fullofdelightt

[fullofdelightt]

[fullofdelightt]

[fullofdelightt]

told you I was pretty is taking me out

MDNI 18+

gojo satoru almost never removes his blindfold.

not during missions, not to sleep. not even when you’re beneath him like this, panting into his mouth. he usually keeps it on—spares him the headache. you’ve never minded, though. his presence alone compensates for what he keeps hidden.

but tonight, something makes him pause mid-thrust.

he stills, breath shallow. two fingers hook beneath the edge of the fabric. with one slow pull, he slides it down. it hangs around his neck now. what’s revealed steals away your breath.

his eyes are otherworldly.

not just electric���opalescent, almost volatile in their beauty. platinum bled to cobalt, cold fire beneath a lattice of lashes so pale and translucent they catch light like spun sugar, long enough to kiss his cheekbones when he blinks. too beautiful to be real. too unreal not to be divine.

you reach up, brushing a lock of silver hair from his damp forehead, fingers grazing the corner of one crystalline eye. his lashes flutter—languid, indulgent, unbearably fond.

“you like?” his grin tilts crooked. boyish and smug. words simply fail you, so you nod. the motion cause you to tighten around him. he exhales sharply, nearly chokes on a groan.

“careful,” gojo mutters, sinking deeper into you. “you keep lookin’ at me like that, i’ll embarrass myself.”

your legs cinch around his waist, and the next breath he lets out is shaky. there’s colour high on his cheeks now—pink cresting beneath damp silver hair, reaching the delicate points of his ears. his gaze lingers on your face, then dips to the bounce of your breasts as he thrusts again.

“told you i was pretty.”

[fullofdelightt]

have you ever loved someone so much (platonic or not) that you need to feel them. whether it’s a kick, a quick touch, anything just to feel that they are there and show them you appreciate them. people over-sexualize physical touch as a love language- but it’s just the overwhelming need to be so close to someone that you can feel that they are there.

[fullofdelightt]

😝😝😝

imagine caleb being so desperate to fuck you that he begs you so sweetly to help him. and he’s on the verge of tears……

i’m thinking you’re at a family member’s house for a holiday, like thanksgiving or something. so there’s multiple people in other rooms spending the night. caleb just gets so hard out of nowhere and he needs you to sit on his cock.

you could never tell him no. you climb on top of him and he’s so eager that he just pulls your panties to the side. then you just start bouncing on his hard cock, only a little. but he begins to get impatient, a little too loud. so you threaten to stop, but you can’t do that to him. he needs to come so badly.

“no, no. i’ll be quiet, i promise. just don’t stop, please don’t stop. let me put my cum inside you. ‘m so sorry.”

“do i feel good for you?” his cheeks are so red and a different type of pleasure washes through him when you nod as your mouth hangs open, breathy sounds escaping you.

“i needed you so bad... you always make me feel so good..”

he’s whining and whimpering and you’re kissing his tears away. and the wet sounds echo in the quiet room because you’re so soaked and he’s leaking precum, getting it all inside you and even trailing down your inner thighs.

“i’m gonna be good. i won’t be loud, i swear baby. just like that..fuck..oh, fuck i’m gonna come…”

and when he does, you have to cover his mouth to muffle his pleas. your poor baby just couldn’t help himself, crying your name as you slowly rock your hips while he spills into you.

taglist 🏷️ : @honeymoonfleur

[fullofdelightt]

god said let’s make a girl who will be heart achingly lonely in her bones and always feel like a stranger in this world who doesn’t belong in any room she’s in and always has one foot out the door

[fullofdelightt]

i feel this photo in my heart Like i get it

[fullofdelightt]

not to be a hedonist but. pleasure IS the whole point, my loves. we are made for pleasure. humans have not survived out of spite or sheer grit or simply to make more humans. we live for pleasure. the pleasure of licking the last delicious crumbs off your fingers and feeling sunlight on your skin and massaging a loved one's shoulders. we're made to fill our bellies with delicious food, to nap in soft grass, to touch each other in joy and comfort.

there is no shame or guilt in our bodies doing what they were made to do. and we are made for pleasure.

[fullofdelightt]

nerd!gojo always pulls a face and complains when you mess with his glasses.

but it’s different when he’s trying to study and you’re just messing with him for the sake of it. he can cope with that, scrunch his nose up and swat your hand away and pretend he’s not secretly hoping you give him even more of your attention.

what he can’t cope with is when you pluck the glasses off his flushed face when you’re about to sit on his face. it’s like an extra level of preparation that does unnecessary things to his blood flow. you fold them all nice and set them on the bedside table and then lower yourself onto his lips to take what you please from it.

he can’t handle it. he has to thank whatever divine creature crafted you that you’re not paying any attention to his cock because even a glance in its direction from you at that point could set him off. he’d be cumming ropes with no plausible reason besides your presence!

so imagine what happens when you’re riding him, he’s sticky and hard inside of you and on the last threads of his sanity, when you reach over to the bedside table and slip his glasses onto his face with a pretty ‘want you to see how you’re stretching me out even better, toru. you see that? so big inside me…’

he cums so hard he starts praying to you that’s what.

[fullofdelightt]

satoru "fake backshots" gojo who likes to sneak up on u when ur doing the most mundane tasks around the house and give you fake backshots.

yes, fake backshots.

washing dishes? the man is trying his hardest not to make any noise as he slips into the kitchen, watching u from behind, licking his lips at the sight of u in pajama shorts n' a lousy excuse for a tank top, tapping ur foot n' humming to a song playing in your earbuds. completely and blissfully unaware of the mischievous man lurking behind u. until u feel him, his hands sly n quick, his left getting a hold of ur hips while, his right pushes ur back into a arch. barely having time to react, all you could do was gasp, n try to push him away.

to no avail, satoru presses his pelvis into ur butt, before pulling back n thrusting his hips back n forth. satoru grinned eliciting small sighs and gasps from the same lips that complained "pervert! i can't even do the dishes in peace anymore!" . the man behind u leaned down to obnoxiously moan in ur ear in response "yea? yea? you like that, huh? like it when i take you like this?" u rolled ur eyes in annoyance, pushing his head away from your ear as he continued to thrust his bulge into ur ass. "satoru, ur so weird!"

"ohhh you love it, huh? feel good? yea? you gonna cum for me, baby? don't worry im right here with y-you- fuckkkkk!! nghhhhhh !!!!" satoru threw his head back n' at this point you couldn't tell if he was being serious or overly obnoxious like he always is. that is until he slows his movements and you look back at him. ready to scold him, but then ur eyes shift to his navy blue sweatpants, an obvious darker hue over his bulge.

"whoops" he shrugged stepping closer to u

the weirdo came in his pants

ur fully facing him as he towers over u, caging u in with the sink behind u,

"wanna do it for real now?" he lazily grinned at ur perplexed expression.

a/n: here damn 🙄.

© arminslovurr 2023-25 , do not copy, translate, make ai chat bots or alter my work in any way.

[fullofdelightt]

boyfriend! satoru with a reader who struggles with an eating disorder and body image issues.

boyfriend! satoru who, before finding out, steals your food all the time. it's intended to be silly. “ooo, haha, we're sharing food that was supposed to just be for you!” is essentially what he thinks; he unintentionally stays ignorant to how he's the only one eating, how he's the one who finishes the whole plate of food, not both of you.

boyfriend! satoru who, before finding out, pokes your stomach a lot. it's mindless, like a habit. he doesn't notice how badly it affects your vision of yourself. he doesn't see how you stare at your naked body in the mirror and remember how he poked your stomach; “does he not like my body? is this his way of saying i look fat?” you think to yourself as tears bead up on your waterline.

boyfriend! satoru who finds out by pure accident. you were in the bedroom, on a phone call with a girl friend of yours, and somehow your eating disorder came up as a topic. you didn't think he'd hear, he was all the way in the living room, after all. but what you didn't know was that he'd started to miss your presence and went to your shared bedroom to relieve the ache, only to hear what you and your friend were talking about.

boyfriend! satoru who starts picking up on all the signs he neglected to notice before, such as you never wearing certain clothes he bought you if you deemed it ‘too revealing’, your stomach growling at the most random of times, when you would poke at your own stomach and frown, how you'd always hug a pillow to your stomach when you're sitting in bed or on the couch, eating slowly, never scolding him for stealing your food, skipping meals by ‘accident’, always ‘not hungry’, ect.

boyfriend! satoru who feels so ashamed for not noticing beforehand, because how could he not? the signs were there, he just wasn't looking hard enough.

boyfriend! satoru who has no clue how to bring it up after that. because, realistically, how would he? “hey, babe! the other day i heard you telling your friend about how you hate your body and have an eating disorder, wanna unpack that?” no, that sounds intrusive and insensitive.

boyfriend! satoru who, instead, tries to do little acts to try and get you to like your body without directly bringing it up.

boyfriend! satoru who litters little kisses all over your tummy right before bed. it turns into a nightly routine.

boyfriend! satoru who rubs your stomach whenever he's spooning you from behind while kissing your shoulder every now and then.

boyfriend! satoru who murmurs soft: “you're so pretty”'s, and “such a beautiful body”'s every time the two of you get sexually intimate.

boyfriend! satoru whose new favorite position is missionary, because it means he can watch your face heat up while he tells you how gorgeous your body is.

boyfriend! satoru who stops stealing your food.

boyfriend! satoru who starts cooking homemade meals for you. he makes a mental list of all your favorite foods alongside a list of foods your friends have said you liked and gets to work. he knows you're more likely to eat it if you know he made it, rather than if it's just an instant can of nothingness like normally.

boyfriend! satoru who watches your plate whenever the two of you eat together. it isn't an intense stare, just looking down at it every now and then, smiling a little whenever he sees you actually eating.

boyfriend! satoru who realizes it's working when all the tiny things you used to do stop happening. you eat at a regular pace now, you slap his hand when he steals your food, you tell him when you're hungry, you eat three meals a day, you wear all the clothes he buys you, you stop hiding your stomach, you're happier.

boyfriend! satoru who is ecstatic to have you feeling happy with yourself again. he thinks you're so pretty, you deserve to feel that way just as much as he does.

[fullofdelightt]

remind me to come back…

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.

[fullofdelightt]

TWITTER LINKS JJK !

☆ cw : nsfw twt links w your favorite jjk men. afab reader. minors do not interact. have your age visible on your blog.

TOJI FUSHIGURO

will it fit?

he loves playing with ur sweet and sensitive pussy

size kink

KENTO NANAMI

gentle fingering

he loves to eat you out

riding his thigh

CHOSO KAMO

he’s so sensitive

loves to worship you

doesn’t admit it but loves teasing

GETO SUGURU

long nights in his room when no one’s around

you’re his good girl

this is soo geto listen to the way he moans

٠ ࣪⭑ © kkageyamx 2025 all right reserved. you may not copy, reproduce, modify, create derivative works, or translate what i write.

[fullofdelightt]

I’m ovulating.. hold me back

[fullofdelightt]

. ۫ ꣑ৎ . ❝ 𝐉𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝐃𝐎 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐌𝐄...𝐏𝐋𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐄 ❞

concerned sukuna x reader who doesn't wanna eat. ooc sukuna.

you noticed that you were eating a lot. anytime you felt even a little bit hungry, you ran to your beloved fridge. your time spent in the kitchen was probably more than your screen time.

it didn't really bother you until you stepped on the scale. you had gained a lot more weight than you thought you had. you recalled every single moment you stuffed your face with food, and you heart sank. and you were determined to loose weight.

though, your method was not approved by your boyfriend. you never told him how you felt and he didn't know that you wanted to start a diet. but he did notice that something was going on.

he loves your curves and every part of your body really, and the extra fat was a much appreciated bonus and it just made him go crazy. but your current eating habits were annoying him.

for one, whenever he gets food, he has to ask you twice if you want it. you end up saying no, but once it arrives you're eating his food together. as much as he expresses how much he finds it annoying, he can't bring himself to say no.

but now, you just outright say no and you mean it. he raised a brow at you, confused. "are you sure about that? you really don't wanna try this delicious hotdog, hmmm...", you only stare at him and shake your head no.

this continues on. everytime he offers you his food, you refuse. his heart clenches as he watches you. there's something that's not right. and especially when you barely eat half of your food and offer the rest to him. giving him the excuse "i'm not really that hungry", millions of thoughts are running through his mind. especially since you always finish what's on your plate and he offers more.

the final straw was when you had made dinner for the both of you when he was over at your place. you prepared food on his plate and on yours but your portion looked like the amount a five year old would eat.

"what's going on? are we rationing food now?", he asked not wanting to touch his food.

"no...but this is all i wanna eat now-"

"bullshit! you used to complained about small portions in restaurants and now you're doing this.", his brows furrow in concern and places his rough hand gently on yours. "if there's something wrong you can tell me"

you swallow thickly not wanting to meet his gaze. he only looks at you, waiting patiently for you to tell him what's wrong. you breathe out and open your mouth. "i've just been eating quite a lot lately...and i've gained quite a bit of weight so i'm going on a diet"

he's quiet for a moment and looks down. "starving yourself is not the answer", he responds and you look up. " i don't like seeing you like this. you haven't been yourself and it was killing me on the inside. i thought for a second you didn't love me anymore", he lets out a shaky chuckle and you look at him apologetically.

"i'm sorry i made you feel that way..."

"that's not the point. i will always love you just the way you are, even if you do gain a little weight. i don't love you because i love your body. i like your body because i love you", a wobbly smile is etched on your lips, your eyes getting teary.

he switches his plate with yours and takes a spoonful, placing it infront of your lips. "say ahhh"

you giggle and open your mouth as he feeds you. you're lucky to have such a caring boyfriend.

. ۫ ꣑ৎ . 𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐒 𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐕𝐄𝐃 © 𝐅𝐋𝐕𝐕𝐅𝐅𝐘

[fullofdelightt]

and now we take a moment to pray for a dilf to come and sweep me off my feet.

[fullofdelightt]

guys I swear I’m not that big but we had Chinese food last night and my dad ate my leftovers (I HAD A HALF A BOX OF CHICKEN LEFT) on accident and left me his with legit four pieces. guys this is it for me..