect. Powerful. Transcendent. A God against humans, finally falling apart like this, before you, ready to fall to his knees. Perhaps he was always meant to.

“Don’t wanna be alone…don’t wanna…ngh~” 

His hips thrust up, a whiny gasp working past his lips. He pants as if he’s run a marathon and you want to do such delectably sinful things to him and you’re sure you could do them all and more and he’d only beg and plead for more.

Perhaps…

“Kiss me.”

Your heart thuds in your chest, you wonder if he can hear with how loud it is. “Satoru,”

He whines and grinds and you moan. And it’s a losing battle.

“Shut up,” he insists, hand cupping the back of your head, running his fingers through your hair, almost obsessively. “Shut up and just kiss me.”

“You know we can’t. You-“

“I, am perfectly fine.” His words are a pant, a plea, whispered with a kind of reverence of a worshipper to a god. “Just kiss me, fuck me. Use me,” white eyelashes flutter, blue looking all the bluer rimmed with red and filled with tears. “Use me until you’re bored of me, until there’s nothing left-i don’t care.” He breathes, desperate and pleading and looking like he’s ready to get down on his damn knees on the dirty sticky floor. “Just-please.”

A losing fucking battle. 

Maybe it always was. Trying to keep your hands off him, now, you realized it was like setting a treat on a dogs nose and telling them to wait. A crazy amount self control with the eventual prize just in sight. 

All you can think as you cup his cheeks, flushed and wet from tears, warm against your hands is how fucking pretty he is. How you want him more than you think you’ve ever wanted anything. “Fuck, Satoru,” you mutter and he moans deep and appreciatively and then you’re pulling him in to slide your lips against his.

 And now all you can think about is how much of a dumbass you are for not doing this sooner.

He tastes like alcohol and cigarettes-when he had one you don’t know but you do know that it’s the most intoxicating mix you’ve ever encountered. You feel like you’re floating, high off his taste and his moans; like he’s a drug and you’re the addict, injecting him straight into the vein. 

It's far from elegant and he’s not perfect at it in the way you’d expect from a man as beautiful as him-godhood hasn’t blessed him in every aspect. But he’s desperate and he's eager to take everything you give, mewling against your lips. 

He’s so needy and it's crazy the way it sends you into a sort of reverie. His hands gripping your hips hard, like he’s afraid you’ll slip away if he lets go, like he’s hoping you’re real and not a apparition of drunken hysteria. He pulls you closer, as if you could get close enough that no one could find where you ended and he started, that you might be able to meld into one.

You’d be lying if you said you didn’t feel the same sentiment. If you didn’t try your hardest to do the exact same; nails pressing into his skin, making him whine as you tilted his head back and slipped your tongue into his mouth, exploring, feeling, taking, using. 

Just like he told you to do.

He vibrates against you, nearly shaking with choked noises. He mutters soundless words, each and every one swallowed by you as soon as they’re spoken. Pleas and prayers, worships and praises. 

You’d show him what real ascension felt like.

You probably should be embarrassed, or at the very least shameful to be putting on such a show in front of what you know are watching eyes. But you know that Gojo is far past shame at this point and you're too enamoured by the beauty that is Satoru Gojo clinging to you like he’s about to break.

To be honest, you can't find it in yourself to give a shit about any of them. About anything but him, focusing your attention on devouring him whole as he shatters, ready to catch every piece as they fall into your waiting hands. No matter if the shards rip apart your skin and leave you a bloody mangled mess.

You break away first, fighting a smile at his whine as you pull away from him, panting. 

He looks unravelled, messy. His usual flirty facade lost to pleasure. His watery eyes and heartbroken whines gone as well. Overwhelmed by swollen lips and gasps to make up for lost air. A blush like he’s just realized where he is, burying his face into your neck to hide from the probing eyes. To whisper, "You're too good at that, you know?.”

You bark a laugh and he nuzzles into your skin. 

And then you’re redirecting him to your lips again.

In a flurry of hands and lips, messy steps and you’re clumsily stumbling into the bathroom. Quickly, Satoru is shoved against the door, fingers fumbling for the lock.

Your lips find his neck, fluttering a barrage of open-mouthed kisses over the heated skin, dragging your tongue along his thrumming heartbeat. 

He whines and he begs, muttering nonsense that makes it to your ears but not to your head as you hum against him. Slender fingers knit through your hair, holding you close to him, pleading for you to never leave him.

“Touch me, touch me, touch me.” He repeats, slurred and slow, his eyes drooped shut, his voice husky with want, with lust and everything he’s been just barely repressing all this time.

But you've only ever been a slave to his desires.

So you respond in tenfold, nipping and sucking, leaving evidence that you've been here, staking a claim that doesn't exist and maybe never will but for tonight maybe you can play pretend.

Because he keens when your teeth sink into his skin and his back arches, pressing evidence of his wanton yearnings against you like you might devour him whole.

Like he wants you to.

He quieter when he whispers something that could change everything. “Love me?”

Your heart pounds in your chest but you’d never turn him down. 

Fingers deftly undo the buttons on his tight-fitting button up, revealing porcelain-like skin underneath. His nipples are hard and pink and fucking pierced. 

He gasps when you touch them, pinching them between your thumb and forefinger.

And you've never been particularly mean but you can make an exception for the God in front of you, leaving him to tortuous touches all while he throbs and thrusts into nothing but the fabric of his too-tight pants, whining from the stimulation that's all too little.

He's been begging for this all night. Whispering dirty words like a little tease, like a shameless slut.

He got you all riled up and for that you think that he should take his own share of teasing.

For retribution, for your own piece of mind and the pleasure it is to watch him squirm against the wall, eyes squeezed shut and tearstained and begging in small breathless whimpers barely over a whisper.

But you've never been able to resist him long, not then, not now and not ever.

Your hand finally reaches for his waistband, his body shivering with the feeling of your fingers dipping onto hot, untouched skin.

But he stops you.

His hand, large and pale landing over your own in a quick moment of lucidity.

His voice emerged, a whisper of uncertainty and longing. "Y-You'll take care of me?"

You met his vulnerability with a promise because you could never leave him with any less. "Yes," your words a whispered caress, a undying oath in itself, a vow that you'd take beyond this in whatever may happen.

Your lips brush over his ear, his eyes squeezing shut as your hand wraps around him, dragging a ruinous moan from deep in his throat.

"I promise, I will."

And your hand is wrapping around him, hot and wet and hard, all for you. Just for you. And his head is turned off, just sensations and feeling and you.

Just you.

"F-fuck, yes, please," so broken, fragile almost as ironic as it is. "Yes, pl-please, feels so go-good."

He doesn't last long and you don't know if it's from all the teasing you've administered or from how long he's been worked up for.

But you rather like the thought of him being sensitive enough that your voice and a few strokes is enough to bring him to the edge.

To have him pulsing in your hand while his arms wrap around your shoulders, blunt nails scraping into you skin as his hips thrust with reckless abandon.

His body quivering with pleasure as your hand forms a loose hole for him to fuck into, your thumb playing with the sensitive head of his dick.

"Please, please I need it, need it so bad," And he has no right sounding this good, looking this good while fucking into your hand like a goddamn dog. "Need it more than anything."

He always has been one for dramatics.

His head falls back against the wall, throat bobbing with the moan deep in his throat, fuck how the marks of your teeth stand out on the pale skin of his neck. Your lips permanent on his body for now, forever maybe if he'll let you keep replacing them.

"Fuck, Satoru," You free hand threads through his head, pushing his lips to meet yours, messy and slopping as he arches against you, hips thrusting erratically to match your pace. Keening when you nip at him, teeth tugging at his bottom lip, nails scratching at his scalp sending tingles down every part of his body.

He breaks away with a gasp and a cry when and only when he absolutely has to, eyes shining and chest heaving with breaths to fill his burning lungs.

And he's crying. And he's beautiful.

More beautiful than anyone or anything you've ever seen in your life.

"Shit, I'm close, m' so fuckin' close-!"

You’re half out of your mind and you couldn’t feel more sane. Like this was meant to happen-like he was meant to be yours. 

"Don' stop, please don't stop," he gasps, like you'd ever think about it, like you'd could even if you wanted to.

“Satoru,” And he shakes.

“Satoru,” And he sobs.

“Satoru,” And he breaks, head falling back as if in prayer, a finger pushing his chin up, clashing against a higher power he didn't think possible.

“My one and only Satoru.” Soft and sweet and just for him and only him. And he’s gone.

Ropes of cum spurt out, rope after rope, covering your hand and the floor. Covering his thighs and his stomach in a mess.

Everything feels fuzzy and his cheeks are pink. A stupid grin crossing his face as he melts, boneless in your arms. "I love you." He mutters, distantly, foggily.

Perhaps somewhere beneath the haze he thinks that maybe you've said the same back. But he isn't quite sure anymore. He needs to be sure.

Slowly, he's lowered onto the floor into a sitting position. The tile is cold against his bare skin but it's okay because you're still caressing him, holding his face in your hand, thumb wiping at his tears.

"You love me right?"

You leave for moment and a whines at the loss of you pressed against him. Even if it's only for a few seconds he feels lonely and empty without your touch.

But then you're back and you're wiping him down with a wet towel, cleaning off his skin so gently, as if he's made of glass of porcelain, like he something to be cherished and taken care of.

"Hey pretty boy, you good?" He recognizes your voice even throughout the cloud in his mind. He nods and you smile and he's melting all over again.

"Do you love me?"

You roll your eyes and for an awful second he thinks that maybe you're going to say no. But then you're pushing the hair off his forehead and kissing him so fucking gently he thinks he'll cry.

"I do love you Satoru."

And his heart is bursting-he swears it is, it's beating so fast and so hard he's absolutely sure that you can hear it and that the quiet laughs escaping your pretty lips is because you can tell how dumbly in love with you he is.

But that doesn't matter.

Because right now he's normal person and you're a normal person and nothing else will matter but the fact that he's your's now.

"I love you too, y'know?" He mumbles.

You kiss him again, and again, and again. On his forehead and his temples, his cheeks and the tip of his nose and each of his eyelids. You kiss everywhere on his face until his lips are pouted out and he lets out a little whine of frustration.

And then you kiss his lips. Barely a peck, too fast and short for his taste but he doesn't have time to complain as you pull him off the floor.

“C’mon pretty boy, let me bring you home.”

“Mmm,” He doesn’t move, boneless against you. “Will you fuck me again?”

You laugh, soft. “Like I’d be able to resist you.”

[bot1e4ter]

Nipple piercing mammon 🛐🛐🛐🛐

Hear me out

Mammon with nipple piercings

When you’re teasing him, you just pull on them or suck on them because now they’re incredibly more sensitive. He just cries out, going back between “more please” and “it hurts” but being the pain slut he is, thectouch is just making him harder

You’ve already brought him to his climax three times, his whole body feels like a livewire and every touch to his skin is another shock to his frame. And yet, he can’t stop seeking them out. 

His hand guides yours to his chest, letting your thumb rub across his nipples and the silver barbells that are pierced through them. One of his hands pushes into the mattress, supporting his weight as he arches his back into your touch, while the other flies to his mouth to at least try to restrain the moans that threaten to leave his lips. 

Your hand on his nipple gives it a rough tug.

“Ah! MC!” He cries out, “H-hurts! It’s too much!”

“Oh?” You lean down and bring your lips close to his other nipple, “And this one?” 

Your warm breath ghosting across it is enough to make him shiver and moan, cock throbbing.

“I wonder,” You kiss his nipple with soft, lax lips, “If I can make you cum just from this.”

He doesn’t want to admit it, but he’s so close already. He just whines and rolls his hips, cock twitching against nothing. You lick one nipple while tugging the on the other, rolling it between your fingers in a harsh pinch.

“MC, MC,” He chants, fucking the air. “Hurts so bad,” Mammon sobs, tears spilling down his heated cheeks. 

“Oh, my poor baby,” You purr mockingly, making his breath hitch and his hips buck again. “You gonna cum just from having your chest played with? Gonna make a mess for me?”

He gives a pathetic whimper and a shaky nod, hands knotting in the sheets to stop himself from jerking himself to completion. He wants to cum just from this, because it’s what you want him to do.

Another sharp tug and a nip from your teeth is all it takes. He cries out, body going taut as cum spills across his belly, hips wildly bucking up into nothing. More tears cascade down his cheeks, his lip quivers, and he sobs at the sharp electric sensation that lances through him.

When he’s done, you finally release him and let him flop back onto the bed, shakily panting. He comes down slowly, to the calming sensation of your fingers carding through his hair. He gives you a shaky smile, and you lean down and give him a kiss on his forehead. While you’re there, you murmur against his skin,

“I wonder how many orgasms I can get out of you that way.”

[bot1e4ter]

i love his backshots. 😛

[bot1e4ter]

how life feels as an obey me! enjoyer in 2025

howl's moving castle / @/that-house post / the lonely city

[bot1e4ter]

I'm tweaking so bad rn cuz there's no more new obey me fics like what the hell guys PLS I'M BEGGING YOU DON'T LET THE FANDOM DIE 😭😭😭

[bot1e4ter]

"OBEY ME ISNT ENDING ITS GONNA CONTINUE GROWING AND BECOME POPULAR AGAIN IT ISNT ENDING!!" I say as they dragged me into a padded down room and me lowkey tweaking out