iluvikeu

[iluvikeu]

"I wish we could have met another way" "This is the only way we could have met" are such raw lines that go so fucking hard you'd think they're from some heartbreaking forbidden romance drama but no, it's Death Note (2015)

[iluvikeu]

WOAHHHH, I JUST OPENED TUMBLR TO SEE THIS ARTWORK??

𓍼 gojo accidentaly calling you mommy in the heat of the moment.

mommy kink. satoru doing a reverse card on you. ¹⁸ mlist

“mommy—” gojo groans his face buried on the crook of your neck, hands holding onto the headboard, your eyes widen, your hand flying to his hair, tugging sharp enough to make him hiss.

“mommy?” you repeat, your voice mix of shock and glee, a grin spreading across your face.

he definitely said that on accident, both of you knew damn well it was, and you’re about to tease the shit out of him.

“shut up.” he growls, cutting you off with a harder thrust, the kind that makes your breath catch and your toes curl, his hands grip your hips, fingers digging into your skin, pulling you back to meet his relentless pace.

“don’t even start.” but you’re already laughing, breathy and smug, your nails raking his scalp.

“no, no, mommy? really?” you taunt, your voice dripping with mockery.

“didn’t know you were that needy, baby boy.” gojo’s eyes flash, narrowing as he lifts his head, his smirk dangerous and all trouble.

“oh, you wanna play like that?” he says, his voice low, teasing, he slams into you again, deeper, making you moan loud and sharp.

“yeah, mommy? want me to fuck you like this, mommy?” he flips your tease right back, his tone mocking and filthy, leaning into the slip like it’s his new weapon.

“fuck!” you gasp, your head tipping back as he hits that spot that makes you see stars, his hands slides to your thighs, spreading them wider, giving him better access to drive into you.

he leans down, his teeth grazing your earlobe. “c’mon, mommy, tell me how good it feels. you’re so loud earlier, what happend now?” you try to retort, but he thrusts harder, cutting you off with a cry that’s all pleasure, no words.

his hands gripped you tighter, one sliding to your clit, circling fast and rough, his thigh shifting under your leg to lift your lower body up.

“c’mon, keep talkin, i fuckin’ dare you.” you laugh, breathy and broken, but you’re losing ground, your moans louder than your words.

you opened your mouth your voice shaky. “you're so—fuckin—desperate, callin’ me mommy like that.”

“desperate?” gojo’s eyes darken, and he slams into you, hard enough to make the bed creak louder, your cry echoing. “who’s desperate now, huh?”

“want it harder, mommy? like this?” he thrusts deeper, faster, his fingers circling your clit in time, and you’re gone, your moans turning to screams, your body shaking as you cum, hard and fast, clenching around him.

[iluvikeu]

Heat Waves - C.K.

Synopsis. The two things they don’t tell you about a hot emo half-curse? 1. He’s in heat. 2 He needs you badly.

Pairing. Choso Kamo x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem!reader, slight omégaverse, HEATS, roommates-to-Iovers, he goes FÉRAL, matíng presses, size kínk, knots, he’s huge, squírting, dúmbifícation, Choso with piercings n’ tattoos, pheromones, use of jujutsu, MARATHONS, creampíes, cúmplay, matíng marks, stopping you from running, proposals, pet names, swéaring.

Word count. 7.6k

A/N. She’s BACK and she wrote this during a power cut ummm?

“Choso, are you in there?”

You’re nervously gnawing on the inside of your cheek, feet shuffling as you wait outside of your strange new roommate’s bedroom.

Summer. 

And the scorched air outside wasn’t the only thing that was sizzling, it felt like your skin was pricked with countless goosebumps at the temperature inside of your cozy lil’ apartment. Each heady wave of heat originating from his room.

Half-wondering whether you should call his pink-haired little brother for assistance, your fingers rap once more on the firmly shut mahogany door. Calling out, “I’m coming in, okay?”

There’s a noise from inside- a gasp. 

And then something that sounded like a low, guttural…moan at the very sound of your voice. The humidity only rising. Brows furrowing, warmth creeping, you just barely start turning that doorknob open—“Choso, what is-”

Oh. 

.

.

.

Seventy-four days.

Seventy-four days since Choso had started rooming with you, thanks to your associates higher up at Jujutsu High. And seventy four days since he’d wanted to tear off your tiny sleep shorts and wrench your pretty legs apart to stuff you all full of his-

Fuck. 

And just like that, he’d been hit with his annual heat cycle on the hottest day of the month. 

All part of being half a curse, he grouches. 

Maybe it was the paper-thin t-shirt you’d been wearing this morning, maybe it was just how you’d batted your lashes as you greeted him in the hallway.

Maybe it was the way all he had to do was fucking stand next to you to smell how sweet that pussy of yours was, throbbing away between your thighs. Thump! Thump! Thump! 

But here he was- one step inside of his sweltering bedroom, only a single inch that you’re toeing past the door frame, and he’s bolted out of the bed to slam against you. Heaving chest to chest, back to wall. 

Mouth crashing-

You don’t know what burns more - the push of his toned, rippling flesh radiating pure heat, crushing against you, or his lips. Choso grabs you, Adam’s apple bobbing dryly as he damn near sobs at the contact of your spit-glossed lips.

“Ch-Choooso–!” You’re squealing, kissing back in earnest. Your rationality only a faint inkling now, “What’s gotten- hah! into y- fuck!” 

Before you know it, he’s fisted his shaking, prolonged fingers into your shirt to rip the fabric down the middle-

Gasping, your knees knock together weakly once he sticks a clammy palm to the valley between your tits and tears up. Your wetly ajar maw breaking away from his own with a sultry dampened noise, followed almost instantly by a strained whine as Choso registers the feeling of his attack on your mouth dwindling. 

Just about the only thing he could be struck with right now. 

CRASH!

One of his big, beefy forearms slams on the patch of wall above you, flecks of plaster snowing down at his sheer inhuman strength. “Stay…” And his other arm greedily claws at your throat, jolting at the sound of your oh-so-cute gasp as if your voice made something deep n’ dark down inside him twitch. “-away.”

And you might not have known him the longest, but Choso Kamo never sounded so rough. So…gone.

Rugged and husky. 

He’s peering down at you through his towering height with semi-widened hazel eyes like he couldn’t dare look away and oh-

Oh, Choso looked ruined.

You’re gazing up at him for the first time now - really, really gazing up at him - in all his desperate, clammy glory. Heat sticking to him like a second skin. Mouth parted. Throat parched. 

His expression was almost dazed, still drinking in the sight of you as if he was just seeing a phantom walk into his bedroom. 

Choso’s skin was simmering with a blush that made him look feverish, the cracks between his bangs the only thing revealing his dark, half-lidded stare. He’d hounded you like a predator closing in on his prey. 

Ready to pounce. 

And you gulp, squirming at the scraping itch of his pointed nails. The pads of his fingers plant pressure on your airway as if he didn’t want you to even speak, couldn’t handle it. “Wanna stay, Cho–”

Ah, that did it.

Choso had been shivering- shuddering viscerally as he loomed above you, fawny lashes fluttering like he was holding himself painfully back. Away - only to snap the very second his nickname stumbles out of your beautiful, beautiful mouth so that he has to shut you up before you cause any more damage to his sanity.

Whimpering, the bite of his extra-honed canines makes your lips sting. “Oh- ngh, slow down-” 

“Can’t.”

His voice cracks. 

“F-fuck…” Just the sound of his lilted, crazed bass is enough for your thighs to clamp yearningly together. Chasing just the slightest friction, he sounded so sensual that it made your pussy so-

“Oh.”

This time, it’s Choso who’s breaking off the lurid kiss with a sticky mwah! The syrup of your saliva gluing to his rosy, puckered lips when he lurches his head downwards and sniffs. 

Right between your legs. 

It’s as if he could sense something you couldn’t, jaw slowly unhinging further open the wetter you became. Until your inner thighs were sheened with a splotchy puddle of your slick and Choso was drooling. 

“Oh.” He’s repeating, like a broken record. It’s just then at the air grows murky, as if your roommate had suddenly emptied out your most favorite syrupy bodyspray then and there. Body twitching, “Oh.”

And before you could blink away the haze in your eyes and say something about the glittery sprinkle of spittle travelling down the side of his mouth, Choso’s powerful knees hit the floor with a booming bang! 

If he could feel any pain then he doesn’t show it, can’t even manage to twist his expression into anything but a look of utter fucking hunger. Rabid at the mouth.

“O-oh my god are you…” You had half the mind to push his face back and ask whether he was okay- but the harrowed look in Choso’s peripheries stopped you. He needed this. And he needed this now. 

He looked just as surprised as you, almost as if he was in disbelief at the way his trembling fingers were digging into your flimsy skirt. The battle-worn calluses of his fingertips slicing through the cute satin cloth like it was butter, Choso barely even hesitates a second to breathe before he’s stuffing his face into your sopping, clothed pussy.

Nose-deep, and Choso cups the cheeks of your ass to push himself even deeper. 

Lips meeting puffy, achin’ lips. 

“H-nghhh—” Dribbles from your mouth stain your lips all dewy wet, and you can’t do anything but sift your fingers through Choso’s auburn locks and pull- 

“Don’t.”

You watch in awe when he’s surging forwards to crush the tip-top of his straight nosebridge into the slope of your pussy. Rubbing lightly against that cute lil’ bow decorating the hemline of your panties, “But you can’t even breathe like that-”

“Don’t.” Comes out his growling warning again. Before Choso’s taking a final deep inhale of your saccharine sweetness- fuck, your tight cunt just smelled so sweet that he can feel his cock jolting already. Gulping back a bucketload of ravenous spit, “Don’t.” He doesn’t have to breathe. 

Tone hitched. Tastebuds parched. It’s the last thing that he’s muttering—“Starved…”

Before Choso crushes the underside of his tongue past your sodden panties and tastes you- just a singular drop of your syrupy sweet slick, a singular ounce, and you think you may have broken him.

Because his broad back stills, dark eyes widening. And you’re just about to wrench your mouth open in question before he’s back flopping his tongue past your underwear.

Caressing your swollen pussylips with his pointed tip in a French kiss, Choso swats your stupid lil’ panties aside - why did you even need those - to drink you in. To sluuuurp up every given droplet of your dewy wet juices like he was a man starved. 

And his eyes were still widened, damn near bulging out of his poor sockets once he’s tilting his head sexily to the side n’ flicking your sloppy entrance. 

Grunting at the slight friction of your cotton panties, “Puh-pussy.” His husky utterance makes your thighs clench- something that Choso can not fucking bear because he’s pushing himself even deeper. Further. “Pussy.”

“Sh-shit–” You’d have easily collapsed onto his bedroom floor if it wasn’t for the way that one of his roughened palms was cupping your ass to hold you up. Supporting your weight like a feather. “Choso my…my panties.”

And it was true- oh, he didn’t give a fuck about those. 

Letting them skid over his jaw, Choso’s just barely blinking his glassy eyes down at the now-transparent piece of cloth covering your pussymound like he’d just realized that was still there. 

Sounding out your cute shriek, “P-panties…” Even if he wanted to, it was such torture to even think about pulling away. Still lugging his tastebuds down the glittering crevice of your slit, one of his indexes creeps forward to tease the elastic of your underwear and let it spring back with a resounding snap!

“Hey- rude-”

Barely even letting the syllables escape your mouth, Choso’s lips curl into a feral smirk whilst he nibbles down on the edge of your panties and rip-rip-riiiiips!

All with his canines.

He’s undressing you like he was unwrapping his next meal - on his knees, eyes boring up at you and- shit. Shit shit shit- it’s just then that you’re hit with the thought that you might not even make it out of this alive. 

Because within a singular bat of your lashes, Choso’s bolting up with your pliable body in tow, pushing you onto the nearby bed, throwing your legs wiiide open.

So fast you wonder whether he’d lost control of his powers and somehow teleported - you wouldn’t be surprised. 

Yelping, “Oh- what- oh my nghh- Choso!”

“Your p-pussy.” He’s keening out, dark brows scrunching with aching need whilst you’re barely done bouncing on the bed before he’s smearing your pussylips apart and taking a gooood long look at you. 

Hypnotic, the plump ends of his lips hover oh-so-close near your slippery slit. And you wonder whether he’s trying to drive you mad by trawling that horizontal shape of his nose tattoo across the top of your cunt. Panting, “My baby’s pussy.”

The fringe of Choso’s rovering tongue is so fat, stuffed thickly between your folds so that it felt like your hole was being stretched to the maximum. A low whimper breaks at the back of his throat when he’s feeling the resistance, snarling—“Inside. Need- inside.”

“B-but—” And that primal shrill of yours turns into a sob once Choso’s only keepin’ your thighs pushed further apart. The mountains of his palm bruising five straight lines of his fingers as he gropes on.

“No- no.” Striking the curve of his chin against your pussy, when Choso was in heat - he was thirsty. Nipping your outer cunt with the edges of his fangs, “Let me. Let me let me let me- oh.”

Push after push, his half-closed eyes are so blurry with lust that your cursed roommate is acting on pure, animalistic instinct. Gnawing on the left of your bloated labia like a gum before he draaaags it backwards and plunges his tongue in deeper.

Choso takes one look at the way your glistening hole was all wet n’ clamping down over nothing before he can’t help but hold your folds open whilst he fills you up stupid. “Wet…so…”

He can’t even finish his sentences - his thoughts, just that drunk on your treacly pussy.

Wailing, “Slow down, Cho–!” You’re nearly choking on the heady wave of pheromones that gust from down below just at that simple nickname. Tugging on his clammy bangs, “Y-you’re gonna–”

“Don’t care.” He’s groaning out a throaty answer, each syllable punctured with a lick of his textured tongue past your entrance like he didn’t even realize he was talking. “Don’t care. Don’t need to- breathe. Just need…”

And the next thing you hear is the wettest, rawest squeeeelch! emanating into the tense air once Choso snakes his right hand upwards to pluck a ringed finger between your lips. 

He hisses, fighting with himself for possessive reign over whose lapping up more of your sleek juices. Cheeks hollowed, he’s latching onto your clit and playfully biting as the slimy crown of his digit rovers inside. 

And the stretch- oh, the fucking stretch had your pupils whirling dizzily inside the whites of your eyes. 

“Sh-shit- w-were your hands always this ngh- big?”

Because, really, Choso’s hunched-over back only seemed to flex bigger the more he’s tasting you. His fingers longer, pearly whites sharper. Eyes gleaming–

“Big?” Choso breathes from below you, long lashes shuttering as his eyes widen. Oh, he was just realizing- and that tone did not bode well for your poor, impaling pussy. 

“B-big.” Because he shifts, he jerks his head just the slightest inch to register his sudden strength n’ size. Before grinning—“Then take-” Slurring, your roommate tugs your puffed-up folds just barely enough to the side so that he could slip in the knobbly ends of a second finger. “-take it, my baby.”

It’s like you were made to take it. 

Your elastic hole snagging on the ridges of his slender fingers, you throw your head back and moan at the sudden impact of Choso pursing his pretty pink lips and spitting on your pussy. 

“Y-you know what else the head of the Choso clan can control?” 

Just about the longest sentence his heat-filled mind has managed so far, he’s snagging the caps of his nail polish-chipped fingertips into the side of your walls and spreeading your cunt apart to let his pearly glob of saliva slither inside. 

Immediately making you feel hypnotized, making you feel as if you were sweltering.

Oh, shit. 

The realization makes your head lift off of your dampened pillows- he controls blood and…

He has the audacity to grin when the slimy ribbon of his saliva stirs in circles ‘round and ‘round your snug channel. Controlled. Filthy. 

Watching your every minute squirm with bated breath, Choso nestles that droplet against your tenderest weeping orifices. Shocked. Ready. Like a wolf stumbling upon resh blood he’s breathing—“There”

Something in him twitches. 

Something in him awakens, hips grinding against the bed. 

And then you’re watching Choso’s nosebridge tattoo deepen, you’re watching him lazily flicker his pinkish tongue over the perked nub of your clit while his fingers were ravaging you from the inside out. He wanted to ruin you. 

He was whacking his cold metallic rings against the gummy insides of your cunt and hoping that it bruised. Carving a cute lil’ ‘C’ right at the edge of your g-spot where you needed him the most, his high cheekbones flush. “Can control this. You. Her.”

Quirking the wide end of his index against your sweetest spot, Choso stuffs a third finger and lets all three rounded curves treat your g-spot like a bullseye. Probin’ so deep with their frigid designs into your every nook and cranny, Choso elbows your thighs open once the pressure makes you thrash.

You’re bucking off of the silken sheets, your slick-plastered thighs smushing each side of his handsome cheeks. “There- o-ohhh my god k-keep going-”

“Th-there.” Choso’s smiling. Something feral. “There- there- there.” Hit after hit, he’s sticking his maw against your slit and makin’ out with your sappy lips with a dopey smile. Unfocused. Throat relaxing to let the miry wads of your sweet, sweet sap flood his tastebuds.

They’re damn near sizzling as they stick to your puckering hole as if made of adhesive, slashes of his refined tongue making your cunt sing almost as much as your voice box was. “F-fuck, m’not gonna last, Cho—”

He’d noticed - that sixth, sensual sense of his cursed energy that was making him scour your walls with his curvaceous digits. That primal sense in him.

And that’s all he needed to hear.

The ringed bands of his rings spanking your g-spot like he was maddened, lips wrapped so hard as he sucks on your throbbing clit that they’re starting to ache. 

More.

More more more- he needed fucking more of you before you’re cumming all over his face. And ah- how much more would you drench his snogging mouth when you reach your high?

Choso unfastens his jaw all wiiide and lets your slobbering drags push against his chin. Pushed so nose-deep between your twitching thighs that you can barely even understand him. “Cum.”

“Please—” You’re whimpering out shrilly, fucking music in his ears that makes him spread his meaty thighs apart and push his aching erection into the mattress. “Cho— I’m gonna mmm- m’gonna-”

You don’t get to finish your sentence before Choso’s finishing you off. 

With a few more vulgar, sloppy strokes that set your teeth on edge. Your roommate doesn’t care for any method, he doesn’t care for any technique because he’s lavishing his velvety mouth everywhere. 

From your pulsating clit, to the gasping circle of your entrance, to right past where three of his lengthy fingers were already filling you up because Choso just couldn’t get enough. And he’s laying his craned neck out across one of your trembling thighs, mouth burning with the cloying taste of you while you cum and cum harder than any of your toys have ever made you. 

“I-it feels so…” Words fail you, and your hands stay firmly wrapped through the valleys of his sweaty scalp for dear life. “-so- nghhh- can’t even d-do anything.”

It was devastating- your vision splotchy with white, toes curling. And the half-curse was so plowed between your pert pussylips that he couldn’t even rear himself back to moan. 

Letting out each moistened ‘fuck’ and ‘oh’ into your gushing pussy. 

Blinded, it’s the only thing he can do to let your rose-shaped insides clench around his dexterous muscle. A sweet lil’ ba-dump–! that matched in carnal synchronization with the beat of your rapid heart, and Choso’s counting about twelve before he finally feels your high bating. 

“No.” He grunts out instantly, eyes widening. Panicked. With a grope to the left side of your waist, Choso latches on a death grip and immediately pulls your restless hips back onto his mouth. Lips wobbling, “No no no no- come back.”

Yelping, “Shit m’so- hck! sensitive, Choso.” Even the slightest pinch of his coral pink lips right over your clit left you seeing stars. 

But he didn’t listen.

He didn’t care.

He’s pushin’ his tongue back between your wet slit with a growl and eyeing how it makes you shudder. “Can’t-” Laughing - laughing - Choso alternates between bumping his rounded index against your g-spot and stretching out his rubbery tongue to lap at your walls. 

Smack after smack every time he flaps his lips, all dangling with gleaming streaks of your hot orgasm. He’s trying to get you to cum once more, but he’s too impatient. 

Too needy for it that all he can do is slash his tongue across your sweetest spots and watch as it only edges you until you’re all dizzy. Sniffing your pussy like you’re his favorite scent, “Can’t fucking stop.”

“Want- ngh! want you—” You’re keening, pushing on the perspiration-sprayed surface of his forehead to no avail. Choso only manhandles your body to glue his lips to yours even further, “Want your cock.”

“H-huh?”

For the first time, your roommate lifts his head from the sinful heaven between your legs with a loud plop! It’s the most lecherous noise, and the only thing wetter than that sound was how wet Choso was.

He’s dripping with syrupy slick from the apples of his high cheekbones down to his sharp jaw, beaded drops of slick hitting your thighs with a pitter-patter. He was flushed. Pheromones burning. Slightly shivering. 

And it looked like the very second you opened your mouth - not even from the sound of your voice, just the mere notion of it - Choso’s nose scrunches and he flinches. “Wan’ your cock…”

“O-oh.”

Oh.

Oh.

You were done for. 

You were absolutely and completely done for- because no sooner are the words out of your mouth that your snug pussy walls are left empty n’ hollow. Void of when he’s dragging his fingers back, making sure to leave a rovering little caress as he pulls out with a soppy slurp!

And then he’s slouching over you, he’s bending you. 

Fully clothed and yet it’s like his heat-melted mind doesn’t even register that, Choso’s holdin’ your dangling ankles spread open while he grinds his swollen, aching cock against your core and groans. 

“Fuck- fuck-” 

He was so fucking hard, and your pussy had felt so damn tight around his tongue. 

Just once. Twice- Choso ruts between your legs like an animal before he’s fumbling for the silvery latch of his belt. Unfreezing, you’re finally helping his dazed fingers through it- whining as you tug on his off-white undershirt, “Take it- off.”

Moaning- he thinks he’s going to die if he doesn’t listen to every word you say. “Please.”

It’s like each sound of your needy voice only makes his weight cock sag further, so it’s such a relief when he’s shoving the rest of his trousers down and letting his red, bulbous tip swab his abs with a stripe of glittering pre. 

You only get a flash of Choso’s cock - rock-fucking-hard, engorged, looking so painful as his lengthy shaft hangs between his pale legs. The mushroomed tip of his cock was burnin’ red and weeping, and- was that- a shiny silver piercing right next to his orifice?

 Like a pretty pink lollipop that you wanted to reach out and-

“Later.”

And then he’s pushing in. 

Then he’s letting his ballooned-up shaft twitch primally at the noise of your sweet, sweet voice, before spreading his meaty thighs and pushing between your tight, glistening cunt. 

“I know-” He’s rasping out, two of his veiny forearms planting underneath your legs to lift them bonelessly onto his shoulders. Ankles hitting his back muscles, “I know I know I know- fuck!”

Nearly screaming at the way your cozy hole was just too small for his pierced tip, resisting the way Choso fits the very reddened point of his cock between your folds and pushes and pushes. Ruts. “O-oh my goddd- nghhh- s’sooo biggg–!”

But your adorable huffing and puffing was only making every ounce of blood pound to his aching cock and make it even bigger. 

Tightly pushing against the rubbery outer edge of your pussy, your pussylips get smeared apart sooo fucking widely by his rigid circumference. 

And no matter how much you’re thrashing and mewling, Choso only tugs apart your cunt with a thumbing of his ringed digit. Deeper, fitting just an inch. 

He gasps- he whines. Just so desperate, and you’re hypnotized by both that ecstatic look on his face to the sweetened, humid atmosphere. 

“Cho! O-oh my god s’not gonna mmm- fit-”

“No.” Choso repeats it like a mantra, and he’s begging with those hooded chestnut eyes of his. Probing your gaze with his dilated pupils, heels digging into your rickety mattress, the head of his swollen shaft squeezed where he was bullying inside. “No no no no- hafta take it. You need to, my baby.”

Long lashes shuttering, you swear you see Choso’s eyeliner run with tears when he makes your pussy gulp down a single solid few inches. 

His cock so fucking big that just this slightest swallowed measurement made you feel a round bruise at your throat, your mouth overflooding with heated saliva. “Need to take it inside just-”

Babbling, Choso glues his clammy palms upon either side of your birthing hips and bends you in half. 

All the way until the globes of your ass nearly weren’t touching the bed, all the way until he’s pressuring you with the weight of his muscular body and holding you still whilst you take him in deeper. 

In a mating press.

And give him an inch, he’ll take a mile. 

“Fuh-fuuuuck!” Because Choso was thrusting, not even waiting - he couldn’t. Your gooey pussy was just so soft and warm around his barreling girth that it was driving him wild. “You’re just soooo—”

“Inside. Inside.”

“What if I can’t fit-”

“I’ll make it fit.”

He’s holding onto your mounds of flesh like it would stop him from losing control, thighs shivering at his inner quads once he’s punishing your squelching cunt with half-ruts. Bucks. Humps like an animal all just to fit and fit his swollen, red cock inside. 

Eyes dazed, mouth slack. 

Choso’s already drilling into you, whacking your bubblegum insides with everything he could fit. 

From the geysering divot homed on the middle of his tip to just where one of his prominent veins was tickling your outer folds. His Prince Albert’s was so cold where he’s slimy mazing along your textured walls, “Tight-” He dares to let one of his hands caress your tummy, pushing down to feel himself. “Fucking tight.”

Struggling, and so when Choso’s finally tugging further on your dewy slick cunt to sheath in more more more- all he can do is stutter his breath to a labored hold and cum. Just by bottoming out.

Your eyes widen, “Did you just-”

“I-inside.” Choso croaks out, strained. Raw groans hatching, he presses down on your body with his toned upper strength and keeps you there as he’s pumping you full. 

It’s so much of his thick, ribbony white sap splashing ‘round that you’re wondering whether your puffy hole was flooding already. 

Not that Choso would ever let you- no, his familiar ringed thumb spanks down on your slit and makes sure that not even one ivory drop leaks out. 

Driving and driving every vein-covered inch in half-thrusts that leave your knees weak, “Inside.” He’s panting like he was feverish, brown irises murky. So hot inside of you with all his syrup, he’d just bottomed out and he was still planting his feet flat on the bedsprings to maze his glistening cock further. 

Octaves higher, cracked. He’s in disbelief when he’s sliding his globular piercing in a straight line down your cervix, “Inside.”

“Mhmmm– all inside, Choso.” You’re managing to strangle out, your twitchy fingertips reaching up to push away a few strands of his soft bangs from his sweaty forehead. “All better now?”

You’ve no idea what had gotten into him today, but anything to help your hot half-curse roommate-

“All better?”

It’s posed as a question, but Choso wasn’t looking for an answer.

He’s poring down at you with bulging eyeballs, gaze smudged with eyeliner. “All…better?” Before letting out a sudden, strained bark of laughter. 

And before you know it, Choso’s curling the tips of his fingers around your throat and grabbing you to halt in your journey to squirm away. Squealing, you let yourself be dragged down to hit his hard pelvis with a spank.

Leaning down, down, down every inch that he’s closing in the scorching distance between you two made your cum-glazed pussy let off a talkative slurp! “All better.” 

“Wh- oh!”

He doesn’t let you speak.

He doesn’t even let you breathe before ramming into you with all the vein-patterned, roaming length of his girth. “All better?” Choso echoes breathlessly, “You- think- I’m all better?”

As you whine, the headlock of his palm tugs your lolling scalp forwards to stare back up at him. Holding the deepest, most lecherous eye contact with you as he sliiiides his zig-zagging veins against the roof of your pussy. 

Spit flying, Choso crashes his maw into your open mouth. “Do I look fucking better?”

Oh.

That’s when it finally hits you- that short, hastened paragraph you’d skimmed over in your book on cursed - Choso was in heat.

“P-please!” It was almost comical the way he had you mewling all stupidly on his cock, your heart-eyed pupils swirlin’ inside of your eyes with each poke into the bottom of your pussy. His stout, frigidly pierced tip furiously thumping away, “Feels so good, Cho- can feel you all the way ngh- here.”

And he was not letting you go. 

Choso looked like he was losing his sanity when you’re mindlessly tracing a hand up the valley of your tits, touching your throat. 

“Th-there, huh?” He questions, dryly. With a final swab of his bulging length where you were most sensitive, he’s suckin’ on your quivering lower lip with a hum. “You know I ngh- respect you, right, my baby? Riiight–?”

Confused, you’re nodding—“Yes?”

“Good.”

Because Choso wasn’t going to fuck you like it.

He’s departing his hoarse breath in gusts, letting out a barely-audible little–”Flowing Red Scale: Stack.”

The jujutsu technique to increase speed. Endurance. 

Before the air around the two of you tightens with electricity, with every atom around the two of you coating with a layer of cursed energy. Something so rabid and desperate that seeps through Choso’s body like he almost wasn’t in control, coating the ends of his upright erection when he’s bucking. 

“There-” The rounded circle of his piercing is plowing you open like a searchlight, mazing your velvety walls in a lil’ zig-zag. The underside of his shaft sticks to you like a second skin, striking your g-spot dead on. “-there.”

Rovering his hand right on top of the sultry rounded bulge he was pounding away into you, “M’here.”

He was there right inside of you and he was everywhere. 

Weighing in on the splotch of your nerved walls, pushing away the creamy white layer of seed on top of your lips so that he could see himself being sucked in even deeper. “Me me me me-”

“O-oh please!” You scream out in time with the creaking racket of your aged bedcoils, it was making the most protesting noises as he bucks his hips deeper. Hands clawing across his deltoids—his chilling piercing whacks your g-spot and you can only reach for the wooden headboard with a babble. 

“No- no no come back-” Choso’s free hand creeps from your cute tummy bulge to claw at your scalp, pushing you down. Pulling you all the way down, “No running.”

No running.

Again and again and again.

Choso’s got a hold on your head, a knee trapping your thigh. Pinning you down so that he can smack his tensed core down on your front and leave your heated flesh stinging. 

“No running no running no- hah! You’re gonna be mine, my baby–” Angrily, he swats your partly-opened lips with a great dollop of spit, feeling the sultry trickle swirl it’s way circlin’ your mouth. 

The entrapping hand on your head tightens like a vice and you squeak something unintelligible, something that makes his pinkish cockhead swerve and his body heave with a great, visceral shudder. 

“What was- hah- what was that, my baby?”

“Ch-Choso–!” Comes out your shrilling calls, “More.”

And he almost stops. He almost freezes—“What?”

“More!”

“M-more?” Choso can only repeat through a harrowed gasp, letting his heavy, hard cock slide niiiice and easy between your legs. Echoing, “More.” And it’s like he’s agonizingly fucking you slow n’ steady- hard and rough. 

Alternating, it’s hard to keep himself in check.

Hard to even force himself into a constant sloppy cadence when you’re looking up at him like that.

Begging for him, your mouth unfastens open at the way Choso’s pretty hazel eyes only seem to glow…animalistically. A cursed, powerful tinge taking over his gaze, claws sharpening, body bulging with even more sexy muscles as if that was possible. 

He was almost transforming in front of your very eyes and the only thing you can do is throw your oversaturated head back and take it. 

“More.”

Choso whacks his bulbous, cold Prince Albert’s against the side of your g-spot and hopes that pretty area of your cunt remembers it. Bruising you. 

Your thighs on his shoulders, his dick shoveling into tender orifices inside of you that no one’s ever reached before. Your cute roommate’s damn near laughing himself hoarse whilst moaning away that singular syllable you’d uttered out. “More- more. What the fuck- more.”

“Fuck—” Your doughy heels dig in eagerly where his back muscles were rippling, lungs filling with all his heated scent. “M’gettin’ so ngh- sensitive, Cho.”

But it’s not like he could hear you.

Choso Kamo knew your lips were moving, but he was too deeply-stuffed inside your dripping wet cunt to even pretend to listen. All he could think as he shuffles all his fat, roaming inches inside, creaming out a generous helping of buttery pre, was that he wanted to make your gorgeous mouth fall into an oh! of pleasure.

Fuck, talking- he’s fucking you like he’s trying to make sure that you couldn’t.

Merciless thrust after thrust, the power clinging onto the air around you two was becoming stifling.

“More” Choso utters, two of his ringed fingers skimming your bulged folds open and kissin’ your clit with a sweet hello. “More.” Before pinching, harder. Sloppier. His bulbously swollen red erection stirs your insides like he’s trying to melt his body onto yours, “Tight lil’ hole can’t g-get enough of me- she wants more-”

Oh.

Oh–

You weren’t the only one caught off guard by just how ragged Choso was becoming - just how ragged his ruthless hips were becoming. Because with only one, two, three precise glides of his rotund cockhead stirrin’ your g-spot, your poor pussy is bullied into a second orgasm. 

You see white. 

Surprised. Hitting you like four semi-trucks, all you can do is gnaw your lolling maw down on the tempting curve of his shoulder and cum.

“O-oh, my baby.” Choso whispers out from above, gasping once he’s registering your high. Your bite- marking him up in a way that makes his cursed heat flare. 

Cumming.

Cumming and cumming so hard that your roommate’s feeling his heavy breeder balls drain with each sploshing wire of sap being pumped into you. 

You hear him grunt over n’ over through your popped eardrums, “My baby-” Thwack! Thwack! Thwack! goes the slap of his cum-glazed balls digging into the backs of your ass. And you swear you feel his frigid piercing draw out a loooong ‘C’ on your sponged cervix, “My baby my baby my baby- alll…”

Dazed, you’re watching when his ringed hand lets go of your head to caress your tummy bulge. Now only inflated further with his knotted wads of cum, “-here.”

Oh…

He didn���t just mean that you were his baby- he meant that he was going to fuck a baby into you.

And that’s exactly how he’s milking you through your high, letting the sparks of your bliss overtake you as his driveling cock fucks away lazily. Sensually rubbin’ the curve of his piercing over your g-spot to overstimulate you. 

“Never f-felt this good, Cho–!” Your criss-crossed eyes scrunch with a few warm tears, feeling the gooey puddle of white stagnant below you.

He reels his plump girth back just the slightest smidge and watches as a torrent of sap splashes out wetly. 

Choso only grins, “S’my first time-” Planting a lingering smooch over your gaped lips. “My first kiss. My first…”

And absolutely nothing - nothing - could’ve prepared you for the word that attaches to the tail-end of his groaned sentence. 

“-mate.”

His only mate. His one and only. 

And he was groping the underside of your ass cheeks to make sure that his loving mate wasn’t squirming away. Getting a good handhold for your pretty, pliant body to be held up and dragged backwards. 

Choso wasn’t in the right headspace to even pretend he was pushin’ you into a cute mating pressing right now.

Only melting the ridges of each chiseled ab into your front, glissading easily with the sheen of his perspiration.

Choso creeps his bruised, red lips right up to your ear. 

“And m’not letting you walk out of this hah- bed not pregnant.” As if struck by the sudden thought, he rolls his sloppy cock between your saturated pussylips once more and grunts. Dark eyes sliiiding backwards, brows scrunching with need. “A-actually- m’not letting you walk at all.”

Gasping, “Not walking- th-that means…”

It’s all you can get out before the cursed energy sticking to your bodies heightens twofold. 

And Choso gets harder. Choso’s pushing you down.

Choso cups your spilling pussy to smear apart your bloated folds, slimily weaving his rounded mushroom tip to circle back to your entrance and push—

“More.” 

Your tongue feels sticky with all the pheromones of his saccharine heat, “M-more?” 

“Gonna fuck you more.” Seemingly able to utter more than just three words now, “Fill you up more.” Shaking - both his voice and his thighs pushing you into missionary now.  “Get- get you pregnant more.”

Blood manipulation to make his prolonged, split-ended shaft harder. Reverse cursed technique to make sure you two don't break bones. 

But neither of you can stop the way his creaking bed frame shatters.

And Choso doesn’t care- his knee hikes further to keep your legs open. Fist pumping the fattened excess of his ravaged cock furiously to pump n’ pump himself to a merciless hardness. He’s hissing as his cursed energy forces every ounce of blood in his sparking mind to rush to his plummy, weeping crown. 

“I-is this even safe, Cho–?” You’re whining, trying to nudge yourself to some sort of rationality before Choso completely ruined you all over again. 

“Safe? Safe?” He’s giggling out, hissing between your parted lips. “Who knows…?”

The last thing you’re managing to hear before his slender hips snap forwards and meet your pussylips with a tender few strings of even more cum. Pouring out a thick paste that damn near covers the slope of your cunt an opaque ivory, “I don’t know- I have no idea- a-all m’gonna do s’fuck you–”

Just at that moment your pussy lets out a sappy few squelches as he shovels inside and Choso’s nodding.

“Y-yeeees, my baby.” Slobber trickles down either side of his lips and marks him all glittering, the round orb of his piercing cleaning off your pussy of seed. “All pregnant. A-all mine. All pregnant.”

Choso’s still so damn big- growing even bigger thanks to his jujutsu that every rummaging inch makes him slick your skin with cum. Creaming you. Milking himself. 

Bulging cock so layered with jujutsu that it almost zaps the inside of your silky smooth cunt like a vibrator to have him pummeling you deeply.

The more he’s pounding away like he’s crazed, the more and more he does become crazed. Rasping tone breathless, gone. “Yes- yes yes yes tha’s right-” He’s sounding out, trekking a hand down to thumb over your jiggling cum-inflated tummy bulge. “Pregnant. Pregnant pregnant- pregnant–”

“S-slow down Cho, or m’gonna—ngh! again.” You wail, hips bucking up shallowly - just about all you can manage right now, but the mere idea has Choso breathing all labored. 

Hands twisting on the lecherous nub of your clit, “Yeah- yeahhh, mama’s gotta cum.” He’s reciting off- it wasn’t just the heat, it was some second primal nature that made him want to make that drenched pussy of yours squeeze his cock to death.

And fuck, was that instinct strong. 

Because Choso’s hitting your deep cunt with gushing whacks, angling his pelvis just right to curl the left-leaning spheroid of his cockhead against your g-spot and-

“Cum- cum. Cum.”

When you do, it’s in carnal unison with him. For the nth time this night.

So hard that the two of you can only throw your heads back and moan—

Long, stringy ribbons of sap entering your filthy hole right in time with each peak of your high. You count one, two, three- four. 

“Cum—ing.” Your voice cracks, eyes rolling. Nails clawing fresh crimson marks down his pale shoulder blades, ones that the man himself smells and drools at. Yeah- all he wanted in his heated haze was for you to ruin him. “Choso- oh.” 

“S’my name- what’s this say?”

You yelp, feeling him guide his pierced cocktip to swab your most tender orifices. Grunting- “Tell me. Spell.”

That fucking animal inside of his cursed body was makin’ him tease your bruised and battered cervix with an outlined ‘C’, then an ‘H’, and then an ‘O’-‘S’ -‘O’.

C-H-O-S-O

C-H-O-S-O

C-H-O-S-O

You think you might be cumming again, you think you might be grinding your hips back down without even thinking to help him spell out his name. “Choso- Choso! Cho—!” Mindlessly whining and whining that very word whilst your orgasm hits you like a freight train. 

And Choso knew it was coming- oh, he saw. 

The lecherous part of his cursed technique growing in tune with your body enough that he’s sensing the waves of your impending bliss, and gifing your pussy with a rigid thrash against your g-spot that leaves you squirting. 

All over his dick.

“I’m— did I-” 

“You did.” He’s breathing, rough. Gone. “You did.”

Dampened, streaming gushes of sap coat Choso’s shaft, and it’s a damn miracle that he’s able to stop himself from pulling out right now just to taste the wetness of your dewy soft walls as you ride him through your high. His own orgasm nothing more than numerous dry spurts of white liquid when he’s fucking you even sloppier. 

Still fucking you when he’s muttering the incantation underneath his breath for his blood manipulation technique sugring down to his fattening girth. Overstimulated. Overworked. 

Gasping, something wet hits your shoulder and it takes you every shred of will in your body to wrench your teary lashes open and look. Only to realize that Choso Kamo was crying.

Whimpering, sucking himself dry on you. 

You didn’t know who was more drunken as he’s lazily dragging his veiny cock along your channel in a third- fourth? round. “I finally have- have you in my ngh- bed and-” Toying the flared edge of his mushroom tip right where your g-spot was, back n’ forth, back n’ forth. He makes you squeeze down on the rounded swelling at his hilt, “-you think m’letting you go that easy?”

Teeth on edge, bangs sweat-stuck, eyeliner running.

Heavy balls tightening.

Before you can even register it, Choso has you face-planted into the pillows - his hand at the base of your arched spine, cock taking you from behind, foot firmly seated on top of your head. 

And he’s collapsing his body down onto yours and pushing, pushing, pushing. 

So hard that you think you hear a faint pop!

“N-no breaking bones…” Comes out his throaty tut, followed by the cool breeze of even more reverse cursed energy bleeding into your bones. The expanse of his heated skin buzzing with electricity, he almost made you bolt to the touch.

And suddenly this mean position on all fours doesn’t feel so bad anymore-

Finishing off, “Need the f-future mother of my kids safe.” You can only drench his silky pink pillowcase with pure saliva and tears, whimpering when he dabs a finger over a dribbling wad of cum that’d started to spray from your folds. 

Delicately massaging over your overstimulated slope, Choso brings his glazed fingertip over to stick to the ring finger on your left hand and draw. A cute lil’ wedding band. 

“A…proposal?” You’re questioning, head cocked where you’re all laid out prettily on top of the cushy surface. 

And maybe it’s by the fourth round when the two of you can barely even speak, and the massage of his soaked chocolate happy trail had started irritating the cheeks of your ass. Maybe it’s by the fifth when it’s barely even fucking and more so Choso making sure that his high leaves him dry, nothing but a pearly droplet of seed escaping his strawberry divot before he’s pinning you down to the mattress. 

Maybe it’s by the sixth when he’s laying you side by side and gluing his slobbery mouth against yours while his raw, red cock lazily gyrates inside of your sensitive walls. 

Plugged up with a swollen girth homed at the base of his red shaft that you’re slowly realizing is his wide knot so that all he can do is swirl n’ fill each slick, creamy crevice. Not having the strength to thrust even with his use of reverse cursed energy. 

“You’re mine now.” It’s the last thing you hear as the two of you are on the precipice of passing out. Your bed shattered. Your apartment lights charred with the overuse of jujutsu.

Sending out a wave of cursed energy strong enough that it’s a wonder sorcerers aren’t knocking down your door - and yet, Choso still wouldn’t be able to stop his hips. 

His sharp canines sink into the sweaty crook of your neck, much like yours had on his all those hours and hours ago. Yet, something about his bite felt…animalistically permanent. 

Like his infamously venomous technique was flowing through you and marking you. Though, you barely even feel the sting with his reverse cursed technique- not out of his control.

Through a crack of your tear-dewed eyelids, you’re taking in with awe at the way that your dear half-curse roommate’s nosebridge tattoo only grows wider. Stronger. Suddenly matching with a new one that’d started to formulate at the base of his soft, mahogany happy trail - like an incubus tattoo.

He was all yours now. 

Length throbbing harder as his tastebuds sizzle with your crimson, “Forever.” Choso takes oooone good look at you with loving, heart-shaped eyes. And you wonder whether his heat was finally, finally-

Before he’s inhaling your saccharine sweet scent, and you watch in real time as Choso’s molten peripherals dilate. Wide. Panting. Cock twitching. “O-oh, my baby, think m’getting…hard again.”

A/N. Mwahaha summer is coming up so I simply had to.

Plagiarism not authorized.

[iluvikeu]

roommates!osasuna who kiss you in turns on the couch: osamu's lips are slow and alluring, full of intent. suna's kisses are deeper, lazier, like he's savouring every second. you lose track of who kisses you next, whose fingers are slipping under your shirt, whose palm is pressing low against your back.

you're drunk on the attention, drunk on the warm, lingering touches, drunk on their love.

roommates!osasuna who always forget a towel when showering. you all do. half the time there's a naked sunarin yelling across the apartment and osamu throwing a towel at him, before leaning against the door frame to watch.

"ya look like you need help."

"i'm good."

"don't think so. move."

roommates!osasuna who love praising you but in different ways. osamu is all soft and coaxing, always starting slow, voice a deep murmur like velvet. you're sprawled between them, your knees spread wide across osamu's lap, head tipped back against suna's shoulder.

when you arch against his grip, osamu cups your face, tenderly, "there she is. my good girl. takin' us so well, sweetheart."

and when he kisses your chest, the valley between them, your stomach and down, he murmurs between each one, "so gorgeous when ya fall apart f'me. every single time."

his words make you feel like you're adored, like you're owned, like he's there to guide you and catch you on a cloud.

suna, though.

now suna's voice is sharp, edged with filth. like he wants you to feel embarrassment and shame amplified with the arousal between your thighs. osamu's mouthing at your skin, his warm big hands roaming your body, his cock a slow heave into you, but suna's hands are cruel and fast the way they played with your clit without remorse, ignoring your jerking hips.

"dripping and messy. imagine somebody saw you like this, they'd think you were some desperate little slut."

"rin," osamu would cut in, a warning in his voice, but the way his cock throbs inside you and his hips jerk involuntarily makes you think that he likes suna's nasty comments just as much.

suna's nothing but sharp-eyed, a cruel slow curl of a smile on his face, "look at you, all serious like you're not two seconds away from busting right inside her."

he doesn't stop the attack on your swollen nub, but they stutter once when a shadow flits over you. mouth open, drooling, ears hot, your eyes barely recognise the shape of osamu's arm above you, his hand grabbing suna's neck, fingers wrapped around his throat. his thumb presses under his jaw just enough to tilt his face up.

he holds suna rintaro like he is on a leash.

"ye talk a lot for someone i could fold in half right now."

roommates!osasuna who both reach for you at the same time without looking. it happens so often now that you don't even think about it; when there's two hands on your waist, or your shoulders, on your thighs, warm and grounding, it feels like love doubled. sometimes they bump heads reaching for a kiss, and you take care to kiss each of them with intention.

roommates!osasuna who declares the kitchen to be a suna-and-you-free zone. suna sneaks in to hug osamu anyway, fingers quick and sneaky in stealing a bite off the cutting board. he tries to bring enough so you both can share outside osamu's reach, but osamu's quick, hand already shooting out to grasp suna's wrist.

"off."

roommates!osasuna who regularly team up to ambush you.

you're just trying to grab some water, really, it's nothing crazy, you're not doing anything. yet suddenly, suna's behind you, his hands at your waist, whispering something filthy in your ear.

you turn around to escape one of them and run right into osamu's chest. he doesn't budge, wide and steady, only takes your chin between fingers and slightly shakes it, "what's got ye so flustered, hm?"

roommates!osasuna who have been bickering all day. it's just the usual back-and-forth, forgettable and fun, except this time, when osamu's in the kitchen, wiping his hands from the snacks he insists on making for you two, who are lazing around on the couch and in all honesty, probably didn't deserve being spoiled like that.

osamu's eyebrows are furrowed as he works in concentration, calm and in this particular work flow that he always falls into when he gives his entire attention and his all. which is why suna looks really fucking bored.

watching osamu move, his shoulders broad, teeth pressed together (probably not really healthy for his jaw), and the effortless way he handles himself in the kitchen, he really can't help it.

he mutters, just loud enough for his voice to be carried over to osamu, but still directed at you, "you know, baby, for a guy with all those muscles, he's awfully soft, no?"

osamu doesn't even pause, just dries his fingers off with a dish towel, so suna continues, his nose brushing your throat which you acknowledge with an eye roll because you know exactly where this is going, "bet you hold him down more than he does with you. look at him, he's probably blushing already."

this time, he does turn at that, a slow and deliberate movement; no blush on his face in sight, but when he's approaching you two and you register the look in his eyes, it has your stomach flip nervously and suna's eyebrows raise.

"ya got a short memory, rin," he says, really soft and really amused. one hand of his brushes the hair out of suna's face, tucks the slightly longer strands behind his ear, fingers trailing back to then grasp a handful of his hair to tug.

"wanna say somethin' smart again?"

suna grins, because he's an asshole. because he enjoys the feel of osamu's grip tightening on his hair, "please. like you could ever hold me down."

there's a shift in the room, the way osamu's breath draws in through his nose. the subtle flex of his fingers on the back of suna's head. the way osamu's body suddenly feels bigger, closer, meaner.

he tugs, hard, away from the couch, so suna really doesn't have any choice but to follow, but to be pushed against the floor on his back, shirt askew, cheeks flushing already despite the mischievous glint in his eyes. osamu's one hand is quick to wrap tightly around both of suna's wrists, his hips suddenly grinding down slow and hard.

his other hand presses down on suna's abdomen, and rin can't help the instinctive jerking of his muscles at the touch, not when it's combined with the heavy weight of osamu's, feeling his breath caress his ears, caged by the man, who slowly works him open — hands, mouth, teeth.

a bruising kiss, claiming suna's mouth with his own, osamu's tongue slides in deep as his hips roll once, twice, just enough to pull a sound out of the black-haired menace, one that isn't a word at all, but a strangled moan.

and when he tugs on his wrists, osamu tightens his grip.

"ya like seein' him like this, don'tcha, sweetheart?"

transfixed with the display of suna rutting against osamu like he's searching for any friction at all, what else could you do other than nod, your throat dry?

"he's so pretty when he stops pretending he's in control," osamu muses, half a growl in his tone, and suna groans, a slight hint of embarrassment, a whole lot of arousal. he glares at osamu, he tries, but he's panting, his pupils blown wide, hips moving of their own accord.

osamu's head dips again, lips brushing suna's jaw, leaving a mark on his skin, "think we should show her what yer sound like when you cum beggin'?"

"you're," he breathes out, eyes glazing, "fuckin' sick."

"say that with yer mouth full, pretty boy."

suna opens his mouth to retort, but osamu cuts him off with a sharp grind of his hips, pressing hard right against the bulge in suna's pants. there was a slight gasp, his breath catching, thighs shaking ever so slightly.

"fuck—"

"no talkin' now," osamu mutters, "not until i tell ya to."

and he does keep going, fingers trailing up to bury themselves into suna's mouth, pressing down on his tongue, whilst there was slow pressure on suna's cock, the drag of heavy friction having him squirming and twitching beneath him, trying to get more without asking. because suna's pride is too damn annoying.

until osamu stills, with weight on his hips, with the pressure around his wrists, with his fingers slowly pulling out of his mouth, gripping suna's jaw, fingertips digging into his cheeks.

"ya want more? beg."

suna's eyes narrow, his voice hoarse from osamu, "you're gonna make me—"

squeezing his face, osamu cuts him off again, "didn't ask for yer commentary. said beg."

your knees are pulled to your chest, one hand pressed between your thighs, the pulsing strong. god, they look so good like this, suna all flushed and restless, osamu on top, muscles bulging at holding him down. your fingers slip into your panties and it's no surprise at how wet you find yourself, how swollen your clit, how easily your fingers dip into your heat.

osamu's eyes flick towards you when a slight moan escapes you, and he drinks you in, a promise in his eyes that has your thighs press together, caging your hand in.

"last chance, rin," he says, but his gaze is still heavy on yours.

for a second there's silence, suna's chest rising and falling fast, his pride warring with his need, with his cock searching fulfilment, with his flushed face between osamu's unyielding grip.

his mouth parts, and the word is just a mutter, raw, "please."

osamu finally looks back, but he doesn't move, still.

"dunno if i heard ya right, say it louder f'me."

"please," suna struggles against osamu's grip, back arching to get him to move, to continue pleasuring him, to do something. his voice was rough, wrecked, "touch me. fuck me. whatever the hell you want."

looking down, suna's lips are swollen, a blush settled on his face, his hair clinging to his forehead, damp, chest expanding and falling deeply, heavily, but oh, his eyes — so glazed, so needy, like he's ready to take anything osamu gives him.

then osamu looks at you: your parted lips, the movement of your hand in your pants, the little breathless moans falling from your mouth, and it all just slots itself together so easily in his brain.

"look at 'er," osamu murmurs low, rising from where he was sprawled out on suna, "sittin' there bein' so good."

there's confusion etched on suna's face, in his eyebrows that furrow, in the way his mouth twists into a grimace at the loss of touch, but when his gaze reluctantly settles on you, his expression shifts, ever so slightly, a desire hard in his eyes, wanting, torn — he swallows.

"be good for once, rin," osamu's foot presses down onto suna's clothed dick once, enough for a strangled ahh to escape him, before he nods over to you, his voice almost kind, "go take care of her."

suna's jaw tightens, his eyes wandering over to osamu, at the promise that he was dangling in front of him like he was a horse getting played with a carrot; his pride twitches and he stares up at osamu staring down, the raised eyebrows that ask him whether he really wanted to challenge him.

"you serious?"

"dead. get on yer knees."

suna's hands are rough when they push apart your thighs, when he sinks to the floor in front of you, fingers impatient to tug down your pants, his voice annoyed, eyes settled on you and you grow slicker underneath his heady gaze, "are you going to fuck me if i make her cum?"

osamu sits back behind him, on the couch table, arms folded, "depends on how well ya do."

suna's mouth latches on to your cunt with no moment wasted, and osamu's voice cuts through your moans and whines, sometimes giving soft instructions that suna follows with a reluctant edge to it, even though his cock rubs against the couch, heat pooling low in his groin at osamu's praise. his jaw suckles, tongue lapping up your juices, fingers pressing your legs apart wider and wider until there was a deliciously painful stretch in your hips.

suna eats you out like he'll die if he won't. spitting on your pussy, his fingers slap away yours, curling deep within you, your gummy walls sucking him in so easily until you came with a start, back arching.

and osamu can only hold out so long at the sight of his two favourite people, despite his words, despite his plan to make suna regret acting up. so it's only natural that his fingers find suna's flesh to dig in, his voice low and strained, telling sunarin to collect your wetness to lather his cock with so he can bury himself into him.

getting his mouth fucked into your pussy, suna thinks he's got to do it more often.

roommates!osasuna who relish in the full feeling swinging in the air, in the scent of sweat and sex and satisfaction; a comfortable, golden moment of silence, soaked with warmth. it lingers underneath your skin, propels your heart to beat soundly.

suna's slumped on the floor between your thighs, lips slick and swollen, hair mussed, blinking slowly. his smirk is long gone, cheek resting against your leg, wet fingers on your knee like he doesn't want to stop touching you just yet.

osamu's shirt is half off, his collarbone dusted in sweat, a flush to his face creeping up his neck; there's a cut on his lip — bitten red and bloody; his hands roam suna's body, calloused fingertips brushing circles into his skin.

"can't feel my jaw," suna speaks into your thigh, his voice hoarse, and there's a tired blink to his eyes.

behind him, osamu hums, slow and unbothered, "good."

you laugh, breathless, choked, and your fingers card through suna's sweaty strands of hair, nails scratching his scalp, "you did well, babe."

leaning over suna's pliant self, osamu kisses your shoulder, then your neck, his finger reaching down to tug suna's earring gently. voice quieter, almost tender, "c'mon, shower or bed?"

a grumble, "bed. you carrying me?"

"ya wish."

"fuckass."

1 | 2 | 3

TAGLIST | @reignpage (i'm sorry for the ping, reign, i'm just!!! i cannot get them outta my head!!!); @sodaneko (YOUR FAULT HATE HATE HATE /pos) ; @takes1 ; @classicalelephant ; @pomigranit ; @sugacor3 ; @boktuoafterdark

[iluvikeu]

Ok…….hoe🥀💔

You’ve been with Satoru for almost a year now—laughing at his dumb anime references, dodging his wandering hands because fuck he’s just so overwhelmingly clingy, and letting yourself fall into the stupid, soft little rhythms of loving someone who should’ve been your enemy.

And that’s the problem.

Because the whole reason you were ever supposed to get close to him was to kill him.

It’s not like you hadn’t tried before. Sneaking poison in his tea—he spat it out and made you drink it instead, pretending it was some flirty trust game. A cursed blade under the bed, slipped under his ribs during sex—he moaned louder and flipped you over, praising how “kinky” you were getting like it was a joke. He just…never. Dies.

And now you’re sitting on his lap, arms wrapped around his neck, guilt scraping your stomach raw because tonight is supposed to be it.

He’s so warm and soft under you, stupidly shirtless like always, skin golden and freckled from the early summer sun. That dumb blindfold is pushed up into his hair, white lashes low over his eyes so blue that you still can’t believe they’re actually real.

You can feel the edge of the cursed dagger against your thigh under your dress. All you have to do is reach.

“You okay, sweets?” he murmurs, fingers rubbing gentle circles into your lower back. “You’re all tense”.

You look at him—at the little beauty mark under his eye, at the way he’s already fondly smiling at you, like he knows.

“…Yeah. Just thinking”.

“About murdering me again?”

You freeze.

He hums, nuzzling his face into your cheek, his warm breathe giving you goosebumps. “Don’t pout. You get all cute and tragic before every attempt”.

“So you knew?”

“Course I knew”. He laughs boyishly like he’s tired of it but loving it anyway. “Why do you think I’ve been letting you get close? I wanted to see how long it’d take you to catch feelings”.

Your face burns. “I haven’t—!”

“Oh no?” His hand drops low, palm spreading over the curve of your ass, squeezing just hard enough to make you twitch. “Then what was that little speech last night? About how I’m the only one who makes you feel safe?”

“I was drunk”.

“No no, you said it while sober”.

You scowl. “Oh my gosh, you’re so insufferable”.

“And you’re a very bad assassin, angel”.

“Stop calling me that”.

“No,” he says, sweet and final. Then he leans up, brushing his mouth over yours like you’re not seconds from killing him—like you couldn’t, even if you tried. “Do it, then. C’mon”.

You blink. “What?”

He nudges his nose along your jaw. “Go on. Try again. Right now”.

Your fingers tremble where they curl around the handle under your dress. And he knows—he wants you to do it. But not because he’s challenging you.

Because he wants to see what you’ll choose.

And you hate it—hate that your heart clenches instead of your grip. Hate that your thighs press tighter around his hips instead of shoving off him. Hate that it’s already decided, and it’s not him dying tonight.

“…You’re a bastard,” you whisper as the dagger slips from your grip and lands on the floor with a loud, dramatic clatter.

He grins as his lips brushes your ear.

“Mmhm. But I’m your bastard now, huh?”

[iluvikeu]

This is my 13th reason why

୨୧﹕fem!reader, yuji apologizing w every thrust

yuji’s got your legs over his shoulders, your body bent nearly in half, the sheets twisted beneath you like a storm rolled through the bed and left nothing untouched.

he’s fucking you hard. fast. frantic.

his hips are slamming into you with relentless rhythm, the sound of wet skin clapping echoing off the walls like applause for how wrecked you are. his cock drives in deep, over and over, hitting that sweet, brutal angle that’s got you sobbing into your own shoulder, eyes rolling back, mouth open in a silent scream.

he’s a mess above you—face red, hair wild, sweat dripping off his brow, teeth clenched—but his voice cracks every time he tries to speak.

“s-sorry—f-fuck, i’m sorry—” he pants, eyes wide and guilt-drunk. “i can’t—ngh—i c-can’t slow down—!”

you can barely answer. you’re already so far gone, your nails scraping helplessly down his back, your pussy gripping him like a vice, soaked and fluttering every time his cock grinds deep into your soaked, overstimulated walls.

and then—

it happens.

a mouth splits open on his cheek. a familiar, cruel grin—sukuna—fangs glinting, eyes slitted sideways in amused disgust.

“holy fuck, brat,” sukuna growls, voice thick with mockery. “you’re gonna break her.”

yuji jerks, his rhythm faltering for half a second, before your pussy clenches again and he groans—loud, guttural, helpless.

“i-i can’t stop—fuck—she feels too good—!”

your eyes flutter open, dazed, barely processing what’s happening, but you see it—that damn grin sneering at you, speaking through yuji’s face like some twisted fever dream.

sukuna laughs.

“listen to you. pathetic. you’re drooling down her thighs and apologizing like a virgin in a brothel.”

“s-shut up—fuck—shut up!” yuji growls, hips still slamming into you, faster now like he’s trying to drown the voice out with the sound of your bodies crashing together.

you cry out again, overstimulated, wrecked, your orgasm hitting too soon, too hard, shaking through you with a high-pitched moan that rips from your throat. your walls clamp down around him like a vice, and yuji loses it.

“f-fuck—i’m gonna—!”

sukuna groans in irritation. “you’re so embarrassing.”

and yuji cums.

he slams in deep, cock twitching hard, spurting hot, thick, endless inside you. his eyes roll back. his whole body seizes. you feel him pulse inside you again and again, the heat flooding your insides too much to even think.

“god—i’m sorry—i’m so sorry—i couldn’t stop—”

you’re panting, wrecked, body twitching from aftershocks, but the mouth on his cheek snickers, tongue licking his teeth.

“…at least someone enjoyed herself,” sukuna drawls, and then vanishes.

[iluvikeu]

MY INTRO!

My nickname is Novie you can call me yours🫦 but yeah! You can call me what u guys prefer✌️

I recently turned 21, I’m half filipino and canadian (I live in the PH though🇵🇭🦅), and I’m currently taking BA International Relations💯

I’ve been here since 2022, lurking around the shadows and yk 👻, but I’ve always been too shy to interact to other blogs💔🥀

Fandoms:

• Haikyu!!

• AOT

• Hunger Games

• JJK

My favs:

• Music Artists: PND, Kehlani, Radiohead, and Billie Eilish, ENHYPEN, TXT, and BTS

• Food: pizza😋

I kin Oikawa ^^

[iluvikeu]

Im on the brink of my sanity

“c’mon, doll, what’s the powerhouse of the cell?” toji asks as he stands behind you, one hand gripping a biology textbook, the other steadying your hip. you’re bent over the desk, panties shoved aside, his thick cock buried deep inside you, stretching you, but he’s still, maddeningly still, ignoring your needy whimpers. you’re soaked, clenching around him, but toji’s only giving you what you want when you earn it.

“um… mitochondria?” you gasp, mind foggy, hips twitching. he grins, thrusting once, hard, making you moan, desk creaking. “good girl,” he mutters, pulling back, cock unmoving again, leaving you aching. “next one. what’s the process where cells divide?” you whine, trying to grind back, but his hand pins you, firm. “answer,” he demands, flipping a page, voice teasing, “or i stay like this all night.”

“mitosis,” you say, arousal dripping down your thighs, and he rewards you, thrusting deep, slow, cock dragging against your walls, sending sparks through you. “fuck, you’re tight,” he groans, but stops, holding the book steady. “again. what’s dna’s structure?” your brain’s scrambling. “double… helix?” you guess, and he thrusts twice, rough, desk rattling, your moan loud. “that’s my smart girl,” but he’s still again, cock pulsing inside.

“toji, please,” you beg, but he chuckles, “wrong answer. try this—what’s the fluid in cells called?” you’re a mess, hips bucking, but he’s still not moving. “cytoplasm,” you cry, and he fucks into you, three hard thrusts, making you see stars, papers sliding off the desk. “fuck, you’re learning,” he growls, but pauses, book open. “one more, doll. what’s the sugar in dna?”

he keeps it up, question after question, each right answer earning a thrust, each wrong one leaving you aching, until you’re a needy mess, begging, “toji, i can’t—” he smirks, closing the book. “one more right, and i’ll fuck you stupid.”

[iluvikeu]

cw: smut, screaming, unprotected p in v, toji being..himself. 18+ mdni!

toji fushiguro likes to make his girls scream.

usually it’s no trouble—he’s pretty experienced in the bedroom, obviously. he’s got a record of thirty-two seconds he set a while ago, as terrible as it sounds.

but you—his pretty new girlfriend—are giving him some trouble.

it’s been almost an hour. he’d done everything—oral, different positions, even that thing with his fingers that’s sure to make someone scream. yet you’re quiet, clinging onto his neck, only sounds falling from your lips are small gasps and itty bitty moans.

for your first time together, toji wanted to take things slow— but it’s not good enough. so, toji switches it up yet again.

he manhandles you to flip over, shoving a pillow under you—something he’d read a while ago and had yet to try out. his hands push your knees into your chest, keeping you open, before sliding his cock back in painfully slow.

you don’t complain or make any noise again, you just rest your hands on his big shoulders and hold on. then toji begins—sliding all the way out and shoving his length right back in.

that elicits the first loud moan you’d given him. if he didn’t know any better, toji would’ve thought he’d been doing a bad job this whole time.

and he thrusts again, slow, yet hard, punctuating each thrust with a sharp stop. you go quiet again, closing your eyes and focusing on the sensation of him—and he hits it.

“oh fuck.”

your voice comes out trembling, a little whiny, yet nothing close to a scream. toji picks up his pace, thrusts still calculated and mean. he hits your g-spot so accurately and aggressive, the sensation bubbling up inside you quickly.

toji sees it, heightened senses be damned, his eyes locking onto your expression. you’re biting your lip, squeezing your eyes shut, digging your nails into his shoulder. you’re like a balloon about to pop, pumped too full you can’t help what comes out of your mouth.

“fuck! fuck you!” you scream, eyes shooting open wide when toji penetrates your g-spot again, rudely.

“aw, that ain’t nice, baby,” toji coos, knowing you don’t mean any harm in your yelling.

you’re just overwhelmed by pleasure, he gets it—toji knows he’s good. he can feel your thighs trembling, your cunt spasming around him every time he hits that sacred spot so deep inside you.

“oh my god—ugh—shit!” curse after curse falls from your lips, only causing toji’s grin to get wider and wider. your moans aren’t pretty in any sense—each noise is ugly and visceral and raw.

toji is eating it up.

“let it out,” he rasps with a laugh, angling his hips to pound even harder into your tight walls.

your fist clenches together and you bang the side of it on toji’s hard bicep. he doesn’t stop, not even after all your exclamations and yelling, because he knows you don’t want him to.

toji doesn’t want to, either—he won’t be satisfied until you lose your voice.

[iluvikeu]

One of my fav blogs💯🥀💔

▸ minors do not interact ▸ likes do not help writers. please reblog and leave feedback on my work.

hyung line drabbles/mtl m.list

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© 𝘴𝘪𝘮𝘱𝘫𝘢𝘦𝘴, 𝘪 𝘢𝘮 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘵𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘺 𝘤𝘰𝘱𝘺𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵. 𝘪 𝘥𝘰 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘨𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘴𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘰𝘳 𝘳𝘦𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘮𝘺 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘬𝘴.͏

[iluvikeu]

for me?

summary - Satoru Gojo really loves making you feel better on your period, massages, your favorite chocolates - but maybe it's a little selfish, since he loves fucking you during it so much.

warnings PWP, this is super filthy aha, oral (f receiving - yes I'm crazy) fingering, period sex, TW - mentions of blood, Satoru is basically obsessed with fucking you during it, feral Satoru (he's kinda yandere tbh) kissing and licking your blood off his lips etc, messy ass sex. I'm pmsing mmkay aha </3

Satoru Gojo is the perfect boyfriend, especially when it is that time of the month, and you're cramping. He makes sure he has chocolate for you, the wine you enjoy, and your favorite movie so you two can cuddle after work. But he does all this for honestly the most selfish reasons!!!

He loves fucking you on your period.

It's all lowkey his sneaky little tactics, to get you to plead so sweetly for him to fill you up, to really get rid of those cramps. But he doesn't start off so obvious, in fact you don't even realize it is his end game, not when he makes sure your tampons and pads are stocked, not when he's running you a bubble bath and playing your favorite music.

You love your blue eyed freaky ass man, who's currently massaging your tummy as you both lay on the large soft suede couch in his living room. His big warm hand is pressing soothing circles against your lower tummy, making you whine out at how good it feels.

"More, Toru, please," you ask sweetly, and look back at him, pouting so pretty, as he smiles sweetly with his plump pink lips.

"More what, sweets?" Satoru's voice is literally a purr, he is pressing the heel of his hand against your sore tummy now, you feel the warmth spread lower, biting your lower lip as he moves, hard body against your back.

"lower, please?" He hums then, pressing lower, below your belly button, making you moan, the sound causing him to just leak sticky precum against his boxers.

"There, sweetheart?" You nod eagerly, sighing at the sensation, eyes fluttering shut. Your nipples press against your top, hurting then.

"Toru, will you massage them too?" He chuckles then, reaching around to grip your breast with the other hand, the arm that is under you, wrapping you in those lanky arms.

He begins caressing your nipples, one by one, squishing your breasts in his huge hands, and it feels so perfect, how sore they are and his teasing. His lips brush your neck, dying to slip inside you, but he always makes sure to have you writhing, begging for it first, since it was just too cute to make you beg for it. Especially the first few times when you were so shy and cute about it, but he knows your period has you even more turned on, and he loves to tease you.

"You're so spoiled, aren't you," he teases, silky white locks brushing your cheek as his teeth nip into your delicate skin, dragging across the side of your neck then. "Didn't answer me, use your words."

"Y-yes, you spoil me - mnh!" You're aching for him again, grinding your ass back against him, feeling his thick heavy length.

He's smiling now, pressing his hand harder, tugging you back more so you feel him. At first a little shy and embarrassed, you can't help but want him during your period now, but the way he loses his mind is indeed just a little bit concerning. "Need something else? Don't be shy baby," he says softly, playing with your nipple as his other hand presses even lower on your tummy. "Just tell me."

You whine out and he chuckles at that. "Lower," Satoru moans at that, his fingers brushing even lower over your pelvis, the warmth feeling so fucking good.

"Why don't you go get naked on that bed for me? I'll massage you everywhere," he whispers, plump lips against your ear. You bite back a moan, nodding, and when he finds you laying right over a black towel in a few moments he chuckles again.

"You wanted this the whole time, hmm?: He tugs your thighs apart, kissing up your tummy to your pretty tits, sucking a sore nipple in his hot mouth, making you whine out.

"Toru!" He moans at that, big hand slipping low until he's rolling the pad of his thumb on your clit, wetness pours out along with blood trickling, he moans at the sight of it, his eyes so dilated they're black now.

"Wanna cum, hmm sweetheart? That what my baby needs for her to feel better?" You nod weakly, and he smirks then. "Then say please, be a good girl."

You're arching your hips up for more, while he looks down with his lidded gaze, at the blood slipping from your puffy lips, trickling and making him groan at how fucking delectable it is. 'Mnh-' you can't manage a word, instead you're leaning up, trying to kiss him as his thumb gets slicker and slicker.

"Say please, sweetheart," he urges again, pulling his fingers back as he leans up. "You can use your words, can't you?"

"Please, Toru, ngh!" You're gushing now, he slips his fingers down your slit, now his fingers are just coated in your blood, you used to freak out at it, but now you're throbbing in need for more, his plump lips a breath away, tempting you as they part, and he stares hungrily at you, nostrils flaring. "Toru, in me please!"

"Hmm, not yet baby," you're whining at his teasing but then he's got his snowy head between your thighs, breath tickling your cunt, kissing up your inner thigh. "Fuck, look how messy you are."

"What are- ah!" Satoru hasn't done that yet, he's a munch but usually during your period he just teases your clit and fucks you. When he laps up the blood and arousal from your slit with a long stripe of his tongue, your heart pounds in your chest. "You can't!? Ah!"

He grins, white teeth blinding with red dripping from his pouty lips now. "Why can't I?"

You can't think of the right answer, that it's a deliciously filthy thing and feels way too good. The sight of him with blood on his mouth simply makes you gush more, he notices it too, spreading those puffy lips and watching your clear arousal mix with the bright crimson, making a mess. Satoru laps at it again, and instead of arguing, you're tugging his face against your cunt now, crying out. It feels so fucking good, you're so sensitive and his tongue is flicking inside your gummy walls, more blood pouring now, he devours it, groaning as it coats his face.

Satoru always thinks you're sexy on your period, something about your tits so swollen, the nipples all puffy and sensitive, and your scent makes him fucking feral. Now that he's coveted in your blood and you're convulsing, fucking his face, he can't help but rut his cock into the mattress, coating himself in you and whining at how badly he wants that mess everywhere, until you're both covered in it. He sucks your clit into his mouth, looking up at you, your breasts heaving, mouth wide and drooling.

"Toru, I'm c-close!" You're not fighting it now he notices, grinning against your cunt as he looks up at you under snowy lashes, his huge hands pressing into your ribcage.

You're so close to shattering for him, an embarrassing amount of blood is all over his face as he pulls back, slipping two long fingers in your soppy, bloody cunt, while you eye his pretty face, he's leaning over you, blood dripping from his mouth and chin.

"Cum again, make me such a fucking mess," he whispers in that husky voice, his pale white skin such a stark contrast to all the mess he's got from you on his skin. Shivers go down your body then, and how can you not cum for him, the echoing squelching mixing with your moans. "That's it, such a good girl, gonna help you feel better huh? can't talk baby, that just won't do."

How could you talk, he's so filthy with it, with his long fucking fingers scissoring in and out as you make a bigger mess. When he's licking blood off his lips like some psycho, stark white teeth flashing as he grins so psychotically at you. He's chuckling as he watches you teetering on the edge, huffing, fingers pressing into his biceps, your eyes rolled back, lashes fluttering.

"Ask me the right way, sweetheart, and I'll give you anything," he says, devotion and insanity both in eyes almost black they're so dilated, feral grin on that face while you try to form a word.

"P-please, Toru please - lemme cum I - ah!" Satoru's watching you as he lets you find that release then, cramps subsiding blissfully as the orgasm rocks all over you, pure fucking ecstacy that has you drooling.

Satoru's cock hurts with how bad he wants to be inside the ruby red mess between your thighs, but he needs you begging even more. He slips his crimson coated fingers across your hips, decorating your smooth skin in it in stripes across your hip bones, just fueling his cock to leak more pre. You whine out, cunt pulsing now around nothing, biting your lower lip as your hand slip up his chest.\

"Need more, sweetheart?" You nod weakly, he takes one of your little hands then, gripping your wrist in his long fingers. "Then take more, hmm? such a good girl, there you go," he's encouraging you as you use shaky fingers to undo his pants, and soon his cock springs out, hot and heavy as it smacks your inner thigh. "Tell me what you need."

"Your cock inside me, please, ngh!" Satoru cups your face with one hand, the one somewhat not coated in blood and arousal, using the other to align his thick, mushroomed tip, the squishing and clicking loud and obscene in his room. He leans down low, blood dripping onto your plump, bitten lips, your heart pounds under your breasts then.

"Go ahead, don't be shy sweets," he teases, and you lean up, kissing the blood smeared on his lips, and when he sees it all over your mouth, he loses it, shoving his cock in and groaning, slamming his lips all over yours. You're gasping under him as he stuffs you so full, so wet from your arousal and blood it just slips in even though he's so fucking big. "Love this, don't you?"

"Y-yes," you're licking the coppery taste off your mouth as your boyfriend collectively loses it, biting your lips until they're bleeding too, while his cock fucks a mess out of you and back into you, the smacking of his skin and the soppy messy sounds echoing in your pounding ears. "Satoru!"

"That's it, you are so messy, aren't you? I make you feel better, don't I?" Satoru is huffing those words, blood splattering all up his cock and his flat, toned abdomen, while it spills down your thighs. "Answer me, baby."

"C-can't... talk..." he chuckles then, spreading your thighs even further as he pounds that thick, veiny cock, making you a mess for him, under him, your skin decorated in your own blood like pretty patterns from his artists fingers as he fucks into you. "Ah!" You're drooling, cumming all over his cock, the mess more and more, only urging Satoru further on, his whines against your ear as he grips your hair, slamming his cock so deep.

"I always take care of you, hmm? You love it, being so spoiled?" you're desperately nodding, still unable to do more than gasp and cling to him with messy fingers, nails pressing into his blood covered skin as he fucks you harder, deeper, slamming your cervix with that tip as he throbs in you. "Want me to fill you up, huh? Don't you baby?"

"Please," your weak little whisper is all he needs, cum hot and thick inside your cunt, filling you impossibly as he slows, eliciting one more orgasm with a roll of his hips and his teeth sinking into a sore nipple. Your hands entangle in his white locks, tinging them pinkish red as you cry out, and he's groaning. "Toru..."

"Fuck, you're a wreck, look at you," he's grinning, you are a fucking mess, he's got blood all over you, your trembling thighs, when he pulls out, cum mixing and tinging it pink, he squirts more and more cum out of that messy cock too, decorating your tummy with more and moaning. "God, look at you."

"Satoru..." You're taking several breaths, it looks like a whole fucking murder scene with your psycho, feral boyfriend who's spreading more of his cum and your blood all over. "Can we... shower?"

"Can I get some pictures?"

"Huh!?"

"Huh?"

Y'know I'm not even sorry LMAO not at all lmao

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

[iluvikeu]

“he’s never made you cum? well, that just won’t do, bestie.”

that’s what satoru said when you told him your ex had been terrible in bed. 

being in his room, in just shorts and a shirt (his shirt), is normal for you two; you’ve been friends since you were in diapers, after all. you just got out of a bad breakup with a guy you didn’t really care all that much about and satoru was more than keen to hear the juicy gossip. he heard all about the gaslighting, the controlling behaviour, and the bad hygiene. but apparently, being a selfish lover was the worst thing the loser had ever done.

seemingly thinking that living an orgasmless life is the worst possible fate to face, he grabbed your ankle, pulled you under him, your back falling with a thump! on his bed, and grinned at you. “i have an idea. do you trust me?”

his bright idea?

making up for all orgasms you missed out. 

“s-satoru! no -ngh!- more. i can’t!”

flashing a mischievous smile through the wild cloud of pleasure glazing his eyes, he coos, “aw, tapping out already? didn’t realise i was friends with a quitter. come on, you got at least three more in you, don’t you? please, baby?”

you want to scream that you’ve already had five but all that comes out of you are lewd moans as you squirm on his sheets, sweat soaked, and shirt baring your tits to his groping hands. without waiting for a reply, he dives back in between your legs. 

“you taste so good – you been eating pineapples, or something?” wet lips wrap around your swollen clit and he makes a loud sluuuuuurrp! sound that echoes around the room. it’s too much, too fast. you can’t tell how long it’s been or even how much longer he plans on smothering himself between your thighs; you should have known satoru meant it literally when he said he's going to make up for lost time. “wanna taste yourself? you need to know how insane this pussy is.”

long, slender fingers smear your own wetness against your lips and he watches you suck on them. the bed begins to shake, banging against the wall ever so slightly. god, is he humping the bed?

“oh, yeah…such a good girl.” you earn a slap against your clit before he quite literally motorboats your poor cunt, blowing raspberries on the cream gushing out. “knew you’d taste good. i mean, you smell good. heh, did you know, i have a habit of sniffing your seat after you leave? it’s why i want you sitting on a pillow.”

delirious, you ask, “but i -ah fuck!- thought that was the j-japanese way?”

your back arches when his fingers curl up against your g-spot. “no, dum-my. that’s just the gojo way.”

“you’re a pervert!”

“i’m a pervert? baby,” he says, pouting against your puffy pussy, “you’re tightening up on my fingers. you're just as much of a pervert as i am. can’t we just agree that we’re both perverts? you like knowing that i’m filthy, don’t you? you like knowing that i jerk off to all the fit checks you send me. that i make copies of the nudes you have saved on your phone.”

“fuck!”

you cum all over his face for the sixth time that night.

through bleary eyes, you see his shiny, swollen lips curving up into a shit-eating grin. in his hand, he holds his pretty cock, which he teases to your quivering hole. then, right before he thrusts inside, he jerks his head to the phone on the bed. 

the fucker’s dialled your ex and you can’t even focus on the fact that he hasn’t hung up, because then your best friend is filling you up so deliciously, your legs tighten around his hips, locking at the ankles and keeping him lodged inside. 

he kisses your lips. the shutters go off. so does the flash.

“mmhm...satoru!”

“you really shouldn’t -ha- share your password with anyone, bestie. not even me.”

[iluvikeu]

Thinking about Nanami Kento, the composed gentleman in public, who absolutely ruins you behind closed doors

His calm voice. Neatly pressed shirts. Polite smiles. He carries your bag, opens doors, pays attention when people speak. And people notice.

They whisper, fondly:

“You’re so lucky.”

“He’s such a gentleman.”

“I bet he’s the type who lights candles and puts on jazz first.”

Gojo cheekily says, "What's it like? Lights off dark, missionary?"

You just nod, every time. Smile. Keep your hands folded in your lap because your thighs still sting from last night.

Because no one knows that behind that perfect collar and TAG heuer watch is a man who fucks like he’s starving. That when the tie comes off and the bedroom door shuts, he doesn’t ask—you barely get the chance to breathe before you're bent over the bed, one hand on your spine, the other wrapped tightly around your throat.

They don’t see the handprints he leaves on your hips. They don’t hear the way he growls when he’s deep inside you, hips slamming into yours with a rhythm that makes the headboard bang. Or how he bites. How he grunts things like:

“Look at you... taking all of me like this.."

So when a coworker giggles and says, “Nanami-san seems so... restrained. I bet he’s really gentle in bed,” you glance over at him—reading quietly across the room, glasses on, forearm propped on his knee.

He looks up and smiles at you. That gentle smile. The one that always comes right before he breaks you.

You sip your drink and hum, “Mm. Something like that.”

And you feel the bruises bloom again in memory—on your thighs, your neck, deep inside—and you smile wider.

Because only you know the truth:

Kento Nanami is a gentleman.

Right until he gets you alone :3

[iluvikeu]

DRIP.

kuroo tetsurou x f!reader — 18+, 1.5k, roommates to lovers, dry humping, spit kink, alcohol, fingering

"I would come so fast if a girl spit in my mouth."

Your eyes slide from what's currently happening in the movie that you're watching—exactly that, and it’s somehow not a porno by any means—to your roommate, who's seated beside you on the couch.

Kuroo's lips slot over the opening of his beer bottle, and you're momentarily distracted by the bobbing of his throat as he swallows, the flex of his biceps when he brings it back down to rest against his knee.

His eyes meet yours, and he grins, lopsided and shameless. A little buzzed. Wholly unapologetic.

It’s always like this between the two of you, this lack of a filter that fizzes like carbonation through your veins. This push and pull of toed lines and thinly veiled flirting.

It’s only a matter of time until it boils over.

Until one of you has to eat your words.

“I think you might have to pay extra for that,” you tease, tongue darting out between your teeth.

Kuroo drags a hand through his messy black hair, huffing out a laugh.

—

It’s a Friday night, and the bar is hot and packed.

You’re sitting in Kuroo’s lap (because there’s nowhere else to sit, because he grabbed you by a belt loop and tugged you there when you waved off the seat Akaashi offered you).

Bokuto sets down a new tray of shot glasses on the tabletop.

MSBY won their game earlier, and this is now the second, no third “toast” that’s graced the table full of players and friends. Except you’re a glass short this time, so Kuroo’s fingers come up empty.

He makes a soft grunt of discontent, chin hooked over your shoulder while you press your glass to your lips, the alcohol sliding into your mouth.

Later, you’ll blame it on the previous shots, whatever liquid courage inspires you to turn to Kuroo, one hand cupping his jaw. He stares up at you, lips turned downward in a confused pout.

Then you trace his bottom lip with your thumb.

You swipe it back a forth, slowly, before pressing down in the center.

And he gets it.

You’re not sure why or how he does, maybe he can just see the way you’ve yet to swallow.

Kuroo’s lips part, and his light grasp on your hip tightens just a fraction.

You tell yourself the way your drag your fingers through his hair and tug is just to position him better, to tease him, not because you think about carding them through his perpetually tousled locks all the time. Either way, Kuroo groans when you do it.

And then you lean in and spit the shot directly into his mouth.

Kuroo swallows, slowly, throat bobbing again in that wholly distracting way.

His lips are wet with the spillage, and he runs his tongue along them, rather than using the back of his hand to wipe them clean.

Your chest burns with the realization of how badly you want to kiss him, want to chase the taste of the drink that lingers past his lips, on his tongue.

Kuroo’s gaze is heavy when he looks at you, though the moment is quickly disrupted by Atsumu and Hinata’s raucous laughter at something entirely different going on at the other end of the table.

“Thanks.”

—

You’ve both sobered up by the time you get back to the apartment, and Kuroo collapses on his back horizontally across the couch, eyes falling closed.

“Make room. I need to do that, too, after all that dancing with Atsumu’s drunk ass,” you tell him, nudging his knee.

Kuroo grunts, but he doesn’t move.

Instead, gravity suddenly shifts on its axis without warning, and you find yourself plastered atop him. Something in your chest shudders at being pressed up against every inch of Kuroo’s warm body, a sensation only further exacerbated by the arms that snake around you to pull you closer still.

“‘m tired,” Kuroo mutters into your hair.

You feel like you should make a joke, pretend to complain. You should act like you don’t want to burrow impossibly deeper into his embrace.

But you’re tired, too.

And Kuroo’s comfortable.

(Comfortable and far closer than your bed, in the opinion of your sore feet, at least.)

When you rouse, you’re not sure how much time has passed, only that you’ve gone pliant in your sleep, your legs now spread to straddle Kuroo’s thighs.

Objectively, you knew Kuroo had a big dick. His friends make jokes about it often enough.

But the thought of it in theory is something entirely different than feeling its length slotted against the heat between your legs now.

He’s hard.

You inhale slowly, unable to ignore the steady, soft hum of pleasure at the way the seam of your denim shorts is situated directly atop it. You’re not even moving, but you can feel the pressure pulsing in your clit.

Then Kuroo shifts, ever so slightly, and you can’t hide your gasp at the feeling that alone drags out of you. Your body arches involuntarily.

“Stop moving,” Kuroo mumbles, and you become very aware of the way his fingertips have slipped just beneath the bottom of your tank top to rest against your bare lower back.

You shift your head to look at him, though it’s a mistake, really—his tired, half-lidded eyes have nearly been your undoing many a quiet, soft morning in your shared kitchen.

“You moved first,” you retort.

Kuroo huffs.

And you don’t think about how you’re running out of excuses for the decisions you’ve been making tonight when you look him dead in the eye and purposely roll your hips down against him.

“Fuck—“

Kuroo’s answering groan is immediate, a low, rough sound that sets every nerve ending in your body aflame. And your cunt aches with need, the tease of friction from your tight jean shorts not nearly enough right now.

So you do it again.

Kuroo’s hands quickly find a home curled around your hips, and he thrusts upward in a slow, firm push, one that has you seeing stars as he drags the length of hard cock directly down your cunt.

Your pussy spasms, your thin cotton panties doing nothing to shield your sensitive slit from the pressure of the seam of your shorts digging in. It feels so good, you could cry. Pleasure burns hot down your throat, dripping down each notch of your spine before it leaks out of your wet hole in a slick gush of arousal.

Kuroo fists a hand in the belt loops that rest above the curve of your ass, and you gasp at the way your shorts tighten further. Your cunt throbs as you dry hump his cock, your soaked panties sliding against your puffy, sticky folds.

“Kuroo,” you whimper, because it feels so fucking good, but you’re cock drunk enough to feel greedy now, to want more—

Logistically, you’re not sure how Kuroo gets a finger up your shorts from the back. They’re short enough that it’s a negligible path from the hem to your cunt if he goes up a leg and pushes the material aside, though it’s really a tight fit either way.

But Kuroo manages.

And it’s all you can do not to choke out a sob when he sinks a finger into your bare, dripping pussy, quickly adding another when you start to sloppily fuck yourself on the digits while you continue to hump his dick.

You don’t realize you’ve started drooling from the intense pleasure rapidly blossoming inside of you until Kuroo’s mouth is sliding against yours in a filthy, wet kiss while you tremble and shake and come all over his fingers.

And that’s when you remember—

You pull back from the kiss, pussy still spasming from the aftershocks of your climax as you continue to rock on Kuroo’s still-hard cock.

He stares up at you, unblinking, pupils blown wide.

And when you cup his chin again, Kuroo immediately parts his lips for you, and you feel the way his hips rock upward in anticipation.

When you spit in Kuroo’s mouth this time, there’s nothing quiet or understated about the way he moans as he swallows it down, the way he surges upward to kiss you hard while he desperately ruts against you.

The way you can feel his entire body react at once.

“Oh fuck—“ Kuroo roughly gasps into the kiss, and you can feel his cock pulse as his orgasm hits him, his body shuddering while he moans and floods his boxers with hot, sticky cum.

You collapse back on top of him, well aware of the mess between you but too exhausted to move.

Kuroo seems to feel the same, based on the way he idly strokes your back and presses a kiss to the top of your head in lieu of making any move to sit up. Head resting on his chest, you lift it slightly to look at him.

His eyes are closed, but you see his lips tilt upward in a grin. “Told you.”

[iluvikeu]

Baby You're a Star Masterlist // Pornstar Satoru headcanons

Chapter One - Chapter Two - Chapter Three - Chapter Four

Pairings- Pornstar Satoru x shy f!reader

Summary- You meet Satoru Gojo at a wild Hollywood party, insanely out of place, waiting for your friend to show up. The two of you hit it off, spending time together, and share a kiss, but you're a good girl, and you just don't do this, but he is the top pornstar there is, and the top .01 % on OnlyFans. Once you find out, you know there's probably no match, as Satoru doesn't date, and you don't sleep around, but after meeting, you keep in touch- and soon Satoru can't get hard without thinking of you, and you get over curious, and join a livestream.

Warnings- mentions of sex and sexwork, masturbation, mentions of drug use, weed smoking, Gojo has an OF hehe, lots of longing, pining, Satoru can't get hard if it's not you, whipped ass Satoru, explicit sexual content, angst - WC 46k 🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻 Playlist -Ao3 link-Headcanons below!

Pornstar Satoru is one of the most famous pornstars there are, hence him constantly wearing jet black shades and hoodies at times, he never knew just who he'd run into that would recognize him. Whether it's his flicks or his OF - he's the top .01 % - he gets a lot of notice, especially in bustling LA. But, he loves what he does, he especially loves watching his abs flex in the camera as he hits one of his lovely costars from the back.

Pornstar Satoru loves making the costars and girls he collabs with actually cum, where they're shaking and squirting all over his latex covered cock. Not that fake shit like he watches them do with other men- no Satoru makes sure to slam that curved tip against their cervix, to roll his thumb right on their clit with the perfect amount of pressure. Perhaps that's the secret to how famous he really is, along with his good looks.

Pornstar Satoru makes so much money from each shoot and is in high demand, so he can have whoever he wants as a co star. They line up to have a chance at him, watching his videos and aching for a chance to feel his cock hitting them deeper than damn near anyone could hit, to say they got to shoot with the Satoru Gojo. This just makes Satoru fuck them harder, smiling right at that camera, as women dream it's really them that have captured his pretty blue eyed gaze.

Pornstar Satoru thinks it's a pretty damn good life, being rich for fucking beautiful women on camera, as he's inhaling a blunt after a threesome shoot with his best friend - and often costar- Pornstar Suguru, as they talk about who got the girl to squirt more, right in the middle of a bouguie party in East LA. Suguru let's out a throaty laugh, while Satoru narrows his blue eyes. 'I had her cumming so hard she was shaking' he says, taking a hit and handing it back to Suguru. 'Nah, that was all for me, did you see...'

Pornstar Satoru stops listening when he sees you enter the room, completely out of place at the coke filled, booze filled party, wearing a pair of black glasses that cover half of your pretty face, and a little nervous look as you stand there, in a cute white pleated skirt and a big oversized sweater. Satoru smacks Suguru on the shoulder then and he coughs up smoke. 'Shit what is it?' Satoru looks back at you, when you're handed a drink, some guy flirting as you look down shyly. 'Who's she?' Suguru blinks a bit curiously. 'I don't know, she's pretty though'

Pornstar Satoru scowls at Suguru who snorts in laughter then. 'Satoru we don't have 'girlfriends' and she... looks like a good girl' your eyes catch his then, across the room, like something shifts as you smile sweetly, before peering at your phone, biting your lip in concentration. 'I'm talking to her' Suguru chuckles as he watches his friend, and Satoru feels his heart race when he comes too close to you, something he can't say he's felt, even pleasing countless beauties, nothing has quite altered him as your sweet turn of lips, as you look down at your converse, so out of place you're fucking adorable. 'Hey sweetheart... Satoru Gojo' he says, introducing himself with ease, expecting you to maybe notice him, get starstruck, fuck women get wet just near him, but you simply grin, and your name whispers through his mind when it spills from your lips.

Pornstar Satoru has you sitting with him later, you fall into easy conversation, you're a little gamer nerd, you love science and the environment, he just bets you were head of your ecology club in college, which you quickly confirm, all while you're in awe of just how beautiful this man is. He's sweet, he's sexy... you feel he shouldn't even be talking to you. You're pretty but... he's experienced so clearly, by every way he moves, he's worldly, so confident, and you've never really left this little part of LA, but the two of you can't stop talking, to the point you forget what brought you here.

Pornstar Satoru laughs with you, as you're sitting side by side, and he lights up a blunt, leaning back on the burgundy couch on the outskirts of the party, inhaling it deep into his lungs. 'Want a hit, sweets?' he murmurs, you take it nervously, putting it to your lips and inhaling a bit, before coughing, covering your mouth. Satoru chuckles, 'you're cute' earning your cheeks heating up. 'Can you tell I don't do this?' you're nervously tapping your leg now. 'Yeah, what does bring you here, doesn't seem your...' 'my scene?' he nods then. 'yeah, that.'

Pornstar Satoru watches avidly as you sip on your drink, wincing at the strong liquor. 'Well, my friend invited me over, but she's running late' Satoru grins now. 'Party time is different, everyone comes late, that's on time. About fifteen minutes late' 'oh no I came early!' you smack your own forehead, giggling along with him. 'Are you like... a model, or an actor?' you ask, eyeing him and his baby blues, the cheekbones so perfect, those lips that wrap the blunt again. 'You could say I'm a bit of both,' he muses, then spits out his drink when you ask 'what are you in!?'

Pornstar Satoru coughs just a bit, he's never been ashamed of what he does, but he's nervous for some reason to tell you. Why, he doesn't know. 'I'm... into some indie flicks' you brighten up then. 'Oh, let me know, I love lowkey films! I bet you're great' Satoru sighs, gulping down the rest of his drink and eyeing your cup. 'Want more?' you frown now, maybe you're asking too much, or offending this actor that you don't recognize him!? You nod, the amount of people around you making you press against this friendly, pretty white haired stranger just a little more.

Pornstar Satoru has another drink, eyeing the sea of bodies undulating in the extravagant mansion, and soon the two of you are dancing together you're cute and so awkward, Satoru's enjoying this far, far too much. He has plenty of costars and fans come up to the two of you, but he's too interested in showing you how to move your hips to pay them any mind, when finally your friend comes. Satoru instantly recognizes her, she's a pretty famous co star he's collabed with on her Onlyfans not long ago. When she sees you giggling and enjoying yourself so much, she damn near drags you away, making Satoru curse.

Pornstar Satoru eyes you when your friend whispers in your ear- 'you really don't recognize him!?' you blink curiously, looking at him more closely. 'Should I?' she sighs then, eyeing Satoru up and down. 'He was in my OF videos, we collabed' you heat up furiously then. 'I never watched your videos! I just subbed to be supportive!' she giggles. 'You're so cute, I thought you at least watched some?' you shake your head nervously. 'I don't really watch, is he... like an OnlyFans guy?' Satoru is back over with Suguru now, while you sip your drink, feeling your body warm up. 'He's the top pornstar there is, the collab was like a dream. He's really sweet but you should know is all, you're kinda...' you glare. 'kinda what?' she giggles again. 'you're just... sweet, emotional, is all'

Pornstar Satoru expects you to be done with him once you find out, after all you just seem innocent, uncorrupted for this city, not the kind of girl to be at this party where lines are being snorted off bodies, and people are naked and jumping in the pools, a heady, wild atmosphere. But you smile at him, as you murmur - 'he's sweet?' to your friend. She nods then. 'He is, but just know... he doesn't date so, it'd only be physical' you frown at that now, that's not something you think you can do, you're about as demisexual as it gets, hence your very limited experience. 'He doesn't date at all?' Your friend gently touches your shoulder. 'No, love, I'd hate to see you hurt'

Pornstar Satoru catches you before you leave later that night, when you are just feeling too out of place, his big hand wrapped around your delicate wrist, earning you looking up at him. He can't stop thinking how pretty your eyes would look rolled back, how good your lips would feel wrapped around his cock, as you relax a bit, turning and looking up. 'Headed out already?' he asks softly, you flush as you remember just what he does for a living, your friend had just described his cock in far too vivid detail. 'It's not really my thing, but I'm glad we met, Gojo' you smile so cute then, leaning up and pecking him on the cheek, his arm wraps your waist as he leans down, inhaling that sweet vanilla scent cloying to your skin.

Pornstar Satoru pulls you in closer, blue eyes staring under snowy lashes. 'Can I... get your number?' Satoru has never asked for a number a day in his life, but he delights in watching you shift nervously, nodding as you tuck your hair behind your ear. 'Yeah, I'd like that' he exchanges numbers, tilting your chin up then, watching the way your eyes dilate, the color spread on your pretty cheeks. 'She told you?' you clear your throat, nodding a bit, still being captured by his fingers. 'I don't judge at all, Gojo, I'd still like to be... friends...' your whisper is met with the most subtle kiss on your lips, shooting desire hot and heavy until Satoru releases you, plump lips smirking- 'sure, sweets, we can be friends'

Pornstar Satoru can't get you off his mind, the feel of your skin on his, the sweet sigh against his lips. He is on a big shoot and - the Satoru Gojo that never gets soft - is having trouble keeping it up, to the amusement of his costar Pornstar Sukuna. Satoru scowls at his comments, just picturing your sweet lips against his for that brief moment. A man who just fucks and fucks, and doesn't feel, is hung up just on some fucking kiss. He has to take a break after pleasing his costar with his fingers, she's cumming so much she doesn't notice, but the directors wonder why he's off. He's in his own dressing room, eyeing the phone, hands shaking as he decides to type a message - 'could you give me a picture, sweets, to save as your caller id?'

Pornstar Satoru finds his cock is right back on hard when you send one quickly, just a cute selfie with a little peace sign, but he sees your glossy fucking lips, the teeth indentations he aches to rub the tip of his cock on, along with just a hint of your breasts. Your nipples press against the thin material of your little tee shirt- Pokemon, he notices, smiling- his cock throbbing. 'Can I get one too?' you're biting that lower lip nervously as you ask, getting a picture of him shirtless then, doing nothing to stifle the curiosity in your mind, your heart racing as you seee his body. 'You at a shoot?' you ask in the messages, he hesitates before answering - 'yes' - and somehow you feel jealous of whoever his costar is. You message a - kill it, Gojo! - despite the feeling in your tummy, little do you know you're drowning his fucking mind when he performs later, feeling the star squirting all over his latex covered cock.

Pornstar Satoru can't stop texting you that week, he can't even get hard if he doesn't look at that picture, and you can't stop your curiosity, when you friend mentions he's doing a live stream. Since Satoru can hardly perform, he's decided to masturbate on live cam, in minutes making more than he'd make in a shoot, all while having your picture propped up. People are chatting, watching, dollars by the hundreds being tipped every moment, fuck he's making way more than he usually would, and he can think of you. He laughs softly, abs flexing as he hits the right angle, reading the comments, making you dripping wet, this isn't what you do!?

Pornstar Satoru is stroking his wet, slick cock that's glistening, up and down with his huge hand, and you feel your pussy clench, breath coming faster, unsure whether to look away or keep staring, meanwhile he's picturing you in all sorts of positions, on your knees, a fucking mating press. He's shutting his eyes for a moment, grinning as the viewers go crazy. 'I know, it's pretty, huh?' he spits right on that long, veiny cock of his, pinching his pink tip and whining, white lashes fluttering open right when he sees a familiar name enter the chat.

Your name.

Pornstar Sukuna hcs here // Pornstar Suguru hcs here // Onlyfans Nanami hcs here

Kofi link (if you feel generous & wanna buy me a ☕️

[iluvikeu]

𐔌 𖹭 𝑺𝒂𝒕𝒐𝒓𝒖 𝑮𝒐𝒋𝒐 . ִֶָ๋

ᡴꪫ. smut & oral 𖹭 f. reader 𖹭 part 2 ˖ ࣪ꮽ˳

satoru refuses to let you suck him off.

he'll swim between your legs for hours. until his lower face is all glossy and eyes glazed the pussy-drunk daze while he needily laps on your cunt.

but the second you're even beginning to oggle his tent and lower yourself to your knees? he's yanking you up and splaying you over the nearest piece of furniture he can. can't suck his dick when you're dangling over his desk now can you?

at first you assumed maybe he's just not into that. maybe he doesn't feel comfortable with it. you can respect that —

until you found out the real reason.

"I wanna make you feel good instead, baby." you could barely take his pouting seriously as he hovered over you, bare. he'd lean down to nuzzle your neck with a few kisses to follow. "don't want you to worry 'bout me too much. feel good making you feel good."

which started the long and frankly, trifling operation: suck satoru gojo's dick.

the idea that he felt bad over the idea of you pleasuring him reminded you of the same reason you fell in love with him in the first place. no way in hell are you ending this year without getting your boyfriend's cock down your throat!

this strings a series of, honestly, comedic events. you went with the obvious, waking him up with it. you planned strategically, trained yourself to wake up just an hour before him and awaited for the perfect time to strike.

you only got to pulling the waistband of his boxers down before bright blue eyes stared you down, processed, and yanked you over his face instead.

damnit. maybe during a movie? he's so engrossed in his latest geek obsession that surely he wouldn't notice your head lowering, right? until you were nuzzling his crotch through the blanket and he jerked, squeaked, spilling the bowl of popcorn.

"no no no don't even —" buzz.

infinity!? he put infinity on?

"satoru. gojo." you warn through glaring eyes. it ended with you strung over the sofa arm with two, strong hands holding you down while he's ball's deep. fucking you dumb through the end credits with a mean thumb to your swollen clit.

"yeah baby? yeah? so impatient for me huh?" anything to get your mind off of the previous agenda.

don't even try the shower. his hand buried into your hair, yanked you off and then hoisted you. shoved you into the wet tiles to instead get bullied by his cock. legs helplessly strung around his waist while his ragged pants found your ear.

"pretty girl's just so needy huh? wants my cock so bad? you can have it baby, don' worry."

hell, even after a busy week where he's deflated across your bed and you're grinding on him to get you both there. your slick heat coating his pulsating dick. catching his tip on your clit and spilling your joined moans through the room.

the second you tried your luck he's shuffling for a pillow with a rushed; "he's shy! leave him be!"

it seemed that your little operation was failing miserably. satoru is just too fast for you. too infuriatingly good at making your mind go blank with his tongue, mouth or dick. you'd forget what you even started in the first place. but you're a stubborn woman.

so, what's the next scheme?

͝ ⏝𝅄︶ ͝ ⏝ ⊹ ⏝ ͝ ︶𝅄⏝ ͝

[iluvikeu]

Had SO MUCH fun reading this lmao😭

PHEROMONE MADNESS

OIKAWA TOORU

The front door clicks open quietly at 11:42 PM.

You’re already waiting, lights dimmed low, curled up on the couch wearing one of Tooru’s soft grey shirts — the one that hangs just enough to tease your thighs. No bra. No shorts. Just skin, scent, and the knowledge that your husband hasn’t touched you in over a month.

You hear his keys drop into the bowl. Then silence.

“Tooru?” you call softly, rising from the couch.

“...Shit,” he mutters, voice rough and low.

You blink — he’s standing frozen in the hallway, suitcase forgotten beside him, jacket half-off one shoulder. Hair messy, face flushed from the flight, and eyes locked on you. Or rather… the scent of you.

He blinks hard like he’s dizzy. “What… the hell… are you wearing?”

You smile, pretending to be clueless. “This? It’s just your shirt.”

“No,” he rasps, stepping closer. “That smell.”

You tilt your head coyly. “Oh… perfume. You remember the one you got me before you left? The one you said was too ‘dangerous’ to wear in public?”

You see it — that little flicker in his eyes. Lust. Regret. Possession.

He drops everything he’s holding. Literally. Shoes still on. Bag still zipped. He doesn't care.

Oikawa walks straight to you like a man possessed, stops only inches away, his chest rising and falling hard.

“You wore that for me, didn’t you?” he whispers.

You nod slowly, your voice barely audible. “I missed you.”

And that’s all he needs.

In a second, his hand is cupping the back of your neck, lips crashing against yours. It’s messy — all teeth and tongue and groaned apologies between kisses. He grabs your waist with both hands, fingers digging into your skin like he’s checking if you’re real.

“I was gonna shower first,” he pants against your lips, breath hot. “I had this whole cute plan to surprise you, take you to bed slow, tell you how beautiful you are—”

You tug his shirt, breaking the kiss. “Then do it slow.”

He stares at you for a beat… then laughs darkly, low and dangerous.

“Oh, baby,” he says, backing you toward the wall. “You knew exactly what you were doing the second you sprayed that shit. You wanted me like this.”

Your back hits the wall and he leans in, burying his face in your neck. He inhales deeply, shuddering.

“This scent—fuck, it’s not fair. I’m jet-lagged, I’m dehydrated, I’m probably dying from airport food, and you hit me with a boss-level debuff like this?”

You giggle, but it’s breathy — he’s already running his hands under the hem of his shirt (your shirt?) and his fingers are dangerously close to finding skin he hasn’t touched in weeks.

“I missed your hands,” you whisper.

He groans, forehead resting against yours. “I missed everything.”

And suddenly, he’s picking you up — one arm under your thighs, the other gripping your back. You squeal, wrapping your arms around his neck.

“Tooru—!”

“You wore my perfume, my shirt, no bra, looking like sin itself, smelling like heaven—what did you expect me to do? Go to bed like a good boy?” he growls.

The bedroom door slams open.

IWAIZUMI HAJIME

It’s been a long day.

He drops his duffle bag by the door with a grunt. “Never letting those idiots convince me to run court sprints with them again,” he mutters, already tugging off his hoodie, revealing that sweaty clingy tank top that does things to you it shouldn’t. You can see the deep stretch of his back, the taut pull of his arms, and the shine of sweat across his collarbones. The man is exhausted. And stupid hot.

You blink. You stare. You decide: enough is enough.

You’ve had a little bottle tucked away—something you ordered on a whim and hid like your most sinful secret. A pheromone perfume. Just a little spritz. Something warm. Sweet. Deep. Something that whispers take me.

You spray it once behind your ears. Once on your wrists. And because you’re a menace, once just beneath the waistband of your shorts.

You plop down on the couch like you’re innocent. You’re not.

Iwaizumi walks past you on the way to the fridge. Stops.

Turns.

Sniffs.

“…Did you change your shampoo?” he mutters, brow furrowing.

You tilt your head. “Nope.”

“Perfume?”

“Maybe.���

He hums like he doesn’t trust you. Like he shouldn’t.

He opens the fridge. Closes it again without grabbing a single thing. Then slowly turns back to look at you.

And this time—his gaze is different. He looks at you like something clicked. Like he just smelled danger and liked it.

“Babe,” he says, voice already lower, already rough, “what the hell are you wearing?”

“Just something new,” you say, stretching a little on the couch so your thighs press together. “Why?”

“…Smells like trouble.”

You smirk. “Maybe it is.”

He’s on you in seconds.

You let out a tiny gasp as he pins you to the cushions, strong arms boxing you in, heat radiating from his body like a furnace. “You know I’m sore,” he mutters, voice strained, “and this is how you welcome me home?”

“I was trying to be comforting,” you whisper, brushing your lips against his jaw. “You looked like you needed to be taken care of.”

He groans, like it physically hurts to be this attracted to you while his muscles are aching.

“You’re evil,” he mumbles as his hands slide under your shirt. “That smell—it’s like you’re begging me to lose control.”

You arch your back, let him feel the way your body responds to his touch. “That’s because I am.”

His mouth crashes into yours, hot and needy, and the second your hips shift, he curses under his breath.

“You can’t just walk around smelling like that. Not unless you’re ready to deal with the consequences.”

“Guess you’ll have to punish me then, Hajime.”

He groans again—louder this time—before lifting you effortlessly into his arms.

“Bedroom. Now.”

KYOTANI KENTARO

It’s been hours. Still no words.

He’s planted on the couch, jaw tight, gaze fixed on nothing. Not scrolling. Not gaming. Not watching.

Just... sulking. Brooding. Breathing in irritation.

You sit on the bed, watching him from across the room. The air feels thick with everything unsaid. And the silence? Colder than the AC.

You knew he was upset. The way he walked in, shoes kicked off without a word, keys dropped with too much force. The way he wouldn’t look at you— Not when you asked about dinner. Not when you leaned in to press a kiss to his temple.

He turned his head away.

And it hurt.

You didn’t even know what exactly made him mad. But you felt the ache in your chest. The hollow in your throat. And lower, where the ache turned into something else. Need. Desperation. For him. For his voice. His warmth. His hands.

You were done waiting.

Your fingers curl around the small bottle tucked in your drawer. A gift you’d been saving. A pheromone perfume. The name written in elegant script: “One Spritz, One Night to Remember.”

You spritz it once behind your ears. Once on your collarbone. And once right between your thighs—low and hidden, just for you.

Then, silently, you cross the room.

You lean against the doorway, arms crossed under your chest. And you wait.

It doesn’t take long.

He sniffs.

His brows twitch.

Then he shifts—subtle, but telling.

You walk past him slowly, deliberately, letting the scent trail behind you like a ribbon in the wind. His eyes follow. His jaw clenches again. But this time, differently.

You pause near the window, pretending to check your phone. You hear him stand.

You don’t look back.

But you feel him there—hovering close, heat radiating off his body, breaths growing heavier.

"You wearing something?" His voice is low, rough. Suspicious.

You smile. “Maybe.”

He steps in closer. “Smells like trouble.”

You tilt your head. “Are you still mad?”

A pause.

Then, voice strained: “Yes.”

You press your back gently to his chest. “Even if I said I missed you?”

He inhales. Slow. Deep. And then his hands are on your hips, gripping tight.

"You don’t fight fair," he mutters into your neck. His voice—already hoarse with restraint.

“I wasn’t trying to.” You shift your hips back just slightly—barely enough to press into him. His breath hitches.

Silence again. But this time, it’s heavy. Charged. Trembling.

Then he says, almost a whisper: “You really want me that bad?”

You nod. “I always want you.”

A long breath. His fingers slide under your shirt, tracing your skin like he’s trying to remember every inch. "Then let me remind you what happens when you play dirty, baby."

You gasp— As he turns you around, backs you into the wall, and finally, finally— kisses you like the silence never existed.

KENMA KOZUME

The click click click of Kenma’s controller has been nonstop since 9 a.m. It’s now... almost 8 p.m.

He’s in his gaming chair, hood up, headset on, mumbling into the mic with that focused scowl that makes him look ten times more dangerous than he is.

You peek into the room. He hasn’t eaten the lunch you brought earlier. Or the tea. Or the snack tray.

You sigh.

Fine. You’ll play dirty.

You disappear into the bedroom for two minutes and come back with a plan: no words, no warning — just your softest, most sinful loungewear… and a little spritz of that dangerous perfume. The one Kenma said was “distracting” last time.

You walk in.

Nothing.

He’s too locked in.

So you step closer — quiet, innocent — and lean over his shoulder, pretending to look at his screen.

“Still playing?” you say sweetly.

That’s when he smells it.

His fingers twitch on the controller. His thumb slips. His character falls off the map and dies instantly.

“...Shit.”

You blink innocently. “Oops. Was that me?”

He turns his head slowly. His golden eyes drag across your body, pausing at your bare shoulder, then your thighs, then your collarbone... then he inhales. Once. Twice.

And his brain just—blue screens.

“Are you wearing that perfume again?” he asks, voice cracking slightly.

You shrug, smirking. “Maybe.”

Kenma slowly sets the controller down. Like it’s physically painful to let go of it. He stares at you for a few more seconds — completely silent — until he speaks again.

“I need you to leave the room.”

You raise a brow. “Why?”

“Because if you don’t, I’m going to do something that’ll make me miss my tournament.”

You giggle. “So pause it.”

Kenma lets out a slow exhale through his nose. You can see the moment his willpower evaporates. He rips off the headset, tosses it on the desk, and stands up.

And now he’s the one walking toward you.

“That perfume should be illegal,” he mumbles, backing you up against the wall. “And you know exactly what you’re doing.”

He’s quiet. But the look in his eyes? That’s not quiet at all.

“I haven’t touched you in three days,” he whispers, nose brushing against your cheek, “and you walk in here smelling like that?”

You smile. “Guess I missed you.”

Kenma leans in close, lips grazing your ear.

“You’re evil.”

He picks you up — no strength training, no warm-up, just pure gamer rage turned into boyfriend strength — and carries you out of the room like it’s a mission.

The door slams shut behind you both.

Somewhere, his game is still on. But Kenma’s already playing something way better.

KUROO TETSURO

You and Kuroo haven’t spoken in two days.

Two days of passing each other in the kitchen like strangers. Two days of closed doors, cold silences, and clipped replies. Two days since that argument about something stupid — a small thing that spiraled into a storm.

He was mad. You were mad. But now? You’re just… aching.

You miss him. The kind of miss that crawls under your skin, that makes your chest feel too tight and your sheets too cold. The kind of miss that builds in your stomach, low and heavy and needy.

Your pride's still wounded, but your desire? It's louder.

You grab the bottle from your nightstand. The one labeled “Do not wear when mad at me. -Kuroo”. You smirk.

Spritz.

The scent blooms around you — warm, sweet, addicting. Like sugar and heat and secrets whispered in the dark.

You pad softly into the living room. He’s on the couch, reading a book. Barefoot, hair tied loosely, glasses low on his nose. The sleeves of his hoodie pushed up just enough to show his forearms — the ones you haven't touched in 48 torturous hours.

You stand in the doorway.

He notices.

Kuroo doesn’t say a word — doesn’t even look directly at you at first. But you see the shift. The subtle inhale. The way his fingers pause on the page.

His jaw tightens.

You take a slow step forward. “Still mad at me?”

His eyes flicker up to yours. Cool. Guarded.

But then he smells it.

And cracks.

“…What the hell is that?” he mutters, voice rough.

You blink, innocent. “Perfume.”

He closes the book slowly. Very slowly. Like he's trying to keep himself calm.

“I know that one. You wore it the night we—” He cuts himself off. His eyes darken.

“You’re cheating,” he accuses.

You shrug, walking past him — just slow enough for him to catch another wave of your scent. His eyes follow your every step.

You lean over the coffee table, reaching for a glass you don’t actually need. Your shirt lifts a little. Your skin glows. That perfume lingers in the air like a curse.

When you turn, he’s already behind you.

“You think you can wear that after ignoring me for two days?” he says, voice low, like a growl.

You look up at him. “I wasn’t ignoring you. You were ignoring me.”

“I was setting a boundary.”

“Well,” you whisper, placing a hand gently on his chest, “I’m breaking it.”

You feel it — the tension between you both, all that unsaid apology and all that bottled up want. His hands twitch at his sides, trying to behave. But you smell too good. You look too soft. And that damn ache inside him has only gotten worse every hour.

“You’re playing dirty,” he murmurs, forehead resting against yours. “You know what that perfume does to me.”

“Then don’t be mad,” you whisper. “Come back to bed.”

Kuroo exhales hard — like he’s giving up a fight he never wanted to win.

“Bed?” he echoes, grabbing your waist and pulling you flush against him. “No. I’m gonna remind you on this couch why you don’t pick fights you can’t finish.”

AKAASHI KEIJI

You weren’t trying to manipulate him. You just… missed him.

Keiji had been stretched thin lately — long hours at the office, deadlines that bled into dinner, shoulders that carried too much weight. He was still warm with you. Still gentle. Still loving. But physically?

He hadn’t touched you in days.

Every night ended the same way — him sighing into the pillow beside you, muttering a sleepy, “Not tonight, I’m exhausted,” before pulling you close and passing out.

And you understood. You really did.

But understanding didn’t stop the ache. Didn’t stop the way you started waking up wanting. Didn’t stop your body from craving the way he used to hold you — like every part of you was worth worshiping.

So tonight, you reach for the small amber bottle tucked in the back of your drawer. You bought it on a whim, weeks ago, after reading reviews that said things like “My man couldn’t keep his hands off me” and “I wore this and now I’m pregnant.”

You hadn’t touched it since.

Until now.

You spritz it once on your neck. Once at the curve of your thigh. Once behind your ear. It's warm and soft — like sugar melting on skin, with a hint of something darker beneath it.

You change into your comfiest tank top and shorts — nothing suspicious. Nothing loud. Just you.

You walk into the living room where Keiji’s typing away at his laptop, glasses low on his nose, hair falling into his eyes.

He looks up when you enter. His eyes flicker over you briefly — then again, slower.

“You smell… different,” he murmurs.

Your heart skips. “Do I?”

He sniffs subtly, his fingers hovering above the keys. Then pauses entirely.

“Yeah. It’s nice. Really nice.”

You shrug casually, plopping onto the couch beside him. “Just trying something new.”

He nods slowly, gaze lingering a little longer than usual. Then goes back to typing. For five seconds.

Then six.

Then… he stops.

You feel the weight of his stare before you look up. His eyes are darker now, unreadable. You shift slightly, and the air moves — carrying that scent to him again.

He closes his laptop without a word.

“…Come here,” he says, voice low.

You blink. “Why?”

“I don’t know.” He swallows. “I just— I want you close.”

You move into his lap, surprised but not resisting. His hands rest on your thighs, sliding up slowly, like he's testing the waters.

“God, you smell like…” He trails off, nose brushing your neck. “Like sin.”

You laugh. “You okay?”

“No.” He presses a kiss to your shoulder, then another, slower. “No, I’m really not.”

You feel him harden beneath you. His breath turns shallow. His hands grow bolder.

“I thought you were tired,” you whisper.

“I was. Now I’m not. What is that scent?”

You smile to yourself. “Just something I’ve been saving.”

He groans, burying his face in your neck.

“You’ve been walking around with this weapon and not using it? That’s cruel.”

You tangle your fingers in his hair, tilting his face up. “Think of it as a science experiment.”

He kisses you like he’s been waiting all week — like the past few days never existed, like his body just rememberedexactly how much it missed yours.

Later that night…

You're tucked under the sheets, his arm heavy over your waist, his breathing deep and even.

“…Hey,” he murmurs, lips ghosting your shoulder. “Whatever that was… wear it again. Please.”

You grin in the dark. “Not tired anymore?”

He chuckles sleepily. “Exhausted. But satisfied.”

You lean back into him, heart full.

Not bad for an experiment.

BOKUTO KOUTARO

He bursts through the door like a storm.

“BABY! I’M HOME!” Training with MSBY ran long, and Bokuto’s shirt is clinging to every inch of his muscle-packed frame, hair messy from a long day of spikes and sweat.

You peek from the kitchen, playing it casual. “Welcome back, Kou. Good practice?”

He nods eagerly, bounding over. “Mmhmm! I was thinking about you the whole time, you know?”

You hum, trying not to look smug. Because you? You had a plan.

Before he arrived, you spritzed just a little bit of that scent — that soft, warm, vanilla-spice thing that clings to the skin like honey and heat. You know how scent gets to him.

You lean in to kiss his cheek and— His breath hitches.

“…Whoa.” He blinks. “What is that?”

You blink innocently. “What?”

He leans in again, nose twitching. “That smell! You smell like… mmnngh—like sugar. Like heaven. Like something I wanna—” He cuts himself off and grabs you by the waist, eyes wide. “C’mere. I need to cuddle. Right now.”

You giggle as he tugs you onto his lap on the couch, legs straddling his thighs.

You settle in his hold, your back pressed to his chest. But then—

His hips jerk up. Once. “Ah—!”

You freeze.

He freezes.

“…Oops,” he says, voice breathless.

You turn to look at him, but he’s already burying his face in the crook of your neck.

“‘M sorry—! I didn’t mean to—! You just—! It’s the smell, baby!”

You feel him whimper, clutching your hips tighter.

“Wh-why do you smell like that? It’s not fair… You’re being unfair…”

You laugh, breath shaky now, because you feel how unfair it’s getting.

“Didn’t mean to,” you tease. “Just missed you.”

He lets out a broken sound.

“I missed you too, but—ngh—you’re gonna make me lose it, sweetheart…”

His breath is hot against your skin as he rocks his hips up again, helpless this time. You gasp, clutching his forearms.

“You didn’t even warn me,” he whines. “You smell so good, and now I’m—!” He pants, voice muffled against your shoulder. “Now I’m so hard and you’re on my lap and I don’t think I can cuddle anymore…”

You shiver, your smirk crumbling fast. “Then what do you wanna do, Kou?”

He pulls back to look at you. His eyes are wide, pupils blown, face flushed.

“…I wanna ruin cuddle time.”

USHIJIMA WAKATOSHI

You’ve always been the one to make the first move. When it came to kisses, to touches, to taking things a little further under the covers.

Wakatoshi never minded it. He loved holding you. He loved your affection. He was gentle, patient, loyal— Too loyal, sometimes. Loyal to routine. To recovery hours. To eight hours of sleep.

You’re sitting on the couch next to him, in the oversized jersey he gave you, freshly showered and looking like sin on legs, and what’s he doing?

Reading a book.

You scoot closer. “Toshi.”

“Yes?”

You kiss his cheek. He smiles and puts his hand on your knee. …That’s it. That’s the move. That’s the entire move.

You squint at him. He doesn’t get it. He never does.

He always thinks it’s cuddle time. Like soft music and dim lights and you being all over him just means “quality bonding”.

So tonight, you’re done trying the soft approach. You pad over to the dresser and pick up the bottle.

It’s a stupid perfume. A joke gift from a friend. Labeled in loopy cursive font: “1 Spritz = 1 Baby Bump.”

You spritz it once on your neck.

And walk back to the couch.

Wakatoshi looks up, blinking slowly.

“…You smell different.”

“Mhm.”

“…You look like you want something.”

“Oh, I do, Toshi.”

He tilts his head, trying to figure it out. “You want to cuddle?”

You deadpan. Then sit on his lap. Face to face.

“I want you.”

He stills. “You have me.”

“No, Toshi. I want you to pin me to this couch and remind me you’re not just the strongest in volleyball.”

A silence. He blinks again.

Then, a pause— A very long one.

“…Oh.”

You watch it hit him in slow motion. His hands on your waist grip tighter. His eyes scan your face. Then your legs. Then your neck. Then his jaw clenches.

“This is because of the perfume?” he asks.

You sigh, dramatic. “Toshi, this has been building for weeks. But yes. The perfume helped.”

“I see.”

He picks you up like you weigh nothing and walks to the bedroom.

“Wait—Toshi—what are you—”

“If one spritz equals one baby bump,” he says calmly, “we should test the claim.”

You blink. “Wha—”

“Accurately. Scientifically. Repeatedly.”

The door shuts.

Two hours later, you’re sprawled on the bed, breathless. Wakatoshi sits beside you, rubbing your thigh gently.

“…Should we try two spritzes next time?”

SHIRABU KENJIRO

Shirabu’s been busy. Like won’t-look-up-from-his-laptop busy. “Not now, I’m reviewing a case study” busy. Grumbling at 2AM in the dark like a sexy, pissed off raccoon busy.

And you’ve been patient. Really, you have. But you’ve been walking around this house in cute pajamas, brushing past him with your soft little “oops” bumps, and what does he do?

Nothing. Maybe a glance. A grunt. The bare minimum.

So today? You choose violence. A tiny spritz of “Soft Siren” behind your ears and on the inside of your thighs. It’s floral, sweet, and just a little feral.

Then you wait.

And wait.

He walks past you once in the hallway. Pauses.

Walks back. Sniffs the air.

“…Did you change your body wash?” he asks suspiciously.

You shrug. “Maybe.”

He narrows his eyes. “You smell different.”

You lean closer, whispering, “Do I?”

The silence is tense. You can practically see the vein in his forehead twitching as he stiffens, ears turning red.

“I’m working,” he grits out, retreating to the bedroom where his laptop lives.

But it’s too late.

The smell is in his brain now, tangled in all his smart little synapses. And when you pass by the door again, he doesn’t say a word—but he follows you this time.

You feel it. That shift.

“Kenjirou,” you tease over your shoulder, “do you need something?”

You feel him grab your wrist. He turns you around, eyes dark.

“What the hell did you spray on yourself?”

You smirk. “Why? You like it?”

He exhales sharply through his nose. “I can’t think straight. I’m trying to work and you’re walking around like—like—”

“Like what?”

“…Like you want something.”

You tug him by the collar of his wrinkled scrub top.

“I do. But I’ve been waiting. Waiting for you to stop choosing your laptop over me.”

His mouth twitches.

Then you’re being shoved gently—but firmly—against the nearest wall.

“You really had to wear that smell on today of all days?”

You tilt your head. “Bad timing?”

He growls.

“No. It’s perfect.”

He kisses you hard, hands roaming your sides like he’s starved. And maybe he is. Maybe you both are.

Laptop forgotten. Case study closed. Tonight, Doctor Shirabu’s new patient is you, and he’s taking his time.

GOSHIKI TSUTOMU

It’s the same routine every night.

Door opens. Shoes kick off. Bag flops. “Hi, I’m home,” he mutters, already yawning.

You peek from the hallway. Goshiki’s drenched in sweat, skin flushed, hair messy from practice, shirt clinging to his back. And yet—he’s still stupidly cute. Exhausted, a little pouty, and already collapsing onto the couch face first.

“Dinner’s in the fridge,” you say softly, padding over.

“Mmhmm. Thank you,” he mumbles into a throw pillow. “Just five minutes. I swear. Then I’ll reheat it…”

You sigh. You love him. But damn it, you’re not dating a nap gremlin. You’re dating a powerful, kind-hearted, hot athlete—and it’s been days since you’ve had anything more than a sleepy forehead kiss.

So tonight?

You spritz.

A dab behind the ears. One on your wrists. And because you’re mean, one spritz just under the hem of your oversized shirt.

It hits him instantly.

“Mmm… What’s that smell?” he mumbles, lifting his head slightly. “You smell... different.”

You kneel beside him, brushing hair from his face. “Do you like it?”

“…It’s really nice. Kinda sweet. Makes my chest feel funny. Like…” He blinks at you. “…Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Like what?”

“…Like you’re about to eat me alive.”

You just smile, soft and slow, and whisper, “Only if you ask nicely.”

He freezes. The tips of his ears go pink. “…Wait. Are you—are you—”

“You’re always tired, baby,” you coo, gently stroking his arm. “Always coming home drained. But I want you. All of you. Right now.”

He swallows hard. “I-I can still eat first—”

You straddle him. His mouth opens. No words come out.

“I missed you,” you whisper against his neck, letting the perfume do its work. “I’ve been patient. But tonight, you’re not allowed to nap until I’m done.”

He makes a high-pitched noise and grips your thighs. “Oh my God. Okay. Okay! I—I’m awake. I’m up. I’m here.”

You grin.

“Good.” Ten minutes later: He’s whispering apologies mid-thrust like “I’m sorry I didn’t notice earlier,” “You smell so good I can’t think straight,” and “I’m gonna cry this is better than any nap.”

KITA SHINSUKE

It wasn’t supposed to happen.

You just… opened the coop door to help.

Just a little peek. Just to feed them real quick.

But somehow—chaos.

Feathers flying. Beaks pecking. And Shinsuke chasing every single chicken around the yard under the burning sun. Hat tipped back. Shirt sticking to his skin. Silent. Stoic. But absolutely, definitely pissed.

You tried to apologize—he didn’t snap, didn’t yell. He never did. But the way he walked past you afterward, wordless, sweaty, and slamming the hose down next to the coop?

Yeah, he was sulking.

So now you’re inside, peeking out the window like a guilty little gremlin, watching the love of your life simmer in silence.

And maybe it’s the heat. Maybe it’s the guilt. Or maybe it’s just that you miss him—the way he grabs your hips with those farm-calloused hands, the way he moans your name like it’s a hymn.

So you dig through your drawer.

Pheromone perfume. A risky little thing you’d been saving. The tag? “Fix Cluck-Ups With One Spritz.”

You laugh softly to yourself as you spray once to your neck, once over your chest, and one more, just beneath the waistband of your shorts. Then? You wait. Sitting on the kitchen counter, pretending to drink water. Innocent. Almost.

He walks in minutes later. Hair damp from rinsing off the dirt. Shirt clinging. Eyes tired. Lips pressed thin.

He doesn't speak. He just wipes his face with a towel and lets out a low, tired breath.

“Shin…”

“I ain’t mad,” he mutters. “Just tired.”

“I know,” you whisper.

Another pause.

Then you see it— His nose scrunches. Subtle. Curious.

And then it hits him.

He stops drying his hair. Looks at you, still holding the towel. Eyes drop to your collarbone.

“…You wearin’ somethin’?”

“Just thought I’d clean up a little. For you.” Your voice is sweet. Too sweet.

“Smells… good.” His voice dips. He lingers in the doorway, jaw clenching.

You hop off the counter, walking past him just slow enough for the scent to follow. You feel his eyes on you, heavy and distracted.

He doesn’t move until you pause in the hallway and turn over your shoulder.

“You sure you’re just tired?” It’s a whisper. A challenge.

He’s in front of you in three slow steps. His hands find your hips. His forehead rests against yours.

“You’re trouble,” he breathes. “Even after you let the damn chickens out.”

You smile. “Still mad?”

“No,” he says. “But I’m still tired…”

His hands slide lower.

“…So you better do most of the work.”

SUNA RINTARO

The second he walks through the door, he groans.

Not a dramatic, whining kind of groan.

No. A Suna groan. Deep. Flat. Laced with exhaustion and "I hate being alive after work" energy.

“Food?” he mumbles, not even making eye contact, tossing his bag near the shoe rack. His voice is gruff, scratchy from not talking the entire commute home.

You don’t say anything.

You just stand there.

Looking entirely too calm.

Too inviting.

Wearing that. The perfume. The one tucked away behind your other bottles, labeled almost too cheekily: “Dinner Can Wait.”

Just three little spritzes— One behind your ear, One over your chest, One on the waistband of your lounge shorts.

It’s warm in the apartment. The smell’s lingering like a ghost. Sweet. Soft. Sinful.

He pauses halfway through yawning. His eyes narrow. Head tilts just slightly. Still tired, but now? Suspicious.

“Why does it smell like…” he squints, sniffing the air like a confused alley cat, “…whatever this is?”

You don’t answer.

You simply walk past him toward the couch, brushing against his arm as you go. And his whole body stills like he’s buffering.

He blinks. Once. Twice. Turns his head slightly to track your movement.

“…You did something.”

“Nope.”

“…You definitely did something.”

You flop onto the couch, lazily patting the cushion beside you.

Suna doesn’t move for a second. Just watches. And then you see it—that moment his tired, sleepy face slowly morphs into something darker. Lower-lidded eyes. A slow lick of his lips. A deep sigh through his nose.

“…You know I came home tired and hungry,” he mutters, approaching.

You raise an eyebrow, smile coy.

“And?”

He kneels on the couch, hands planted on either side of your thighs. His nose hovers just above your shoulder, breath hot against your skin.

“…Now I’m just hungry,” he says flatly, eyes dark. “But not for food.”

Your breath hitches.

His mouth is on your neck before you can say a word. Slow kisses. Lazily teasing, like he’s got all night. Your fingers tangle in his hair and you feel him grin against your skin.

“You planned this,” he mumbles.

“Maybe.”

“You’re cruel,” he says, voice low as his hand slides beneath your waistband.

“Am I?”

“Yeah,” he groans. “And now I’m gonna eat first before dinner gets cold.”

“…Dinner is already cold.”

He pauses. Smirks.

“Not this one.”

It started innocent.

Really, it did.

MIYA ATSUMU

Osamu had just been teasing him. As he always does. Something about the way Atsumu talks when he’s flustered. The way his ears turn pink when you call him pretty. The way he—quote unquote—moans dramatically when he stretches.

And you?

You laughed. A little too hard. Leaned into Osamu’s shoulder, even clapped once.

It was over.

Now? Silence.

You’re sitting on the couch with a very obviously sulking Atsumu curled up beside you—arms crossed, lips pursed, eyes narrowed like he’s trying to burn a hole through the carpet.

Every so often, he glances your way.

You catch him.

He tchs, looks away again.

God, he's so dramatic.

But also? A little cute.

You nudge his thigh with yours. “Still mad?”

He doesn't answer.

You hum softly and lean forward, spritzing the perfume you’d been saving for emergencies like this. A warm, sweet, heady scent—the kind that always makes Atsumu stutter and blink slow.

It hits him before you even sit back.

“…What’s that,” he asks flatly, eyes flicking to your shoulder.

“Dunno,” you shrug, feigning innocence.

His nose twitches. He tries to pretend he’s not already shifting closer, but it’s laughably obvious.

“I said I dunno,” you repeat, biting back a smirk. “Why, is it bothering you?”

He turns fully toward you, now sitting cross-legged like a child ready to argue. “Ya laughin’ that hard at Samu was already insultin’, but now yer gonna seduce me when I’m vulnerable?!”

“You’re sulking, not vulnerable.”

“It’s the same thing!”

You try not to laugh again. Really, you do. But the pout on his face, the scrunch of his brows, the genuine wounded pride—it’s too much.

And he sees it. The twitch at the corner of your lips.

“Yer unbelievable,” he mutters, standing. “I’m goin’ to bed—”

But before he can leave, you pull him down by the wrist, guiding him right into your lap.

He startles, blush creeping over his ears. “Wha—what’re ya doin’?!”

“Claiming my right to apologize.”

He swallows hard. Because now that he’s straddling you, with his nose buried in the crook of your neck, his whole resolveis cracking.

“…You do smell real nice though,” he mumbles.

You run your hands up his back, slowly. “Mhm.”

“Like… like somethin’ dangerous.”

“Mhm.”

“Like I should forgive you but also maybe punish you a little.”

You blink. “Oh?”

“I mean… just to make it even,” he says, leaning closer, lips brushing your ear. “So I don’t get laughed at again.”

You hum. “And what kind of punishment are we talking about?”

His hands slip under your shirt, grip hungry. “I’m thinkin’…” he growls, voice husky, “a long night of me provin’ I’m no joke.”

MIYA OSAMU

You didn’t mean to.

In fact, you were absolutely sure it was your onigiri. You’d seen it on the plate, sitting there with zero post-it notes, zero name labels, zero indicators of “DO NOT TOUCH, THIS IS SAMU’S.” So how were you supposed to know it was hiscarefully-crafted, expertly-seasoned, emotionally-attached, lovingly-made snack?

Now Osamu Miya was standing in the middle of the kitchen, devastated like you’d just told him the rice cooker broke permanently and he could never make another onigiri again.

“…You didn’t,” he said, voice low.

“I didn’t what?” you blinked innocently, lips still dusted with leftover rice.

He pointed to the now-empty plate. “That was mine.”

You blinked.

“Oh.”

“Oh?” he scoffed, dramatically grabbing his chest like he was in emotional pain. “I made that for me after my shift. I had a whole mouth fantasy planned and everything.”

“I thought—”

“—You thought wrong.” His voice was so dry, it could’ve cooked the next batch of rice by itself. He was already sulking, back turned, grabbing ingredients to make another one, each motion full of silent judgment and petty betrayal. “Unbelievable. I can’t believe I live with a thief.”

You bit your lip to hold back a smile. Because… yeah, okay, you did feel guilty. But also?

Sulky Samu was kind of adorable.

His pout was prominent, hair messy from work, sleeves pushed up his toned forearms as he grabbed fresh seaweed and furikake. Still grumbling. Still muttering dramatic things like ���don’t even got a lock on the fridge” and “betrayed by the one I love.”

You quietly turned and walked up the stairs.

“Yeah, run away from your crimes!” he called after you.

But you weren’t fleeing. No. You had a plan.

Because earlier that week, you bought something—something new, something… experimental. A sweet, warm, subtle perfume that lingered like temptation. Vanilla and sandalwood, musky but soft, almost edible.

The bottle had been sitting on your vanity, untouched, waiting for the perfect moment.

And if now wasn’t the perfect moment to pull out the big guns, then when?

You spritzed once—just enough. Behind your ears, down your neck, one across your chest. You let it sink into your skin like you meant trouble.

Then padded downstairs again, heart thudding a little.

He was still at the counter, shaping the fresh onigiri with slightly more force than necessary.

You walked up behind him silently, wrapping your arms around his waist and pressing yourself against his back. “’M sorry, Samu.”

He paused mid-shape, shoulders tense.

“…Did you put on perfume just to apologize?” he asked warily.

“Maybe.”

He turned slightly, eyes narrowing. “Why do you smell like a warm dessert with bad intentions?”

“Because I’m sorry?” you offered with a little smile against his shirt.

He stared at you.

Then back at your hands wrapped around his waist.

Then back to your lips ghosting against his hoodie.

“…You’re evil.”

“Maybe,” you whispered, tilting your head so your nose brushed the shell of his ear. “But you love me.”

He exhaled shakily.

“You smell like you should come with a warning label,” he muttered.

“I do,” you murmured, kissing behind his ear. “It says: One spritz = kitchen counter incident.”

He groaned.

“Y/N.”

“Hm?”

“If I burn this rice, you’re makin’ the next batch.”

“If I burn the kitchen, it’s your fault for being so hot when you pout.”

That earned you a look. But he still turned the stove off.

And without saying a word, he picked you up—effortlessly, like he’d been waiting for the excuse—planted you on the counter, and stepped between your legs.

“You smell like sin,” he muttered, forehead resting against yours.

“And you smell like you wanna kiss me.”

“…Don’t tempt me.”

“I already did.”

He kissed you.

Hungry, sweet, slow. One hand bracing the counter, the other sliding behind your waist, pulling you closer until the scent of vanilla and warmth wrapped around both of you like heat. You felt his lips twitch against yours.

“Y’know what?” he whispered. “I forgive you.”

“For the onigiri?”

“No. For making me fall even harder when I was tryin’ to stay mad.”

SAKUSA KIYOOMI

It had been a long practice.

He wasn’t even in a bad mood. Just... tired. Muscles aching, hoodie damp with sweat, mask still slung under his chin as he unlocked the front door, duffle bag slung over one shoulder. Kiyoomi stepped into the quiet of your shared home, intent on showering, stretching, maybe scrubbing himself down three times like usual before even thinking about touching you.

Routine. Safe. Orderly.

Except—

“Welcome home,” your voice called from the kitchen, soft and warm.

Except he stopped mid-step. Eyelids flickering. Nose twitching.

What… was that smell?

It wasn’t food. Wasn’t candles. Wasn’t his detergent or yours. It was you.

You… smelled different.

Soft, sweet. Sultry. Almost intoxicating. Like a honeyed whisper, rich musk and vanilla with the tiniest hint of spice—comforting, warm, dangerous. A scent that crawled under his skin and curled low in his stomach.

You poked your head out to smile at him. “You okay?”

He didn’t answer at first. Just stared.

His eyes trailed from your face down to your oversized shirt—his shirt, hanging loosely around your thighs—and back up again. He could tell by the look on your face that you knew what you’d done.

He shifted his duffle bag. Cleared his throat.

“I need to shower.”

You tilted your head. “You sure? You look like you’re struggling.”

He swallowed hard. That scent. It was in the air. On your neck. Clinging to you. Begging him to lean in. To bite. To ruin. His self-control teetered on a wire-thin thread.

“Shower,” he repeated tightly. “Then maybe.”

“Maybe what?”

You were teasing. Cruel. Smiling like you weren’t singlehandedly destroying every wall he put up.

He brushed past you—barely—but not before pausing to inhale, deeply, right near your neck. A near-growl bubbled in his throat, low and quiet. His eyes closed for one breath. One shaky, drawn-out inhale. Then he pulled back.

“Don’t move,” he muttered.

“Hm?”

“I said don’t move.”

And then he sprinted to the bathroom.

You blinked after him, hearing the rush of water a moment later. You’d never seen Kiyoomi hustle like that. Ever.

Ten minutes passed.

Then fifteen.

You were about to check on him when the door to the bathroom opened.

And there he was—hair still wet, hoodie replaced by a fitted black tee, sweatpants low on his hips, barefoot, eyes dark and sharp as blades.

You straightened, startled. “You okay—?”

“I didn’t last a minute in the shower,” he said plainly, walking toward you with slow, sure steps. “I kept smelling you.”

You swallowed.

“Had to take a cold one.”

“Oh.”

“And I still came out hard.”

Your mouth parted slightly. “Kiyoomi—”

He reached you in two long strides.

Hands on your waist. Back pressing to the counter. His scent now clashed and tangled with yours—mint and soap and pure hunger.

“You think you’re funny?” he asked, voice low. “Spraying that on and walking around my house like that?”

“…Maybe.”

His hands squeezed your hips.

“Smelling like you wanna be devoured?”

You let out a breathless sound.

Kiyoomi leaned in, pressing his nose to your neck again—right where you’d spritzed. He groaned. Actually groaned. His lips ghosted your skin, then dipped to your collarbone. “You smell dangerous.”

You smiled faintly. “Is that bad?”

He pulled back just enough to meet your gaze. And for a second, the restraint cracked.

“No,” he murmured. “But it means I’m not letting you out of this kitchen until you smell like me instead.”

And when he kissed you—deep, firm, filled with every bit of tension he’d held back since he walked in—you knew damn well that perfume bottle had officially entered your emergency-use-only drawer.

Because whatever it was, whatever magic it carried—

You’d just discovered Kiyoomi Sakusa’s ultimate weakness.

And he was going to make you pay for it.

Over.

And over.

Again.