sukudookie

[sukudookie]

oh lawddddd

Frosted Brushes

leon kennedy x fem!reader

summary: an ill-timed snowstorm leaves you snowed in with a less than enthusiastic federal agent.

cw: nsfw (18+) - mdni!!, smut, bestfriend's older brother!leon, kissing, oral sex, face-sitting, vaginal fingering, p in v, spanking, mild choking

wc: 5.5k

a/n: i know i promised blurred lines pt2 (it's coming) but i just loveee the snowed in trope. also leon's biceps - i love his biceps <3

also on ao3!

Getting snowed in wasn't exactly on your bucket list. 

It’d been a mistake, your best friend had said, her voice anxious and apologetic on the phone as she’d tried to make up for the fact that she’d left you stranded here, in the middle of nowhere in a cabin that she had booked. You were only meant to stay here over the week of Christmas and fly back the next, but she’d conveniently forgotten to book tickets for both you and Leon. It’d been too late by then, a vicious snow storm rolling in and ruining all your chances of trying to leave.

You’d stared out the windows for a concerning amount of time, mourning the loss of your upcoming paychecks and not being able to sleep in your own bed. Outside, the snow was packed in tight and you’d been half-tempted to just grab the snow shovel and clear a path for yourself, but the howling wind coupled with the freezing temperature didn’t seem to agree with your plans. The only thing saving you from this woeful situation was the generator that was still up and running. 

The federal agent currently lounging on the couch wasn’t helping either. You’d known Leon since you were children, mostly seeing him around the house when you’d come over to play with your best friend. He had kept to himself all those years ago, shooting you fleeting glances and berating you when you’d gotten too loud playing.

Boredom makes your temples throb and the thought of reading through another book makes you feel nauseous, so you settle on approaching Leon, flopping down on the other end with a heavy sigh.

“Hey,” you say, your feet nudging his thigh, “can’t you call up one of your buddies and have ‘em pick us up?”

“That’s not how it works,” Leon sighs, his eyes flitting down to stare irritatedly at your fluffy sock covered feet.

“What good is being a federal agent then?” you drawl, head tipping back over the armrest.

Leon rolls his eyes, shoving your feet away. You grumble, tucking your feet back under you before scooting forward to peer at whatever work on his laptop screen.

“Classified,” Leon says shortly, turning the screen away from you.

“Seriously, Leon?” you say, crossing your arms over your chest. “It’s not like I’m going to leak government secrets to a foreign enemy.”

“You might ,” Leon grits out, sending you a glare as you try to twist your body to take another look. 

“Maybe I should be flattered that you think me capable of treason.”

Leon snorts, his eyes glancing over towards you again. “You wouldn’t last a day in the field, dork. Most likely end up getting yourself killed, or maybe even blown up.”

You glare at him, shifting again, making sure to dig your feet into his thigh a little harder as you roll over onto your side on the couch. Leon lets out a low hiss, growing irritated with your petulant behavior. He doesn’t shove your feet away like before so you settle on staying in that position, eyes slipping shut. A tiny sprig of hope unfurls inside of you; maybe if you tried hard enough, you’d be able to sleep the entire snowstorm away.

The weather doesn’t seem to let up, the wind howling outside, a chill beginning to creep into the cabin. You huff out an exasperated breath, eyes peeking open to sneak a glance at Leon. He looks engrossed in whatever he’s doing, fingers tapping against the keyboard, his brows drawn together.

Perhaps you’d struck out, getting stuck here with Leon. Sure, the federal agent stuff was mildly interesting, but he was more like a silent, grumpy lump. It sort of helped that he had a nice face, even if just to stare at. 

“‘m cold,” you mumble, sock-clad toes trying to worm under his thighs, seeking out his warmth.

“Stop complaining,” Leon grouses, nudging your legs away with his hand.

“You’re so mean,” you shoot back, eyes narrowing. “Is it because you got stuck with a desk job?”

Leon glares at you, his touch growing rougher as he grabs your ankle and throws your leg away from him. A yelp escapes you, body bending awkwardly before you straighten yourself up, curling up away from him.

“I’m a field agent,” Leon hisses, snapping his laptop shut.

You shoot him an unimpressed look, eyes flitting over him. “I don’t see a gun.”

“Yeah and it’s a good thing I didn’t bring it, because I would shoot you if I had the chance.”

A sharp scoff leaves you, arms crossing over your chest as you stand up. “You’re such a piece of sh-”

A loud screeching noise cuts you off, your brows furrowing as you glance towards the direction the sound was coming from. It doesn’t take long to figure out what’s happened when the lights in the cabin go out after a moment, the interior lit up by the flickering embers of the hearth. 

“Great,” Leon murmurs, standing up and walking towards the large windows, his eyes landing on the generator, “it’s probably frozen.”

You trail after him, a frown pulling at your lips as you stare out at the snowy tundra surrounding you in every direction.

“Is there no way to fix it?” you ask, fingers pressing up against the window.

“Maybe if we got rid of the snow,” Leon sighs, his hand running through his hair, “but the cold would probably just make it freeze up again.”

“Time to get shovelling,” you murmur, peering up at Leon.

Leon’s gaze flicks towards you, his lips thinning. “I’m not going out there.”

“What?” you ask snappily, irritation prickling across your skin, “why not?”

“Because I’ll freeze to death,” he retorts, “didn’t you watch the weather report?”

You stare at him, eye twitching at his refusal. At this rate, both of you would freeze to death if you weren’t able to get the generator up and running. You didn’t particularly trust the insulation either, although there was enough wood stocked in the spare room to maybe get you through the rest of the nights here.

“So what are you suggesting?” you ask, “that I go out and do it?”

“If you’re desperate enough,” he mutters under his breath.

“You’re the man!” you protest. “Shouldn’t you like protect me or something?”

Leon scoffs, his arms crossing over his chest as he stares down at you derisively. “You’re on your own, pipsqueak. Each man for themselves.”

“Oh, fuck you,” you snarl, stomping over to the door and yanking a jacket off of its hook. You shrug it on angrily, zipping it up tight before wrapping a scarf around your neck. “You’re pathetic, Leon!”

You grab the snow shovel, moving to open the door, only for it to not budge. There’s a moment of silence and you don’t dare look back at Leon. Setting the snow shovel down, you tug at the door handle, yanking hard. 

“Please open,” you whisper, trying to wrench the door open, “please.”

By the time you’re done grumbling and yanking, the door’s only response is a pitiful groan, failing to give way at all, completely and utterly frozen shut.

“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me,” you mutter, glancing at the hinges of the door.

“Frozen in,” Leon drawls, stepping up behind you, “who would’ve thought? You know, you looked pretty pathetic trying to open it up.”

You turn around to face him, biting the inside of your cheek to prevent yourself from spewing a slew of curses at him. Your best friend would pay dearly for this debacle. Pushing past Leon, you stride purposefully into the room you were staying in, pulling free the sheets before managing to haul the mattress off of the bed frame. 

Leon watches with raised brows as you lug the mattress across the floor. You dump it onto the space just in front of the fireplace, brushing your hair out of your face before disappearing into your room again to gather the sheets and blankets.

“At least you’re resourceful?” Leon offers, following suit as he adds his mattress next to yours soon after.

The absence of heat becomes all the more apparent as the night creeps in, your body shivering and teeth chattering every now and then despite the layers you’re wearing. You and Leon settle on soup for dinner, placing the cans near the fireplace to heat them up.

“Maybe we’ll just freeze to death,” you sigh, tugging the blanket draped around your shoulders a little tighter.

Leon hums, glancing over at you. “Maybe.”

You roll your eyes at his short response, padding through the cabin and into the dark bathroom. No generator meant no lights and you weren’t willing to risk using your phone or the flashlights lest the battery ran out.

“Ouch,” you grumble when your hip hits the side of the sink, your eyes squinting in an attempt to adjust to the dark.

You’re too busy rubbing your hip to notice the dark shadow stepping into the bathroom. There’s an arm landing on your waist and you shriek, hand flying out to smack whoever it is. 

“Careful,” Leon groans when he feels you grab at his face, feeling around blindly.

“What are you doing?” you hiss, pushing at his chest.

“Keeping you company,” he shoots back, “not like there’s anything for me to do other than stare at the fire.”

“Don’t tell me you’re scared,” you say, managing to turn the tap on. The water is entirely too cold, but thankfully not yet frozen. You hunch over, splashing some onto your face.

“Funny,” Leon replies drily, his hand slipping lower to hold your hip as you bend over.

Your breath hitches at the action and you hope Leon doesn’t notice, especially with the way you tremble when his hand smooths over your waist absentmindedly. Leon’s touching doesn’t seem to let up and you turn around in his arms, fingers prodding into his chest.

“Stop touching me, you creep.”

Leon lets out a heavy sigh, his hands falling away from you. You manage to bundle out of the bathroom, finding his eyes in the dim lighting. He stares down at you, and you tilt your head in question.

“Nothing,” he huffs out, shoving your face away with his hand.

You grumble, swatting his hand away, padding over to your makeshift bed near the fireplace. Despite the warmth of the fire, you still shiver, and snuggling in under the heap of blankets. 

Leon’s footfalls are quiet as he makes his way over, settling down on his own mattress. Silence passes over you both until a sneeze tickles at your nose, making your eyes water.

“Are you still cold?” Leon asks quietly.

“Nothing I can’t handle,” you mumble back, curling up your toes in your socks, trying to bury yourself deeper under the blankets.

You miss the way Leon rolls his eyes, a squeak leaving you when you feel strong arms looping around your waist, tugging you across onto Leon’s mattress. His chest is warm against your back, the layers of blankets growing with the two of you now pressed together.

“Let- let go of me,” you grouse, trying to unlatch his arms from around you.

“No can do, pipsqueak,” he replies, keeping you close, “my sister will kill me if anything happens to you. Besides, I know you gotta little thing for me.” 

“I do not have a thing for you,” you scoff, your denial sharp. You squirm in his arms, managing to roll onto your other side to face him. “That would be gross, Leon.”

“Yeah?” Leon murmurs, his eyes drifting across your face, “you didn’t think it was gross when you told my sister you’d like to sit on my face.”

You sputter, embarrassment making your cheeks go hot. Suddenly, the chill of the snowstorm seems to fade, replaced by a heat that seems unbearable, Leon’s skin warm against yours.

“I- I did not say that!” you protest, trying to squirm out of his arms again but to no avail.

“I overheard you,” he sighs, rolling his eyes when you try to swat at his face.

“Well, fine,” you admit begrudgingly, stopping your struggling. “But you aren’t special . I could name five other guys off the top of my head that I’d enjoy.”

“Ouch,” Leon replies, his eyes boring into yours. “‘m wounded, pipsqueak.” 

You send him a glare before snuggling closer, your face shoving into his chest. Leon lets out a rough laugh, his grip on you loosening. Silence passes over you and the warmth settles down to something more cozy, making your eyes droop shut.

“Could be fun.”

“What?” you mumble sleepily.

“Could be fun if you sat on my face.”

You peek up at him, taken aback. “Have you lost your mind, Leon?”

His lips purse as he considers your words, shrugging his shoulders lazily. “Gotta kill the time somehow,” he yawns.

“‘m not sleeping with you, jerk,” you reply, trying to ignore the fact that Leon, grumpy federal agent Leon , was offering to eat you out.

He sighs, muttering something incoherent that you can barely pick up on. It doesn’t help that Leon’s managed to ruin your sleep, the image of Leon’s head between your thighs popping into your mind. Could be fun .

Leon’s already staring at you when you look back up at him, his brows raising when you play with the strings of his hoodie, twirling and twisting them.

“Do you want to?” you ask.

He considers your words, running his hand through his hair. “I could use the practice. It’s been a while.”

“I���m not a training dummy, Leon,” you retort, but Leon’s already moving, the blankets around you shifting as he pulls them off, grabbing at your sock and pajama pants. “You said it could be fun .”

“Practice can be fun,” he replies drily, pulling your pajama pants off.

You shiver when the cold hits your skin, goosebumps erupting all over immediately. Leon’s hands are warm when he slides them over your legs, his head lowering to take a look at your panties.

“Cute,” Leon murmurs, finger pulling at the band before letting the fabric snap back against your skin. 

“H- hey!” you stop him when he tries to pull them off, eyes narrowing. “You should build up to it, not just go right in.”

Leon rolls his eyes and you huff out an annoyed breath, feet pressing up against his chest. 

“C’mon, Leon,” you say, voice morphing into a taunt, “work for it.”

“You always like this?” he shoots back, glaring down at you.

You give him a snarky smile, nudging your feet against his chest again. Leon shakes his head, grabbing one of your feet. You watch as he dips his head, his lips landing on your ankle. Leon’s lips are surprisingly gentle, his eyes flitting to yours as he trails his lips up your leg, leaving hot kisses in his wake.

A soft sigh escapes you, the tenseness fading as you relax, letting your eyes slide shut as he squeezes your thighs and kisses the side of your knee.

“Good?” he asks, his voice low.

“Mhm,” you nod, hips reacting to his ministrations as he spreads you apart.

Leon’s breath is hot against your skin, his tongue darting out to lick teasingly as he covers your inner thighs with kisses. You peer down at him, reaching out to place your hand in his hair, back arching slightly when he noses into your panties.

You bite your lip when he licks over your panties, feeling wetness beginning to gather between your thighs. His eyes flutter shut when your nails scratch at his scalp lightly, lapping at your clothed pussy until the fabric is wet with his spit and your slick, clinging to your folds.

“That’s cute,” you murmur, “thought this was just practice?”

He huffs out a breath and you smile, letting him lap at your clothed cunt until he’s satisfied. Leon kisses your hip when he rises up, fingers trailing across your thighs before drifting over your panties again, rubbing the drenched material absentmindedly. 

“‘s nice,” he murmurs, reaching up to tug your panties flush against your pussy, his eyes latched onto the way it outlines your puffy folds. Leon’s fingers reach down, rubbing over your cunt, pressing your panties against you harder. He watches the way you bite back the noises that threaten to escape, his lips turning into a frown. “Don’t do that.”

You shake your head stubbornly and he glares at you, tugging your lip out from the confines of your teeth.

“Guess I’ll just have to wear you out, hm?”

Leon’s fingers are greedy as he pulls your panties free, throwing them somewhere over his shoulder.

“Kiss first,” you say quietly when he thumbs apart your sticky folds, “then lick.”

“I know how to do this,” he grunts, gripping your thighs harder to pull you closer to him.

“Well then show me- oh fuck -”

Your breath hitches when he kisses your clit, the bud swollen and aching from before when he’d licked over your panties and prodded his tongue against you. Leon grins against your cunt, his tongue lolling out to lick a stripe over your wet pussy, delving deep between your folds to drink down your slick.

“Taste good, pipsqueak,” he rasps, licking over your cunt, lapping over and over again until your thighs twitch and your hand tightens in his hair, eyes squeezing shut.

“Don’t- ngh- don’t call me that! ”

“What should I call you then?” Leon asks, pulling back to spit on your cunt, his fingers spreading over your clit and pussy, rubbing it in, his thumb drawing tight circles against your clit. “Hm? Baby, is that what you want? Maybe sweetheart? Darlin’, gorgeous, my good girl? All of ‘em?”

You can only manage out a moan, hips rolling up to meet his mouth as the pet-names ring in your mind, a haze of lust fogging over your mind. Leon lets out a hoarse laugh, prodding a finger against your fluttering hole, easing it in. 

A whimper leaves you, cunt clenching around it as he nips at your thigh, tilting his head to suck your clit into his mouth. You shudder as he suckles, tongue flicking against the throbbing bud, teeth grazing across gently. He presses another finger into your cunt, a deep groan leaving him as you clench around his fingers harder, hips jumping when he sucks at your clit with renewed fervor.

“Such a whiny baby,” Leon muses when he hears the little whimpers and whines that leave you, his hand clamping over your hip to keep you in place as you squirm. “Don’t worry sweetheart, ‘m gonna take care of you.”

You mewl, hips rolling again needily as he buries his face into your cunt, slurping and sucking noisily. It makes your cheeks flush with embarrassment, despite the fact no one can hear you for miles.

“Thought- ah- thought you were gonna let me sit on your face,” you mumble out, body shuddering when Leon curls his fingers, beginning to thrust them in and out of you.

“Is that what you want?” 

You peer down at him before managing out a nod. Leon hums, taking a measured suck of your clit and pressing a kiss to it. He pats your hip, shifting to lay on his back in response. It’s nice of him, you think, when he offers you his hand, pulling you closer as you swing your leg over his face as you peer down at him.

“Sit on my face, baby,” he murmurs, kissing the inside of your thigh.

You flush lightly, reaching out to brush the hair that’s fallen across his forehead, running your fingers through the soft strands. Leon’s eyes slip shut and you smile, trailing your fingers over the curve of his cheek before shuffling forward, lowering yourself onto his awaiting mouth.

“Oh,” you breathe out, hands landing on the sheets above his head, gripping them tightly.

Leon groans, hands grasping at your thighs, squeezing the fat of them as he urges you to rock your hips across his mouth. It’s almost too much, the swirl of his tongue, the intensity of his gaze as he looks up at you.

“I like it when you shut up,” you murmur, giving him a smile as you drag your cunt over the length of his tongue. “So much more tolerable this way, Leon.”

Leon lets out an indignant sound and you yelp, jolting when his hand comes down on your ass, your flesh stinging. What an asshole. You glare down at him, gripping his hair harder, pulling at the strands, enough to make it hurt .

He grunts, eyes squeezing shut in pain before he grasps your hips, pulling you down flush against his mouth. Your mouth opens, a strangled moan sounding as you feel his tongue pressing into your cunt.

“N- ngh- no,” you begin to say but Leon ignores you, fucking into your cunt with your tongue.

You can hardly see straight, back arching, eyes squeezing shut. 

“Brat,” Leon snarls, slapping your ass again, “so fucking bratty, sweetheart.”

“‘m not,” you whine, squirming atop his mouth, moaning again when he sucks his clit into your mouth, tongue flicking and swirling until you’re seeing stars. “‘m not , Leon.”

“You are,” he snaps lowly, “bratty and annoying and a fucking pain the ass.” He licks over your cunt again and again. Your thighs twitch, chest heaving as you suck in short, sharp breaths, hunching over when his teeth nip at your folds carefully.

It’s the worst, or perhaps the best because it has the bridge of his nose pressing up against your clit in a way that you’ve never felt before. You rock your hips, gasping, tears pricking at your eyes when he lands another heavy slap to your ass.

“Cum, baby,” Leon hisses, his voice a low rasp, “cum on my fucking mouth. Can you do that, hm? Be a good girl for once and cum .”

You shudder, a sharp cry tearing its way out of your throat as you cum, twitching violently. There’s sweat covering your body, your eyes squeezing shut as you cum. Leon laps at your slick, drinking it down like a man starved. He squeezes your thighs and you tremble, managing to squirm off of him, slumping down over the blankets, panting as your cunt throbs.

Silence passes over the cabin, save for the soothing crackle of the fire. Leon clears his throat, his arm wrapping around your waist to pull you closer into the warmth of his chest.

“Hey,” he murmurs, “you- uh, you good?”

“Shut up, Leon,” you grouse, still reeling from the fact that Leon had given you the best orgasm of your life.

“I didn’t mean it,” he offers quietly, calloused palm rubbing up and down your side, over the dip of your waist and curve of your hip. “Well, not all of it.”

You shift, turning to face him. Leon’s hair looks like a mess and you figure you don’t look that much better, given all the squirming and writhing you were doing earlier.

“Yeah?” you murmur, “well, I mean it when I say you’re a dick.”

“Fine,” Leon muses, a smile pulling at his lips, “I’ll let you h-”

His words are cut off when you shuffle closer, grabbing his hoodie. Your nose brushes against his gently, eyes fluttering shut as you press your lips against his tentatively. Leon sighs into your mouth, his hand squeezing at your ass, his lips working against yours.

You wrap your arms around his neck, letting out a soft noise when he licks into your mouth, tasting yourself on his tongue. He can’t help himself as he grabs at you, his hands sliding up under your thick sweater to grasp at your tits. You whimper when he pinches your nipples, rolling them between his fingers before tugging gently.

“Gonna let me fuck you, sweetheart?” Leon whispers against your lips.

You nod, kissing him again, pulling at his hoodie. He sits up, tugging it up over his head before reaching for you, pulling your sweater off of you. Leon swallows when he sees your breasts, his hands reaching for them greedily.

“C’mere, baby,” he murmurs, dipping his head to suck a nipple into his mouth. You bite your lip, hands cupping the back of his head as Leon nuzzles into your breasts, mouthing at the sides of them, landing soft kisses across your sternum and up your throat before finding your lips again.

Your hands are just as greedy as his mouth, reaching down to palm him through his sweats, the bulge looking inviting. Leon moans into your mouth and you smile, pecking his lips as you dip your hand inside, curling your hand around his cock.

It’s thick and heavy when Leon pulls down his sweatpants, his cock bobbing. You lick your hips, straddling his thigh, stroking his cock slowly. Leon’s eyes are squeezed shut, his head tipped back as his hips buck up into your hand.

“‘s big, Leon,” you murmur, watching with rapt attention as thick globs of pre-cum bead at the tip of his cock.

“Y- yeah?” he whimpers, thighs twitching, “‘s all yours, sweetheart.”

You hum happily, meeting his eyes before opening your mouth, letting spit drop down from your tongue onto his cock. Leon groans brokenly, watching as you jerk him off, cum and spit mixing together. 

“Enough,” he grunts when you swipe your thumb over the tip of his cock.

You pout, shuffling back, enough to get your mouth around the head of his cock. Leon’s grumbling when your tongue swirls around his cock, his hand fisting into your hair to pull you off roughly.

“I said enough ,” Leon murmurs, moving you until you're on your hands and knees. 

“Thought you said your cock was mine ,” you drawl, wiggling your hips, ass up in the air for him. “You’re being- oh -”

A dazed sigh leaves you when you feel Leon’s mouth on you again, his thumbs spreading you apart greedily, tongue licking over your cunt. You turn your head, hazy eyes finding Leon’s hand wrapped around his cock, his grip tight as he strokes himself.

“Want your cock in me,” you mumble, drooling into the pillows when he kisses your clit.

“Greedy,” he says, rubbing his cock against your cunt for a few seconds before he presses his cock in.

You gasp, eyes squeezing shut, hips shifting away. Leon clicks his tongue, pulling your hips back, forcing you to take his cock. It’s girthy and thick, a mewl leaving you as you feel his cock stretch you out.

“That’s it,” Leon whispers, hand smoothing over the length of your back, “take my cock, sweetheart.”

You babble incoherently, leaning back into him when he drapes himself over your back, his lips on your shoulder. Leon draws his hips back before thrusting them forward, making you moan. He smiles against your skin, kissing the back of your neck before straightening out.

“Look at that,” Leon murmurs, letting out a low whistle as he spreads your wider, his fingers stroking the edges of your stretched out pussy. “Greedy cunt’s just swallowing up my cock, baby.”

“More,” you whine, starting to rock your hips back to meet his thrusts.

Leon groans, feeling your ass smack back against his hips. He grips you harder, fingers bruising against your hips, pushing down on your back to make you arch. The action has you squeaking when you lose your balance, toppling forward, cheek squishing into the pillows.

The clap of his hips against yours is embarrassing, the cold around you forgotten in the dim cabin, the thickness of his cock replacing any worries you had.

“So fucking good,” Leon snarls, tugging you up again. “Perfect fucking pussy, baby.”

You cry out when he fucks up into you, his chest flush against your back, his arm winding around your neck. Leon squeezes and you slur out a moan, head turning to sink your teeth into his bicep.

He hisses at the flare of pain, squeezing harder. Your body jolts with every thrust, eyes rolling back in delirium at how good the feel of his cock is combined with the squeeze of his arm around your neck.

“Leon!” you whimper, tipping your head back, kissing his jaw sloppily.

“‘m right here, sweetheart,” he groans, mouth slotting over yours messily.

It’s all spit and sloppy kisses, both of your bodies trembling as Leon pounds into you without abandon. The squeeze of his bicep has your vision blurring, nails digging into his thigh. Your cunt clenches and Leon whines, pressing you back down to fuck his cock into you, hand coming down on your ass hard .

“Gonna make me cum,” he rasps, fingers finding your clit, rubbing tight circles around the swollen bud. 

“Please,” you mewl, hugging the pillow to your chest, “please, Leon- wanna cum, wanna cum please .”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” he chants breathlessly, kissing your cheek, “wait, where- fuck, baby- where do you want it?”

“In- nghhh- in me,” you beg, hooking your foot awkwardly around his leg, trying to keep him from pulling out. “Cum inside , Leon. Want your cum.”

“Shit,” Leon groans, pressing his face into the crook of your neck, his hips humping into your cunt as he loses himself in the tight clench of your pussy. “Sweetheart, you gotta let go.”

“N- nooo,” you whine, shaking your head, wiggling your hips back so his cock presses into you deeper.

He moans, the sound deep and guttural and it has you moaning too, cunt clenching around him like a vice. 

“Pussy’s not letting me go,” Leon snarls, cock driving into you deeper as he slows his thrusts, opting to roll his hips instead. “Fine, ‘m gonna give you my cum, sweetheart. Gonna fill this greedy, little pussy up.” 

You slur out a response, face shoved into the pillow, writhing as Leon rubs your clit a few more times. He curses when you squeeze around him again, slumping over you as his cock twitches, hot cum spilling into you. You bite your lip, dazed and sated as you cum with him, pussy fluttering around his cock.

Leon kisses your neck, panting as he lets his forehead rest against your back. His softening cock slips out of you and Leon turns you on your back, dipping his head to kiss you deeply. You wrap your arm around his neck loosely, sighing contentedly as he massages your hips and thighs.

“I’ll be back,” he whispers against your lips.

You nod, laying there limp. Leon returns with a dry cloth, his lips lingering on your stomach and hip as he cleans you up.

He tugs you into his chest after, kissing your cheek and letting you burrow into his warmth. Your fingers slide through his hair, playing with the soft strands absentmindedly as he smooths his hand over your side, dropping a kiss to your head every now and then.

“So was that good for practice?” you ask, feigning innocence.

Leon huffs out a laugh, his hand squeezing at your waist. “Yeah,” he says, thumb stroking over the curve of your hip, “real good, baby.”

You hum happily, smiling when he tilts his head, kissing you again.

“Does this mean I can see your work?”

“No,” he replies drily, smiling against your cheek. “Still classified, sweetheart.”

“Well, what can I do to un -classify it?”

Leon grins. “I can think of a few things.”

-

“Bring me any souvenirs?” you call out, leaning against the side of your car.

Leon rolls his eyes, dumping his duffle bag onto the ground, his arms wrapping around your waist to pull you closer. You laugh, letting him nuzzle into the crook of your neck, humming in amusement when he grumbles.

“You’re meant to say you missed me.”

You did miss Leon. After the snowstorm had receded, you’d still been unable to keep your hands off one another, even when you’d returned home. He’d been called on some mission some months later, and now here you were, picking him up.

“Just a smidge,” you murmur, biting your lip when he noses into your cheek, pressing soft kisses across your skin.

You turn your head, cupping his cheeks to pull him closer, kissing him deeply. Leon smiles against your lips, holding you tighter, arms squeezing around you. “Maybe a lot,” you whisper, landing another kiss to his lips.

“I missed you too,” he sighs, tucking your hair behind your ear and pressing a kiss to your forehead. Leon’s lips drift, dragging down over the side of your cheek and to your jaw. He presses you against the cool metal of your car, one of his hands drifting under your skirt.

“Know that pretty pussy missed me too,” he murmurs, “‘s why you sent me all those videos, right?”

“Shut up, Leon.”

“Oh c’mon,” Leon drawls, pulling you back into his chest when you try opening the door to your car, “I liked ‘em, sweetheart.”

He kisses your neck heatedly, a soft whine making its way out of your throat when he squeezes the fat of your ass and pats it affectionately.

“We should go home,” you whisper breathily.

“Yeah,” Leon murmurs, his hand forward to cup your pussy, stroking it through your panties. “Car’s right here though.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, muttering a curse when Leon speaks again.

“Could be fun.”

[sukudookie]

drooling 🥹❤️‍🩹

✴︎ Bouncing on tired older bf toji’s cock after work while he drinks beer </3

Toji’s already grunting when you drop your weight on his lap. soft, bare thighs straddling his hips and bracketing around him like it’s your goddamn seat, and not the couch. He doesn’t even look at you—just sits there, all slouched and grumpy—drenched in dried sweat and work stress while he nurses a half-empty beer while Outdoor Boys plays on the TV behind you.

“You got no patience, do you?” he mutters lazily, eyes flicking over your tits as you shimmy out of your sleep shirt, already bare underneath. “Didn’t even let me shower first, dirty girl”.

You ignore him. His cock is already inside you. You made sure of it, of course.

And now you’re finally bouncing on his dick sloppily, skin slapping hard and loudly as you stuff him all the way up into your guts, whining and gasping every time he brushes deep inside your cunt—deep enough to knock something loose in your pretty empty head. Your hands are gripping his solid, broad shoulders but you’ve got no rhythm. Just frantic little bounces and desperate circles of your hips as your horny pussy slobbers all over his fat cock.

“Fuck—,” he grunts, one big hand casually groping your bouncing ass, spreading your plushy cheeks open like he owns you—like you’re just something for him to play with while he watches TV. His thumb slides down to your stretched out hole, teasing around it with a slow drag and feeling how sticky you are. “You’re frothing all over me, baby. What the fuck did you do today—lay around thinking about this cock?”

“Mhmh—uh-huh!,” you nod like a stupid idiot, glossy lips parted into a gaping O, drooling down your chin as your cunt sucks around him. “I missed it—missed you, missed your cock, missed feeling so full—fuck, daddy, I needed it—!”

“Yeah?” he sneers, calloused thumb moving higher and rubbing nasty, teasing circles on your tight rim while he drinks his beer. “Needed to be filled like a little fleshlight while I’m out busting my ass all day?”

You sob, hips jerking desperately for more as your pussy clenches around him hard. “Y-Yeah… m’sorry!”

He tsks and takes another slow sip, beer trickling down his jaw. He doesn’t bother wiping it. “Don’t even care I’m all fucking filthy. Got home not even ten minutes ago, and you’re already stuffing my cock back inside you like you’d die without it”.

Your head nods again, uselessly. Drool’s running down your chin now—shiny, your boobs bouncing wildly with each sloppy grind of your cunt down his length. He’s not even thrusting. You’re doing all the work. He just sits there—sweaty, big and mean—one hand bruising into the meaty flesh of your ass and the other’s holding his beer, still barely looking at you.

“You’re so mean…” You whimper, thighs shaking as you try to bounce faster. “You’re not even helping—”

He finally sets the beer down with a heavy clink, piercing eyes dragging up to meet yours. “You want help?” he growls, gripping your hips in both hands. “Fine”.

And then he slams up into you.

Once.

Twice.

Over and over till your eyes are rolling back and you’re moaning like some crazy pornstar bitch.

Your body jerks with the force of it, your mouth wide open in a broken moan. Toji’s cock bullies your insides, thick and heavy and slicked up with your cream, and he doesn’t slow down. He just uses your body like it’s nothing. His sweaty chest brushes your hard nipples every time he yanks you down. Pounding you till your brain turns to mush.

“Dumb fucking thing,” he groans, watching you fall apart on his dick. “Needed daddy to fuck the thoughts right outta that pretty head, huh?”

“I—fuck!—I’m gonna cum, daddddy—!”

“Yeah you are. Fucking better. You make this mess, you take this cock, you cum on it—nasty slut”.

Your whole body shudders as you fall apart, screaming and creaming around him while your ass bounces like a toy in his lap.

And Toji? He leans back on the couch again, grabs his half-canned beer, and smirks like he’s proud.

“Next time, wait till I’ve had a bite to eat, kiddo”.

[sukudookie]

me next

Milkman Toji giving you uhhh milk (heavy dub-con + degradation)

You opened the door in your nightie, rubbing sleep away from your tired eyes and expecting the usual clink of glass bottles. But instead of settling the milk down in your porch as always, Toji stepped into your apartment uninvited, tall and broad in his white uniform, his smirk already curling in something wicked.

“Morning, doll,” he muttered, kicking the door shut behind him, heavy boots thudding against your floor as he walked towards you. “No milk today. Got something even better”.

Before you could ask your valid questions, his large hand was wrapped around your throat, the other forcing your jaw open with ease. He hastily unzipped his pants, tugging out his cock—already half-hard and heavy, veins thick and fucking cruel in its weight. You whimpered at the size, but he just clicked his tongue like he didn't care.

“Come on—open up, breakfast is served, sweet thing,” he chuckled, forcing you on your knees and slapping it across your lips, leaving a sticky smear of pre-cum before stuffing it into your mouth until your nose was smashing against coarse hair. The scent of him filled your senses—sweat, musk, and man. You gagged instantly, tears already brimming in your eyes but he didn’t pull back. Just held you there, throbbing thick against your tongue, watching with that feral grin as you struggled to breathe.

“Yeahhh, Choke on it. That’s what you’re good for, baby. Just a warm hole for my cock,” he snarled, holding your head still as he jerked forward, fucking your throat like he hated it. Saliva gushed from the ends of your glossy lips, drooling down your chin and pooling at your collar. “You like this, huh? No manners, no shame. Just daddy’s little cocksucker, how adorable”.

You could barely breathe, his angry tip battering the back of your throat until your eyes crossed.

He didn’t care. He just kept going, groaning low like it got him off watching you choke and struggle, watching your pretty face break down in tears. Each thrust is punctuated by the slick squelch of spit pooling and dripping from your chin.

“Shit, you’re pathetic,” he spat, dragging you off his cock with a wet pop. You gasped, coughing and desperate for air, your spit stringing between his tip and your ruined lips before he gave a light slap on your cheek. “Look at that dumb fucking face. Drooling everywhere like a lil slut in heat”.

He grabbed you up by the waist and manhandled you on top of the counter. Your nightie rode up instantly, your panties were practically soaked and clingy humiliatingly to your folds. Toji didn’t hesitate to rip them down your wobbling thighs and toss them aside. “Cute” he murmured, voice dripping with condescension. “You’ve been waiting for milk right? Here’s your fuckin’ delivery”.

And with that he hammered himself in raw—one brutal stroke and you screamed, fingers quickly scrabbling for something to hold onto. He split you open with no warning, thick and merciless, his fat tip punching uncontrollable moans from your lips as he pounded into you.

“That’s right, cry about it. Cry with my cock in your guts,” he growled into your ear, pistoning his hips with disgusting force, hips slamming against yours loud enough to echo through your small kitchen. “You just wanted a good morning fuck, huh? Didn’t care how. Stupid slut”.

Your cunt clenched despite the filth, stretched wide open around his dick and throbbing as he fucked you through it. The slap of skin filled the air, your legs hooked over his thick forearms as he pounded you open on the kitchen counter like a toy. He picked up the pace, teeth grazing the curve of your throat as he bottomed out, pelvis grinding against your swollen clit.

“Fucked full’a my cock before breakfast. You’re lucky if I don't make you crawl out on the porch like this, stuffed and wrecked with my seed leaking out of your cute cunt,” he hissed, teeth sinking into your delicate neck as he pounded deeper.

He rutted harder, breath getting messy against your cheek, before snarling, “Gonna give you your milk now, baby. Nice and deep in this warm pussy”.

You gasped as his thrusts turned sloppy, balls slapping against your ass one last time before he buried himself with a broken grunt and spilled into your womb. Hot, thick ropes flooded your insides with his warmth, filling you up to the brim.

You twitched around him, eyes glazed and mind shattered, reduced to nothing but the feel of him pulsing inside you. Toji stayed there for a moment, just watching, heavy hands pinning your hips down as if daring you to move.

When he finally pulled out, your breath hitched at the feeling of him slipping free—gooey cum immediately leaking from your stretched, swollen entrance, and dripping down your thighs. Toji watched it with a satisfied grin, wiping his hands on his uniform like he’d just finished a job well done.

“See?” he muttered, zipping up with a smirk. “Didn’t lie. I brought milk, also feel free to let me know if you want some in your cereal too”.

[sukudookie]

oh how i love zeke

homie brother hopper! | z.yeager

zeke yeager x fem!reader

!!: SMUT, vaginal sex, fingering, praise, slight degradation, zeke has a size kink, big dick!zeke, multiple orgasms, creampie, zeke’s been pining lol, use of pet names such as little one, baby, babe, slut, etc, use of Y/N, use of the word ‘daddy’, mention of eren x reader.

SYNOPSIS; you’re so sad after your boyfriend, eren, dumps you out of no-where, but you know his older brother is the only person who understands you and can make you feel better!

Knock, knock, knock!

Zeke furrowed his eyebrows at the sudden noise at his apartment door—he definitely wasn’t expecting anyone at this hour and in the horrific rain that poured outside. Glancing down at his watch as he approached the door, midnight shon back up at him. Who on Earth was at his door at this time of night?

“Who is it?” He called out, his voice low and intimidating, expecting anyone dangerous to soon flee at the sound of his gruff voice.

“Z-Zeke?”

The sound of your whimpering voice forced an eyebrow to shoot up on his face as he slid the lock open and pulled the door open.

And what a sight for sore eyes welcomed him as he did so.

His little brother, Eren’s, girlfriend was stood before him—hair soaked from the rain, dress see through and stuck to your shivering skin, eyes red and swollen as you pouted, sniffling loudly.

Zeke couldn’t help but smile as he leaned against the doorframe, folding his arms against his chest as he eyed you up and down.

“To what do I owe this pleasure?”

“Can I come in, please?” You ignored his question, eyes peering up at him from where you stood so small compared to him, a desperate yet disappointed look on your face.

Zeke knew he’d probably get in trouble for this considering you were his little brother’s girlfriend, but he swung the door open wider for you to enter, watching as you shuffled quietly inside his apartment.

You stood awkwardly in his living room, unsure on whether to place your damp body on his couch as you dripped droplets onto his carpet.

“‘M sorry for coming unannounced.” You squeaked out, your voice shaky as he stared at you intently, “I didn’t know where else to go.”

Zeke cocked his head at your words—was Eren not one of those people? His mind worked rapidly as he attempted to figure you out as you shivered heavily, your teeth chattering loudly.

“Wait there.”

You did as you were told—not moving a muscle as Zeke exited your view, padding towards his room. The room fell silent as you eyed up your surroundings—you’d only ever been to Zeke’s apartment a handful of times with Eren when they wanted to hang out, but you enjoyed being here. Zeke kept everywhere neat and tidy in his space, unlike Eren’s messy and disorganised apartment which stunk of weed and smoke, unlike the fresh, baby powder smell and expensive cologne that rang through the room.

“Here.”

You jumped, not expecting the tall blonde to have returned so quickly as you pondered. Zeke stared down at you with a small smile as he extended a large, white, fluffy towel towards your shaking frame.

Sighing happily, you accepted his offer and wrapped the warm material around your body, relief filling your system at the change of temperature.

“And a shirt and some sweats I found. They’ll be massive on you but better that than what you’re in currently.” Zeke joked, placing the pile of clothes on his coffee table next to you.

“Thank you.” You mumbled, as your eyes flicked from the clothes to your brother-in-law, “Will you turn around for me?”

“Oh, sorry, yeah, of course.” Zeke rotated his body, now facing his kitchen as you giggled.

You slipped the wet dress from your cold body, along with your bra and panties, feeling suddenly embarrassed that you were now naked in your ex-boyfriend’s brother’s apartment in the middle of the night.

Unbeknownst to you due to your naiveness to the layout of Zeke’s apartment, the kitchen window provided a perfect mirror in the dark night to which your naked frame could be seen. Luckily for you, only an outline of your nakedness could be seen, for if it could’ve, Zeke’s cock would’ve grown fully hard, now only resting half-hard and twitching at the sight.

“You can turn around now.” You informed him, Zeke doing as he was told, his eyes falling on your frame being drowned by his clothes, “Thank you, again.”

Zeke shushed you, “It’s no problem at all—anything for my little brother’s girl.”

The mention of Eren sent a pang of sadness to your chest as you were sorely reminded of the horrible evening you just had. Your lip wobbled, eyes brimming with tears as thoughts of your day clouding your mind.

Zeke didn’t take your sudden silence unnoticed—he eyed you up as he watched as a single tear. slipped from your eyes. Your hands flew to your face, covering it as you sighed loudly into your palms, taking a seat on his couch abruptly.

Zeke debated just staying where he was—but, he couldn’t leave a pretty girl on his couch in distress.

He took a firm seat next to you—arm resting on the back of the couch as he got comfy, admiring your hunched over frame, “Talk to me.”

The comforting words shot straight through your heart as it thumped against your chest, suddenly feeling ready to rant away as he confirmed his willingness to listen.

“He dumped me.”

The words shocked Zeke as they left your wobbling lips. He knew his little brother was prone to playing around with girls for his personal gain, but you were only one to last this long—a year to be exact. He truly thought Eren had fallen for you—he changed for you; took you on dates, bought you flowers, paid for your expenses like your nail and hair appointments, took care of you like a proper boyfriend. Something he’d never done for other girls—but, now he had you acting like all the others.

“Oh, Y/N.” Zeke mumbled, “I really am sorry.”

He hated the way he felt like he was lying. Zeke had always liked you the most—more than any other girl Eren was entertaining. You were by far the most beautiful, and sweet, too, which made you more desirable than some of the other nasty bitches Eren had introduced to him. You were loyal, caring and extremely loveable—but, ready to protect your man no matter what the cost. Zeke also loved the way you would do absolutely anything for his brother, which by extension, meant him, too. He’ll never forget on his birthday, when Eren dropped by to give Zeke his gifts, you were there too.

“Happy Birthday, Zeke!” You exclaimed, a pretty smile on your face as you wrapped your arms around his neck, on your tip-toes as you hugged him.

Your hug took Zeke by surprise, his hands reluctantly snaking around your waist to return the hug, trying to ignore the way your breasts pressed perfectly against his chest as a waft of your delicious perfume hit his nose.

“Let the man breathe, babe.” Eren’s low voice from the couch forced you back to your normal height, an embarrassed blush spread across your cheeks.

“Sorry, Zeke.” You mumbled, toying with the hem of your skimpy, short dress.

“‘S alright—come on in.”

You did as he told you and shuffled inside the apartment, taking a seat next to Eren, on the edge of the couch. Zeke noticed you always did this—whether you were in the comfort of your own apartment, at a party with them both or even at a restaurant—you always stayed perched on the edge of your seat, almost begging to be asked to assist your boyfriend. So desperate to care for him and do anything he asked of you—it made Zeke admire you so much more.

“Y/N, grab me and Zeke a beer, will you?” Eren asked, planting a loving hand to your thigh before you shot up from your seat, heading towards the kitchen.

“‘S okay, I’ll grab ‘em—I’m up anyways.” Zeke decided.

“No, don’t worry, Zeke, I’ll get them for you.” You beamed up at him as you walked past him, the smell of your fruity shampoo filling his nose, inciting a twitch in his cock in his suddenly tight boxers.

Zeke sighed breathily as he took a seat next to his brother as he flicked between channels, settling on a sports game he couldn’t focus on as he watched you pop two beers open with your teeth—the simple act bringing a bead of aroused sweat to his forehead.

“There ya go, baby.” You spoke, handing your boyfriend his beer as his eyes stayed fixated on the TV, offering you a quick ‘Thanks’, before you turned to him, “And for the birthday boy.”

“Thanks, Y/N. You didn’t have to.”

“I wanted to.”

Jesus.

Your obedience must make Eren feral—he loved that in a girl. Clearly it ran in the family as Zeke was biting his lip in order to stop himself getting so hard he’d have to kick his brother out the room and get himself in trouble.

Zeke snapped back into reality, pushing the memories of his birthday to back of his mind as he eyed you.

Your silence pushed him to speak more, “Did he say why?”

You scoffed, lifting your head from your hands, “Apparently I’m too needy. What a joke!” You exclaimed, “He said he needs space and that I need to leave him alone for a while.” You laugh angrily, “Personally, I think it’s just an excuse to go fuck someone else.”

Zeke didn’t want to lie to you—but, you were probably right. Eren probably got cold feet at how far you’d gotten in your relationship that he kicked back into his old ways by default—a creature of habit, as they say.

“Unfortunately, Eren’s always been this way.” Zeke explained, lolling his head to the side, “But, you’re different, Y/N, I can tell. He’ll come running back once he’s realised he’s being an asshole.”

You giggled at his insults, “Yeah, he sure is an asshole.” You fell silent once again, your face dropping back to a frown, “Do you think he’s fucking anyone else?”

Zeke pursed his lips into a line, unsure of what to do. He didn’t know whether to shield your good heart from the harsh truth or be honest with you.

He sighed loudly, pulling his glasses off his face, rubbing the frames on his shirt, and placing them back on the bridge of his nose in silence, “No, I don’t.”

You frowned further, turning to face him with a pout, “You hesitated, Zeke. Please don’t lie to me.”

Now, Zeke didn’t know for certain Eren was sleeping with anyone else. But, due to his previous actions, he knew it wasn’t unlikely.

You pouted further at his silence—feeling suddenly nervous. On the other hand, Zeke tried to contain his smirk at your face, he loved you like that. All pouty and sad—you looked so cute when you were upset.

“I’m not, little one,” He informed you, reaching up to pull on your bottom lip; the nickname raising a blush to your face as you smiled against his fingers, “There’s that pretty smile—that’s what I like to see.” His words forced your smile to widen, “I don’t wanna see these pouting again, okay?” He told you, swiping his thumb across your lips.

“Yes, Zeke.”

Your willingness to be so obedient pushed the tent in his trousers to grow even bigger than when he was pervertedly watching you through the window.

“Come here.” Zeke whispered, opening his arms wide, “Come give your brother-in-law a hug.”

You bit back from telling him that he was no longer your brother-in-law, but you didn’t care anymore, only retreating from the edge of the couch and into Zeke’s side, snuggling your head into his chest as you curled up into a ball next to him. His hands wrapped around you, one rubbing your arm comfortingly, and the other playing with your wet locks, twirling it around his fingers playfully, which he knew you loved.

So much so, that you let out a relaxed moan, your eyes fluttering shut at the feeling, snuggling deeper into him, your manicured hands resting gently on his t-shirt. Zeke mentally cursed himself as his eyes rolled back at the sound of your enjoyment—your quiet moans and hums of pleasure filling his ears.

“Oh, Zeke, that feels so good,” You whispered as his fingers scratched at your scalp, the seemingly innocent words of praise you gave him sending shockwaves of arousal to his cock as it twitched desperately in his boxers, begging to be dealt with.

“Yeah? You like that?” He was almost teasing himself by adding another sexual innuendo to the mix, continuing to scratch your head, his fingers curled in your hair.

“Mmm, yeah. So good, baby.”

Your eyes shot open at the nickname that left your mouth unwillingly. You gasped quietly as his hands fell from your hair, now resting so close to your ass as you sat up, hands covering your mouth in shock, trying to ignore the way he smirked devilishly.

“I’m so sorry, I don’t know why I said that.” You mumbled against your warm skin, swallowing thickly.

Zeke chuckled, pressing a large hand on your back, rubbing his hand up and down the soft surface, “‘S alright. I didn’t mind it.”

Your breath hitched in your throat at his words—he didn’t mind it? At you calling him ‘baby’? You cocked an eyebrow at him, lolling your head to the side in confusion.

“Come on, Y/N. You can’t be that oblivious?”

Zeke’s words rang loudly in your head as his big hands trailed around your body, pulling you back closer to him, one now resting on the comforts of your clothed thigh.

“W-What do you mean?” You questioned, nearly trembling at the anticipation as his palm trailed your thigh dangerously slow, your chest rising and falling quicker than you’d care for.

“You know,” His voice was low and gruff, even his whisper sounding manly, “You’ve always been my favourite girl he’s ever been with.”

Your thighs instinctively rubbed together at the praise, crushing his hand in the process, bringing his attention towards your need for friction. Zeke couldn’t help but smirk at your poor attempt at some action, chuckling lowly as he pushed your legs open.

“He’s so mean, isn’t he? Leaving you all lonely and desperate for some love, hm?” Zeke spoke, running a teasing finger up and down the inside of your thigh, testing the waters, as he peered over the tops of his glasses down at you.

Your pearly white teeth were sunk deeply into your bottom lip, once jutting out in sadness, now sucked into your pretty little mouth in excitement as you nodded up at him. One of your hands gripped the side of his shirt as his thick fingers teased you.

“Zeke, please.”

Your desperate, whiny voice shot a spark of arousal between Zeke’s legs, his mouth falling slightly slack-jawed as he eyed your face—your eyebrows twitching in anticipation.

“Please what, little one?”

“Please touch me, Zeke, please, wanna feel you.” Your pleas of pleasure were enough for Zeke to push his joggers off your body and to the floor, pushing your exposed legs open, revealing your bare pussy—slick and throbbing as his hand hovered over you.

He wasted no time in sliding his fingers between your folds, a small gasp pushing past your lips as you both eyed his fingers gathering slick on his digits. Before he killed you from anticipation, he slipped two long fingers into your hole, revelling in the way you whined loudly. His fingers soon picked up a pace as he hummed happily to himself at the feeling of your ever-growing slick collecting at the base of his fingers and dripping down his knuckles.

“You’re so wet, little one, all from one touch? So fucking slutty.”

The derogatory term only forcing a blush onto your cheeks as Zeke hit the spongy sweet spot inside you that had you moaning his name in the air, arching your back off the couch. Zeke pushed your leg, repositioning you so your back rested against his chest, as he pushed his shirt up your body, revealing your perky breasts.

You couldn’t help but mewl out loud, your body writhing on top of him as he curled his fingers inside you, abusing your G-spot, as his other hand pulled and palmed your nipples, adding to the intense pleasure that surged through your body. Zeke released his fingers from your twitching cunt, ignoring your huff of disappointment, only to be replaced with a cry of pleasure as he strummed your clit feverishly.

It only took a dozen seconds before the coil in your stomach twisted and turned in excitement. ready to snap, “Z-Zeke, ‘m close!”

“Already? You really did need your brother-in-law to make you feel better, huh?” He teased, his voice as slick as satin in your ear as your hole clenched around nothing.

“Mhm, needed you, Zeke, need you to make me cum!” You whined, lolling your head back on his shoulder, panting like a bitch in heat.

“If my little brother hadn’t broken your little heart tonight, I would make you earn the right to cum on my fingers.” He whispered, his beard tickling your ear as goosebumps rose on your skin, “But, since you’re such a desperate little slut who needs some love, I’ll let you cum just this once.”

Your toes curled as you could almost taste your orgasm, stars forming in your eyes as you neared your finish, “Yes, yes, yes, please, Zeke, please, daddy!”

“Oh, daddy, now, am I?” He chuckled, adding extra pressure to your clit as he rubbed concentrated circles to your throbbing nub, “You dirty girl.”

His filthy words were enough to send you over the edge—Zeke having to hold you against his warm body as you twitched and writhed as your orgasm thrashed you around, your whole body consumed with pleasure as you creamed for him, crying his name out loud.

Zeke didn’t fuck around when it came to a pretty girl cumming for him—before you’d even finished cumming he was pushing his joggers down to his ankles and rolling you onto your back, whimpering and crying for him.

You soon whined in annoyance as his fingers slid back inside your creamy sex, huffing and puffing in disappointment. Pulling on his waistband, you fucked yourself on his fingers, trying to quicken your pace as he scissored his fingers inside you.

“Gotta stretch you out, baby.” He informed you, pressing a kiss to your ankle as he held your legs apart, “Gotta make sure I don’t ruin you.”

“But, what if I want you to?”

Fucking hell.

Zeke could’ve cum from your words as he bit back a groan of excitement, his cock practically begging to be touched.

“Please, Zeke, wanna feel you so bad. Want you to fill me up, better than he can.”

That was enough for Zeke. He pulled his achingly hard cock from his boxers, tip angry and red and leaking pre-cum—he was so fucking horny he couldn’t see straight.

You were in awe at the sight of his dick—so long, and thick, you were sure he was twice the size of Eren. Eren was big, sure, but Zeke was huge. No wonder he wanted to prep you.

“Not regretting turning down my offer to stretch you now, are you?” He teased, prodding his tip at your entrance as he gathered your slick over his length, jerking it over himself, as you ogled at his cock.

You shook your head, your heart thudding in your ears as Zeke pushed his glasses up his nose before pushing your legs further apart, in a V-shape, before pushing his tip past your thick lips. Strings of curses and moans left your lips as he pushed further inside you—his cock moulding your walls to the perfect fit as he bullied his way towards your cervix.

“So fuckin’ tight, shit. Let me in, little one.”

His hips reached your ass as you heaved, your eyes squeezed shut when he bottomed out. Zeke swallowed thickly, his dick twitching as you clenched around him. He’d never felt pussy this tight and wet before—a memory of Eren telling him how good your pussy was filled his head.

Zeke slowly pulled out of you, only his mushroom-headed tip staying inside you as you whined at the loss of fullness, before he snapped his hips forward—filling you back up again with a grunt. He let go of your legs briefly, letting them fall, before you wrapped them around his waist, pushing him further into you using your heel. The sound of your needy whines and cries of his name, along with the slapping of his already tightening balls against your ass filled the room.

“So full of you, Zeke!” You cried, your nails dragging down his back as his tip kissed your cervix with each stroke, earning a groan into your shoulder as he licked and sucked at the skin of your neck, “‘S so fucking big!”

“Yeah, take it, baby, take my big cock like the good sister-in-law you are.” Zeke whined into your neck, licking a stripe up to your ear lobe, “Such a good girl.”

Zeke couldn’t believe he was doing this. The distant thought of his little brother pushed to the back of his mind as you squeezed him so perfectly and moaned his name like your life depended on it.

“Jesus Christ,” He mumbled as he sat up, his pace never faltering as he pushed a large hand on your tummy, groaning at the way he felt his fat cock ramming you through your warm skin, “So fucking little compared to my big cock, huh? Your little pussy’s struggling to take me, isn’t she?”

You nodded frantically—tears pouring from your eyes, now from pure pleasure instead of sadness, “Mhmm, but—aah! but, she loves your f-fucking big dick, daddy!”

You were fucking insatiable—so greedy for cock it made him so unbelievably hard. He panted heavily as he pulled one of your legs over his shoulder, deepening his stroke, upping your moans another octave as you were practically screaming at his pace.

“Fucking needed this little pussy for so long.” He admitted, feeling his orgasm approaching quicker than any other girl he had sex with. Your tight pussy and fucked out face pushing him over the edge.

He reached between your bodies, his fingers crawling down your stomach to your folds, rubbing circles against your clit. Your moans picked up again, throwing your head back against the couch, your nails digging into his back even further, stirring Zeke on.

“‘M so close!” You cried, threading your fingers through his blonde hair as you pressed your hot, sticky from sweat tits against his heaving chest as he abused your sensitive nub.

“I know, baby, come on. Give to me, give it to daddy.” He purred, pressing hot-mouthed pecks to your lips as you whimpered against his mouth.

“Always loved you Zeke—mhm! Always wanted you inside me.” You cried as your second orgasm of the night hit you like a truck, your back arching into him as you came, “Always thought about you when he fucked me!”

Zeke couldn’t hold on any longer—the sound of you admitting you loved him and that you thought of him while Eren fucked you had him spilling himself inside you. He collapsed slightly on top of you, holding himself up slightly on his elbows as his pace slowed down ever so slightly as he groaned loudly, panting like a dog as he pushed his load deeper inside you, ruining your pussy into a sloppy mess just as you asked.

You both panted against one another, the smell of sex clouding the air as you swallowed thickly, a blush forming on your face as the memories of the past half hour flooded your brain.

Zeke was first to move as he slowly slipped his softening cock from your twitching walls, a rim of white, milky mess coating his cock. He watched with a smile as his cum dribbled from your entrance onto his couch—he couldn’t even bring himself to care as his eyes landed on your perfect body; sweaty, hair still wet yet messy, flushed cheeks and a cum-filled pussy all just for him.

“Come on, little one.” He tapped your thigh, eliciting a jump of surprise from your weak body, “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

Zeke fulfilled his older brother-in-law duties as he cleaned your tired body, wiping the sweat and cum from your body as you slumped against him in the bathroom while he pressed loving kisses to any part of your body he could. He dressed you in his attire once again, only managing to get his t-shirt over your body as you refused to lift your aching legs, earning a laugh of pride from Zeke as his ego etched further up the scale.

Knock, knock, knock!

Zeke furrowed his eyebrows from the couch, like he did a few hours prior at your presence at the door as you cuddled up next to him. Zeke, now smirking at the idea that crept up into his brain, looked down at you.

“Would you get the door for me, little one?” He asked, testing your obedience, like his brother once did.

You shot up abruptly, your ass flashing him from underneath the large t-shirt as you edged towards the door, attempting to flatten your frizzy hair as Zeke chuckled at you as you opened the door.

“Hey, bro, I need to talk to you, me and Y/N broke—Y/N?”

Your eyes widened as you stood before your ex-boyfriend, a confused and shocked expression plastered on your face as your half-naked body, messy hair and hickey-covered neck greeted him like a fat slap in the face.

Zeke stood up from the couch, sauntering to the door, “Hey, little brother!” He waved, smiling happily despite the situation at hand, already chuckling at the joke he was about to make, “You know Y/N, right?”

i heart the yeager brothers

[sukudookie]

SNOWING

⋆౨ৎ˚✧ ₊ in which your dealer finds out you’re a girl

ft. Gojo, Geto, Toji, Sukuna, Shiu, Ino

PART 2

[sukudookie]

omg i busted everywhere

Face sitting ft. Sukuna | shy-virgin f!reader ( This came to me in a dream...)

"But it's soo embarrassinggg..." you pouted as your boyfriend sukuna suggested a lustful idea of facesitting, considering you were too scared and unprepared for the real deal.

"c'mon doll 's not embarrasin', I'll go slow I promise" He promised, yeah right as if. Knowing your boyfriend, he wouldn't think about not going in rough, absolute zero patience in that man.

"But— but what if I suffocate you!? And then you'll—" He interrupted you by closing your mouth with a kiss— a kiss so tender and sweet.

"then so be it."

⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧

"s-stop wait— wait!" You barely even sat down, let alone undressed before he immediately started lapping through your clothed pussy. He placed and pushed down his thick tattooed hands on your thighs to stop you from squirming as he licks and laps through your soaked panties.

"kuna! 'm not yet ready—!" He didn't care, Sukuna didn't care what you were spitting out, all he knows was how aroused you are that you're practically drenching his face. Even though you were still clothed, the hot sensation of his tongue licking you up and down made your pussy twitch and clench around nothing.

he already pushed your cute laced panties aside and started circling his tongue around your clit "wait 'kuna it feels weird— mmf—!" you blurted out. "Really? heh— That means I'm doing my job just fine." Sukuna just chuckles.

You could feel you were close but it wasn't enough.

"it's not— hngh- not enough ! need more..."

Sukunas eyes widen, flared up. It wasn't enough? What HE was doing wasn't enough? C'mon it's sukuna we're talkin' about, the pettiest man alive (so petty he tried to kill his nephew oop) so ofc he'll take your word and shove his whole tongue into you.

His hands leaving marks onto your thighs as he pressed you down onto his face so hard you couldn't move. He swirled his tongue all over your insides, hitting and hitting your g-spot and to make things "worse" he pressed you down until his nose was hitting your clit.

The sensation of his nose rubbing against your clit and his tongue deep inside you made feel things you've never felt before. "wait 'kuna 'm so close !"

You could feel him grinning beneath you. "C'mon baby cum for me, I know you can do it.." he barely even finished his sentenced before you finished all over his face.

So that's what face sitting is like huh? Might be your new favorite hobby now.

© mystt-mystt | Do not plagiarize or feed into AI any of my works

[sukudookie]

oh LAWD

۫ ꣑ৎ . satoru being so damn talkative while hes pounding into you.

overstimulation. dirty talk. cocky gojo. power play. rough.

“nghh- oh fuck- looook at youu-” he groans as he thrusts harder, his hips snapping against your ass with a wet slap that echoes in the room.

his huge dick is stretching your tight cunt to its limits, the head brushing your cervix with every brutal push.

“takin’ this big cock so- mmph- so fuckin’ well, baby” he pants one hand gripping your hip, the other tangled in your hair, tugging just enough to make you moan.

his pace is soo intense fucking you like hes making up for every second hes spent away on missions, and his mouth? its running faster than his hips.

“satoru-” you gasp voice breaking as he hits that sweet spot, your pussy clenching around him, slick dripping down your thighs.

“too- ngh- too much-” you manage, but its drowned out by his laugh all bright and unhinged, like hes having the time of his life.

“too much? ohh- fuck yeah- you love it, dont ya?” he teases, voice slurring with pleasure as he leans down, his chest pressed to your back, lips brushing your ear.

“this greedy little pussy’s- nghh- suckin’ me in so tight, like it cant get enough of my dick.” each word is punctuated by a thrust that makes your vision blur, your moans loud and desperate.

hes not just fucking you—hes performing, every word a spark to your already burning nerves. “sa- toru- slow down-” you try, but hes too far gone, his thrusts picking up speed, the bed creaking like it’s about to snap.

“nmph- no way, baby- oh shit- look at that ass bounce-” he groans his hand smacking your cheek lightly enough to make you yelp.

his voice is pure chaos jumping from praise to taunts to straight-up babbling.

“fuck, you’re so- nghh- so goddamn pretty like this, all fucked out on my cock, arent ya? bet you- fuck- bet you’d let me do this all night.”

“cant- cant take it-” you whimper but your hips push back, betraying you, and he laughs again, all cocky and triumphant, like he’s just won the world’s dirtiest lottery.

“cant take it? bullshit oh fuck- you’re made for this, baby,” he growls his voice dropping low, as he pulls your hair, tilting your head back so he can see your face.

his eyes glint wild and unfiltered, and hes still talking, words tumbling out like a flood.

“nghh- look at those eyes- so fuckin’ needy, wantin’ more of my big dick, huh? say it- mmph- say you love it.”

“love it- fuck, satoru-” you choke out and his grin is blinding, his thrusts growing sloppy as he chases his release, his cock throbbing inside you.

“thats it- oh shit- scream it, baby, let the neighbors know-” he moans and you’re done for, your orgasm hitting like a freight train, a sharp, shuddering wave that has you crying his name, your pussy clamping down so hard he curses, loud and broken.

“fuck- fuck- gonna- nghh- gonna fill this tight cunt up-” he groans and he comes hard, spilling hot and deep inside you, his hips stuttering as he thrusts through it, his voice still going, softer now, all gasps and murmurs.

“So good- mmph- so fuckin’ good for me, baby.” he collapses onto you, sweaty and heavy, but he’s still talking, nuzzling your neck.

“tou talk too much,” you mutter and he smirks, all lazy and satisfied, his hands roaming your body like hes already planning round two.

“only ‘cause you love it,” he murmurs winking, and you roll your eyes, pulling him closer, knowing he will never shut up—and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

© written by kaizer | do not copy plagiarize or translate any.

[sukudookie]

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

yes, fake backshots.

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

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

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

"whoops" he shrugged stepping closer to u

the weirdo came in his pants

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

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

a/n: here damn 🙄.

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

[sukudookie]

satoru knows one ‘good girl’ will kill you, and fuck, he’s grinning like he’s won already. you’re kneeling between his thighs, hands fumbling with his belt, cheeks already warm from the way his blue eyes pin you. “nervous, baby?” he teases, voice low, fingers brushing your jaw. you huff, trying to play it cool, but he knows you.

“shut up,” you mutter, freeing his cock, hard and heavy in your hand. he chuckles, leaning back, and you feel the heat of his gaze as you stroke him, slow at first. “that’s it,” he murmurs, and then it comes, smooth and deliberate: “good girl.” your breath hitches, thighs pressing together, heat shooting through you. he notices, smirking wider, his cock twitching in your grip. “oh, you like that, huh?”

you glare, but it’s weak, your body betraying you as you lean forward, tongue flicking over the tip. he groans, hand settling in your hair, not pushing, just guiding. “fuck, just like that,” he says, and when you take him deeper, lips stretching around him, he breathes, “good girl, so fucking good.” you moan around him, the praise making you wet, your rhythm faltering as you squirm. it’s turning him on too—his voice gets rougher, hips shifting, eyes half-lidded.

“look at you, all worked up from a few words,” he taunts, tugging your hair lightly. “keep going, baby, be my good girl.” you suck harder, desperate to please, and he’s losing it, groans turning shaky, cock pulsing in your mouth. “shit, gonna—” he cuts off, cumming hard, spilling down your throat as you swallow.

satoru lifts you to the couch. “good girl deserves a reward,” he teases, kissing down your neck, hands roaming. “gonna eat you out, yeah?” his lips trail lower, and you’re already melting, knowing he’ll make you feel so good.

[sukudookie]

𐔌 𖹭 𝑺𝒂𝒕𝒐𝒓𝒖 𝑮𝒐𝒋𝒐 . ִֶָ๋

ᡴꪫ. smut & oral 𖹭 f. reader ˖ ࣪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 the next scheme?

͝ ⏝𝅄︶ ͝ ⏝ ⊹ ⏝ ͝ ︶𝅄⏝ ͝

[sukudookie]

i busted

❀ In which your milk ducts are clogged and husband!Nanami is more than willing to help 

It’s just to help feed the baby, he says. It’s his duty, he says. He can't stand seeing you wince, struggling to feed, grappling with this side of parenthood all by yourself.  

And that’s all well and good, but it doesn’t really explain why his glossy eyes are rolling back as he suckles on one of your leaking breasts. Glasses carelessly thrown on the bedside table, hair all mussed up, and shirt wrinkled, the Kento cradled on your chest is one you rarely see. He seems driven by some kind of madness and simultaneously, the most in-control he's ever been.

Firm hands grope and squeeze mercilessly, applying circular motions that steal your breath. His calloused fingers tickle the sensitive skin, eliciting shivers shudders and whimpers out of you.

“Ken,” you whine, “you’re suckling too -hah- hard.”

A growl rips through the air when you attempt to squirm out of his hold. “The baby, h-honey. Think about the baby. She needs her mommy ready to go, doesn’t she?”

“But she’s already sleeping.”

He lets out a proud sigh. “She’s such a well-behaved little thing, isn’t she? She got it from you. My girls, so good to me, always so good.”

Pinned to the bed by his firm, muscular body, you can do nothing against the onslaught of sloppy smooches slobbering all over your tits. Sticky milk dribbles out but doesn’t drip too far before his greedy lips slurrrrps! up your sweet essence. 

“You taste so d-delicious, sweetheart, God, I can’t get enough of you.”

Rutting in between your quivering legs, his clothed cock, hard and throbbing, rubs just right against your pussy. Kento doesn’t even realise he’s grinding into you, that your pussy has long grown sloppy and messy under your panties, and that you’ve already orgasmed three times since he’s made it his personal mission to ease your aches.

“Ken! It’s too much, my nipples are too -ngh!- sensitive.”

Shushing you, he presses your breasts together so he can wrap his glossy lips around both nipples at the same time. “It’s alright, my love. You can take it. Just a little more, okay? Just a little more for Kento.”

“You have to s-stop soon.” It's been hours, the clog's long gone, but your husband shows no sign of stopping. You're not even sure he remembers why you're in this position to begin with. 

Obscene sounds reverberate around the room, dizzying you beyond sanity. Wet, sticky, and delirious, you’re helpless against the lapping of his gluttonous tongue on both of your breasts, flicking the oversensitive nipples, baring them to the steam of the air between you. “Five more minutes. P-please. I’ve earned it, haven’t I?”

You nod, feverish and crazed by his ravenous appetite. 

“Oh, thank you, honey. Thank you. You’re too good to me.” 

He has earned it — your husband is so patient, so caring, and diligent. You can put up with five more minutes. That’s what you thought, at least. But when time's up, he shakes off your weak pushes and latches himself onto a poor, abused breast and begs with a mouthful.

“Five m-more minutes, sweetheart, please? Just five more. I’ll fill you up and you -hah- can milk my cock too. Kento’s being fair, isn’t he? Kento’s never let you down, right? Of course not. So, be a good girl and tend to your husband, alright? He's positively starved.”

[sukudookie]

#CREAMED

❥ ceo!nanami’s camgirl gone corporate!

prequel.

you got him good, he’ll admit. hiding your face, occasionally wearing wigs on stream like you’ve dyed your hair, not often bringing up your personal life unless it’s silly, menial anecdotes.

kento would’ve never known it was his pretty little secretary fucking herself on live twice a week and not some random girl who looked similar, had he not ran his annual background check and found your email linked to that porn account.

a rookie mistake, truly.

“dirty girl,” he grunts, one thick hand pressing right into the small of your back, keeping your squirming form bent over his desk. “having a side job like that...”

your already-short skirt is rucked up and over your ass, the fabric of your pantyhose and black panties torn to shreds as kento bullies his cock into you.

and, god, you’re just as soft and warm and tight as he imagined, walls clamping down on him and sucking him in like a black hole. no matter how many times you’ve fucked yourself on your fingers or dildos, it’s nothing in comparison to the feeling of your boss stuffing you full.

just big and girthy — a monster of a cock on a man that you’d thought was average. it stretches you out, forces your insides to mold to the perfect shape of him and leaves you keening, nails biting into the wood of the desk.

“do i not pay enough?” kento delivers a swat to your tender cheek, and you jolt, another glob of slick gushing around his length. “is the work i give you too demanding? are you thinking about quitting?”

as if he’d ever let you do that.

you frantically shake your head, a moan crumbling in your throat with a particularly hard thrust. “n-no, ungh!”

he frowns, tilting his head to the side, and those thin wire glasses slip down the high bridge of his nose. “so what—” smack! “could’ve possibly provoked you—” smack! “to fuck yourself on camera for others to see, hm?” smack!

a sob claws its way free, and every harsh spank against your ass sends a delicious tingle to your messy cunt, one that has your eyes sliding all the way back in your skull.

how can your boss, someone so reserved and cordial, be so... cruel?

but, fuck, if it doesn’t get you soaking wet, and kento knows that too, can hear every lewd, wailing squelch of your pussy. sounds even better in person, he thinks.

“mmngh, i— i’m sorry!” an apology you both know is halfhearted. “pleaseee, sir!”

... sir?

oh, that makes his cock throb, and you can feel every pulse like it’s in time with his heartbeat. that honorific has always sounded so sweet coming from you normally, but now? with your voice hoarse and breathy and whiny?

it’s fucking heaven.

(but he doesn’t miss how you avoided the question.)

kento ups his pace to something brutal, a relentless in-out, in-out, in-out that snatches the air from your lungs and the sense from your mind.

“y-you’ve been fucking with me,” he snarls, low and mean. “acting like some simple corporate girl by day just to slut yourself out online at night. comin’ in here with short skirts that barely pass the dress code a-and low-cut blouses. hah— if i didn’t know any better, darling, i’d say you wanted me to... to find out.”

maybe you did. maybe you knew who anonworkaholic was all along, maybe you used that specific email to make your account on purpose, maybe you came just a little harder during streams because you knew kento was watching, was fisting that heavy cock and cumming right along with you.

so what?

it worked, right?

your lack of a proper response (moans and pants don’t count, after all) tells kento everything he needs to know, along with the helpful noises from your weak hole.

“o-oh, i know she did,” kento coos, and it takes you far too long to realize he’s not talking to you. “know she wanted me to see her on camera, rubbing that needy clit—” his hand slips between the two of you and does just that, swirling quick, decimating circles, “— and whining like she was, mm, in heat.”

your orgasm sneaks up on you, blinding and beautiful, every nerve in your body on fire. your sloppy pussy spasms around his girth, a broken mewl of his name leaving your open, drooling mouth as you drench his desk and whatever paperwork that’s been pushed to the floor.

“f-fuck, nanami!”

his pupils are blown, pitch-black practically engulfing all of that typical soft brown as he watches your body tremble. you sound so pretty, look so pretty, are so pretty.

it’s a miracle kento pulls out in time to spurt thick ropes of cum all over your back with a long groan, lashes fluttering while his balls empty themselves. this is the hardest he’s cum in a while, but it’s like they say: nothing compares to the real thing.

everything in his office is a mess — documents ruined, desk slick and marked by your nails, chair knocked onto the ground, paperweight shattered. yet he grabs some tissues and cleans you up, wiping his seed from your skin and smoothing your skirt back down before he leans into your ear.

“invite me on your stream next time, mm? won’t tell a soul.”

after all, that’s both of your dirty secrets now.

[sukudookie]

lawdddddd

Summary: In which Chiropractor!Toji meets a very pretty client that he just can't help but want to loosen up a little more than usual. Warnings: porn with little plot, smut, 18+, mdni, penetrative sex, cunnilingus, fingering, dub con?, stomach bulge, doggy, wall sex, size kink, dirty talk, Toji talking you through it, lots of praise, personification of the pussay, f!reader, brief spanking, not proofread Word Count: 2.5k

“Alright, I’m gonna put my right hand on your hips and my left on your shoulder. You don’t need to do a thing; just give in to me, yeah?”

Chiropractor!Toji talks you through it. He has to. A) for liability issues, B) to put his clients at ease, C) because he likes the sound of his voice, and D) he likes the blush on his client’s cheeks, the nervous giggling, the shallow breathing, and the shy eyes. 

Chiropractor!Toji knows how he looks: big, tall, muscular and with a scar on his lips. He puts men on edge, threatening their masculinity and hurting their egos. To women, he’s forbidden fruit, that man they giggle to all their friends about, and when they book another appointment, they’re sure to specify that it has to be with him. 

Of course, he doesn’t mind. The ladies tip well, and they generally smell better than the guys. Being lusted over is great and all, but very rarely does he get a woman that actually gets his cock going. 

That’s why, when you come in today, he’s smirking, rolling his sleeves up, and making a mental note to put on a damn good show. 

Chiropractor!Toji listens to the moan that leaves your pretty lips when he bends your hips just right, forcing out a nice, sharp crack and alleviating tension you didn’t even realise you had in your spine. His large hands dig into the plush of your thighs, long digits sure to leave his imprints so you’ll remember him later. They’re dangerously close to the apex of your thighs, and he can see the way you press those legs together as if you’re painfully aware of it. 

Chiropractor!Toji brushes his lips against the shell of your ear. “Hold on tight, ’s gonna hurt a little but you can take it.”

You whimper when he pulls an arm back just as he pushes your shoulder blade forward, fixing the ache that had been there for weeks from poor sleeping habits. Immediately, you feel lighter, tingling from top to bottom from the firm but gentle hands he lays on you. 

“Y’r doing great, sweets,” he assures you. “Y’r body’s behaving real good for me.”

The room’s getting hotter and smaller, and you’re aware of every move he makes, every shuffle, every graze of his touch down your spine, your arms, your thighs. He’s bending you into all sorts of different shapes and positions, pushing your body to its limits, making you feel the soreness, the burn, before he lets you feel the relief of release. 

“Ya been looking at a screen for hours every day, haven’t ya? Yeah, I can tell. Y’r all tense and tight. God, doll, you’re way too tight. Good thing you came in today —breathe out for me one, two, three ngh! good girl— this woulda been bothering you a while, huh?”

Breathless and overheating, you smile. “Y-yeah. Sorry. I have an —oh! fuck that feels good— o-office job, so I’m always slumped at my desk.”

Chiropractor!Toji tuts, still working through the hard balls of tension in your back. “Tsk, that just won’t do. A body like this needs to be taken care of. Let me loosen you up, yeah? Let me work my magic and get all those knots out for you.”

Chiropractor!Toji has you all limp like a deflated balloon in no time. You’re just about to sit up and tip him for his quality work when you see him standing over you with a dangerous glint in his eyes. A heavy hand slides up the inside of your thigh through your leggings, thumb tickling the seam right against your clothed pussy. 

His hand is hot, and it's practically scalding with the way he's teasing your body. It's wrong, and you both know you're crossing a line, but the way he moves, smiles, and presses in just right has you growing lightheaded and suddenly, logic, reason, and shame fly out the window. 

“Y’know," he begins, head tilting to eye you under the clinical white light, "I offer a special service for tougher cases like you. You up for it?”

When you nod eagerly, you only have half a second to ponder whether you’re making a wise decision before you’re being wrangled onto your knees on the bench, leggings and panties yanked down your thighs, and a face stuffed in your pussy. 

“You been soaked this entire time? Dirty girl,” he growls into your leaking hole before he slurps your juices up, tongue slithering against your prominent clit, which pulses with your desire. Sucking that button with pressure that makes your back arch, he pushes two thick fingers inside, curling at the perfect time to make you cream all over his face. “God, you smell so damn good, ma. K-knew you would. Tastes even better too. ’s my lucky day a sexy client like you walked in, no?”

Pink tongue traces your slit, tip prodding at your clit. You're coating his tastebud, and his eyes roll back, thick cock weighing heavy. Palming his length to alleviate the ache there, he sucks and slurps to bring you to your orgasm quicker, so he can fuck another one out of you faster. 

Wailing his name and attempting to crawl away from the overwhelming pleasure emanating from your swollen cunt, you beg, “Wait! Toji, ah, too much! It’s too much, please!”

SMACK! 

Burning heat radiates on your left asscheek, tingling with the slap he laid there. Just as quickly, he sweetly soothes the skin in a way only he could. The pain had you squeezing down on his fingers, and he growled at the tantalising tightness you teased him with. 

Chiropractor!Toji warns, “Y’r not going anywhere, doll. Still haven’t worked out the knots inside this sloppy pussy so behave.”

He’s massaging your gummy walls, bullying that soft spot inside you and, like a hawk, watches the drops of your wetness coat the leather surface you’re on. Groping the smooth globe of your ass, he assures you, “Y’r doing great. Y’r doing so great. Yeah, that’s it, ride my face. Well done.”

"Oh shit, Toji, fuck, fuck, fuckkkkk!"

Chiropractor!Toji expertly draws out your orgasm with a thumb rubbing tight circles against your clit and a tongue shoved inside your cunt, scarred lip twitching at the deeply satisfied sounds coming out of both ends of your body. Laying a final peck on your twitching clit, he kneels behind you and shoves his pants down. 

A sigh leaves his shiny lips, head dizzy with the satisfying squeeze of his base and balls. God, he can't wait to feel your warm walls, wet and pleated, hug him, milking him for all he's worth. 

Looking behind you, you’re met with the godly sight of his chiselled torso, shiny with a thin layer of sweat, well-defined abs, sharp v-line, and dangerously delicious-looking treasure trail. He frees his cock, and the long, girthy thing leaks like crazy, all red and swollen at the head. A huge pair of balls accompany it, swinging when the man adjusts himself behind you, sending a cocky wink your way. 

“I know that look on y’r face. You thinking I’m too big, aren’t ya? Don’t worry y'r pretty little head, doll. Toji here’s gonna make it fit. Remember what I taught you at the start: breathe deep, in and out, and let your body relax. Y’r in good hands.”

He wraps it in a condom, gives it a tug or two, and then he’s lining up his cock and entering you. The stretch stings. Truly massive, your pussy’s being stretched to its limits as he thrusts his way in, forcing your gummy walls to accommodate his shape, moulding and shaping you to fit him perfectly. 

Chiropractor!Toji’s calloused hand climbs up your chest from under your shirt and cups a tit, squeezing and pinching like he’s doing a health check. “Got a real nice body, ma. Good for ya. Alright, I’m almost all in. Uh uh, don’t be complaining. You know, I wouldn’t give you m-more than you could handle, so inhale for me, yep, three, two, one, and exhale, good girl. Hnghhh, yeah, t-there you go. All in.”

Chiropractor!Toji doesn’t give you any warning before he’s pummelling inside you like your pussy owes him money. An unforgiving hand pushes down your back, creating the perfect arch so he can reach even deeper, and he rewards you with slow grind, really letting you feel the way his tip is hitting a delectable spot and making you see stars. 

His balls kiss your clit with just how closely pressed he is, and you're suffocating on his length, choking on it, and you find yourself drooling, pushing back into him. 

Then, he's thrusting like there’s no tomorrow again. 

“Ah, wait, Toji! You’re being too rough, I’m moving! Oh oh oh, fuckkkkk, yesss, harder!”

You’re being shoved forward, forced to crawl on all fours, with every rough barrage he forces inside, slipping and sliding with your brimming wetness and the steam on the leather. Deafened to your complaints, he smacks smacks smacks into you. 

The crowned tip of his giant cockhead is pulled all the way to the first ring of tight muscle at your entrance, greedy walls squeezing around nothing for just a second, and when you're panting, arms wobbling, he pushes all the way back in, practically kissing your cervix. 

“Ha, that’s it, take it like a pro, atta girl. Fuck, don’t clamp down on me -ngh- like that.”

In a wet blink, your hands are holding up your body from the floor, hips lifted by his strong hands as he continues to fuck you all while you’re upside down. He doesn’t seem to care, too busy watching your swollen lips swallow his thick length, desperate to gobble him up. "Look at 'er. Nasty thing, ain't she? Spitting and -hah fuck- d-drooling all over me. Pretty -shit so fucking tight, loosen up baby, there you go- p-pretty thing."

Chiropractor!Toji grows tired of your pathetic attempts to crawl away. Tutting, he spins you around with just one hand, carrying you up and letting all that blood flow right back down until you're deliriously lightheaded and in his arms. "Alright, alright, big streeetch for me, yeah there you go."

He shoves you against the wall, leggings all the way off now, and you have no idea where and when. 

Filling up your entire view, with strands of hair stuck to his forehead, beads of sweat running down his temple, and the lip he’s biting to keep from grunting too loud. The visual attack is too much, and you moan. “Gotta keep quiet, doll. Walls aren’t thin, but they ain’t soundproof either. C’mere.”

He’s covering your mouth with his, swallowing your whimpers and whinings, distracting you with his messy kissing and crude sucking. Arms wrapped around his thick neck, you can do nothing but cling to him and try to hold on while he shoves his length back inside in one smooth thrust, squelching much louder than your heavy pants now.

“Y’r still too tense; we gotta work on this mess, don’t we?” He thumbs your clit once more, licking a long and wet stripe up your neck. “Yeah, bounce on my cock, sweet thing. Ha, y’r pretty damn flexible, aren’t ya?”

Chiropractor!Toji thinks it’s absolutely hilarious the way you’re crossed-eyed, drooling and digging your nails into his back. It’s all the signs he’s looking for to know he’s working you in good. After all, when you’ve gotten a couple more orgasms out of this, he wants you to feel so fucked out that you’re practically dragging yourself out with noodles for legs. 

Swiping a tongue across his scar, he eyes the bulge he's fucking into you. Pressing down hard, he grunts when you clamp down so damn tight it knocks the wind out of his lungs. "Look how tiny you are. Y'r damn head's smaller than my bicep. Could snuff the light out of you right here, and you'd thank me, wouldn't ya?"

"Yes, God, Toji, you're soooo big. Fuck, more. Please!"

Chiropractor!Toji doubles his speed, making sure to angle his hips perfectly. When you throw your head back, he sucks at a sensitive spot on your neck, indulging in your sweet scent and heat.

Your eyes are wide open and a permanent O hangs your jaw low. “Oh! Toji, fuck, I’m gonna -ah ah, yes, right there- cum!”

“Go on, then. Show me how good I’m making you feel. Yeah, that’s it. Just like that. Ah, shit, so fucking tight, fuck!”

Chiropractor!Toji grunts when your pussy clamps down on him in irregular pulses, threatening to squeeze all his stored-up cum right out with you. You’re babbling expressions of gratitude, crying about how amazing his cock is, how full you feel, and how hot, hard, and big his body is. 

Pretty little thing has a size kink, clearly. 

"That looked like a good one, ha. Feel better? Hmm? Feel that tightness in your stomach go?"

It's a shame, he thinks, that his cum isn't painting your walls white; instead, it's pooling in the condom. Next time, maybe.

Chiropractor!Toji wrings out three more orgasms from you with enough time to spare in your session for final touch-ups. 

You’re a very satisfied customer, still riding the high of his magical cock with glossy eyes and lips, when he’s massaging any and every last remaining knot in your shoulders —clothes fitted right back on your body and sweat wiped from your skin with a towel he had prepared— before he sends you off on your way so he can clean up in time for his next client. 

“Ya did good, kid. Be sure to come back in a couple of weeks, alright? Your body’s a temple and it needs regular maintenance.”

Smiling, you hand him a wad of cash as a tip so large he whistles and grins at you. “Thank you for your help, Toji. Really. I feel so much lighter now.”

“Don’t mention it. Better not be hitting up any other chiropractors, while you’re away too. Trust me, nobody’s gonna take care of you like I do.”

A visit to Chiropractor!Toji turns from every couple weeks to every week, and soon you were seeing him every day — in his studio, in his car, his place, yours, and all over the goddamn city. 

He has a way of making you need his touch like a drug, like if you didn’t get a good pounding from him, you weren’t going to be able to sleep well at all, and you’ll be a zombie at work the next day. So, you don’t take that chance. You take him like a pill every day.

Though taking care of you has added a lot to his plate, he’s not complaining. Just like he said, women tip well. 

And you’re no exception. 

That's all it was. He's the maintenance guy who loosens all the knots your stressful life creates, and you're the woman he can count on for a generous tip. 

Neither of you mention the fact that you haven’t paid for his services for weeks now nor that he brings you flowers regularly, kisses your lips before he cums, and no longer offers his ‘special service’ to anyone else. 

The only happy ending Chiropractor!Toji's handing out now is the one he shares with you. 

[sukudookie]

my jaw is on the groundddd urghhh

told the nerd to film it and he exported inside me instead!

pairing — tech nerd!gojo x fem reader

synopsis : you crushed on him for months, watched him dodge every advance like you were malware. so you dressed up a little, played a little dumber—and now he’s got you spread out in pixels and moaning in surround sound. worst part? you kinda want him to do it again.

tags/cw — masturbation, degradation, praise kink, dacryphilia, marking, overstimulation, explicit language, filming, voyeurism, fingering, oral (f receiving), unprotected sex, creampie, squirting, rough sex, dirty talk, power dynamics, obsession, lingerie, virgin weeb satoru, questionable but effective way of seducing ur crush. 13k wc, 18+ only, minors DNI.

a/n : plz don't nitpick about how a fashion vlog shouldn't be like that bc that's the point. toru doesn't know the difference because all he watches is 2d girls

the compressor’s peaking again.

satoru squints at the waveform, drags the threshold down two decibels, then listens back to the same three-second clip of voiceover for the tenth time. it’s a podcast intro, some wannabe influencer droning about mindfulness. he doesn’t care. he’s just here to make it sound less like it was recorded in a bathroom.

“sounds like shit,” he mutters, even though it’s clean. crisp. perfectly balanced.

it doesn’t feel right. nothing ever does. he tweaks the bitrate, checks the export codec, wonders if he should build a custom ffmpeg preset. maybe write a quick script to batch clean all future files—something to shave off a few milliseconds of his life. his fingers hover over the keyboard, itching for efficiency, for control.

ping.

discord overlay glows in the corner of his ultrawide monitor, a neon-green intrusion on his meticulously organized desktop. he freezes. the notification pulses like a heartbeat.

you.

he stares at it, lets it sit there like it’s radioactive. doesn’t even remember keeping you added. your username—something stupid with a heart emoji—feels like a splinter under his skin. he should’ve purged his contacts months ago, but here you are, slipping through the cracks of his digital fortress.

hey. remember when u edited our project? can u help me trim some vids pls…

his jaw tightens. of course you’d ask now, at 2 a.m., when he’s neck-deep in audio plugins and caffeine. his fingers hover over the keyboard, poised to dismiss you.

“no,” he types, then erases it.

“what kind of vids,” he tries, but deletes that too. too eager. too curious.

after a solid twenty-five seconds of overthinking, he finally sends:

i guess. send what you have.

he leans back in his chair, the leather creaking under his weight. his room is a cave of glowing screens and scattered energy drink cans, the hum of his overclocked pc the only sound besides his own shallow breathing. he shouldn’t care. you’re just another art student, another distraction. but his pulse betrays him, thudding a little too hard in his throat.

flashback.exe

he hated group projects. despised them. a bunch of useless art students in overpriced streetwear, trying to make films with no understanding of pacing or continuity.

they’d fumble with premiere pro like it was rocket science, leaving him to clean up their shaky cuts and mismatched audio tracks. he always ended up doing 90% of the work, and he preferred it that way. control was his god, and he worshipped it.

but you were different.

not better. just... a different kind of stupid.

you showed up late to the editing suite, glitter pens spilling out of your bag, heart stickers plastered on your water bottle like a middle schooler’s diary. you called the lav mic a “weird nipple thing” and giggled when he glared at you. once, you spilled your lip gloss on the soundboard, leaving a sticky pink smear he had to scrub off with isopropyl alcohol. another time, you asked if uploading to drive made your data heavier, and he almost threw you out.

but.

you let him do whatever he wanted.

you didn’t hover or micromanage. you just sat there, cross-legged on a swivel chair, watching him cut scenes like it was magic. you leaned over his shoulder, close enough that he could feel the warmth of your breath, your wide eyes reflecting the glow of the timeline.

“whoa... you made it feel like a real movie,” you whispered, like he’d just parted the red sea.

you smelled like something artificial. strawberries, maybe, or some overpriced body mist from a mall kiosk. your hair was always tied with a ribbon—pink, blue, sometimes yellow, always obnoxiously bright.

he didn’t care.

he told himself he didn’t.

but he remembered. every fucking detail.

the zip file lands in his downloads with an obnoxious ka-chunk, snapping him out of the memory. he doesn’t rush. just opens it like it’s any other favor, like his heart isn’t clawing at his ribcage. the folder name stares back at him: “pls help <3”

typical.

he clicks it open, expecting shaky iphone clips of cafes and shopping hauls. maybe some cringe tiktok dance you think is cute. he’s ready to hate it, to scoff at your lack of framing or shitty lighting.

but then—

you appear on screen.

not just appear. you perform.

you’re biting your lip, laughing into the lens like it’s your lover. wearing something stupidly short—a skirt that barely qualifies as fabric, hugging your thighs like it’s painted on. you spin around in front of your mirror, the camera catching every angle, every curve, like you’re being filmed for someone else. someone who’d appreciate it.

you pose. cock your head. giggle. the sound is loud, breathy, smiling when you speak. “do you think this is too short?” you ask, tugging the hem of your skirt, your fingers lingering just a second too long.

he blinks.

backs the video up three seconds.

watches again.

your laugh echoes through his headphones, a little distorted, a little too close. he pretends he’s checking the audio, tells himself it’s for sync, that he’s just doing his job. but his eyes are glued to the screen, to the way your skirt rides up as you twirl, to the flash of skin that makes his breath catch.

he watches again.

his mouth is dry, his tongue heavy against his teeth. your skirt flips up higher this time, and you gasp—like you’re surprised, like you didn’t mean to show that much. but you don’t stop filming. don’t cover up. just... laugh, a sound that curls around his spine and sinks into his gut.

he doesn’t even realize his hand is moving until it’s there, slipping under the waistband of his sweatpants. his fingers brush against himself, and he hisses, the contact sharp and sudden. he’s already half-hard, his body betraying him before his brain can catch up. the room feels too warm, the hum of his pc too loud, but he doesn’t care. he can’t care.

he rewinds the clip again, pauses on the frame where you’re mid-spin, your skirt flared just enough to show the curve of your ass. his hand wraps around his cock, slow at first, tentative, like he’s testing how far he’ll let himself go. the texture of his own skin is rough, familiar, but it’s not enough. not when it’s you on the screen, laughing like you know he’s watching, like you’re daring him to lose control.

he strokes himself, a tight, deliberate rhythm, his thumb brushing over the tip where he’s already leaking. the sensation jolts him, makes his hips twitch in the chair.

he imagines it’s your hand, your fingers—small, soft, probably clumsy, but eager. he pictures you kneeling between his legs, looking up at him with those wide eyes, your lips parted like they are in the video, glossy and pink and begging to be kissed. or more.

the video plays on. you’re bending over now, adjusting your hair in the mirror, your skirt riding up to expose the thin strip of your underwear. he groans, low and guttural, his hand moving faster.

the sound of your voice—teasing, playful—fills his headphones, and he closes his eyes for a moment, letting it wash over him. “do you think this is too short?” you say again, and he wants to answer, wants to growl that it’s perfect, that you’re perfect, that he’d rip it off you if he could.

his grip tightens, his strokes growing erratic. he’s not gentle with himself—never is. it’s all pressure and friction, chasing the edge as fast as he can.

his free hand fumbles with the mouse, scrubbing the timeline back to the moment you gasp, to the split-second flash of your thighs. he loops it, the clip stuttering in time with his breathing, with the slick sound of his hand working himself over. his cock throbs, hot and heavy, and he imagines it’s you—your warmth, your wetness, the way you’d probably whimper if he touched you like this.

he’s close. too close.

his vision blurs at the edges, his pulse hammering in his ears. he shouldn’t be doing this, shouldn’t be jerking off to your stupid video like some desperate creep, but the shame only makes it worse, makes it sharper.

he pictures you catching him, walking in right now, seeing him with his pants down and his hand on his dick. would you laugh? would you blush? would you get on your knees and—

he comes with a choked gasp, his hips bucking up into his hand. it’s messy, spilling over his fingers, onto the hem of his shirt. his chest heaves, his head tilting back against the chair as the aftershocks ripple through him. your laugh loops in his headphones, oblivious to the wreck he’s become.

it’s filthy. it’s desperate.

ten minutes later, he’s cleaned himself up, his hands steady again as he trims the file like a good little editor. he cuts out the shaky parts, stabilizes the footage, adjusts the audio so your voice doesn’t clip. it’s clinical now, professional, like he didn’t just fall apart to the sight of you. he names it something sterile: “vlog_cut_1.mov.”

he exports it twice. once normally, for you. once... not. the second version is raw, unedited, every twirl and giggle preserved in crisp 4k. it gets copied to a different folder, buried in a directory labeled “shader_study_2022.” he tells himself it’s in case you need a re-edit. a backup. that’s all.

when you text back:

thank u!! lol i owe uuu :3

he stares at the message, his thumb hovering over the keyboard. his heart’s still racing, a faint tremor in his fingers.

he types “anytime :)” and erases it. sends:

np.

what he doesn’t say: he rewatched the part where you bend over six times. he had his dick in his hand by the second loop. he renamed the close-up to “test_render_asscloseup.mov” and hid it behind three layers of subfolders.

he doesn’t even like tiktok girls.

he’s into 2d, girls with big swords and bigger tits, drawn in sharp lines and impossible proportions. he once bought a dakimakura because the shipping came with a free pin, and it’s still shoved in his closet, one corner stained from a late-night mistake. real girls are messy, unpredictable, too much work. but now?

he’s thinking about the way your laugh dipped when you turned around, the way it caught in your throat like you were nervous. the way you looked into the lens like you knew someone was watching.

someone like him.

next day, you walk in like a fucking weapon.

pink fuzzy shrug, low-rise jeans that sit dangerously low on your hips, a sliver of stomach peeking out like it’s 2004. your hair’s up in a ribbon—pink, of course, swaying as you move. you’re all glitter and confidence, a walking distraction in a lecture hall full of tired students and flickering projectors.

he scoffs under his breath. “tacky.”

but his heart’s pounding, a traitor in his chest. his fingers twitch against the edge of his laptop, betraying the calm he’s trying to project. you slide into the seat two rows ahead and twist around, grinning like a cat, like you know something he doesn’t.

your eyes catch his for a split second, bright and teasing, and he forces himself to look away.

he opens his laptop, types random garbage into a terminal window—some half-baked python script he doesn’t even care about. he runs a fake compile just to feel busy, to drown out the way his blood is rushing too fast.

you lean over to whisper to the girl next to you, your laugh spilling out, loud and careless. your hair tosses, and he swears he catches the scent of your perfume drifting past in invisible waves. saccharine, overwhelming, like strawberries dipped in sugar syrup.

his brain short-circuits. he snaps his headphones on, the cord tangling in his haste. not to listen to music. not to block you out.

to replay your giggle.

he’d isolated the audio last night, cleaned it up with a high-pass filter, boosted the mids to make it crystal clear. exported it as a high-quality .wav, tucked it into a folder labeled “audio_ref.” he tells himself it’s for study, just good reference for future projects. but he loops it now, the sound of your laugh layered over faint lo-fi static he added for texture. it’s you, distilled into a three-second clip, filling his skull.

he closes his eyes and pretends you’re saying his name. satoru, you giggle, breathy and soft, like you’re leaning over his shoulder again, watching him work. satoru, you made it feel so real.

the lecture drones on, but he’s not listening. he’s lost in the rhythm of your voice, the way it dips and rises, the way it makes his skin feel too tight. he shifts in his seat, adjusts his hoodie, tries to ignore the heat pooling in his gut. he’s not supposed to want this. not supposed to want you.

but he does.

the thing about addiction is that it never announces itself.

no dramatic thunderclap. no internal monologue screaming, ah yes, now i am a pervert. it’s quiet. insidious. it sinks in like static, crackling at the edges of satoru’s brain until he’s not sure where his old self ends and this new, wretched version begins.

it’s not like he’s not already a pervert who gets off from pixels. this simply wasn’t his brand of perversion.

that night, he stayed up longer than he should’ve. stared at code for so long his ide crashed, the screen flickering to black as if it knew he was wasting his time. not that he got anything done. 

he just kept switching tabs—your final cut in vlc, some useless bash script in vscode he pretended to care about, then back to your video, the timeline frozen on that twirl, that gasp. his fingers shook when he closed the laptop, but sleep never came.

and now it’s the next day. mid-afternoon. the sun is doing that thing where it turns his apartment into a blinding box of heat and regret. his ac hums like an old man, wheezing against the sticky air. he’s sprawled in his chair, one leg slung over the armrest, staring at the ceiling fan like it might tell him how to stop.

ping.

another discord notification. he doesn’t even flinch this time. your username glows, and the filename attached makes his stomach do a weird little roll: “try-on2_raw.mov”. his eyes linger on the heart emoji you’ve tacked onto the message, like it’s a personal invitation.

hiii! ty for the last edit, ur a lifesaver <3 can u check and trim this one too? i’m trying smth new but idk if it works… lmk what u think pls!!

he clicks download. no hesitation. doesn’t even pretend to care anymore.

the file loads into his editing software like second nature, the premiere pro interface blooming across his screen. muscle memory. routine.

he’s done this a hundred times—except never like this, never with his pulse hammering in his throat and his mouth already dry.

the video starts the same way as the last—handheld, messy lighting, your voice trailing in from offscreen as you fiddle with the camera angle. no mic, of course not. just raw cam audio, unpolished, real, every breath and rustle amplified. he leans closer, like proximity to the screen will make it less dangerous.

“okay—wait, hold on,” you mutter, slightly out of breath. there’s a plastic rustle, fabric scraping skin, the light jingle of a zipper. he catches the sound of your nails tapping the digicam accidentally, a faint clack-clack that makes him picture your fingers, probably painted some ridiculous color, fumbling in that endearing way you do. 

“ugh… come on…” your voice drops, a frustrated huff, low and throaty. “mm—sorry! this one’s hard to pull up.”

then—zipper slides. metal on fabric, slow and deliberate, like it’s teasing him on purpose. you let out a sigh, long, slow, just a little too satisfied, like you’re savoring the release of pressure. the sound coils in his gut, tight and hot.

he freezes.

his mouse stays hovering over the playhead, the cursor trembling slightly. blood is already rushing south, his sweatpants tightening in a way he can’t ignore. his breath catches, shallow and sharp, and the worst part?

you giggle.

“probably got the wrong size,” you say, tugging the dress up higher. the hem catches on your thighs, rising indecently, the fabric clinging to your skin like it’s reluctant to let go. “don’t tell anyone i didn’t try it on in-store first.”

he swallows nothing. jaw tight. the room suddenly feels suffocating, the ac’s hum drowned out by the thud of his own pulse. your lip catches between your teeth, a flash of white against pink gloss, and the camera catches that too, lingers on it like it knows what it’s doing.

you glance at the lens, eyes half-lidded, like you’re waiting for approval, like you’re asking him directly—do you like this?

satoru’s fingers twitch.

one hand stays on the mouse, scrubbing the timeline back three seconds to hear that sigh again. the other hand moves before he can stop it, slipping under his waistband, brushing against the heat of his skin. he’s already hard, achingly so, the kind of hard that makes his head swim.

he wraps his fingers around himself, slow at first, testing, like he’s not sure he’s really doing this again. but the sound of your voice—breathy, teasing—loops in his headphones, and he’s gone.

he strokes himself, deliberate and tight, his grip almost punishing. the video plays on, and you’re stepping into frame now, the dress half-zipped, hugging your curves in a way that makes his throat burn. your thighs shift as you adjust the hem, and he imagines them under his hands, soft and warm, parting just for him.

his thumb swipes over the tip of his cock, slick with precum, and he groans, low and broken, the sound swallowed by the hum of his pc. he pictures your fingers instead, clumsy but eager, your nails grazing his skin as you try to keep up with his rhythm.

he’d guide you, show you how he likes it—fast, rough, no mercy.

you sigh again, and he speeds up, his hand moving in time with the rise and fall of your voice. “this one’s kinda tight,” you murmur, tugging at the neckline, and the fabric stretches, exposing the swell of your chest.

he wants to rip it off, wants to hear you gasp for real, not for the camera but for him. his strokes grow erratic, desperate, the slick sound of his hand filling the room, obscene and unstoppable.

he scrubs the timeline back again, pauses on the frame where your dress slips, where your underwear peeks out—a thin, lacy thing that makes his vision blur. he imagines pulling it aside, imagines the heat of you, the way you’d whimper if he pressed himself inside.

he’s close, too close, his hips twitching up into his hand. the video loops your giggle, that satisfied sigh, and he’s drowning in it, in you.

he pictures you catching him like this, walking into his apartment right now, seeing him with his pants down and his cock in his hand, flushed and leaking. would you laugh? would you blush? would you drop to your knees and let him finish on your lips, glossy and perfect and—

he comes with a muted groan, his head tipping back, eyes screwed shut as his release spills over his fingers, hot and messy. his breath shakes, a ragged exhale that leaves him hollow. the aftershocks pulse through him, and he slumps in his chair, the video still playing, your voice oblivious to the wreckage you’ve caused.

he pauses the frame. your mouth is mid-word, forming the shape of “oops,” lips parted just enough to make his chest ache. he wipes his hand on a paper towel from his desk, crumpled and stained from earlier sins. doesn’t look at himself. doesn’t think.

exports the file without touching a thing. names it “final_edit.mov.” then saves another copy, the raw footage, every sigh and rustle preserved. he names it “jesusfuckingchrist.mp4” and buries it in a folder labeled “misc_ref.”

he tries to normalize it.

“it’s just grading,” he mutters the next time he opens the project, the lie sour on his tongue. “just adjusting white balance.” but the playback bar hasn’t moved from your thighs. he doesn’t touch the colors. not really.

he zooms in under the excuse of checking “grain smoothing,” but it’s just your lip, caught between your teeth, your breath clipped at the edges like you’re holding back.

he tells himself he’s just learning.

every artist has their muse, right? except now he edits to your audio. he used to play podcasts, background noise to keep his brain from spiraling.

now? your breathing is layered into the timeline, a track he’s labeled “vox_ref.” he loops your laugh in reverse, lets it pan from left to right like it’s some surround sound experience.

“this is practice,” he whispers, dragging eq curves around nonsense, boosting the highs until your voice is sharp and intimate. “i’m experimenting with filters.”

right. filters. filters until your voice sounds like it’s right by his ear, like you’re whispering in bed, your breath warm against his skin. he plays a clip of you saying “do you like this one?” over and over, the words detached from context.

he doesn’t even care what you’re referring to anymore. he’s got that part memorized, the way your voice dips, soft and unsure, like you’re asking him to love you.

the next class is worse.

you walk past him in that fuzzy pink shrug thing, one sleeve slipping off your shoulder, and it’s like a bomb goes off in his chest. the fabric clings to you, soft and teasing, and he wants to grab it, pull it down, see how much skin you’ll let him have.

you lean down to plug your charger in, your jeans riding low—too low, the kind of low that makes him wonder how they’re even allowed on campus. he catches a glimpse of your underwear, a flash of lace, and his brain whites out.

he glares at his laptop, scoffs under his breath. “that outfit’s… desperate.” the word feels like a blade, sharp and mean, but it’s all he’s got to keep you at a distance.

your head tilts, innocent, eyes wide like you’re genuinely curious. “you think so?” you say it like you mean it, like you don’t already know the answer, like you haven’t watched your own footage and seen what he’s seen.

he shrugs, keeps scowling, doesn’t look at you. his fingers grip the edge of his laptop too hard, knuckles white. behind the screen, he’s got a paused frame of you licking lip gloss off your thumb, minimized in the corner. it’s been open since he got here.

his file structure is disintegrating. he used to name things with logic—timestamps, project codes, version numbers. now his desktop looks like a manifesto, a digital shrine to his unraveling. “vlog_tryon_final.mov.” “edit_3alt.mp4.” “fuckmeagain_laughcut.mov.” there’s a folder called “NOT work (unless)” that he doesn’t even open anymore, too afraid of what he’ll find.

he tries to draw a line, but it’s blurry. always blurry. he doesn’t know where the edit ends and obsession begins. when he dreams, he dreams about zippers—except they’re not zipzers. they’re your legs, parting slow and deliberate, your breath hitching as he pulls you closer.

a new text lights up his screen:

 hey! idk if the last one looks good… should i redo it? it felt kinda awkward lol sorry T_T

you sound insecure, unsure, your words dripping with that self-conscious charm that makes his chest hurt. he stares at the message, his thumb hovering over the keyboard, his mind spiraling.

you don’t know, do you? you don’t know what you’re doing to him, how your voice alone is enough to make him hard again.

he types:

looks clean. don’t worry about it.

satoru watches the word clean sit there like a fucking lie. his dick twitches, traitor that it is.

he hates himself.

but he opens the raw file again. scrubs through, frame by frame, until he finds that timestamp—where you moan, soft and accidental, like you didn’t mean to let it slip. he watches it, his headphones sealing him in with the sound of you. he exports that single second, names it “moan_finalgodhelpme.mp4,” and tucks it away like a secret he’ll never confess.

the timeline sits open, your frozen frame staring back at him. he doesn’t close it. doesn’t want to.

it starts with static in his skull.

not the loud, electric kind that chokes you up or begs to be noticed. it’s quiet. a whir, like an old fan that never shuts off, humming behind his thoughts. when satoru drags his mouse across the screen and sees your name still on the folder, it buzzes—faint, familiar, a sickness with your scent.

he changes the name from “NOT work (unless)” to “ARCHIVE_21,” moves it to a different directory, pretends it’s work, or dead, or both. but the static doesn’t stop. it clings, sticky and warm, like your laugh looping in his headphones.

it doesn’t help.

not when he dreams in highlighter gloss and those half-bitten whines you make when stretching, your body arching just so. not when he wakes up rutting into damp sheets, mouthing your name like a damn prayer, his hips jerking against nothing. the shame burns, but it’s not enough to make him stop.

satoru’s trying.

really.

he takes up freelance gigs, edits wedding footage for some guy he hasn’t spoken to since second year. overlays cheesy filters, mutes the groom’s ugly laugh, syncs the vows to some overused acoustic track. it’s clean. respectable. sterile enough to make him itch, like he’s wearing someone else’s skin. but the folder’s still there, buried in his drive like it knows he’ll come back.

2:03 a.m.

his inbox pings, a sharp sound that cuts through the drone of his pc fans. your name lights up the screen, and his chest tightens before he even reads the message.

hiii satoru!! sorry for the late send, been sooo busy <3 can u take a look at this haul vid? i tried smth spicy but idk if it’s too much… lmk what u think pretty pls!!

march haul (raw).mp4

he knows he shouldn’t. there’s no logical reason, no business context, just the weight of your words—spicy, pretty pls—sinking into his gut. but his hands move on their own, clicking download, the progress bar filling like a fuse burning down.

click.

of course he does.

the video starts soft, your bedroom light diffused to a golden haze, casting shadows that dance across rumpled sheets. it looks like you’ve been tossing in them all day, the fabric creased and inviting.

you’re in lace—barely. something soft pink and flimsy, a slip of fabric that clings to your curves like it’s begging to be torn off.

your thigh’s out, one leg bent just enough to draw his eye, and the camera’s angled low, too low, like you meant to frame it this way.

“god, i hope this one fits…” your voice is breathy, a little strained, like you’re fighting the fabric. you adjust a strap, your fingers lingering on the lace, and your lip catches between your teeth, glossy and pink, a casual gesture that’s anything but. his breath stutters, a sharp inhale that burns his throat.

“oops, sorry—too much cleavage?” you laugh, not to yourself but at him.

he knows it.

his cock knows it, twitching against the seam of his sweatpants. the screen shakes as you set the camera on something unsteady—a stack of books, maybe—and it rocks just as you turn around, hips swaying, your ass hugged by that tiny thong, the lace cutting into your skin like a claim. you glance back over your shoulder, smirk poised like a dagger, eyes glinting in the soft light.

“i bet you’d pause right here, wouldn’t you?”

he does.

the video cuts mid-breath, and he doesn’t hear the silence. he’s frozen, hand halfway down, brain wiped clean. the frame lingers on your ass, the curve of it framed by lace, and his mouth is dry, his pulse hammering so loud it drowns out the static.

ping.

march haul (real).mp4

oops. wrong send lol. this is the real one!

his screen is still painted with the freeze-frame of your ass. his dick’s straining so hard it aches, a dull throb that makes him shift in his chair. he doesn’t respond, doesn’t move for a full minute, just stares at the message, the word oops taunting him. then—

he saves both files. drags them into “ARCHIVE_21” with a trembling cursor, his fingers clumsy on the trackpad. he opens the raw one again, slower this time, one hand on his lap, the other fisting his sheets until the fabric creaks.

you’re back on screen, adjusting the strap again, your laugh curling through his headphones like smoke. his hand slips under his waistband, and he’s already leaking, the tip slick and sensitive as he grips himself.

he strokes slow, deliberate, savoring the friction, but his mind’s elsewhere—on the hentai he’s spent years jerking off to, the doujins with dog-eared pages and cum-stained corners.

he pictures you like those girls, bent over and begging, your lace thong pushed to the side as he fucks you from behind, your moans louder, needier, than anything you’ve let slip on camera.

he imagines pinning you to those rumpled sheets, your thighs trembling under his hands, your ass bouncing with every thrust. no teasing giggles, no coy glances—just you, fucked out and whimpering, his name on your lips as he buries himself deep, so deep you can’t think.

his hand speeds up, the slick sound obscene in the quiet of his room. he scrubs the timeline back, pauses on the moment you turn, your smirk sharp and knowing.

he wants to wipe it off, wants to fuck you until you’re too wrecked to smile, until you’re clawing at the sheets and sobbing his name. he imagines your cunt, tight and wet, gripping him as he pounds into you, the lace of your thong rubbing raw against his skin.

it’s not enough to watch you anymore, not enough to stroke himself to your voice—he wants to ruin you, wants to feel you break under him, wants to make you his in a way those 2d girls never could.

he cums with a low, breathy whisper of your name, his hips jerking up into his hand. it’s intense, almost painful, spilling over his fingers and onto the hem of his shirt.

his chest heaves, his vision blurring as he slumps back, the video still playing, your laugh oblivious to the mess he’s become. he opens it again, doesn’t touch himself this time—just watches, memorizes, eyes glassy and mouth parted.

at one point, he swears he moans with you, a soft sound that slips out unbidden, his body betraying him even when he’s spent. when he edits the “real” file, he’s a machine. no stutters, no slips, just sharp keystrokes and surgical cuts, trimming shaky frames and boosting your voice until it’s crisp.

the guilt claws at him, a dull ache in his chest, but it only makes the next orgasm worse—and better. he exports it, names it “haul_march_final.mov,” and saves the raw file to a new subfolder: “stills_ref.” he doesn’t name the second copy. doesn’t need to. it’s just for him.

he plays it cool in class. “wow. another fit straight outta your grandma’s closet,” he scoffs as you pass, voice dripping with mockery, lips curling into something lazy and mean.

but his gaze flickers—just once, low and quick, like he’s checking for danger. and there it is. a flash of soft pink lace against the curve of your thigh as you shift your bag higher up your shoulder. just a sliver. deliberate.

he knows that lace. knows it from the raw footage, from the way it hugged your skin under golden light. his smirk falters for half a second, a crack in his armor.

you turn your head, slow as syrup, and smile at him over your shoulder. it’s airy, innocent, ditzy enough to play dumb, poisonous enough to feel like a threat. “mm? that bad, huh?” your voice is light, but your eyes linger a moment too long, sharp and knowing, like you’re peeling him open.

you take your seat two rows away, crossing one leg over the other with careful grace. your skirt rides up, just enough to show the edge of that lace again, and your fingers toy absentmindedly with the hem, brushing the fabric like it’s a game.

he doesn’t blink.

he knows what’s under that skirt, knows the way that lace bites into your skin when you move just like that. he’s seen it in soft lighting, tangled with shadows and sighs. he knows, and you know, and neither of you say a word.

he can’t breathe.

his hand trembles as he grips his pen, scrawling nonsense on the corner of his notes—random numbers, jagged lines, anything to keep his fingers busy.

someone’s asking a question about identity and performance, something about how we present ourselves versus how we wish to be perceived, and satoru’s already halfway to standing.

“sorry. washroom.” his voice cracks halfway through the lie, too sharp, too rushed.

satoru stumbles into the men’s room like he’s escaping a crime scene, the door clicking shut behind him. palm flat against cold tile, forehead pressed to the inside of his wrist, he tries to breathe, tries to think of anything else—code, deadlines, the wedding edit he’s behind on.

but it’s you.

always you. your smile, your laugh, the lace peeking out like a taunt.

he’s already hard, already leaking, the front of his jeans tight and unforgiving. he fumbles with the button, shoves them down just enough, and grips himself, his hand shaking as he strokes.

he closes his eyes and sees you—not the you in class, not the you playing dumb, but the you from his fantasies, the you he’s built from hentai panels and late-night desperation. he imagines you on your knees, lace thong pulled down, your cunt glistening as he fucks you against the bathroom sink.

no giggles, no teasing—just raw, desperate need, your moans echoing off the tiles as he slams into you, his hands bruising your hips, your body arching to take him deeper.

he wants you messy, wants you marked, wants to fill you until you’re dripping, until you’re his in a way that’s permanent.

he strokes faster, his breath hitching, his teeth sinking into his knuckles to muffle the groan clawing up his throat. he cums hard, too fast, his knees buckling as it spills over his hand, hot and shameful. he shakes, gasping, his forehead slick against the tile, and thinks of lace. thinks of lip gloss. thinks of your voice saying “oops” like it’s a sin.

it doesn’t take long for his desktop to become an altar.

the background’s still you, a freeze-frame from the first video, your lip gloss shimmering and fingers caught mid-twist in your hair. he tells himself it’s temporary, just a visual reference.

it’s been three weeks.

folders on folders: “hauls > favs > zoom_ins > stills > pantyshots.” “audio_samples > moan_loop > breath_only.wav.” “color tests > gloss_ref > lips.png.”

some nights, he replays a single frame just to watch your mouth form the word “fuck,” slows it down, isolates the syllables, pretends you’re saying his name instead.

the worst part?

you’re still pretending nothing’s changed. still calling them “favors,” still sending content like it’s work, like it’s nothing.

but your outfits are shorter, your giggles stick to the air longer, your eyes linger like you’re testing something. and when you purr, “you’re sooo good at this, satoru,” with that saccharine lilt, your voice curling around his name like a caress, he bites the inside of his cheek just to keep quiet. fists the sheets at night and prays.

he moans your name in the dark, face hot with shame, and hates how much he wants you to hear it.

satoru’s become sleep-deprived, dark smudges nesting beneath his eyes like fingerprints left behind by guilt or obsession or both. he wears his glasses more lately, less out of need and more as a buffer between him and the world—between him and you.

the lenses catch the glow of his new triple-monitor setup, a sleek beast he told himself was for coding, for editing, for multitasking. not for keeping your videos looping on the side monitor while he pretends to work on the main one. not for that at all.

your folder’s pinned in quick access, a permanent fixture in his file explorer. he keeps it open in the background at all times, a digital pulse that hums alongside his pc fans. second nature now, like breathing or wanting. not unlike a shrine.

in class, he pretends to take notes, his stylus scratching nonsense on his tablet. he’s not. he’s watching a gif on his phone, hidden under the desk—a loop of your tongue dragging slow across lip gloss, eyes soft with focus like you’re painting yourself pretty just for him. the gif’s only three seconds, but he’s memorized every frame, every flicker of your lashes. his thumb swipes to replay it, again, again, until his vision blurs.

ctrl+shift+eject brain.exe.

three days pass, and you haven’t messaged. he checks your chat thread more than he breathes—opens, closes, re-opens, scrolling through your old texts like they’ll reveal something new. every flicker of hope is a false start, a phantom ping that makes his chest lurch. he’s pathetic, he knows it, but knowing doesn’t stop the itch.

then:

ping.

april haul (suits).mov

hii satoru!! new haul vid for u to check <3 tried some swimsuits this time, hope it’s not too boring to trim hehe. lmk what u think!!”

he nearly drops his phone, his thumb smudging the screen as he fumbles to download. his new setup hums to life, the main monitor flashing with code he hasn’t touched in hours, the side monitor already open to your folder.

he drags the file into premiere, the timeline blooming across the screen, but his eyes are on the raw video, already playing on the right monitor, your voice spilling through his headphones like honey.

the video’s different this time. the camera’s lower, like it’s been left on a desk or shelf, pointing slightly upward to frame you from your knees to just above your head. your bed makes a cozy blur in the background, sheets tangled like an invitation.

you’re in a bikini top that isn’t trying very hard to stay on, thin strings knotted loosely at your neck and back, the fabric barely containing you. “mmm. does this scream summer, or slut?” you giggle, feigned innocence like frosting over heat, your voice curling around the words like you know exactly what they’ll do to him.

you play with the strings at your chest, tugging, adjusting, your fingers brushing the swell of your breasts. then, softer, breathier, to the lens: “baby, help me pick…”

baby.

it breaks him all over again, a crack that runs straight through his chest. his cock twitches, already hard, straining against his boxers.

everything after that gets softer, lazier, dangerous in how intimate it feels. there’s no performative energy now—just casual, candid seduction, your movements slow, like you’re not hurrying for anyone. like you know exactly who’s watching and how long he’ll linger.

when you shrug a dress off your shoulders, you sigh, the sound catching in your throat. when you twist to adjust a strap, you hum, low and absentminded. and when you struggle with a clasp at your back, your fingers fumbling, you moan—soft, unintentional, a sound that slips out like it surprised even you.

satoru’s thumb slams the spacebar, pausing the video, rewinding three seconds to hear it again. he watches the way your lips part, the way your brows twitch, the way your body shifts like you’re chasing the sensation.

he’s already leaking, his boxers damp as he shoves them down, his hand wrapping around himself. the side monitor loops the raw footage, your moan playing over and over, while the main monitor holds the paused frame of your parted lips. he strokes slow at first, his grip tight, his thumb swiping over the tip where he’s slick and sensitive.

his mind slips to the doujins he’s hoarded, the hentai he’s spent years chasing—the girls with flushed cheeks and desperate eyes, fucked raw and begging for more. but now it’s you, not some inked fantasy, and it’s so much filthier.

he imagines you sprawled across your bed, that bikini top ripped off, your thighs spread wide as he fucks you deep, relentless, your cunt clenching around him as you sob his name. no teasing, no giggles—just you, wrecked and dripping, your nails clawing his back as he takes you again and again, each thrust harder, messier, until you’re nothing but his.

his hand speeds up, the slick sound loud in his room, mixing with your looped moan. he wants you pinned beneath him, wants to feel you squirm, wants to fuck you until the bed creaks and your voice breaks, until you’re begging like those hentai girls, your glossed lips trembling as you say his name—satoru, please, more.

he imagines filling you, his cum leaking down your thighs, your body marked by him in ways he can’t unsee. it’s not enough to watch, not enough to stroke—he wants to own you, wants to make you his in every way those 2d fantasies taught him to crave.

he cums hard, forehead pressed to his desk, a low groan tearing from his throat as it spills over his hand, his keyboard, the edge of his new setup. his breath is ragged, like he’s run a marathon, his glasses fogging slightly as he gasps.

the side monitor still plays, your voice oblivious, your moan looping like a hymn. he doesn’t stop the video, just slumps back, spent and shaking, and watches again, his hand twitching like it’s not done.

it doesn’t take long for his room to reek of sweat and sin.

he edits shirtless now, sometimes in boxers, always hard, always leaking. every file’s renamed with trembling hands: “wifey_take7.mov.” “wifey_raw.mp4.”

he syncs your sighs to his lo-fi playlist, turns it into a lullaby, falls asleep to the sound of your breath. sometimes he slows your voice just to hear “baby” dragged out into velvet, makes gifs of your hands skimming your hips, kisses the screen when he’s drunk enough to forget shame.

you, on the other hand, don’t break character.

in class, you chew your pen and lean forward, the arch of your spine exact, your cleavage subtle—barely a tease, just enough to make his throat tighten. he looks away with a clenched jaw, adjusts himself under the desk, twice, his jeans unforgiving.

you whisper to a friend and giggle, and he lipreads, thinks he sees the words “can’t wait,” but maybe he’s hallucinating, maybe not. it doesn’t matter.

he starts responding to the clips aloud.

“fuck yes, that one.” “spin again, baby.” sometimes he mumbles your name like a prayer, sometimes he chokes it into his pillow. every orgasm has your name carved into it, a brand he can’t erase.

one night, he opens a file to edit, drags it into premiere, but he doesn’t touch it. just watches, headphones in, barely breathing. not a content creator now, not a student, not even a man—just a creature of need, and you his ritual, his muse, his goddess.

the screen shows you adjusting the straps of a silky babydoll, the lighting warm, your thighs bare, half-tucked under you as you sit prettily at the edge of your bed.

“okay, so this one’s… like, totally giving ‘come to bed’ energy, right?” you giggle, voice light, teeth sinking into your glossed lip as you bounce once, soft and natural, the fabric barely covering your chest.

satoru groans low in his throat, not even trying to hide it. “it’s giving bend over,” he mutters, lips twitching, his side monitor looping the raw footage, his main screen frozen on your smile. “fuck, look at you…”

you reach behind you, struggle with the clasp, wiggle your shoulders like you’re teasing whoever’s behind the camera. “oof. that’s tight… should i size up?” a breathy laugh follows, your sigh melting into it.

he licks his lips, your audio crystal-clear in his headphones. you’re right there, talking to him. “nah, baby,” he croons, eyes fixed on the curve of your spine as you turn. “tight’s perfect. keeps the goods in place.”

you blow a kiss at the lens. “hope you’re not bored yet,” you say with a wink. “i saved the cutest for last…”

you bend off-frame, your ass peeking just above the edge of the bed, round and inviting in cotton panties with lace trim, and when you rise again, your hands hold something sheer and tiny. “tadaaa,” you whisper, eyes glinting with mischief. “this one’s for my favorite viewer.”

00:05:46—satoru slams the shortcut, timestamp saved. a second later, he screenshots, then again, then again, frame by frame, until he finds the exact one where your lip’s caught between your teeth and your ass is still halfway in the air.

“fucking perfect,” he mutters, breath uneven. he pulls the image up on his main screen, zooms in, sharpens it, runs it through noise reduction. the side monitor loops the raw video, your voice sweet and teasing, while the right monitor plays a gif of your earlier moan, your lips parted in that soft, accidental sound.

his hand’s already moving, shoving his boxers down, his cock springing free, hard and leaking like it’s been waiting for this. 

he grips himself, rough and urgent, no pretense of patience. the new setup’s perfect—your video on the side, his code on the main screen like he’s working, but it’s all you, every pixel, every sound.

he strokes in time with your giggle, his eyes flicking between the gif of your moan and the screenshot of your ass, his mind spiraling into the filthiest corners of his hentai-soaked brain.

he imagines you on that bed, face down, ass up, the babydoll hiked to your waist as he fucks you so hard the headboard cracks. he wants you screaming, wants your cunt pulsing around him, wants to pull your hair and make you look at him as he fills you, over and over, until you’re a mess, until you’re his completely.

his strokes are frantic, his breath hitching, his hips bucking into his hand. he pictures you tied to the bed, like that one doujin he read last month, your wrists bound with those same bikini strings, your thighs trembling as he fucks you through one orgasm into the next.

he wants to cum inside you, wants to watch it drip out, wants to push it back in with his fingers and make you lick them clean. it’s not enough to jerk off anymore, not enough to dream—he wants to break you, wants to make you real, wants to fuck you until you’re as addicted to him as he is to you.

he cums with a choked growl, his head tipping back, glasses slipping down his nose as it spills over his hand, his desk, the sticky mess splattering his keyboard.

he’s shaking, gasping, his chest heaving as the side monitor loops your voice, your “baby” purring like a mantra. his wrist’s sticky, his room a haze of sweat and shame, but he doesn’t care. he’s not even really here.

you’re everywhere now—three monitors, three altars, your image burned into his retinas. he’d worship on his knees if you asked.

the next day, another file:

april haul (closeups).mp4

sorry! idk if this one’s helpful but i liked the shots hehe

he doesn’t unzip his pants. doesn’t need to. he’s already throbbing from the inside out, his body reacting to your name alone. he clicks, watches, kneels, and whispers your name like a benediction, the static in his skull louder than ever.

it starts with a ping.

innocuous. a single pixel shift on the main monitor mid-code, just as satoru’s debugging a script for a deadline he already missed. his side monitor hums with your last video, paused on that frame where your lip’s caught between your teeth, and the third monitor’s open to a half-finished render he hasn’t touched in days. he glances lazily at the notification, expecting another reminder from suguru to shower or eat—

but no. it’s you.

hey… do u do filming too?

his fingers freeze. heart jams, a dull thud in his chest. the cursor blinks, waiting, mocking. he doesn’t think. doesn’t breathe. his glasses slip down his nose, and he doesn’t fix them. the words burn into his retinas, and his cock twitches before he can process why.

yeah. totally. what kind of shoot?

he sends it, his thumb trembling over the enter key. no reply. not for five whole minutes. the wait is a crucifixion, each second stretching into eternity. he keeps opening and closing the chat, rereading your words like they might shift into something dirtier, something more.

his triple-monitor setup glows, your frozen frame on the side monitor staring at him, lips parted, eyes glinting. he’s already leaking in his pants, a damp spot spreading against his thigh.

then:

just a casual thing. home setup. come over?

he reads it twice. three times. his breath catches, sharp and shallow, like he’s been punched. come over. your dorm. your space. he’s hard, achingly so, his boxers tight and unforgiving. he doesn’t reply, just slams his laptop shut, grabs his camera bag, and stumbles out the door.

he shows up twenty minutes later, barely remembered to wear deodorant, definitely forgot his dignity. his high-end sony alpha mirrorless—loaded with a lens that costs more than most people’s rent—bounces against his chest as he knocks. his palms are slick, his glasses fogging slightly from the heat of his own nerves.

you open the door with a giggle, wrapped in a pastel pink robe that might as well be air. it clings to the curve of your waist, parts at the thigh, revealing soft skin that makes his throat burn. your hair’s still damp, sticking to your collarbones, and the scent of vanilla lotion hits him like a drug. “thanks for coming! i’m kinda nervous…”

he wants to bark out same, but his jaw locks. he swallows instead, the motion too loud in his ears. “no problem.” his voice is gravel, like he’s choking on his own want. he steps inside, and your dorm swallows him whole—warm, cutesy, a pastel fever dream of plush throw pillows, fairy lights, and a pink velvet couch that looks too soft, too inviting.

he’s already imagining you bent over it, your robe hiked up, your moans echoing off the walls. it smells like you sprayed your strawberry perfume over every surface, dizzying, suffocating. his glasses fog again.

he sets up the tripod with shaking hands, the sony’s weight grounding him just enough to keep from falling apart. you bounce around the living room, humming, fluffing pillows on the couch, fixing your gloss in a heart-shaped mirror propped against a shelf.

“does this lighting make me look washed out?” you ask, stepping back, tilting your head. then you bend to adjust a lamp, and your robe parts just enough to reveal the gentle curve of your ass, bare except for a sliver of lace.

he sees. pretends he didn’t. fumbles the lens cap, twice, the plastic clattering to the floor. his face burns, but he keeps his eyes on the camera, adjusting settings he doesn’t need to touch.

you brush past him again and again, your bare arm glancing his, silk whispering across his knuckles when you pass. he smells shampoo in the air, thick and sweet, and it’s you, all you, sinking into his lungs. “you nervous?” you tease, voice light, a giggle curling at the edges.

he scoffs, wiping his palm against his jeans, the denim rough against his slick skin. “pfft. nah. i’ve filmed worse.” a lie, bold and brittle, his voice too tight to sell it.

“worse than me?” you pout, stepping closer, close enough that he can feel the warmth of your breath. “ouch.”

“i didn’t say that.” his voice cracks, a hairline fracture. he’s too aware of you, of the way your robe slips an inch, of the way your eyes glint like you’re playing with him.

you tilt your head, wide-eyed, all fake innocence. “sooo… you have filmed pretty girls before?”

he falters, breath stuttering in his chest. he’s a virgin, hasn’t touched a girl in years, hasn’t wanted to—not when hentai’s been enough, when doujins have been his only lovers. but you’re real, and you’re here, and you’re breaking him.

“no one like you,” he says, unfiltered, raw, the words slipping out before he can stop them.

your lips curl, slow and sweet, a smile that says i know. “hm. figured.”

you disappear into your bedroom for a few minutes, the door clicking shut. he pretends to adjust the white balance, tweaking settings on the sony that are already perfect, but really he’s staring at the door like it owes him salvation.

his cock’s throbbing, a dull ache that won’t quit, and he shifts, trying to ease the pressure. the living room feels too small, the pink couch too soft, the fairy lights too intimate. he’s imagining you sprawled across that couch, your robe gone, your thighs spread, his camera capturing every gasp.

the door opens. you emerge. lingerie set, pale and sheer, a mini skirt that barely qualifies, lip gloss freshly reapplied. you look like a doll, saccharine and sinful, every curve a taunt. “can you help me zip this?” you turn, bare back exposed, the zipper halfway up, your spine a perfect line that begs to be touched.

he steps forward, too close, his exhale brushing your shoulder. his fingers graze your skin—soft, warm, real—and you shiver, a small, deliberate tremor. he pulls the zipper up with trembling hands, the metal catching once, his breathing uneven. the distance between you shatters into nothing, the air thick with static.

“you’re doing this on purpose,” he rasps, low in your ear, his voice rough with want.

“doing what?” you whisper, fake innocence thick as honey, your head tilting just enough to catch his eye.

you look back at him, lashes fluttering, lips parted, glossy and pink. he breaks.

“fuck.”

he grabs you, his hands rough on your hips, your mouths crashing together—teeth, tongue, gasps. your lip gloss smears against his cheek, sweet and sticky, and he groans into the kiss, devouring you.

you moan into his mouth, legs wrapping around his hips as he lifts you onto the counter, the edge biting into your thighs. you’re silk and heat and sin beneath his hands, and he’s forgotten everything else—his camera, his code, his shame. only you exist now.

you feel his hard-on through his jeans, pressed against your thighs, and he’s panting, his breath stuttering against your skin as he kisses down your jaw, your neck, the ridge of your spine. his mouth is everywhere, like he’s starved, like he’s trying to memorize you with his tongue.

his glasses slip down, and he grins against your collarbone. “need to get a better look,” he mutters, a flimsy excuse to lean closer, until the fog of his breath warms your skin. he bites your collarbone, hard, groaning when he leaves a mark. “wanna see that in playback.”

he drops to his knees without hesitation, a virgin’s worship, reverence born from years of hentai and nothing else. his fingers dig into your thighs, spreading them wide, and he groans like he’s just found salvation. he runs his tongue along the inner part first, slow and teasing, so close to the lace of your panties but not touching what you want.

you try to close your legs, but he forces them open, his grip bruising, his mouth finding the wet spot through the fabric. “fuck, you’re soaked,” he growls, voice muffled, his tongue dragging heavy and slow, the lace rough against your clit. “been wet for me this whole time, huh? fuckin’ tease.”

you whimper, hips bucking, and he moans into you, the vibration making you gasp. he licks through the panties, relentless, his glasses slipping halfway down his nose but he doesn’t care.

“you taste better than i dreamed,” he says, his voice hoarse, hentai dialogue spilling out like it’s natural. he sucks at the fabric, tongue pressing harder, and you’re trembling, your hands fisting his hair as you grind against his face. he’s messy, desperate, his moans louder than yours, like he’s the one about to cum. you do, hard, a cry tearing from your throat as you shudder against his mouth, and he doesn’t stop, lapping at the soaked lace like it’s his last meal.

he presses his cheek to your thigh, sticky and glistening, looking up at you with glassy eyes. “first one’s mine,” he says, grinding his hips into the floor, his jeans tight with his own need. you don’t think he even realizes he’s doing it. he spreads you open with his fingers, peeling the panties aside, watching your hole twitch with a hunger that makes his mouth water.

“look at that,” he murmurs, almost to himself, his voice dripping with awe. “fuckin’ perfect.” he slides two fingers in, slow at first, then deeper, curling them just right, like he’s memorized every doujin panel that showed him how. “shit—i’ve seen this in hentai but it’s better. fuck, it’s real.”

his fingers pump, slick and steady, and you’re moaning, head thrown back, the counter digging into your hips. he adds a third, stretching you, his free hand jerking himself through his jeans, matching the pace of his fingers inside you. “so tight, baby. you’re gonna feel so good around my cock.”

he spits on your pussy, a quick, filthy gesture, his eyes locked on yours as it drips down. “they never show that part right in hentai. had to test it myself.” you moan, loud and broken, and he moans louder, his fingers slipping out with a wet squelch. he licks them clean, slow, eyes fluttering shut like he’s savoring you. “fuck—want it all.”

he stands, trembling, his jeans tented painfully. “can i?” his voice is small, almost pleading, a crack in his bravado. you nod, and he fumbles with his belt, shoving his jeans down just enough. he lines himself up, his cock thick and leaking, the tip brushing your entrance. “you’re so warm—holy shit—you’re squeezing me—fuck—”

he slides in, slow at first, gasping as you take him, your cunt tight and slick around him. he’s a virgin, but he knows this, knows the rhythm from years of jerking off to scenes just like this. he freezes, trying not to cum, his glasses fogging as he pants. you clench down, deliberate, and he slaps your thigh, a quick, sharp sting that earns him a whine.

“don’t—fuck, don’t do that yet.”

he pulls out, just to slam back in, harder, the counter creaking under you. his rhythm’s sloppy, desperate, but he finds it, each thrust deeper, rougher. “look at you,” he growls, his voice pure filth, hentai dialogue spilling free. “taking my cock like a good little slut. you love this, don’t you? fuckin’ made for me.” he licks the tears running down your cheek, his tongue hot and greedy. “crying already? baby, i’m not even close to done.”

you moan his name, and he loses it, his thrusts turning frantic, messy, like he’s trying to ruin you. “film it. show me what you see,” you gasp, and he fumbles for his phone, almost dropping it with how hard he’s shaking.

the camera app opens in a blur of fingers, then steadies, the lens catching you spread wide beneath him, thighs trembling, pussy stuffed full of his cock. he holds it there, watching the way you flutter around him, his breath ragged. “watch this later and see how ruined you look, baby,” he pants, voice hoarse, wild.

he leans in, still recording, whispering filth against your ear. “that’s right. take it. cry for me. i want you loud.” his other hand drags the mic closer, the sony’s external recorder capturing every slick thrust, every broken sob, every wet squelch, loud and obscene.

he fucks you harder, the counter shaking, your tits bouncing with each thrust. “gonna fuck you on every piece of furniture in here,” he growls, his voice low, unhinged. “that couch? gonna bend you over it. that table? gonna spread you wide. your bed? gonna fill you till you’re screaming.”

you clench around him, and he groans, his hips stuttering. “fuck, you like that? you want me to wreck you everywhere, don’t you?” you nod, gasping, and he slaps your thigh again, harder, leaving a red mark. “say it, baby. tell me you want it.”

“i want it,” you whimper, voice breaking, and he grins, feral, his thrusts turning punishing. you cum again, a shuddering mess, your cry echoing in the mic as your cunt pulses around him, slick dripping down your thighs. he doesn’t stop, doesn’t slow, his cock throbbing as he fucks you through it.

“gonna fill you up,” he pants, his voice cracking, hentai fantasies spilling out. “gonna cum so deep you’ll feel me for days. you want that, don’t you? want my cum dripping out of you?”

you nod, moaning, and he loses it, slamming into you one last time as he cums, a guttural groan tearing from his throat. it’s hot, messy, spilling inside you, and he keeps thrusting, shallow and desperate, like he’s trying to push it deeper.

satoru doesn’t stop.

in fact, he lifts you, his arms wrapping under your thighs like you’re weightless, his cock still buried inside you, slick and pulsing. your head lolls against his shoulder, your breath hot against his neck, and he groans, low and guttural, as he carries you toward your bedroom.

the air shifts as he crosses the threshold, your perfume hitting him harder here—floral and sugary, the same scent that clings to your pillow, your wrist, your everything. it’s thicker in this room, curling around him like a trap, and he kicks the door shut behind him, the click loud in the quiet.

he pushes you toward the vanity, your back meeting the cool glass of the mirror with a soft thud. he bends you over it, slow and deliberate, his hands guiding your hips until your cheek presses against the surface, your breath fogging the reflection.

“look at you,” he groans, angling his phone to capture the scene—your flushed face, your glossed lips parted, your eyes half-lidded in the mirror as you whine in embarassment.

“pretty little thing, still trying to act innocent.” his voice is rough, edged with hunger, and he shifts his hips, thrusting shallowly, keeping you pinned, reaching for your lip gloss.

you mumble something, a weak protest or plea, but he shuts it up with a swipe of your lip gloss across your mouth, his hand trembling as he paints your lips pink, the applicator slick and messy.

“perfect,” he says, pulling back just enough to admire the shine, the way it catches the light. then he pushes in again, deeper, and you both moan, the sound mingling in the air, caught by the sony’s mic still recording from the tripod in the corner.

he kisses you messily—gloss smearing, lips hungry, teeth clashing as he grinds his hips, slow and torturous, never breaking the rhythm. the camera stays on, the phone propped against a perfume bottle, capturing every gasp, every shudder.

“taste so fuckin’ good,” he mutters against your mouth, his tongue chasing the sticky sweetness. “gonna kiss you till you’re dripping everywhere.”

satoru lays you on the bed next, gentle but urgent, his hands shaking as he props his phone against a stack of books on your nightstand, the camera app open, framing you perfectly—your body sprawled across the pastel sheets, thighs parted, lingerie barely clinging to your skin, the sheer fabric of your top stretched tight over your chest, the mini skirt hiked up to expose the lace of your panties.

he climbs over you, his glasses slipping down his nose, and pushes your legs up, hooking them over his shoulders, the angle forcing you open, vulnerable.

“fuck, you feel like heaven,” he says, voice cracking, almost reverent, as he slides back inside you, slow and deep, the heat of you pulling a groan from his throat. “i’m never gonna stop, baby.”

each thrust is deliberate, his hips rolling to hit that spot that makes you arch, your nails raking down his arms, leaving red trails he’ll stare at later.

he kisses you through it, his mouth sloppy and desperate, swallowing your moans like they’re his lifeline. the bed creaks under you, the fairy lights casting a soft glow over your tear-streaked face, and he’s lost in it, in the way you clench around him, so tight it’s like you’re made for him.

“so fuckin’ perfect,” he pants, his lips brushing your ear, his breath hot and uneven. “taking my cock like you were born for it.”

he tugs at the straps of your lingerie top, pulling it down until your tits spill free, the sheer fabric catching under them, and he groans, his mouth latching onto a nipple, sucking hard until you whimper, your hips bucking against him.

but it doesn’t last—he needs more, needs to see you break in ways he’s only imagined in the dark of his room, his hand on his cock and your videos on loop.

he pulls out, his dick slick and throbbing, and grabs your hips, flipping you with a low grunt. he drags you up by the waist, positioning you on your knees, your ass high, your face pressed into the sheets, the skirt still bunched around your hips. his hand slides up your spine, pushing your chest down, arching you just right, and he yanks the lace panties to the side, not bothering to take them off.

“this is what you get for teasing me all these days,” he growls, his voice unhinged, as he lines himself up and thrusts in, hard and deep, the slap of skin sharp in the quiet room.

you whimper, muffled against the pillow, and he fucks harder, each thrust rocking you forward, the bedframe rattling, your moans spilling free despite the fabric. his phone’s still recording, propped precariously, catching every angle—your arched back, your trembling thighs, the way his cock disappears into you with every brutal snap of his hips.

“look at that pussy,” he says, his free hand gripping your ass, spreading you open for the camera. “so greedy, swallowing me whole. you love this, don’t you?” he tugs your hair, pulling your head back, forcing your cries to echo. “louder, baby. let the whole fuckin’ dorm hear you.”

he slows, just to torment you, his hips grinding deep, making you squirm, your overstimulated body shaking under him. you’re teary, sobs catching in your throat, but he doesn’t care—he wants you loud, wants you broken. he leans down, his chest pressed to your back, and bites your shoulder, hard enough to leave a mark.

“cry for me,” he whispers, his voice rough, his hand slipping around to pinch your nipple, twisting until you gasp. “wanna hear you fall apart.” he pulls out, leaving you empty, and you whine, a desperate, keening sound that makes him smirk.

“patience, princess,” he mocks, slapping your ass lightly, the sting making you clench around nothing.

satoru guides you up, turning you to face him, and pushes you back onto the bed, climbing over you. “wanna see you ride me,” he says, lying back against the headboard, his hands gripping your hips as you straddle him. he tugs the skirt off completely, tossing it aside, leaving you in just the stretched-out lingerie top and soaked panties.

“bounce,” he growls, his eyes locked on where you sink down onto him, slow and deliberate, your cunt stretching around him as you take him inch by inch. “show the camera how you fuck me.”

his phone’s angled to catch it all—your tits bouncing, still half-caught in the sheer fabric, your thighs trembling, the way you gasp every time you drop down, taking him to the hilt.

you move, your hips rolling, your hands braced on his chest, and he’s sweating, his glasses slipping, his breath ragged. he doesn’t let you slow, his hands lifting you, slamming you back down, making you take him deeper. “that’s it,” he says, voice hoarse, his fingers digging into your ass, leaving bruises. “fuck yourself on my cock. show me how bad you need it.”

you’re sobbing now, tears streaming down your cheeks, but you keep going, your moans loud and broken, your body shaking from the overstimulation. he reaches up, ripping the lingerie top off completely, the fabric tearing with a sharp sound, and gropes your tits, squeezing hard, his thumbs brushing your nipples until you shudder.

“these are mine now,” he says, his voice pure filth. “gonna mark ‘em up so you can’t hide.”

he’s close, too close, but he’s not done.

he pushes you off, gentle but firm, and stands, pulling you with him toward the full-length mirror by your closet. he spins you, pressing your chest to the glass, your hands splaying against it, your tear-streaked reflection staring back.

he kicks your legs apart, his cock nudging your entrance, and slides in, slow and deep, his breath hot against your ear. “look at you,” he says, his lips brushing your neck, his hands caging you against the mirror. “look at my cock ruining your pussy.”

he thrusts, slow at first, watching your reflection—your tears, your drool, your gloss-smeared lips, the way your body shakes with every snap of his hips. “you wanted a nerd? this nerd’s gonna fuckin’ break you.”

he fucks you harder, the mirror rattling, your moans bouncing off the walls, loud enough to wake the neighbors. “so fuckin’ pretty,” he pants, one hand slipping to your clit, rubbing messy, relentless circles. “gonna cum all over my cock, aren’t you? gonna make a mess for me?”

you nod, sobbing, your body trembling, and he slaps your ass, the sting sharp, making you clench around him. “say it, baby. tell me you’re mine.”

“i’m yours,” you gasp, voice breaking, tears streaming, and he cums with a raw groan, spilling inside you, hot and thick, his hips stuttering as he rides it out.

he doesn’t pull out, doesn’t stop, his cock still hard, still twitching as he fucks his cum deeper, the slick sound obscene. “not done,” he mutters, his glasses fogged, his voice wrecked. “gonna make you cum again.”

he keeps going, relentless, his thrusts slower but deeper, each one pushing his cum back inside, making you shake. his fingers on your clit are merciless, circling fast, and you’re oversensitive, your body convulsing, your moans turning to desperate cries. “satoru—fuck—too much—” you sob.

he only slaps your thigh, sharp and stinging, and leans in, his lips grazing your ear. “too much? nah, princess, you can take it. wanna feel you squirt for me.”

he angles his hips, hitting that spot that makes your vision blur, and you’re gone, your body locking up as you cum, a gush of wet heat soaking his cock, dripping down your thighs, pooling on the floor. he groans, loud and broken, his hips jerking as he cums again, another hot rush filling you, spilling out around him.

“fuck—look at that mess,” he pants, his hand smearing the slick between your legs, rubbing it into your skin. “all for me.”

but he’s not done. he pulls you back to the bed, laying you on your side, one leg hooked over his arm as he slides back in, his cock still hard, slick with your cum and his. “one more,” he begs, his voice cracking, his glasses crooked. “gimme one more, baby. need to feel you again.”

he thrusts slow, deep, his hand slipping between your legs to tease your oversensitive clit, and you’re crying, tears streaming, your body shaking from the intensity. he bites your neck, leaving marks, and whispers, “love it when you cry for me. so fuckin’ loud, just how i like it.”

he shifts, rolling you onto your stomach, keeping you pinned as he fucks you into the mattress, his hand pressing your face into the sheets. “gonna cum all over you,” he growls, his thrusts turning sloppy, desperate. “gonna fill you up till you’re leaking me for days.”

you cum again, a shuddering, broken mess, your sobs muffled against the pillow, your body convulsing as you squirt again, weaker but still enough to soak the sheets. he cums with you, a third time, his groan hoarse, his hips stuttering as he spills inside you, the mess dripping out, pooling under you.

“fuck—baby—” he gasps, his voice wrecked, his body shaking as he collapses against you, his glasses falling off completely, clattering to the floor.

“mine now,” he whispers, hoarse and ruined, his forehead pressed to your back, his breath hot and uneven. “you’re mine now.”

you nod, too spent to speak, your body limp, your reflection in the mirror a blur of tears and gloss and him, the phone still recording every ragged breath, every whispered “fuck” as he pulls you closer, not letting go.

but then silence swells, heavy and slow, filling the room like a fog. the air’s thick with the aftermath—sweat, cum, and the lingering sweetness of your perfume, still clinging to the sheets, to him.

satoru’s hands tremble where they hold you, one slipping down to fumble with his phone, stopping the recording with a clumsy tap, the other pressing flat against your stomach, grounding him, grounding you. your breaths are too loud, ragged and uneven, syncing in the quiet like a metronome.

he leans away slightly, just enough to grab a towel from the edge of your bed, awkward in the afterglow like he just realized he desecrated a temple. his glasses are gone, lost somewhere in the mess of sheets, and his hair’s a disaster, sticking to his forehead, damp with sweat.

“shit,” he mutters, voice barely above a whisper, too quiet for the boy who was growling filth ten minutes ago. “did i—i mean. that wasn’t too much, right?” there’s a crack in his tone, a flicker of panic, like he’s replaying every thrust, every slap, every sobbed moan he pulled from you.

you don’t answer at first, too dazed, too wrung out, your body still humming from the overstimulation, your thighs sticky and trembling.

your silence makes him spiral.

“fuck, i knew it. i pushed too hard. i got carried away—i was recording—fuck—i didn’t even ask—” his words tumble out, frantic, his hand raking through his hair as he sits up, eyes wide, searching your face for any sign of regret.

you turn to face him, slow and sore, your cheek pillowed against your arm, the motion making your body ache in the best way. your eyes are still wet, lashes clumped with tears, lips kiss-bruised and sticky with half-worn gloss, swollen from his teeth. you stare at him—this boy, this dork, with his mussed-up hair and the panicked look of someone who just lived out a lifelong fantasy and now doesn’t know what to do with it.

“i’m okay,” you say, your voice shredded, raw from screaming his name. “jesus, i’m so okay.”

he exhales, a shaky rush of air, like he’s been holding it in for hours. he collapses back against you, burying his face in your neck, his lips brushing the bite mark he left earlier. “fuck, you scared me,” he mumbles, his voice muffled, warm against your skin. then, quieter, almost unhinged: “we just speedran my entire hentai folder.”

you laugh, a weak, breathy sound that bubbles up despite the ache in your ribs. “i know.”

“i didn’t even know i could,” he says, his voice small, like he’s confessing a sin. “i haven’t even done that in vr.”

you snort, the sound catching in your throat. “nerd.”

he groans, but it’s not annoyed—it’s mortified, the kind of sound that comes from knowing he’s exposed himself completely. “i’m never gonna recover from this. i glossed you like a fuckin’ bratz doll. i glossed you.” his hand gestures vaguely at your lips, still shiny and smeared, and you laugh again, the sound softer now, your body too tired for anything more.

you roll over fully, tugging him down into the blankets with you, the pastel sheets tangling around your legs. he follows like a kicked puppy, his head resting on your chest, his breath warm against your skin. you can feel his heart still racing, his body still trembling from the high.

“i just,” you mumble, your voice barely audible, “wanted you to notice me. back during the group project, you never looked at me. just your laptop. even when i wore that stupid short skirt.”

he goes silent, his fingers pausing where they’re tracing lazy circles on your hip. then, in a voice so small it barely carries: “…you wore that for me?”

you nod, your cheek brushing his hair.

he lets out the tiniest, most violated gasp, like you’ve just rewritten his entire reality. “i thought you were just one of those girls who always looked hot. like, default setting.” his voice cracks on the last word, and you can’t help the teasing smile that tugs at your lips.

“no,” you say, your tone playful despite the exhaustion. “i was trying to seduce the dumbass with the mecha desktop background.”

he muffles a sob into your chest, half-laugh, half-groan, his arms tightening around you. “i love mecha…” he says, like it’s the most tragic thing in the world, and you hum, stroking his hair, your fingers catching in the sweaty strands.

“i know.”

a long pause settles over you, the kind that feels like it could stretch forever. the fairy lights twinkle softly, casting shadows across the room, and your perfume lingers, mixing with the musk of sex. his breathing slows, but he doesn’t let go, his body still pressed to yours like he’s afraid you’ll vanish.

then he lifts his head, his eyes serious, stripped of the wild edge they had before. “can i… hold you properly? not like—y’know—breeding press. like, real holding.” his cheeks flush, like he’s embarrassed to admit he wants something soft after all that.

“you already folded me in half like a love letter,” you whisper, but you shift into his arms anyway, letting him pull you close. he wraps around you, tight, needy, his hands trembling like he’s still processing you’re real, not just pixels on a screen. his hold is desperate, like he’s trying to memorize the shape of you, every curve, every soft inch, in case this never happens again.

“don’t make fun of me,” he says, his voice muffled against your shoulder. “i think my crush on you just speedran into obsession.” there’s a rawness to it, a confession that feels too big for the quiet, but it lands soft, like he’s finally letting it out.

“you’re the one who begged for one more while crying into my shoulder,” you tease, your voice barely above a whisper, your fingers tracing the line of his jaw.

“stop,” he groans, burying his face deeper, his arms tightening like he could squeeze the embarrassment out of himself. “i’m gonna die.”

you press a kiss to his forehead, slow and deliberate, your lips lingering on his sweaty skin. “you’re not gonna die,” you say, your tone soft but firm. “you’re gonna eat me out on friday and wear your glasses while you do it.”

he whimpers, a pathetic, needy sound, his hips twitching involuntarily against your thigh. “say less,” he mumbles, his voice wrecked, but there’s a spark in it, like you’ve just lit something in him again. you giggle, wrapping your leg around his waist, pulling him closer, your skin sticking to his in the humid air.

and in the quiet, as you’re both drifting off—sore, sticky, still catching your breath—he says it again. not ruined this time, not even possessive. just low. certain. like he’s already planning his next sin.

“mine.”

you don’t answer. just smile into the pillow, heart pounding. because maybe you are. and maybe you’ll let him prove it again.

especially once he finds out what cosplay you ordered last week.

friday’s going to be filthy.

[sukudookie]

im droolingggg

no thoughts just nerd gojo trying to keep quiet while you suck him off in the back of the library (your fics bring out all the freakiness in me)

(I hope this feeds you well hehe)

Nerdjo is borderline upset with how much he’s struggling to cope, acting bizarre and downright embarrassing as you suck him.

He’s grasping at his own mouth hard enough to create small bruises on his cheeks to appear tomorrow, desperate to stay quiet. Tears falling from his eyes that are switching between clenching shut, rolling to the back of his head, and frantically looking around to make sure no one comes into the archive section and then at your bobbing head.

He’s begging you not to do this here, but is still jerking his hips up to meet the soft back of your throat. It’s not like a virgin can resist this, are you serious? This is all your fault! “P-Please! I just— No! It feels so— ngghhh— oh god! It’s so wet. This is so w-wrooong.” He thinks he’s being quiet but his whimpers are quite loud actually. Thank god this library plays a documentary movie at this time of day.

How could you show him how blissful fellatio feels for the first fucking time in a place like this? It’s cruel really. It would just last a few minutes, at most, until he busts, considering it’s his first time inside of a mouth, but you decided to jerk him off twice before this!

His legs are shaking and jerking along with his abdomen when you suckle the tip. His hands fly to your hair to pull you up but you don’t let up, it’s like you’re a suction cup on his tip that gets tighter when you attempt to take it off.

“OooOgh— w-wait! I hear someo— heaven have mercy!”

You almost laugh at his nerdy plead to heaven. You hear the footsteps too, but honestly you don’t care. Briefly, you take your lips off of his tip to talk, but you don’t let your tongue leave him for one second— licking at his cute little leaky slit on his tip. “Gonna cum, baby? I’m trying to suck all the milk out, see?”

And you precede to latch back onto the entire tip, sucking like a straw in increments that makes Satoru’s back arch all slutty as he gasps and gurgles of pathetic desperate noises come from his throat.

“I-It’s!! not milk!!” He shouts in that sweet nerdy way as cum begins to splurt out of his tip and fill up your mouth. He’s sneezing and hiccuping, like his body can’t handle this amount of pleasure.

Your eyes shoot up at his contorted face, a bit nervous at how loud that particular sentence was. He’s huffing and puffing and whining like he’s in pain, toes curling as he grabs onto books behind him sloppily, making them drop around you as he tries to stabilize himself in any way while you drink right from his source.

“W-What in gods name!?” An older lady shouts exasperatedly as you two come into view. She knew there was some weird noise coming from over here! The sight is diabolical. It looks like you’re inflicting assault on this poor boy with how pitiful he looks flailing like a fish with your head deep between his legs.

“I-I’m so sorry— nnnghhh— Misses Hawthorn!! B-But I’m e-ejaculating soo hard!” He’s shouting and whining, and right when you’re about to pull off of him with a mouthful, your eyes shoot open when he grips your head on both sides, hard.

He starts forcing you up and down like a pocket pussy while his legs shake violently. Your noises of surprise muffle and the cum in your mouth sloshes in and out of your throat, acting as lube for his cock to invade you as an excess of it spills down his cock and pools onto the library carpet. He’s overstimulating himself and you aren’t even sure he knows what he’s doing.

Misses hawthorn’s body hits the floor as she mutters a “lord have mercy” and passes out.

Oops, you can’t ever come to this library again. But Satoru is super apologetic afterwords, he even writes you and the library a formal apology, printed and envelope and all. He says he understands if you never wish to see him again. You think it’s hilarious because you were the one who started the entire thing in the first place— but you won’t let the opportunity slip away of him ‘making it up to you’ between your thighs.

His wide innocent eyes practically cross trying to memorize your beautiful pussy as you push his head down, glasses fogging up and crooked. He’s stunned seeing a pussy in person for the first time! It’s so pretty!!

But teaching satoru how to eat pussy is a whole nother thing, don’t even get me started on the many scientific biological facts about ‘cunnilingus’ he mumbles into your pussy.

He even pulls his head completely away sometimes and lifts one finger to point at the ceiling in a dorky way while he mumbles and slurs a fact about the nerve endings in the clitoris, his eyes swirling. You aren’t even sure he’s consciously telling you these things, it’s like these facts are coming from his subconscious while he’s in the hazy dreamlike state of eating your pussy. You have to tell him to shut up so many times and eventually you just push him back and sit on his face instead.

[sukudookie]

❥ ceo!nanami who was never really into porn, not until you

it’s not that he’s some raging virgin who’s never watched it. he’s a man — of course he has. but something about a lot of the videos rubs him the wrong way. maybe they’re too fake or have weird titles or overused tropes, like there’s a disconnect, one most ignore.

but for kento, it’s a complete turn-off. so, he doesn’t watch it, just uses his imagination and fucks his fist the traditional way. #realman!

that is, until he stumbles upon a clip of you reposted to twitter. no face, but that’s fine — he can see all that he needs to see: your trembling hand grips the flared base, flesh-toned dildo pumping in and out of your slick cunt.

your moans are soft, sweet, like you’re a little camera-shy, despite the steady flow of donations and the rapid-fire messages flooding the on-screen chat. they love you.

hell, he loves you, too.

for three nights straight, kento jerks off to that one minute clip, the black of his pupils practically engulfing the chocolate brown of his eyes as he watches you cum again, thick thighs squeezing together as you shudder and gasp.

tonight, though, he’s determined to attend one of your streams, glass of wine on his nightstand along with a bottle of lube.

god, he feels like a hormonal teenager again. he hasn’t jerked off this much in months, too swamped with work and other responsibilities to even allow himself a modicum of free time.

now, however? now kento is at it again, saliva pooling in his mouth as he watches you twist and writhe thanks to his generous donation while he pumps his rock-hard cock.

☆ $150 dono from @anonworkaholic: buy a new air fryer.

that vibrator is on max, the buzz loud enough to be caught clearly on camera along with the barely subtle squelches of your pussy, delicate folds glistening in the low, warm light of what he thinks is your bedroom.

kento is definitely above this — above donating money to a girl he doesn’t know, above furiously stroking his twitching, lubricated dick like some prepubescent, above being a part of the low-lives drooling over you in chat. he should stop. he should close the stream right now, finish rubbing one out in the shower, and then go to bed.

all that practically catapults itself out the window when you whimper out his weak username, a brief smile on your face before your maw goes slack again for another long moan.

no.

no, he is not above this, actually. he times his orgasm with yours, pearly whites sinking into his bottom lip as he tugs on that sensitive pink tip, waiting for your stuttered countdown to finish.

“o-one—!”

and when you cum, loud and wanton, back arching and pussy squirting, kento is right behind you, emptying his balls in stringy ropes of white all over his stomach.

...

nanami kento has hit a new low. he closes out the stream, ears burning and pink with shame, downs the rest of his wine, and takes a long, cold shower. he is never doing that again. ever.

god, his employees and investors would kill him if they knew this is what he spent his excess money on a camgirl like some parasocial bum. especially his pretty little assistant.

but, a few nights later, he does it again. and again. anddd again, until, eventually, kento is deemed a vip regular, username now gold in chat with a special badge beside it.

this is the lowest of lows.

now that he’s thinking about it, you and his assistant look alike. both gorgeous with similar face and body shapes, but not quite.

huh.

what a cruel coincidence, right?

[sukudookie]

THATS CRAZY i love it

Since you and obsessive!satoru broke up, you haven’t felt safe. You are wary of what you wear, notice the men who leer at you with fear because who was there to step in if they decided to harm you?

Now you had dumped Satoru for being too full on, giving you no breathing room, no one.

You were vulnerable in a way you hadn’t been in years, and you hated it. The freedom Satoru’s presence offered you was something you had taken for granted, not appreciated.

He was always on standby, ready to fight, beat up or demean a soul who dared get too close. A blanket of safety. One you had thrown away.

Tightening your jacket, you sped up, heading to Satoru’s building on impulse as the guy behind you gained ground. He could just be walking home from the mall like you, but God if your mind wasn’t somersaulting with fright.

What you’d give for Satoru to be on your back like a bear now.

The footsteps got even closer, right behind you, you couldn’t help it, you started running, so fucking scared, most of it probably in your head.

But it wasn’t, the man started running too.

Bursting into the fancy reception of Satoru’s building, you fumbled with your bag to retrieve your access card to the elevator. The security guard looked concerned but you just wanted to feel safe, and there was only one place on this planet you felt that way.

The moment the lift doors opened into the foyer you banged on Satoru’s door, not having a key after throwing it away in a fit of annoyance.

Satoru opened the door after mere seconds, eyes widening with concern when he saw your watering eyes. “What’s wrong sweets?” Collapsing into his arms, you squeezed him tight, so relieved to be against the hard muscles of his chest with his familiar smell laced into his cotton shirt.

“Someone followed me… I am sorry I broke up with you, it was stupid. I understand now, you only wanted what was best for me and I saw it as overbearing and-”

“Don’t be silly sweetheart. I get it, I can be full on at times, but we have all this penthouse if you need a lil breather, yeah?” Shaking your face by a thumb and finger on your chin, he grinned at your teary eyed expression. “Yeah.” You agreed.

Cupping your face in his hands, he kissed your upset right off your lips, your fear melting away with his presence. Sweeping you up bridal style, he carried you to your shared bedroom, not having moved a thing.

Was it a horrible thing for Satoru to send a hooded man after you? Yeah, he was going to hell. But all he was trying to do was prove to you what he already knew, that you needed him to feel safe, and that was his duty and he prided himself on it.

That, and Satoru Gojo was never letting the love of his life go. Not for anything.