#femal reader

[almostwisegalaxy]

Under a grey sky

Bonus part

Older men oc x fem!reader

Reader has a shy character in this story and is in his twenties

Music to listen to for the atmosphere: DtMF_bad Bunny

Debí tirar más fotos de cuando de tuve. Debi darte más besos y abrazos. Las veces que pude...

Translation : I should have taken more photos of when I had it. I should have given you more kisses and hugs. The times I could. (⁠ᗒ⁠ᗩ⁠ᗕ⁠)

Sensitive souls please refrain. Sensitive subject. Death, cancer. I'm not making fun of anything. I'm just writing a story. As they say on Wattpad : I am responsible for what I write, you are responsible for what you read

..................................................................................

It was an evening like any other. The sky was overcast, threatening to rain. Y/n, apprentice baker, was finishing her day. She had spent hours crafting chocolate éclairs and apple tarts, her mind lost in the dream of owning her own bakery. But that night, her thoughts wandered. Too absorbed in calculating her savings, she hadn’t noticed the man crossing at a poorly lit street corner.

The screech of brakes. A thud.

Horrified, Y/n hurriedly got out of her small car. The man on the ground was still breathing, but a thin cut marked his forehead. She immediately called for help, her voice trembling with panic.

Armand opened his eyes in the hospital, disoriented. A dull ache pulsed through his head, and bandages covered his face. Yet what caught his attention was the young woman sitting by his bedside. Y/n was curled up in a chair, nervously twisting a tissue in her hands.

“You’re awake… I’m so sorry,” she murmured, her pleading eyes fixed on him.

Armand, a 39-year-old interior architect, looked at her curiously. Despite the pain, a faint smile appeared on his lips.

“Don’t worry… It’s nothing serious.”

“Nothing serious? I ran you over…”

“And yet, you’re here watching over me,” he replied lightly, trying to reassure her.

Y/n flushed deeply, but he continued, his gaze gentle:

“Go home. I’m fine, I promise.”

She hesitated but eventually obeyed. Yet the image of his comforting smile remained etched in her mind.

A few weeks later, as Y/n was decorating pastries in the bakery where she worked, the doorbell chimed. She glanced up briefly to greet the customer, but her gaze quickly returned to the tart she was preparing.

“Hello,” said a familiar voice.

She abruptly looked up. Standing before her was Armand, well-dressed, his bright smile hiding the slight scar on his forehead. She didn’t recognize him immediately.

“Do you have croissants?” he asked with a disarming ease.

“Yes, of course. Just a moment,” she replied, turning toward the display.

As she placed the croissants in a paper bag, he observed her with a hidden tenderness. She seemed more at ease here, in a world that felt made for her.

“You have a real talent,” he said suddenly.

Y/n blinked, surprised by the remark.

“Thank you… But how can you tell?”

“It’s obvious,” he said warmly. “I can see it in your movements.”

She blushed again, uncomfortable with such a sincere compliment.

Armand became a regular customer. Every morning, he stopped by for a coffee or pastry, finding excuses to exchange a few words with Y/n. He was interested in her work, her dreams.

“So, you want to open your own bakery?” he asked one day, taking a bite of a financier she had made.

She nodded timidly.

“Yes… But it’s still a long way off. I need to save, learn, and find the right place.”

“You’ll make it,” he said with conviction.

His encouragements touched her, but she never dared to ask him personal questions. She was too shy to dig deeper. Meanwhile, Armand found himself increasingly fascinated by her. Her passion, her reserve, and even her clumsiness made him smile.

One evening, as he worked on an architectural project in his office, Armand found his thoughts drifting. He realized he looked forward to seeing her every morning. But he couldn’t ignore the age gap between them.

“She’s in her twenties,” he murmured to himself. “She has so much to live, so much to discover.”

Yet he couldn’t deny the emotions growing within him. Every smile, every exchanged word gave him a thrill he hadn’t felt in years.

One day, as he waited in line at the bakery, he placed a book on the counter. It was a French pastry manual, thick and adorned with vibrant photos.

“For you,” he said with a smile.

Y/n stared at him, puzzled.

“Why…?”

“Because I believe in your dreams,” he said simply.

She clutched the book to her chest, moved by his gesture.

“Thank you… It’s… it’s a lot.”

For the first time, she looked up at him and held his gaze a little longer. An invisible butterfly stirred in Armand’s stomach.

Their relationship evolved slowly, like dough rising under a damp cloth. Y/n found herself waiting for his visits, listening for the bell to chime. Armand, for his part, took his time, respecting her pace, admiring every facet of her personality.

One day, as they shared a brioche fresh from the oven, he softly murmured:

“Y/n… You’re like this brioche.”

She looked at him, confused.

“What do you mean?”

“You’re soft. And… you bring a warmth that isn’t always noticed at first, but it lingers long after.”

She blushed, lowering her eyes, but this time, she didn’t look away completely.

It was the beginning of a fragile yet sincere love, built on glances, gestures, and shared dreams. A love that, like a good pastry, required patience and care.

---

Weeks Passed, but Armand’s Ambition Remained Intact

Weeks went by, but Armand’s ambition remained unshaken. He was a determined man, always immersed in his work, pushing his limits day after day. His architectural projects consumed more of his life than he cared to admit, and every minute of inaction felt like wasted time. Yet deep inside, something grew stronger every time he crossed paths with Y/n: love.

But he was caught in a spiral. He saw their age difference as an undeniable obstacle he couldn’t ignore. He didn’t want Y/n to get lost in a relationship that, in his mind, had no future. She was young, full of dreams, and he… he was already in a different phase of life. He had made choices, sacrificed moments of leisure to achieve his goals.

One evening, after an especially long day, Armand went to the bakery as usual, hoping for a light conversation, a little comfort in Y/n’s small gestures. But something wasn’t right. The stress of his job, his grueling hours, the constant pressure, and lack of sleep weighed heavily on him. He entered the bakery, heading toward the counter, his tired gaze fixed on her.

“Hello,” she said softly, a shy smile on her lips as always. She didn’t know he’d had an especially difficult day.

“I need a coffee, strong,” he murmured, his tone sharper than he intended.

She looked at him for a moment, surprised by the coldness in his voice. But she didn’t respond, simply preparing his order with calm concentration. When she handed him the cup, their hands brushed briefly, and he felt a dull tension rise within him. She was so gentle, so calm. She seemed worlds away from his own turmoil.

“Are you okay?” she asked, her voice tinged with concern.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. He didn’t want to talk about his job, his frustrations. But instead of responding, his words came out more abruptly than he intended.

“Why do you always worry about everyone? Don’t you have anything better to do? It’s not your job to take everything on yourself.”

She flinched, her eyes widening at his harsh tone. He immediately realized his mistake, but he couldn’t seem to regain control of the situation. He had acted impulsively, without thinking. The fatigue and stress had overridden his usual gentleness.

Y/n remained silent, her gaze lowering. She didn’t know what to say, but the hurt was clear on her face. Normally so understanding, so kind, she now felt deeply wounded.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured after a long pause. “I… I just wanted to offer you a little… comfort.”

He looked at her, ashamed of his words. He shouldn’t have spoken to her like that, but his nerves were frayed. Watching her retreat in silence made his heart ache.

The next morning, Armand arrived at the bakery earlier than usual, his mind tormented by the events of the previous evening. He had spent the night reflecting on his behavior, knowing he owed her an apology. But seeing her behind the counter, arranging the morning pastries, he realized he couldn’t bear to hurt her any further.

He waited for her to look up at him. When she finally did, he approached cautiously, a bit hesitant.

“Y/n… I’m sorry about yesterday. I was… I was overwhelmed, and I shouldn’t have acted that way.”

She didn’t respond immediately, and he saw doubt flicker in her eyes. He knew his words had deeply hurt her, and the thought gnawed at him.

“It wasn’t about you,” he added, his tone calmer, almost gentle. “It’s just… it’s hard for me to balance everything I need to do.”

She looked at him for a moment, then lowered her gaze, as if his apology wasn’t enough to erase the sting of his behavior. But instead of retreating into her usual silence, she offered a small gesture of understanding.

“I understand,” she said softly, but with a gentleness that instantly eased his heart. “It’s just… sometimes, we forget to rest. And that hurts you too, doesn’t it?”

Armand stood in silence for a moment, surprised by her insight. He hadn’t thought about it that way. He had been so absorbed in his work that he hadn’t realized how much the tension was hurting him from the inside.

“Yes,” he said after a pause, his voice rougher than he intended. “Sometimes, I’m so focused on what I want to accomplish that I forget to stop, to breathe.”

She nodded slightly, a timid smile brushing her lips. She understood what it meant to be swept up in dreams and ambitions, forgetting to care for oneself.

That evening, Armand went home replaying their conversation in his mind. He knew he was still far from understanding everything that was happening between him and Y/n. But one thing was clear: he loved her, and he didn’t want her to suffer because of his own shortcomings.

He also knew he had to change. Not for her. But for himself. And perhaps, in that process, they could learn to understand and love each other in a healthier, gentler way. Because Y/n deserved to be cherished, with no room for anger or exhaustion.

And for the first time in a long while, he wondered if finding balance between his dreams and his feelings was the true key to his happiness.

---

Armand’s project had consumed every fiber of his being. For months, he had poured his heart and soul into it, investing his time, ideas, and ambitions. He had imagined, designed, and created with the hope that his work would finally be recognized. He knew the moment was approaching—the moment his project would be unveiled to the public, the moment his name would finally be associated with success. And that moment came.

But it wasn’t what he had envisioned.

The day the project was praised, with critics unanimously lauding its quality, Armand felt a strange coldness seep into him. It wasn’t pride. Nor elation. It was emptiness. A void. His superior, someone who hadn’t contributed a single idea, had taken all the glory. His name shone in the headlines, while Armand’s was nowhere to be found.

He was devastated. And yet, he felt nothing. No anger. No frustration. Only an endless fatigue, a deep exhaustion.

He wanted to scream, to overturn everything around him, but his muscles were paralyzed. He couldn’t even move. He couldn’t scream. His mind was blank, as if everything he had lived, everything he had accomplished, had been swallowed by an ocean of silence. His hands trembled slightly, but he couldn’t even lift them. It all seemed so futile, so insignificant.

And yet, he couldn’t shake the sense of loss. Of betrayal. Of frustration. He hated himself for not being able to feel the injustice more intensely, for not being able to scream, to fight. Why couldn’t he react the way he wanted? Why did he feel like an empty man, a broken man without the strength to get back up?

That evening, he returned home, devoid of any enthusiasm. He collapsed on his couch, staring at the ceiling with vacant eyes. The air in the room felt heavy, almost oppressive. It was as if he were breathing in a space too small, drowning in a whirlwind of thoughts he couldn’t even organize.

It was far too late when he finally stepped outside. He didn’t even know why he left or what he was hoping for. Maybe it was the anxiety driving him out, or perhaps the need to be alone with his thoughts in the silence of the night.

The park was deserted, lit only by a few solitary streetlights. He sat on a bench under one of them and closed his eyes for a moment, letting the cool night breeze brush against his face. The sounds of the city felt distant, muffled by the stillness of the place. He felt so far from everything, so disconnected from reality.

That’s when he saw her. Y/n. She was walking alone in the park, probably after her workday. When she noticed him, she stopped for a moment, seemingly surprised to see him there at such a late hour. He slowly lifted his head to look at her, expressionless. He didn’t have the strength to smile. Nor the strength to pretend.

Y/n approached cautiously, her gaze uncertain but gentle. She seemed hesitant, unsure if she should disturb him. But she didn’t need words to know she should sit beside him. She said nothing, offering only her quiet presence.

The silence that settled between them wasn’t heavy but rather… soothing. She didn’t need to ask questions. Somehow, she knew he needed this moment of calm.

And that’s when Armand felt the first tears well up. He tried to hold them back, to stop them from falling, but it was no use. They began to stream down his face, slowly, gently, like a river cascading down a mountain, carrying away all the pain, all the frustration he had suppressed for so long.

The tears wouldn’t stop, one after another, breaking the silence of the night. He let himself go, giving in to the flood of emotions he had ignored for far too long. His body trembled as he leaned toward Y/n, unable to control the shaking.

Without a word, she wrapped her arms around him. He let himself lean into her, his face buried in her shoulder, the tears flowing endlessly. There was no shame in the gesture. No pride. Just the need to feel safe, to let go.

Y/n, silent, held him gently. She didn’t say anything, but she was there for him. That was all that mattered. She could feel the pain in his movements, in his cries, and she knew he wasn’t asking for anything other than understanding, support without judgment.

In her arms, Armand allowed himself to completely let go, his heart heavy but unburdened from the weight that had suffocated him for so long. He had finally stopped holding back his emotions, stopped repressing his pain. Y/n offered him the freedom to cry without judgment, without pressure.

Eventually, the tears subsided, though the emptiness lingered. Yet something had shifted. That emptiness, though still present, felt less insurmountable. He knew he wouldn’t face it alone. Y/n had accepted him without demanding answers, without imposing expectations. She had simply offered her heart, and for the first time in a long while, he felt like he belonged.

---

The silence stretched between them, but this time, it was soothing. Y/n didn’t move; she stayed there, her arms around him, like an anchor in a calm sea. She understood that sometimes, words weren’t necessary. She felt the tension in his muscles gradually ease, and she knew that, little by little, he was regaining control over his emotions.

Armand eventually pulled away slightly, his breathing still uneven. His eyes were red, but they no longer held that empty expression. In Y/n’s embrace, he had found something precious—a peace he hadn’t sought but that had found him. Slowly, he lifted his head to look at her.

“Thank you…” he murmured, his voice broken but full of gratitude.

Y/n smiled softly, her eyes gentle and reassuring. She didn’t need a response, but her gaze spoke volumes. She wasn’t judging him. She wasn’t trying to fix him. She was simply there, by his side, and that was enough.

“I’m here, Armand,” she said simply, her voice soft but filled with tenderness. Nothing more needed to be said.

A faint smile crossed Armand’s lips, but it wasn’t forced. It was genuine—a gratitude he never thought he could feel so purely.

He stood up slowly, taking a deep breath. The night was calm around them, but something within him had shifted. A weight he hadn’t even realized he was carrying had lifted, and he felt lighter, even if only for the moment.

“Do you want me to walk you home?” he offered, his tone now calmer.

She shook her head gently, a small hint of mischief in her eyes.

“No, I’m fine. But thank you. It’s… nice to be here, with you.”

He nodded, accepting her answer, though he felt a new warmth stir within him. It wasn’t just gratitude. He felt a connection, something deep silently weaving between them, without the need for words to express it. He knew that what he had just shared with her, this moment of vulnerability, could never be forgotten.

They remained there for a little while longer, enjoying the tranquility of the night. At some point, though, the silence became lighter, almost playful.

Armand turned to Y/n, his eyes now holding a spark of admiration he had felt for her since their first meeting. He looked at her, and this time, he didn’t see her as timid, fragile, or different from him. No. He saw her simply as Y/n—the person who, with a simple gesture of understanding, had brought him a kind of calm, a kind of peace he hadn’t known for a long time.

“You know, you’re really incredible,” he said softly, his voice both sincere and filled with tenderness.

Y/n blushed slightly, but her gaze didn’t waver from his. She was used to hiding her emotions, retreating into shyness. But that night, something about him encouraged her to be more open.

“Thank you,” she replied with a small smile. “But… I think we help each other.”

He smiled at her response. He didn’t need more words. He understood. They understood each other.

The days that followed felt different. Armand woke up in the morning with a slightly lighter burden on his shoulders. He continued to work, but he found himself appreciating the small things around him—things he had neglected for far too long. He spent more time reflecting on his life choices, his priorities, and what he truly wanted to achieve. But more than that, he started considering how he let his ambitions consume him.

And Y/n. He thought of her often. He hadn’t immediately seen her as someone who could help him through his moments of weakness, but he was beginning to realize that she might be the one who had shown him the path to a balance he had never sought before but was now striving to find.

For her part, Y/n seemed calmer too. She hadn’t tried to force her way into his world or immediately uncover the reasons behind his pain. She had simply listened, offering her support without expectations. She had always been a determined, dream-filled woman, but she understood that life had its own rhythm and that sometimes, stepping back was all it took to see things differently.

It wasn’t a fiery, explosive relationship, nor an all-consuming love story. It was gentler, calmer, like a quiet river. A love that grew in small gestures, in shared silences, in quiet laughter, and late-night conversations. They were learning about each other slowly but surely.

Armand knew he still had battles to fight. He also knew his responsibilities would pull him back into the whirlwind of work. But what he knew even more was that Y/n, with her quiet light and her gentle strength, would always be there, by his side. And perhaps, this budding relationship—fragile and uncertain as it might be—would become the key to a balance he had long sought without realizing it.

---

The little bakery, bathed in soft, warm light, was soothingly quiet. The last customers had long since left, and only Y/n remained behind the counter, meticulously tidying up the utensils, her precise movements reflecting her love for her craft. Armand stood in front of her, his hands buried in his pockets, looking unusually nervous.

He had rehearsed this confession in his head dozens of times. He had written a letter, carefully folded in the inside pocket of his jacket, just in case he forgot everything he wanted to say. But now, standing there in front of her, his thoughts seemed to unravel with each heartbeat.

Y/n finally looked up at him, intrigued by his uncharacteristic silence.

“Armand? Is something wrong?” she asked softly, her voice filled with genuine concern.

He pulled out the letter, hesitating.

“I… I have something to tell you,” he said, his voice rough, almost inaudible.

He placed the letter on the counter, but as he was about to hand it to her, his hand accidentally knocked over a cup of coffee left nearby. The brown liquid spread across the paper in an instant, soaking the carefully written words until the ink became a blur of illegible smudges.

Y/n, initially surprised, watched the scene before bursting into laughter.

“Oh no… You really planned everything, didn’t you?” she said, her playful smile lighting up her face.

Armand, initially panicked, began to laugh nervously too.

“Yes… Well, not exactly this,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck, slightly embarrassed.

Y/n’s laughter faded gently, but the smile remained. She looked at him, curious, waiting for him to continue.

He took a deep breath. So much for the letter. There was no escape now.

“Y/n… I’ll be honest—I’m terrible at expressing how I feel, especially about something this important. But I’m going to try.”

She stood still, her hands folded on the counter, her eyes fixed on him.

“For a while now, I… I’ve been struggling with how I feel about you. Not because I doubt what it is, but because I doubt… myself.”

She furrowed her brows slightly but said nothing, giving him the time he needed to find his words.

“You’re young, Y/n, full of dreams, talent, and life. You have your whole future ahead of you. And me… I’m…”

He paused, searching for the right word, but none came.

“I’m already in a world where I’m fighting just to stay standing. Where I work too much, where I’m always tired. And sometimes, I wonder if I’m just… an obstacle for you.”

Y/n opened her mouth, ready to protest, but he raised a hand to stop her gently.

“Wait, let me finish, please.”

She nodded, though her gaze softened.

“For the longest time, I told myself you’d be better off with someone else. Someone who could give you everything you deserve. Someone who could make you happy in ways I can’t. But every time I tried to let go of that idea… I couldn’t. Because the truth is, I want to be that person for you. Even if I’m imperfect. Even if I’m not the obvious choice.”

He finally lifted his gaze to meet hers, his dark eyes filled with a vulnerability he had never shown anyone before.

“I love you, Y/n. Not in some grand, dramatic way, but in a simple, honest way. I love you because you’re you—with your shy smiles, your passion for what you do, your way of always seeing the best in others… And I know I’m clumsy, that maybe I don’t deserve this, but I want to try. If you’ll let me.”

The silence that followed felt like an eternity. Y/n, her cheeks slightly flushed, seemed to be searching for the right words, her fingers playing with the edge of her apron. Then, slowly, she smiled.

“You know, Armand,” she murmured, “you’re putting way too much pressure on yourself.”

He raised an eyebrow, surprised.

“What I love about you isn’t some perfection you think you have to reach. What I love is you. Your clumsiness, your seriousness, the way you look at me like I’m the most precious thing in the world. I’ve never wanted someone perfect. I just want you.”

This time, it was his turn to be speechless. She leaned slightly over the counter, reducing the distance between them.

“I love you too, Armand,” she added, a glimmer of mischief in her eyes. “Even if you’re incredibly clumsy sometimes.”

He burst out laughing, relieved, and this time, the laughter was pure, sincere, full of a joy he hadn’t felt in a long time.

“So… you’ll have me, despite everything?” he asked, a hesitant smile on his lips.

She nodded, her smile widening.

“Yes. But only if you promise never to write letters next to a cup of coffee again.”

They laughed together once more, and in that shared moment of joy, the world seemed to shrink down to just the two of them. It wasn’t a perfect confession, nor a scene straight out of a romantic movie. It was clumsy, sincere, full of laughter and shyness. But it was them. Just them.

---

The months had flown by, and their relationship had blossomed in a quiet, unexpected way. Armand and Y/n had found their rhythm, balancing Armand’s busy workdays with the long hours Y/n spent in her bakery perfecting her recipes. Their love was sincere, built on small daily gestures and shared silences that spoke volumes.

They had celebrated Y/n’s victory in the pastry competition together. That day, she had climbed the stage, trembling but radiant, to receive her trophy. Armand had watched her with unwavering pride, as if she had just reached for the stars. They spent the evening laughing and celebrating in a way that felt simple and true to them.

But a few weeks after that moment of glory, their happiness was brutally interrupted.

Y/n had begun feeling pain in her lower abdomen and a fatigue she could no longer ignore. At first, she thought it was due to stress or overwork and delayed seeking medical advice. But one day, Armand insisted she see a doctor.

The diagnosis hit like a thunderbolt: terminal cancer, already too advanced to treat.

When Y/n walked out of the consultation room, her legs trembled. Armand, who had been waiting in the hallway, stood up immediately upon seeing her expression.

“Y/n? What’s wrong?”

She opened her mouth, but no sound came out. Then, with trembling hands, she reached out and grabbed his.

“I… I only have a few months left,” she finally murmured, tears streaming down her cheeks.

Armand felt his heart shatter, as though the ground had been pulled out from under him. But he didn’t let the panic take over. Instead, he wrapped his arms around her, holding her tightly as if that simple gesture could shield her from everything.

The shock of the diagnosis changed them. Y/n, initially terrified, found the strength to smile again thanks to Armand. He, though devastated inside, became her pillar of support. Together, they made a decision: they would not let this illness steal the time they had left.

They began crossing dreams off Y/n’s list. A weekend in a small cabin by the lake, where they fished together and stargazed. A day spent at a bustling market, tasting dishes they’d never dared to try before. And, of course, hours spent in the bakery’s kitchen, experimenting with new recipes Y/n had dreamed up.

One evening, as they kneaded brioche dough together, Y/n suddenly stopped, her hands covered in flour.

“You know, Armand…” she began hesitantly.

“Yes?”

“I think… even if I’d known all of this beforehand… I wouldn’t change a thing.”

He looked at her, surprised.

“Nothing?”

She nodded, a sad but sincere smile on her lips.

“Because meeting you, loving you… it was worth it.”

Armand felt his throat tighten. He stepped closer and gently wiped a smear of flour from her forehead.

“I’m the lucky one,” he murmured.

A few months after the diagnosis, Y/n was weaker, but she refused to let it defeat her. It was the day of the event they had planned to share her final pastry creations with her loved ones and loyal customers.

The little bakery was filled with laughter and joy. Armand watched her from a distance, marveling at the way she lit up the room despite her visible exhaustion. At one point, she caught his gaze and walked over to him.

“You know, I saved the best for you,” she said, handing him a small box adorned with a ribbon.

He opened it to find a delicate dessert, carefully crafted.

“I named it ‘Renaissance,’ because… even when something ends, there’s always a part of life that remains.”

He looked at her, moved, and whispered:

“Y/n, you are my renaissance.”

That night, under a starry sky, they sat on the bench in the park where it had all begun. Y/n, nestled against him, felt a tear roll down her cheek.

“Armand… you’ve given me so much more than I could have imagined,” she murmured.

He shook his head.

“You’re the one who’s taught me everything. To love, to live…”

She looked up at him, her tired eyes filled with love.

“Then promise me something,” she whispered.

“Anything.”

“When I’m gone, live for both of us. Live so fully that people will say Y/n taught you how to smile.”

Armand felt the tears well up but nodded, unable to speak. He etched that moment into his heart, as an eternal promise.

Y/n couldn’t change her fate, but she had turned their love into a light that would never fade.

---

The months had passed, and Y/n’s condition had worsened. Yet, she tried to maintain her smile, like a shield against the pain—for Armand, and for herself.

That morning, Armand arrived at Y/n’s place with a box filled with croissants he had carefully chosen from a bakery she particularly loved. But when he knocked on the door and she didn’t answer, a wave of worry washed over him.

“Y/n? It’s me, Armand.”

The silence was oppressive. After a few moments of waiting, he pulled out the spare key she had entrusted to him. When he opened the door, the familiar scent of lavender and flour greeted him, but the atmosphere felt strangely still. He hurried upstairs, his heart pounding.

“Y/n?”

In the bedroom, Y/n was still lying in bed. She slowly opened her eyes at the sound of his voice, but something in her gaze had changed. She seemed… distant. Armand approached her, and that’s when he noticed the strands of hair scattered across the pillow. Her once vibrant hair was almost all gone.

She reached a hand to her head, then lowered her eyes to the strands. A faint “Ah…” escaped her lips, barely audible, as if she no longer had the strength to react.

Armand felt a dull pain crush his heart. That indifference, that emptiness in her voice—it was worse than any tears she could have shed.

“Y/n…” he whispered, kneeling beside her.

But she didn’t respond. Slowly, mechanically, she got up to get ready.

He stayed there, motionless, his eyes fixed on the empty pillow, his trembling fingers clutching the wrinkled sheet. She was moving forward, but he felt her slipping away, like a wisp of wind he couldn’t hold onto.

A few months later, despite Y/n’s obvious weakness, Armand organized a small evening just for the two of them. He wanted to give her a moment of lightness, a little escape.

They laughed. They talked about memories, unfinished dreams, and even joked about how Armand could never bake a cake without burning it.

Y/n, tired but glowing, rested her head on his shoulder.

“You know… I think I’ve never been happier than I’ve been with you,” she murmured.

Armand gently stroked what was left of her hair and kissed her forehead.

“You are my life, Y/n.”

She looked up at him, a peaceful smile on her lips.

“Then keep living, even after me.”

That was their last conversation.

That night, Y/n fell asleep in his arms. Armand, however, couldn’t bring himself to sleep. He preferred to watch her, to engrave every detail into his memory: the softness of her features, the rhythm of her breath in the silence, the fragile warmth of her hand in his.

In the early morning, sunlight timidly peeked through the curtains. Armand opened his eyes and immediately felt something was wrong. Y/n was still—too still.

“Y/n?” he called softly, his voice filled with a hope he knew was futile.

He touched her cheek—it was cold.

“No… no,” he murmured, tears welling in his eyes.

He held her in his arms, gently rocking her, as if saying a final goodbye. Her face was peaceful, as though she had simply fallen asleep after a beautiful evening. But for Armand, the world collapsed in that moment.

The days that followed were dark, but Armand found strength in the memories they had shared. Y/n had taught him how to love, how to live fully, and he knew she wouldn’t have wanted him to drown in despair.

He kept the notebook where she had written her recipes and thoughts, and he worked to keep the promise he had made to her: to live for the both of them.

A year later, Armand opened a small bakery, which he named Y/n’s Light. Each creation carried a piece of her, a tribute to her talent and her brilliance.

And every morning, when he saw the smiles of customers enjoying what she had inspired, he felt her presence beside him. Y/n may not have had all the time she deserved, but her love—her light—was eternal.

---

Days passed, yet Armand continued to visit the cemetery regularly. Under the weeping willow, Y/n rested in the peaceful spot he had chosen carefully for her. He often spoke to the grave as if she were still there, sharing his achievements, doubts, and even the mundane stories of his day.

He decorated the gravestone with care. At Christmas, he brought small garlands and winter flowers. At Easter, he left colorful eggs and sweets he had prepared while thinking of her. The engraved photo on the stone smiled back at him, soft and almost alive.

But one day, something changed.

As part of his new project—renovating an orphanage—Armand immersed himself in his work. He wanted to create a warm, welcoming space where children could feel all the love they deserved.

One afternoon, while discussing the plans with a nun, he passed by the nursery. His gaze was drawn to a group of infants sleeping peacefully, their soft breaths filling the room with a calming rhythm.

That’s when he noticed a little girl, apart from the others. She cooed softly, observing the world with curious but timid eyes. Her cries were gentle, almost hesitant, as if unsure whether she should ask for attention.

Armand froze, his heart clenching. She reminded him of Y/n. Not physically, but in the fragile sweetness she radiated.

In the days that followed, he couldn’t get her out of his mind. The idea of adopting her became an undeniable calling, almost as if Y/n had sent him a sign.

A few weeks later, after completing all the necessary procedures, he finally welcomed the little girl into his home. He named her Y/n, in honor of the woman who had changed his life.

Four months passed. Little Y/n clung to Armand as if afraid he might disappear. Her smile, her clumsy laughter, her first attempts to stand on her tiny legs—everything about her rekindled a light he thought he had lost.

One morning, Armand made a decision. He wanted to introduce little Y/n to her “mother.”

He prepared a simple picnic, packing bottles for the baby and snacks for himself.

When he arrived at the grave, he paused for a moment, his eyes on Y/n’s engraved photo.

“Hello, Y/n,” he murmured.

Little Y/n, nestled against him, babbled softly, her big curious eyes following the willow leaves dancing in the wind. Armand knelt before the grave, spread out the blanket he had brought, and gently placed the baby on it.

“I brought someone to meet you today,” he said, a fragile smile on his lips.

He sat facing the gravestone and placed little Y/n on his lap.

“This is Y/n. She has your name. I couldn’t think of a more perfect name for her…”

He ran a tender hand through the baby’s short, soft hair as she played with a fallen willow leaf.

“She’s incredible, you know. Every day, she reminds me that life can still be beautiful, even after everything.”

He spoke for hours, sharing stories, thoughts, and promises he wanted to keep.

“I’m doing my best to be a good father. It’s not always easy… sometimes I wonder if I’m enough. But she trusts me, Y/n, just like you trusted me.”

The little girl let out a joyful cry as she spotted a butterfly fluttering nearby. Armand laughed—a sound he hadn’t heard from himself in a long time.

“You see? Even a butterfly fascinates her. She has your way of finding beauty everywhere.”

He leaned forward slightly, bringing little Y/n closer to the gravestone as if to introduce her properly to her mother.

“ Say hi to Mama” he whispered tenderly.

The baby didn’t understand what was happening, but when she saw the photo on the grave, she cheerfully held out a flower she had picked earlier and babbled joyfully. The gesture brought a smile to Armand’s face.

“See, Y/n? This little one already loves you.”

As the sun began to set, Armand rose slowly, holding little Y/n close to him.

"In another life, I hope it's you and me... I beg God that it's still you and me. I hope we will be happy together, Maybe we can love each other and... grow old together?" The little y/n in his arms suddenly lets out a chirp, as if to make her presence felt. Armand laughs despite his tears that threaten to flow. "Yes, and that the three of us can form a beautiful and happy family" he said, playing with his daughter's little hand. "Until then, I'll take care of her for both of us. Promise, my love."

“Thank you,” he murmured, looking at the gravestone one last time. “Thank you for everything you’ve given me.”

He placed one final flower on the grave before walking away.

On the way home, little Y/n fell asleep in his arms. Armand, however, walked with a lighter step. That day, under the weeping willow, he felt something shift. It wasn’t a goodbye, but a new chapter—a bridge between the love he had lost and the love he had found.

And he knew he would return to that willow, again and again, to share the joys and sorrows of the life he was building for the two of them.

..................................................................................

Next part

Tags list : @elizalabs3 @slvt4her

[agent-tempest]

TASM!Peter Parker x Fem!Reader recs list

I know that voice- @stylesparker [2k, some douchebag and a spider, comedy and major fluff]

Sectert and Scateparks- @earthgirl616 [mentions of violence/bruises, kissing, basically just a bunch of pg13 fluff, friends to lovers au. You have a sneaking suspicion about your best friend and will apparently go to any lengths to prove yourself right.]

Orbitational Pull- @irndad [peter is disastrously bad at talking about how he feels. friends to lovers!]

[magma-frog0]

You were sitting on the couch, holding your five month old son in your arms as you fed him a bottle. You look up and see your husband Leon Kennedy staring down at the both of you.

“You okay?” You ask him with your brow furrowed a bit.

He was snapped out of his thoughts and nodded his head with a smile.

“What’s up?” You asked giving him a soft smile.

“Can we have more?” He asked abruptly. You blushed red and raised your eyebrows with shock.

“More kids?” You asked blushing even more.

“Yeah…” He said as he looked down at your now sleeping son in your arms. “I wanna little girl…” he says and picks up your son. He snuggles up in Leon’s arms and he smiles softly, “I mean look at this one… he’s so tiny…”

You rubbed the bridge of your nose, “We can try again in a year or two…” You gave in.

“Yes!” Leon said excited and the baby stirred a bit in his arms, he calmed his excitement and cradled him back to sleep. “Shh shh shh…”

[enchantedlov3r]

this was beyond hot...

✮ ┆STFU (pink flame). ellie williams

warnings not proofread pls forgive me, dom f reader, smoking, toxic reader, ellie is whiny and subby and kinda a fucking loser in this, degradation, lesbian oral sex, high/drunk sex, like one pussy slap 942 words

blog navigation

— “got you craving me all day. once you're in my state of mind, i’ll never let you escape.” DRABBLE

HER LIPS ARE GLUED TO YOUR SKIN the second you sit down beside her on the sticky leather couch, the vodka and tequila on her tongue burning as she sucks a fresh hickey into the side of your neck.

Her actions have your eyes rolling, completely unfazed as you pull out the small, pink metal case of pre-rolled joints from the waist band of your skirt.

Your hand pats around your body in search for that last essential element until Ellie holds it up to your face.

Pink tinged eyes linger over your lips as she lights the end of your tightly rolled CBD with the pink flames of your favourite Hello Kitty lighter.

You inhale, gently grabbing her cheeks to bring her lips to yours so you can blow the smoke into her mouth.

The transferred cloud of Honeyrose hemp fills her senses, lingering before she exhales.

Your eyes bore into her as she uses the same Hello Kitty lighter to light her own cigarette, letting it sit between her thumb and pointer finger as she moves to your neck again.

God, you mentally groaned, she was always this fucking needy when she was high.

You hurry her into a random bedroom in the house where the party was being held, pushing her down on the bed.

“Can’t even keep it in your fucking pants for a couple hours, El,” you mutter, annoyance lingering in your tone.

Ellie giggles, rolling her shoulders as she snuggles into the soft mattress beneath her.

Yeah. She was gone.

“Need you here,” she whines, palming her cunt through the rough material of her black jeans. Her fingers massage the area, desperately trying to satisfy the growing wetness between her thighs as she watches you stand between her legs.

Undoing the buttons of her jeans, you have them and her black briefs off in one swift pull.

The rose blunt still hangs between your glossy lips, the end barely glowing with embers as you stand to shimmer out of your skirt.

The denim hits the ground and your black tank top joins it shortly after.

Her hazed eyes are as wide as her body allows them to be when she’s that high, mouth hanging open.

“Always got your fucking mouth open.”

The black lace tickles as the thong drops down your legs. You kick it off your feet and you’re now left completely bare in the pale moonlight.

Ellie doesn’t even have a moment to think before she lets out a muffled grunt, the material now shoved in her mouth.

She moans and rolls her head back as she tastes your sickly honeyed remnants on her tongue.

“That should shut you up,” you mumble, sinking to your knees between her legs on the end of the bed, “Love the sound of your own voice or somethin’, need you to keep quiet for me now though, pretty baby.”

You don’t even allow her a mere five seconds to comprehend your words before she hears a loud smack and there’s a sharp stinging on her pussy. She chokes a gasp as her hips jolt.

Your nails graze her sensitive skin, spreading her lips.

“Look at this,” you tease, “fucking soaked just from that one shot-gun, huh sweetheart?”.

She nods, trying to murmur through the material of your lingerie but failing.

Your thumb flicks her clit, puffy and pink as it throbs for attention.

“So cute,” you whisper.

Your lips close around her rosy nub, a long mewl leaving her chest as she grips the bed sheets.

Long black nails dig into her thighs as your mouth is mercilessly aggressive against her cunt.

Her moans sound starved and rightfully so.

It wasn’t a 50/50 relationship. Hell, it wasn’t even 80/20.

Countless times, Ellie sat in her dorm all alone, accompanied by nothing but ‘The Office’ playing on the TV as white noise. Her fingers slip into her underwear, trying her best to rub all the right spots the way you do. But to no avail, she almost cries in frustration as she cums not even close to as hard as you can make her cum.

She knows you’re out doing anything except thinking of her. A drug run, smoking with your friends that she knew you touched probably all the same ways you did to her, showing your cunt to some random girl in a sorority house.

Her texts stay unread for six hours and she would still sit and wait for your attention like a puppy, brainwashed desperate and hooked.

“Been neglecting this pussy for too long, huh?” your voice is smooth but your words are sharp. You know exactly what you’re doing and you know exactly how it tears a hole in her.

Any drop of dignity left in her veins dries up as she whimpers, the coil in her stomach unwinding as she grinds against your face.

Your tongue runs up her creamy slit, the sweet taste silky on your taste buds.

She wriggles, trying to back away from your mouth.

“It’s fucking pathetic,” you lean back, lips and chin soaked with her release, “cumming this hard when I’ve barely even touched you.”

You fall beside her on the bed, pulling your panties out her mouth and throwing them to the floor.

Before she knows it, the familiar feeling of your smooth, pink rolling paper is between her lips. She’s quiet, watching as you pull the lighter out of her sports bra where she always stashed it for you.

The pink flame ignites and her mind is foggy again. Except now, all she can think about is you.

© saintels 2023 — do not copy, repost or translate my work onto any other platforms without my permission.

[madamechrissy]

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

Chapter One - Chapter Two - Chapter Three - Chapter Four

Pairings- Pornstar Satoru x shy f!reader

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your name.

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

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

[succubusvalentine]

Simon Riley who never gets mad at his wife. No matter how angry he is. CW : None. Pure fluff

Simon was practically fuming. First he'd been ordered by Price to train a group of new recruits, then, the young recruits decided to be a colossal pain in the ass, and to top it off, he'd missed his lunch break where he would normally have some respite by calling you.

So now, he was shouting at the recruits. More than usual. The recruits all looked dead on their feet. But Simon didn't care, they decided to be annoying little pricks. They needed discipline or they'd never make it in the military.

"For fucks sake, you mongrel! Run ten laps!" Simon roared at a recruit, the others looking nervous. Not wanting to be the next one to face Simon.

"Uh, sir?" One of the recruits squeak.

"What?!" Simon roared, the recruit pointing behind Simon.

Simon turned with a low growl, clearly not in the mood for anymore antics, only for him to look down and see you. His wife, in a pretty little sundress and holding a Tupperware container full of something. It didn't matter what was inside, his stomach was growling at the thought of your cooking.

"Swee'heart" Simon sighed in relief, his shoulders visibly relaxing and his arms wrapping around your waist. He relished in the squeak that came from you as he lifted you up and buried his face in the crook of your neck.

"You alright, big guy?" you giggle. Simon grumbling in agreement. Making you laugh again.

Simon set you down, barking at the recruits to find Price and that he'll be taking over the training, before walking behind you with his hands on your waist to guide you to his office.

"Si, if you're busy I can go" you offer, and Simon can barely handle how fucking sweet you are to him.

Simon shook his head, taking off his balaclava and sitting in his office chair. Pulling you to sit on his lap.

"Made you some cottage pie" you grin, opening the container in your hands and handing it to Simon. God it was still warm. "I thought you were gonna yell at me with how mad you were at the recruits"

"Would never yell at you, princess" Simon said, rubbing your hips as you fed him a forkful of the cottage pie. He groaned at the taste, making you giggle.

"good?"

"so fucking good, lovie. Needed your cooking after how shit today has been" Simon smiled, bringing your left hand to his lips and kissing your wedding ring gently.

⛧°. ⋆𓌹♰𓌺⋆. °⛧

btw guys I pulled white lily cookie and dark cacao cookie while writing this :p

[nephritebabie]

oof

[bloodyboi]

[v1x3n]

innocent virgin reader this, sweet virgin reader that

how about virgin reader whos far from innocent, you probably know more about sex than toji - just no hands on experience. you are the filthiest person on earth!! you have a sex drive that flys off the charts, constantly rubbing at your poor hole, pinching your clit and nipples.

you're also far from sweet, you're crude and cruel. that's why toji was so drawn to you. when he discovered you were a virgin, he couldn't believe it honestly. he didn't ask any questions, didn't care. he just knew he had to have you.

he expected you to be shy during your first time, but no, you were a filthy fucking mess.

sprawled out beneath him, his tip entering your tight cunt. you moan loud, meeting his eyes. toji groaned out, a strained, growl. your eyes lock with his, direct eye contact as he shoves his dick further into you. deep breaths swarm the sticky room.

the pace picks up, you had complained it wasn't fast enough so fuck, he would show you. you're gripping tight onto the bedsheets, spurting everywhere as drool runs out from your lips. he thrusts into you with a fury, stretching your virgin hole in a harsh way. but you loved it. you open your mouth and he spits into it. you swallow instantly, he didn't even need to tell you. toji frees a hand and lowers himself onto you, trapping you with his body and his heat. your body smushed by his larger one, his free hand runs a thumb over your cheek.

you grin at him. "that all you got?" you challenge, smirk plastered over your satified expression. and just as those wods utter out, a slap is brought to your cheek. well ,fuck.

you cum right there, cream ringing around his dick as you clench like a fist around him. he groans out and his breath stutters. hips copying his lungs and stuttering too.

toji lets out a hot load, deep inside of you. his body twitching and shaking as if it was his first time. he had expected you to be the same, fucked out, passed out possibly, from the intense orgasm you just had. but no, you were smiling sweetly at him, "round two?"

[going2hell4everythingbutbeingbi]

yall gotta learn the difference between "this character is an asshole" and "this character was supposed to be super cool but the author is an asshole" and "this character is a teenage girl who was mean once"

[screampied]

#RENT-A-DILF! t. fushiguro

ৎ୭ sum. sims 4? more like sims whore. out of procrastination and sheer boredom, you install this pretty new game titled ‘rent-a-dilf!’ the catch? he actually spawns in real life and wants more than just one day with you. girl…

wc. 8.1k (erm)

warnings. fem! reader, dilf! toji, loser girl reader, unprotected, size differences, size kinks, he’s reaaal nasty, brief toy usage, praise, dirty talk, fīngering, squīrting, face fúcking, me breaking the fourth wall, cunnīlingus, bjs, making him whine, implied marathons, breeding kink, impact play, petnames, toji being well … toji!

an. HUUGE thank u 2 kali @blkkizzat for beta'ing some !! <3 this came to me in a dream so… this is all over the place eheh.

“HEY, GIRL. WANNA GET DILFED? PLAY NOW!”

“huh..” you swipe a fat thumb down the dimly lit screen of your phone. ah, the things you do at the buttcrack of midnight. your eyes were glued to your device for about a good hour as you allowed curiosity to get the utter best of you.

RENT-A-DILF! ™ was a brand-spankin’ new romance simulation game. it was a cheap knockoff version of tinder and the sims combined but made up of purely dilf characters. it was easy, you’d list your desired preferences and the game would randomly choose the perfect matches for you. it’s a 50/50 chance that you’ll match with one of the higher-up characters—specifically, the newest one that recently got added to the roster of digital men. toji fushiguro, also known as his ridiculous alias of ‘GUTREARRANGER385.’

at first glance - he’s smokin’ hot.

the app allows you to spin toji around, swipe a thumb through his shaggy black bangs, and even dress him up. your eyes skimmed toward a few words near his bio that read, ‘thirty-three, single, verified dilf, full nelson / doggy enthusiast. . ,’ and an extra tag that read ‘oh, i’m also filthy rich.’

well…

toji was a top-rated character, and again, he was just added to the line-up about a few hours ago.

as you sink into the fat cushions of your pillows, you grip your phone.

it was almost eerie—it was as if the dark-haired character was looking straight at you. while you’re deep in thought, still taking in his displayed stats and filthy bio, your eyes trace back up toward his face. it reads that he’s about a staggering height of 6’2 and judging from his burly build alone, he was fuckin’ jacked.

such swole muscles . .

you couldn’t stop staring for a bit, and the black compression tank with loose-fitted shorts didn’t exactly help things either.

his stance was idle as he had an accessory of a priggish grin curling across both sides of his scarred lips.

his lips, you were so busy fawning over toji’s body that you didn’t even notice the scar that vertically ran down the right side of his mouth. it’s such a brief detail but it’s sexy.

you kind of wanted to know more about him. now that you thought about it, the game had dozens of ‘???’ symbols near the pink box where his lore was supposed to be. he’s new so you’d probably have to wait until you learn more about him.

with your eyes trailing back toward him, just so smug. you could tell from his demeanor despite him being just literal pixels on your glowy screen.

or so you thought..

“fuck it,” you sigh, lightly tapping the print of your thumb against the bright pink ‘marry me?’ button.

you did a lazy skim beforehand about the app’s so-called ‘pity system’ and how dim your chances were at actually snagging toji. like hell, you were gonna spend money on a game—you just had to hope that you were lucky.

it’s damn near close to one at night before you slouch back, sprawling your legs out in an attempt to get more comfortable.

staring at your screen and scratching your head, seconds . . minutes go by and nothing happens.

the game swallows up the last remnants of your free gems and you’re leering back at toji who you could’ve sworn just rolled his eyes at you.

what . . the . . fuuuck . .

okay, girl. sooo nothing happened. now what?

your brows start to contort together in frustration and now you are really bored.

all you wanted was to see what was the hype around this new popular dating-slash-romance-simulator game and now, you were disappointed.

then again, you’ve heard of how games like these were known to scam their players.

with an annoyed groan, you toss your phone near the edge of the bed before crawling over toward your burgundy-colored nightstand. there, you lightly pull on the wooden handle, opening your drawer.

your eyes land on your sparkly-colored rose toy. just about a few days ago, it came in the mail and you were oh-so ecstatic to try it out.

holding your thumb over the heart-shaped power button, you hear the loud ‘beeeep!’ indicating it’s turned on.

reclining back, you lift your nightgown before sighing deeply. hopefully, your cute ‘lil toy could help make you forget everything that just happened.

honestly, you didn’t really think the stupid game would work anyway. you’ll leave a one-star review later.

the entire game screamed a scam but hey, you only live once. it was worth a shot. actually, no it wasn’t.

but on the bright side,

you were starting to forget about the app the moment your pinched fingers slid your panties to the side. a soft moan leaves from your lips the moment the rubber edge of the vibrator smears against your bare clit. your back nearly arches forward, and as you’re gnawing on your bottom lip, you can feel your toes curling.

“f- fuck,” you swallow in an incoming breath, hearing the loud ‘bzzzz’-ing resounding through each of your paper-thin walls.

the stimulation had you forgetting about that shitty game within seconds. you lie back against your pillow, sweet harmonic whines purring out of your dry throat as you gradually succumb to your coarse thoughts.

then it hit you.

why don’t you just fantasize about . . him?

toji fushiguro.

dark-haired, smug grin, scarred sly lips, beefy build, and cold green eyes..

as you started to envision him in your clouded mind—you let off a soft whine. your thoughts were scrambled, but the first image that popped up in your brain was his arms. his muscles, the various veins that would pop through his biceps.

oh- you only imagined what it would feel like to have his arms wrapped around your throat.

the thoughts alone make your thighs squeeze together, and the buzzing from the toy shrieks even louder once you turn it up a single notch.

‘powering off. . !’

wait,

what?

snatched straight out of your lewd fantasm, your fingers pause as they lie against the rubber toy. your eyes widen once the vibrating stops— and then in your room, it’s dead quiet again.

“you’ve gotta be kiddin’ me,” you whine, the realization that your toy dying mid-fantasy making your mood turn even more sour.

first, you lose in the game and you lose at playing with yourself too? damn, girl you’re a failure!

oh uh, sorry.

“heh, need help, sugar?”

you freeze the minute your ears perk up, hearing a smoky raspy voice. its low, with a bit of huskiness underneath it too. coldness sets against your thighs, creeping at the skin that hides underneath your pulled-up nightgown before you gulp.

was that…

“yeah, it’s me. y’er wished uh- ‘dilf.’ whatever i’m supposed to say,” toji adds in a raspy tone, crossing his beefy arms with a puffed-out chest. it was as if he was reading your mind. you probably had the dumbest expression plastered across your face because toji then smirked. “what? y’er toy that failed to make you cum made you speechless too? awwwh.”

smug bastard.

a wave of embarrassment crept against your skin as you closed your dangling, open jaw. oh fuck.

he saw that- he saw you, little ‘ole you playing with yourself. just seconds ago, you were fantasizing about if he really was here, and now actually he is.

in the flesh . . . literally.

“i… uh,” you stammer, struggling to form a proper sentence. toji stands tall, a few inches away from the edge of your bed. hooded, green eyes stare at you and he’s just loving it - the way your eyes rove down his body, openly checking him out.

he wore the same outfit you picked out for him in the game.

a compression tank top with some shorts. (you added a tiny pink bow on his head just to be funny) the more you ogled at him with cute, enlarged eyes—the more you realized just how big he was. ‘big’ was an understatement, the guy was huge. toji towered over you even while you were lying in bed. “wow,” you softly utter, your eyes coincidently landing on his bulge.

toji was packed- and it was as if his bulge was having a staring contest right back at you.

“i know, darlin.’ he’s big ain’t he?” toji snickers.

you finally meet toji’s eyes before scoffing. his personality traits weren’t kidding about him at all. he’s cocky. “i’m just- you’re real?”

“pretty much.”

“but… how?”

“touch me ‘n find out, darlin.’”

you deadpan, but it was tempting.

you don’t even realize that you’re already sitting up from your bed—slowly inching yourself toward him.

toji eyes you with the same impish simper, puffed chest, and hefty arms crossed. he’s so brawny, and the moment you softly feel on his left bicep with a hand, he snickers.

“mhm,” he mumbled under his breath, and you could feel his muscles tense at your touch. multiple veins pulsed down his exposed arms and oh- the entire thing was so sensual.

you still felt embarrassed but now you started to feel something else. toji noticed you started to stare at his hands and he raised a dark brow. “this not enough for you, yeah?” your eyes widened once he then bent down, a few inches away from your face. he’s actually real, and sure, you were probably staring at literal pixels but you didn’t care. “want me ‘ta touch you, pretty girl?”

“please,” you whine, and that single word comes out of your mouth so quickly. it flew past your lips within and split a second and you didn’t even register how fuckin’ whiny you sounded in front of him.

your body was burning hot, and you were blazing up underneath your nightgown. “i- i mean, yeah,” you try to play it cool, only embarrassing yourself even further. toji’s so close thought that you could fully smell him.

he smelled manly, a citrusy mixture of wood sage and leather. it’s strong, so strong that it makes you blink thrice.

“yeah what?” toji gruffs, and god he’s just getting closer ‘n closer. by now, he’s just a few spaces away from kissing you.

you’re hoping - praying that he couldn’t hear the dramatic thumps of your heart’s weak pulse.

it’s pounding loudly, competing with drums with each ba-dump! it creates in your chest. toji softly cups your chin, and raises a thin brow once you lean into his touch right away.

“ ‘m gonna need to hear that pretty mouth tell me what to do.” and his smoky voice softens just a bit.

leafy eyes intently stare at you before they shift toward your quivering glossed lips. you’re needy and oh, could he tell.

you lock eyes with toji before letting off a cute sigh. it’s more of a frustrated one—and he’s gingerly rubbing a thumb down your pouty bottom lip. “touch- i want you to touch me, toji.”

“aht ahttt. manners, darlin’,” toji eggs on, guiding his thumb near the corner of your lips. the edge was killing you, and the haughtiness in his voice only made you more irritated. “ ‘pretty please?’ c’mon, talk to me nice.”

toji’s simper turns pompous as he watches you attempt to shoot daggers at him. your knees squeeze together and you’re just so impatient that you just sucked it up, complying. “p.. pretty please, touch me toji.”

“good girl,” he murmurs, and his voice pitched a bit lower this time. it’s almost dangerous, and you gasp once his big hand snakes around your neck.

you’re still trying to wrap your head around how this is even real - but fuck, you were never one to complain.

toji takes a glance at your snapped-shut thighs and he chuckles. “aw, poor thing. that cute rose toy didn’t seem to be much help, huh?”

“……”

ouch.

he just had to remind you of that. but his hand around your neck felt good. he’s gentle, slowly making his way down your chest. toji then starts to make you lie down on your back.

with a flop! the comfy queen-sized bed springs out and you sigh.

“toooji,” and it’s almost like you’re whining again. you hated how slow he was taking, and you knew it was on purpose. the stare he’s giving your body makes you almost moan. your room was slightly dim, but you could still make out his towering wide silhouette. “m- more.”

toji gets on your bed, the mattress dipping from the sudden weight before he grumbles. “bet you fuckin’ do,” and you gasp once he stares between your legs. you moan, watching as toji starts to smell your thighs. he doesn’t just smell though, he’s slowly rubbing his nose and entire face up and down your skin. he’s feral already, and you could tell just from the grunt that leaves his lips shortly after. “ ‘m guessin’ you don’t want me to just touch you anymore, huh sugar?”

“no,” you breathlessly reply, nearly writhing from his touch once his shaggy bangs ghost against your skin.

toji could already smell between your legs. so peachy, and he even made out the faint candied aroma of your body wash that lingered on your skin. your back was already creating an arch at the temptation alone. once his barred hands sprawl your legs apart, he stares straight at your dripping cunt.

oh - you were perfect..

toji huffs, taking a second to smear a thumb down your slit that’s dribbling with so much slit.

leisurely, it cascades down your folds and you watch with glassy eyes once he brings his same thumb up to his lips, getting a taste. “mmm, ain’t that a treat,” and you moan, a hand of yours clawing on his head. toji snickers, feeling your weak grip trying to push him further between your thighs. “my, aren’t you impatient,” toji rasps with a guffaw. “but heh- fine, spread these legs f’ me. ‘s been a while since i’ve eaten good anyway.”

and the moment toji feasts himself between your pretty plush thighs — you were fuckin’ screwed..

he was a literal animal. the second his tongue delves itself inside of your cunt - he’s insane.

toji grunts, pursing his carmine-colored lips as your feeble hips start to rock against his mouth.

“o- ohhh my god,” you’d whimper, tugging at his raven strands. his head movement was just ferocious, swerving from the left to right.

his tongue’s stupidly long too, and toji dips it inside of your pussy before fishing it right back out. he reels it out of your puffed folds before diving right back in.

he’s sluuuurping you as if his life depended on it, savoring your sweetened taste as his lips stuck against your clit. “ngh- fuck, toji,” and your lips couldn’t help but curl into a cute oval.

his tongue..

he’s bullying it between your folds, profusely circling the pointed tip around your pretty ‘lil clit. briefly, it gets trapped within his teeth and toji gives it a little nibble.

a soft yelp! rips out of your throat at the tender munch of his canines playfully munching on your sweetest spots. toji found it cute how you were so squirmy, so much so that his callused rough hands had to hold your hips down. with a cute shimmy, you’re wriggling your twitching sex against his mouth.

already, you watch the glittery stream of your slick starting to drip drip drip down his chin.

toji’s green eyes glance up at you and he snickers, popping in a single digit. slooowly, you feel his thumb sinking inside of your cunt before disappearing into the void of your entrance. you’re moaning, maintaining your firm grip on his head before whimpering. “mm, yank on it harder why don’tcha.”

toji grumps—his head pulling forward roughly at your adorable strength. he’s buried not six inches deep but nose deep, and you shiver once the tip of his button nose starts to rub up ‘n down your sobbing pussy.

he’s addicted- not only that but the epitome of pussy drunk.

“tojiiiii!” you slur out his name, a gasp shortly following out of your lips. the dexterous shapes and curves of his tongue make you whine out his name again . . and again . . and a-fuckin’-gain.

as he’s easing another thick finger inside of your cunt, you’re starting to fantasize.

why didn’t men like him exist in real life?!

he’s messy, giving each area of your cunt a multitude of sloppy kisses. bubbles of saliva trickle past the corners of his lips as he’s stuffed right between your legs.

toji’s damn near animalistic- his buds continuing to whine out for more of your divine taste.

he doesn’t think he’s tasted anything this good since.

you’re full, exhaling a sharp breath once you feel him plug in yet another digit.

“biiiig stretch, baby. three’s the fuckin’ charm,” toji huskily groans, staring straight at your pussy.

it’s so pretty, he’d never get over the shine that coats the entirety of your loving entrance. if he’d squint, he’d mistaken your clit for a blossoming flower. a more lewd one at least anyway.

it’s sloppy with the way he’s got three fat fingers barreling inside of you at once. toji watches as your stomach dips and you’re gasping, tightly pulling at his scalp. “hehhh, atta girl. get these fingers wet if you want toji sir later.”

toji sir….?

just as you were about to eye roll, you let off a moan once you hear the ridiculously wet sloshes of your cunt. he’s pumping all fingers in and out of you while flicking his tongue — multitasking.

with a ‘pop!’ he takes one out before sliding it back in, feeling you bare around each digit like a good girl. “oh- fuck, please don’t stop. pleaseplease,” and you grow even more hysterical as you’re just basically fucking against his face now.

as you’re jerking your hips against toji’s face, you feel a bit of stubble along with his slanted scar smearing against your cunt.

it tickled, but oh- you weren’t laughing.

your eyes were rolling at the enticing sways of his tongue every time. they reach deep- far deeper than the tips of his fingers if that was even possible. as toji’s still idly swirling his flat tongue inside of your gummy orifice, he hears you exhale a deep shriek. “ ‘m gonna cum!”

“awh,” toji slyly murmurs, and you coo out a surprised ‘oooh’ the moment he snatches out of his dewy-coated fingers.

they’re covered in translucent webs of your tangled slick when he gives your cunt a pat. “hear that, baby? said she’s gonna cum,” and he’s not even looking at you. verdant eyes gave your pussy his entire uninvited attention instead, and you feel him blowing his hot breath against your puffy slit. toji even presses his ear up to your wet folds before nodding. “mhm. ‘s exactly what i’m sayin.’”

“uh?? are you seriously talking to my pu—”

“quiet now, sugar. you’ll get y’er turn,” toji utters, making you moan with a spanking right against your fluttering clit. as you’re still laid back with your legs widely splayed out, you quietly bite back whimpers once his palm starts to maneuver a circle around your entrance.

a wet splash! ends up making you spurt out a few droplets of slick right onto the center of his hand. “nasty giiiirl,” he purrs, turning his palm around before licking it right up while staring dead at you.

your neck starts to feel a bit numb as it’s slightly raised just so you can keep staring at toji. he’s just toying with your pussy, casually flicking his tongue against your nub just to hear you whine.

“t- tojiiii.” you wail out, feeling your nerves practically scream at you.

you felt every bundle of axons in your body violently shake you to your very core. your thighs wrapped around toji’s broad neck, merely suffocating him—but he had to admit, going out like this wasn’t so bad..

“give it t’ me then,” he gruffly rasps against your pussy. his breath yet again fans against your folds, noticing that cute ‘lil pulse that would always occur whenever his lips were just a few inches apart.

toji even whistles against your slit, lolling out his tongue before lapping you up from top to bottom.

teasingly, he even goes down toward your neglected puckering hole to give it a loving lick. “all on my tongue, girl. hah- make a mess,” he continues, and you’re whimpering as he’s gruffly talking you through your incoming release.

all you’re seeing is nothing but white once it finally comes. bright, blinding splotches of white that blur your vision for a few seconds..

the moment you let go, you let off a sweet squalling orgasm that rings through your ears and toji’s.

more of a sobbing battle cry and it’s oh-so cute.

at least toji thought so, and he could feel the lessening hold of your fingers releasing from his ravened tresses.

toji’s slurping you clean, making sure his tongue doesn’t miss a drip of your syrupy mess. it coats down on his tongue perfectly, falling on his sizzling tastebuds and even pouring a stream down his chiseled chin.

“there we go girl, uh huhhh.” as he’s talking with his mouth full, you fall back against your bed.

you’re beat - stars clouding your vision and your current state was so cartoonish.

your legs felt like they stopped working, no batteries left in each limb and you’re still moaning whilst he’s lapping up the last few syrupy drops.

licking near the crevices of your inner thighs, toji hums. “heh. y’er cute. ‘s been a while since you’ve got eaten out, sugar?”

in a sluggish mumble, you stare at toji with metaphorical heart eyes. “i guess.”

“poor baby,” he clicks his tongue, sitting up. you’re panting heavily, watching as he gets up. toji’s broad body hovers over you and he runs a hand through his matted black strands. “y’know-” he pauses at the feeling of your hand reaching near his shorts. toji looks at you before snickering, raising a brow. “aw, don’t tell me you want a taste too. ‘s that what you want?”

“mhm,” you utter, and you don’t even realize you are drooling once you’re fondling your fingers with the hem of his briefs. they’re a viridescent green, matching his eye color. once you meet the strip of his boxers with bold black letters that read, ‘DADDY TOJI,’ you couldn’t help but roll your eyes.

of course he’d wear briefs that had his name on them.

“don’t be shy, girl,” toji murmurs, placing a wide palm on your head.

you crawl forward as he’s now lying down on the bed with you on your knees. toji’s tank top was wrinkly, and it was pulled up just a tad bit for you to peep at his snatched waistline. it’s sharp, you’d guess that if you tried to touch his hips you’d be left with a paper cut. “ ‘m alllll yours t’night. and he watches as you waste no time, speedily pulling down his boxers.

you’re met that same huge bulge you saw when he was in the game—

it’s big, so big that it almost looked painful.

the way it poked out the fabric, hardening from the tent that was concealing it from being sprung out.

once you pull down his briefs, his cock eventually does spring out, and your eyes cutely widen. “f- fuck.”

“yeahh, toji sir’s gonna be inside you in a minute.”

“stop talking about your dick like it’s a person.”

“make me.”

he’s so annoying,

silence was your reply and toji snickers once he sees you deadpan. he liked getting on your nerves. he found it cute how you were trying to keep up your stubborn façade while wrapping a hand around his monstrous length at the same time.

but fuck.. he’s just so thick-

at first, toji could barely fit around your entire palm. his tip’s swollen, a ruddy crimson red with a pearly split tip.

it’s got veins running from not just one side but all, and you were frothing inside of the mouth just imagining that thing down your throat. you’re so close up to it, glancing at the tears of pre-cum that snivel from the meaty sides. you couldn’t help but give his rounded tip a few kitten kisses.

“m-mhm,” toji grunts, his core muscles underneath his tightly fitted shirt flexing.

seconds later, you softly swirl your tongue around his tip—getting a good enough taste before humming with a closed-eye smile. “go ‘head, get a taste.”

toji’s hand claws on the crown of your head once he ogles at the sight before him.

you - arched over, a hand slowly jerking up and down his hefty shaft. a vein on his dick prods against your finger the moment you cup your lips around his head. it’s massive, and it takes you a second to relax your jaw out.

“nnghm-” you blink twice, laying your wet tongue flat against his flushed crown. toji watches, and he’s oh-so smug. the hooking curve he had on his cock didn’t help either.

you could already start to feel the creases of your mouth numb as you tried to fit him inside. the bittersweet taste of his pre-cum lingers on your buds as your lashes suddenly close.

“niiiiiice ‘n slow, babygirl. you got it,” toji says in a smoky gruff.

the muscles in his burly thighs tense the more your mouth slams down on him. with his nostrils flaring up, toji lets off a loooong groan that puffs out of his chest. “fuuuckk-” he grunts, feeling your tongue circle its way around his sparkly tip.

it’s glimmering with excess dewdrops of cum and you couldn’t help but lap up every drop. toji then sits up on his knees, making you keep your current position.

his knees dig into the plush mattress as he stares at how you’re slowly taking him in your mouth.

with a hand still wrapped around his thick shaft, your lashes flutter once his bulbous cockhead kisses against your uvula. “ahn-” you gulp, a few strands of saliva pouring down the corners of your cracked lips. toji groans, feeling you already starting to lather his entire meaty length with spit as a substitute for lubricant.

it’s messy - and toji eyes you the entire time, his grip against the top of your head getting a bit stronger.

“good girl, mhm. no teeth, n- no fuckin’ teeth. wanna feel that pretty tongue ‘n that tight throat,” and you let off a muffled moan once his tip sloppily drubs against the back of your throat yet again.

you lie your tongue flat, making it wander everywhere—tasting the tasteless veins that were shaped akin to lightning strikes.

it’s all over his cock, and your eyes are closed as you try to savor every inch that eases its way down your right throat. “god- that’s it, that’s what this cute mouth is for, yeah? for dick, huh,” and some more drool seeps from your lips as toji holds up your chin, rubbing a thumb over your mouth. “p- put that mouth to good use, sugar.”

your plump lips wrap around toji’s cock as your head starts to bobble. wholly, you’re taking him in with the end of your conic-shaped tongue teasingly sliding down the midline of his shaft.

toji’s nostrils flare up as he starts to push you closer into his unsteady hips, sucking in a dramatic breath once he feels you starting to wetly fist his cock quicker with one hand.

again, it’s damn biiig, throbbing in the palm of your hand and you moan once you guide your other hand between your legs.

with quick reflexes though, toji reaches in and gives your wrist a slight swat.

“no touchin’, girl.” he grumbles, and you let off a pout as your puffed cheeks heat up. “don’t worry about her right now, she’s fine where she’s at, promise.”

if you didn’t have your mouth occupied you’d smack your lips to voice your frustration, but alas…

your head continues to bobble as you take various fat inches down your throat, occasionally taking a second to breathe for air.

toji’s abs flex as you continue, digging his thick stubby fingers down your scalp. “mmp-” you let off a muffled moan, feeling your thighs squeeze shut.

pathetically enough, you were still dripping and the conditioned air fanning against your exposed skin only made you ten times more sensitive. toji lets off a deep, heavy sigh once you start to fondle his balls.

they were all round ‘n swollen, and he nearly choked on his own words once feels your stringy saliva trickle down toward his heavy, neglected sack.

“nasty s- slut,” he huffs out, already starting to feel his cock tightening. your throat and its warmth were dangerous—and he can feel your jaw starting to slacken. “mmm, gettin’ handsy on me, yeah pretty girl?” and toji brings two fingers toward your face, plugging your nose.

it only lasts about two seconds and you moan, his dick sloppily popping out of your mouth and he hears you gasp. a lustrous stream of spit starts to dribble down your chin as you pant, cutely glaring at him.

“aw, such a messy baby. look at that wet jawww,” he smears a hand down your chin, watching you lean back in.

toji grunts, feeling you grip his base and he knew sooner rather than later, that he was getting close.

you’re opening your throat niiice and wide as if you were preparing to belt out a high note. he’s tapping back against the roof of your mouth and near your twitching uvula repeatedly, and that’s when toji starts to thrust his hips into your mouth.

“fuck, f- fuckk keep goin’,” his voice starts to pitch deeper with an even more husky rasp before he starts to pant. “ ‘m gonna cum, gonna fuckin’ cum right down this messy throat. ‘s that what ya want, pretty?”

“mhm,” your head nods, and you could feel your cunt twitching between your legs at the erotic imagery.

the mental image of toji splattering ropes and ropes of hot cum on your achy pink tongue. it makes you nearly drool just imagining it, and you start to moan again.

toji groans, never getting over the lewd sliminess of your saliva mixing. sloppy strands continue to fall past the edges of your quivering lips as your glassy eyes glance up at him.

toji’s puffing and huffing feverish heavy breaths that make you throb even more. his chest sinks in and out as he’s preparing to shoot a nice load right on your tongue. “hah- fine then, open wide baby girl. better take it all.” toji groans, shivering once your lips tickle down the slope of his frenulum.

with a loud spurt! toji ends up releasing, slimy creamy strings gradually painting near the inside of your mouth.

it comes out slow but it’s so hot- you let off a soft mewl at the bitterly somewhat sweet taste soaking on your highly anticipated tastebuds.

“mmmh.” you let off a satisfied hum, flapping your lashes as he dumps such rivulets of cum down your throat. frosty ribbons ooze down your throat one drop at a time and toji grunts.

“hah- good . . good fuckin’ girl, c’mere.” toji grunts.

as you’re trying to catch your breath yourself, he softly pulls you up by the neck, bringing you into a sultry hot kiss. you moan once his scarred lips harshly crash against yours at full speed.

toji swipes his tongue across the edge of your mouth, barely batting an eye that he’s tasting remnants of his cum on your lips.

as both tongues mercilessly fight for dominance, toji leans you to lie back down on the bed. he’s warm, and you can feel him shiver once you drag a palm down his beefy chest.

you taste a bit of mint on his tongue as he parts your legs with one hand blindly, giving your bare pussy a playful squeeze with his entire wrist.

“mmmpf-” you whimper against his lips, and toji’s big hands slowly trail their way toward your untouched tits. he squeezes them also.

you feel a curve of a smile from toji stretch against your lips as he hears you whine. still delving his greedy tongue in and out of your mouth, occasionally tilting his head, toji brushes his thumbs against the fleecy fabric of your nightgown that sheaths your perked nipples.

before you know it though—you now found yourself bent over and arched.

your lips were all hot and swollen, ridden entirely and you already missed his lips on yours as you laid chest flat down with a cute pout. you could feel toji’s eyes running down your back, shortly hearing a titter come from him once he stops to look at you.

“goddamn, sugar,” toji lets off a whistle as he enjoys the view from the back. your face was met between your fluffed pillows as you chewed on your lip in utter anticipation.

your slicked orifices were just weeping out with your syrupy arousal, clenching from the cold air aerating against it. toji wanders his eyes down the cute shape of your ass with his shaft in hand.

his stare - you could feel it, including the incoming chill that ran down your spine.

with a loud echoing spank, toji swats a hand against your ass, groaning at the jiggly flesh. “so pretty ‘n plump. ‘m gonna take my time with you.”

you moan as your ass instinctively wriggles. toji’s rough wide hands softly caress down your hips before he starts to align himself.

here it goes…

you were mentally preparing yourself, biting on the edge of your cottony pillow. the instant you feel his dewy tip smudge its head against your folds, you let off a deep sigh. shortly afterward, a sweet ‘oooh!’ departs from your lips from the fat size alone. your stomach was already seizing, and the wait was steadily killing you. “fu- fuck,” you croak out, hearing toji’s husky breathing from behind you.

all eyes were on you, and your sweet drooling cunt that just doesn’t know when to stop leaking.

it’s a gorgeous sight in his eyes—

the way how your pulsing inside your clit started to accelerate more ‘n more once he brings his flushed cockhead towards your entrance. “ahh, such a pretty pussy. let’s get the good girl a bit more loose,” toji heaves, and your mouth drops the second his hips sharply pierce inward. gradually, he’s starting to ease his way in..

he’s slow and gentle—

mainly because just a bit of pressure and he’d snap you in half like a twig.

he was that big, and once you were starting to feel the splitting stretch of his cock, you were hysterical. “ohmygoddd.” you blurb out, your hips already pathetically stuttering.

the stretch was so delicious, it’s so good that your eyes were starting to roll back toward the back of your skull yet again. toji groans, feeling your cunt trying to hug against him tightly, greeting him with a cute gummy flutter.

once his thick tip bullies its way inside with its sheer size instead of words alone… it’s game over.

a single thrust was enough to snap you right into reality, and you moan right as his hips punctuate its first hit.

that single hit soon turns into a combo, and toji’s cock started to maintain a decent pace before striking your cunt at all angles. he stares at the fat of your ass that bounces back against his sharp pelvis and he grunts.

“hah- that’s it, girl. fuck back into me, yeah.” and another rude palm smacks against your ass cheek. you whimper, feeling your toes curl at his weight pressing right up against you.

toji lifts his shirt which was practically gluing against his skin due to his masses of sweat. leaning in all the way close, he hovers his weight over you—making his abs rock against you as he starts to grind on your body.

“lemme hear ya,” he hoarsely whispers, feeling your cunt twitch the moment he wraps a hand around the back of your throat.

toji’s strokes were mean-

the epitome of ruthless once he’s just straight-up jackhammering into your walls.

your legs didn’t take long to become wobbly as you were whining his name constantly, choking on your crude inaudible syllables.

“toji—”

“again, not you little girl,” and you moan once his tip thrashes deep into your cervix. it’s nearly reaching there, attempting to drown it with sloppy vigorous kisses.

a palm goes over your mouth, muffling your sweet repetitive moans before he smirks.

“her,” and you whine, feeling him creep a free hand down between your parted thighs. toji rubs circles against your stuffed full cunt, hearing your whimpers pitch louder.

his rhythm was the definition of crazy, and as he was pounding into you continuously, you were slobbering all over the bare center of his palm. toji spanks between your legs, hearing your muffled yelp before lowly chuckling against your ear. a loud splash was heard from your cunt and he starts to smear it back against your throbbing entrance.

“mhm, see baby. she’s tryna talk to me again. ‘m more interested to see what she’s got to say,” and your eyes were practically crossed-eyed now. as toji’s deep voice talks your ear off, he playfully nibbles on your lobe. “wet pussy first, then the whiny wet girl, yeah?”

“mmph-” you moan, bawling your sheets into the open palms of your hand. toji gawks as your body starts to gradually lift.

it’s cute- your ass raises and you’re trying to match his pace. toji’s hitting you well and he’s hitting you deep.

each tilt of his hips sends you whiplash and you’re hacking on your own spit. “mmng.” as your muffled sounds resounded through your walls, you feel his hand go against your ass again.

toji’s favorite part always was to just see your skin bounce back against his.

the jiggle—it was the icing on the cake. the swerves of his hips have you getting dick-drunk within seconds.

bulging widely, your eyes enlarge the exact moment you feel something go against the back of your head.

it’s his foot- thankfully he’s wearing socks.

“fuuuck, such a nasty fuckin’ grip,” toji growls, bringing both hands toward your hips again. he’s holding you firmly, with his foot raising toward the back of your neck. you let off an even prettier moan this time, mutely gasping from the angle.

with toji’s foot near the back of your head, he’s in an even deeper position. “take it. take this dick, t- take it.” as you’re moaning, toji pushes you further into the follow.

oh- you were getting close again.

very, very close. so close that you could taste it in your tongue, it’s salty flavor never subsided.

it was coming quickly, and this time it felt a bit different.

your cunt’s glossing the entirety of toji’s cock that buries itself inside of your clingy walls before he groans. taking the pillow out of your mouth, your words and sounds aren’t so muffled anymore. “t- toji! somethin’s about to—”

“i know… iiiii know,” he cuts you off, and his thrusts against you start to slow. slow but still insanely deep.

you feel a bit of a bulge nudge against the lower pit of your tummy and you exhale. he’s in wholly, stretching out your pretty pussy and rearranging your insides—ironically enough just like his alias name.

“let go for me,” and you moan once he releases his foot from behind you, cupping your chin with a bare hand. you’re a mess, drooling from the sides of your swollen pursed lips before whining. “trust me, sugar. let go.”

at his words—you end up ‘letting go’ which fet like nothing you’ve ever experienced before.

you’ve had orgasms but this felt like an entirely new world. you’re gushing out, sprinkling out a small clear stream on his cock before gasping.

your legs were on their last few hinges before collapsing and your eyes widened larger. “toji, toji s- shiiiit,” you ramble with furrowed brows and a dangling dropped jaw.

you’ve never felt more wet, and your entire body blissfully relaxes once your release comes.

toji’s still inside you before he sneers. your body gets limp and he squeezes your plump lips together. “woahhh,” he gruffs, pressing his chin onto your right shoulder. you shiver once you feel the clammy mess stick and soak between your thighs. “did you just squirt on me?”

“s- sorry, sorry,” you moan, feeling your left leg twitch. you’re still spurting out and it’s like a crashing wave that just keeps coming.

toji rubs a thumb against your lips, his hips coming to a sudden pause.

“ah. don’t apologize, silly girl,” toji coos against your neck, planting a kiss near your skin. he feels your body slumping but toji raises a brow once you make him pull out, lightly pushing him back on the bed. “oh? what’s this, sweetheart?” he lands on his chest before snickering. “atta girl. not scared ‘ta look me in the eye.”

“s.. shut up, toji.”

“hmph. how rude.”

toji ends up fucking you stupid, fucking the brain cells—whatever brain cells you had left in your brain by dumbing you down with fat inches of his cock.

round after round after round . .

you’re an entire drooling, babbling mess and despite your legs nearly giving out, you only wanted more..

he did countless positions with you, making you moan out his name constantly until it’s the only word that can slip past your glossed lips. until it’s the only word that can formulate in your brain.

you’re dumbfounded at his stamina - his speed.

you lost track of time and you were sure it was probably waaay past one am by now.

you were currently on top of toji, riding him with the loud creaks of your bed groaning in agony from both active bodies.

your hips were so sensual, rockin’ back and forth while he had a hand attached to your waist the entire time. that sly grin that painted across his lips never left. “yeahhh, girl. use those hip—ack,” and toji pauses mid-sentence once your hand wraps around his throat. “heh- the fuck?”

“you talk too much, toji.” you puff, watching his smug grin widen even more. he’s not even fazed?

oh- he’s turned on.

toji’s sat man-spread with his hand still gripping your hip. his cock’s puncturing inside of your cunt deeply, massaging thoroughly through your walls like its life depended on it.

the view of you swerving your body on his lap turned him on a lot more than he thought it would. it was just something about the way you moved your hips, going in circles and fuck- it drove him mad.

“funny comin’ from a pretty girl with a pussy who doesn’t know when to-”

you shut him up right away by placing your lips on his. toji grunts, leaning into your touch. you felt his hardened scar rub against the side of your lip before your hips quickened.

you’re slow - lustfully torturing toji with your hips. his cock’s pumping in and out of your cunt, feeling you freely writhe around him.

you taste sweet, and he tilts his head back as both crowns of teeth clash at full force. the constant stretch of his hooked cock never fails to leave you speechless as you whisper out soft moans against his thin lips.

“mmph-” toji gruffs, the bed’s creaking turning into mere wails.

you’re bouncing on him now, still having a hand wrapped around his throat before flicking your tongue against his. toji smacks your ass, then he does it again, and again.

hearing your shrilling whines makes him squeeze the fat of your flesh, eagle-spreading his legs even wider like the slut he was.

his body’s just overly glossed with sweat, it shines down his buff physique before you slowly pull away from him. slimy tangled strands of saliva tear away from each lip as toji stares at you.

it’s a mere pout on his lips before he huffs, tilting his head back. “ ‘m gonnaaa fuckin’ cummm,” he blurts in a thick tone, dragging out his elongated words due to your pussy making it hard for him to think straight. “hah- y’er hips are evil, sugar. fuck, gonna milk me.”

as he sucks in a honed sharp breath, feeling the weight of your hips swerve uncontrollably in hypnotizing arcs, toji slips out a whine.

it’s subtle, and you had to really listen to hear his husky tone pitch but you heard it. you watch as the veins in his neck pop, and as you’re still choking him, it turns him on even more.

his cock throbs fiercely inside of you, smacking against each gummy spot that’s located in your sloppy, spongy walls. you had a grip that he just couldn’t get enough of. it was cute how your hand could barely fit all the way around his thick neck anyway, but nonetheless—

toji ends up shooting blanks abruptly, a gruff groan leaving past his lips once he feels himself preparing to shoot inside of you. with your panties still glued to the sides of your thighs, you let off another bundle of exaggerated moans, slowing your pace down.

“f- fuck,” you inhale, feeling toji dig his nails into your left ass cheek. he’s clenching down his tense jaw tightly, emerald eyes flickering back for a moment as his mouth remains slightly agape.

once his milky knot’s pooling its way deep into the barrier of your womb, you let off a shuddering whine. “toji, fill me up, mhm- don’t stop.”

“ugh-” he groans, feeling the weight of his sack start to gradually shrivel up inside of you. the sight of you straddling him was enough to make him cum alone.

toji’s entire body felt hot - scorching, but compared to the dryness of his throat was an entirely different story..

he’s got so much, wads ‘n clods of creamy, gooey seed that plugs its way into your cunt.

you finally sit still, listening to the loud sloshes of all pounds of flesh grinding together. toji’s chest heaves in and out as he’s still got a hand glued to your ass, feeling his cock excessively droooool out such creamy lumps of cum.

“s- sugar,” and his sleazy smile returns on his lips again. toji’s fucked dumb just as much as you were, and you could tell because of how droopy and half-open his eyes were. “heh, got some nerve m- milkin’ me like that. some hah- nerve.”

“you don’t seem so cocky now, toji.” you hum, bringing a chaste kiss against his lips. a stocky arm wraps around your waist before his eyes close, locking lips with you for the final time, hungrily swallowing his low grunts whilst the two of you exchange saliva.

“girl whatever,” he grumbled with sass, and he was still cumming. you let off a soft moan, feeling a brief pudge from just how much he dumped into your pussy. you were leaking from the sides of your thighs, streams of frothy white tearing from each lip. toji licks against your lips before hearing your phone interrupt the two of you with a loud, screeching ‘beeeep!’ with a snarl, he huffs. “the fuck is that?”

you turn toward the side of the bed, reaching for your phone. “my phone, hold on-” and as he’s still plugged into you fully, keeping your walls tight ‘n snug with not only his shaft but his enormous sticky load, you squint. “huh..” and it’s a notification from the app ‘RENT-A-DILF!’

“what’s it say? hah- better be important,” toji mumbles, letting off a soft groan from the feeling of your hips shifting against him.

“ooh. it says . . i matched with a new character,” you reply, taking a moment to scroll your thumb down the brightly pink screen.

it displayed a new character that must’ve been added to the roster a few minutes ago.

as your eyes skim at the coral-pink description box, it mentions in bold how he’s not exactly a dilf like the other male leads….. buuuut the catch was that he was dashingly handsome.

and to be honest, the more you stared at the character with a lit cigarette sticking out of his lips and was draped in a jet-black tuxedo.. yeah, he was pretty hot.

“hm. says his name is shiu kong,” and you look back at toji who’s got a look of literal disgust. “what? do you know him?”

“………………….”

hehe.

[almostwisegalaxy]

The Intransigence of Silence_3

Actor x fem!reader

Reader has a bit of a shy character in this story

Music to listen to for the atmosphere: Stand bye me_ Ben E king

Part 3: the End

Part 2

Part 1

....♡⁠(⁠>⁠ ⁠ਊ⁠ ⁠<⁠)⁠♡

..................................................................................

Y/n was everywhere, Literally. Her face lit up advertisements, her performances dazzled critics, and her projects followed one another at a relentless pace. Yet, this meteoric rise came at a price: she felt increasingly disconnected from herself.

The actor, despite his own overwhelming schedule, always found time for her. Sometimes it was an impromptu dinner at her place, other times a simple walk in the park to escape the chaos of public life. But even these precious moments weren’t enough to ease the growing anxiety that gnawed at y/n.

During a dinner hosted by close acquaintances, y/n was accompanied by the actor. Though he was courteous and discreet, their presence together triggered a series of comments that continued to echo in her mind.

"Men like him, you know what they do. They cheat. And you pretend not to notice."

"If it ever happens, be a strong woman. Say nothing. A woman must endure."

"But above all, don’t do the same. A woman’s infidelity is unforgivable."

These words deeply unsettled her. She knew they were rooted in stereotypes and outdated expectations. Yet, they seeped into her, feeding doubts she couldn’t shake.

Every time she saw the actor, a part of her wondered if he would eventually hurt her. If their love, as strong as it seemed, could withstand the brutality of outside scrutiny and invisible pressures.

It was after an especially exhausting day that y/n broke down. The actor had come to her place after a late shoot, a bag of food in hand, ready to share a moment of calm. But as soon as he walked through the door, he sensed the tension in the air.

“Y/n?” he asked softly, searching for her.

She was sitting on the couch, her hands clutching a cushion, her face closed off.

“What’s wrong?” he asked again, stepping closer and placing the bag on the coffee table.

She looked up at him, and he was struck by the gleam of unshed tears in her eyes.

“Why do you do this, [actor’s name]?” she finally said, her voice trembling.

He stood still, surprised by the question. “What do you mean?”

“Why are you here? Why do you keep coming back?” she asked, her words tumbling out. “Do you realize how hard this is for me? How much I doubt?”

His brows knitted in concern. “Y/n, what are you trying to say?”

She shook her head, tears streaming down her face. “I don’t know if I can do this. They all say you’ll end up betraying me. That I should accept it. But I don’t want to be that woman. I don’t want to live that kind of love. So, tell me, [actor’s name]. Is that what we’re building here?”

The actor knelt in front of her, his eyes searching hers. He stayed silent for a moment, taking the time to choose his words carefully.

“Listen to me,” he said finally, his voice low but firm. “What they say, what they think—it doesn’t matter. What I feel for you is ours. Just ours.”

She looked at him, hesitant, unable to respond.

“I’m not perfect, y/n,” he continued. “I can’t promise that everything will always be easy. But what I can promise is that I’m here because I love you. Not because it’s convenient. Not because it’s simple. Because you’re the only thing that makes sense to me in all this chaos.”

His words struck a chord deep within her, though the doubts still lingered.

“But… what if…” she started, but he gently interrupted her.

“Stop,” he murmured, cupping her face in his hands. “Stop torturing yourself. You’re not alone in this. I’m here. And I’m not going anywhere.”

That night, he stayed with her. Not to fill a void or ease a doubt, but to show her she didn’t have to carry this weight alone. They talked for hours, sharing their fears and hopes.

In the days that followed, though the whirlwind of their respective careers caught up with them, they found moments of calm together. The actor made sure to remind her, through simple yet sincere gestures, that she was the center of his world.

And y/n, little by little, began to believe that maybe—just maybe—they could build something solid. Not perfect, but real.

---

Over time, y/n and the actor found a balance—fragile but genuine—in their chaotic lives. Though their schedules left little room to breathe, they turned every moment together into a bubble of serenity.

Y/n, busier than ever, juggled auditions, interviews, and shoots. She had landed a leading role in an ambitious psychological thriller, a challenge that pushed her to surpass herself.

The actor, meanwhile, continued to shine in his own projects, silently watching y/n carve out her path with pride. Their relationship evolved subtly, away from the public eye, where their gestures of affection spoke louder than any words.

One evening, after an exhausting shoot, y/n returned home to find the actor waiting for her. He had made a habit of surprising her after her late nights, but this evening felt different.

"You needed this," he said, revealing a carefully prepared meal, with candles creating a soothing atmosphere in her living room.

She smiled, tired but touched. "What about you? Aren’t you exhausted?"

"A little," he admitted with a shrug, "but seeing you like this gives me all the energy I need."

They ate in silence, simply savoring each other's presence. Then, as she stood to clear the table, he gently took her hand.

"Y/n, sit down."

She complied, curious.

"I need to tell you something," he began. "You know I’m not someone who talks much about my feelings. But I want you to know that everything I do, everything I feel, is for us."

His words left her speechless. She rarely saw this vulnerable side of him.

"You’re stronger than you think, and I’m proud of you—always. So no matter what others say or think, I want you to remember that."

She felt tears welling up in her eyes and nodded, unable to respond any other way.

On the set of her new film, y/n faced even greater challenges. Her character was complex, requiring an emotional depth she had never explored before.

The actor, though busy, did his best to support her. When she confided her doubts, he listened with an attentiveness reserved solely for her.

"You don’t have to carry it all on your own," he reminded her one evening after a rehearsal she felt had gone terribly.

"But if I don’t, who will?" she replied, her voice trembling with emotion.

"I will," he said simply.

These moments of intimacy, where they shared their fears and victories, strengthened their bond. Every stolen smile, every exchanged glance became a silent promise that they would support each other no matter what.

A few months later, y/n’s film was finally released. Critics were unanimous: she had delivered an exceptional performance, proving to everyone that she was far more than an emerging talent.

At the premiere, the actor, though invited, remained discreet, preferring to watch her shine from afar. He admired her grace, her strength, and the way she captivated everyone around her.

At the end of the evening, as they returned home together, he paused at her door, hesitant.

"Do you want to come in?" she asked, her gaze curious.

Instead of answering, he gently stopped her from closing the door.

"Y/n," he murmured, his voice low and deep, "I love you."

His words, simple yet filled with truth, struck her to the core.

"I know," she replied, her trembling smile matching his intensity.

He kissed her then, deeply, with a passion that conveyed everything he couldn’t express with words.

That night marked a turning point. They stopped navigating unspoken words and silences, finally embracing the depth of their feelings.

Their relationship, though discreet, grew more resolute. The actor continued to support her in her ascent, while she encouraged him in his own endeavors.

Every moment they spent together, however rare, became a cherished treasure—a testament that even amidst the whirlwind of their lives, they had found something real and timeless.

---

The actor had endured weeks of crushing stress. The demands of filming, endless negotiations with producers, and the public's expectations weighed heavily on his shoulders. Yet, in the midst of the chaos, y/n had been his anchor.

She didn’t hold back, firmly reminding him that even the greatest needed rest. Her encouragement, sometimes tough but always sincere, gave him the strength to keep going.

He wanted to thank her. No, he wanted more than that: to give her a moment to relax, laugh, and forget how heavy their lives often felt.

“Come spend the weekend at my place,” he told her one evening, his voice gentle but insistent.

Y/n raised an amused eyebrow. “Are you sure I won’t invade your space?”

He squinted at her. “You know very well my space is yours too.”

When she arrived at his house, y/n was once again struck by its understated elegance. Though she wasn’t a stranger to the place, every visit made her feel as if she were stepping into another world—a world so unlike her own, yet one that felt familiar when she was with him.

The actor opened the door, dressed in a casual sweater and comfortable pants, a far cry from the charismatic public figure everyone knew.

“Welcome home, princess,” he said softly, his smile sincere.

She stepped inside, and he took her coat before lightly placing a hand on the small of her back to guide her to the living room.

They spent a simple yet perfect evening. The actor had taken the rare step of preparing dinner himself, which made y/n laugh.

“I didn’t know you could cook,” she teased, eyeing the beautifully plated dishes.

“I know how to surprise when it counts,” he retorted, serving her plate.

They spent the night talking, teasing, and laughing until their stomachs hurt. Every shared story, every burst of laughter deepened their connection.

Y/n, true to herself, didn’t hesitate to provoke him gently.

“You should smile like that more often,” she said, pointing to his face lit up with laughter. “It makes you almost human.”

He narrowed his eyes, pretending to be offended. “Almost? Remind me why I love you again?”

She shrugged, a mischievous smile on her lips. “Mystery.”

Later, the actor disappeared into another room and returned with two packages, handing one to y/n.

She opened hers and burst out laughing when she saw a matching set of pajamas with their faces printed on them, surrounded by big pink hearts.

“You’re joking!” she exclaimed, laughing even harder when she saw his version.

“Not at all,” he said with mock seriousness. “This weekend, we’re a team. And a team wears uniforms.”

“I can’t wear this—” she started, but he cut her off.

“You wear it, or you sleep on the couch,” he said firmly, giving her a mock stern look.

After a hot shower, they found themselves on the enormous couch in the living room.

“Stop laughing,” he groaned, though his lips betrayed a smile.

“I can’t,” she whispered between bursts of laughter.

Once they settled comfortably, they decided to watch a movie. But soon, y/n rested her head on the actor’s shoulder, and the movie became an excuse to enjoy their closeness.

“You’re too quiet,” she murmured.

“And you’re too beautiful,” he replied without thinking, making her blush instantly.

She averted her gaze, but he slid a hand under her chin to tilt her face back toward his.

“Don’t look away,” he murmured.

Their closeness, the softness of his words—it all seemed suspended in time.

When the movie ended, he gently led her to the guest room he had prepared for her.

“Good night, princess,” he whispered after tucking her in, ready to return to his own room.

But before he could leave, she gently caught his wrist.

“Stay,” she said simply, her eyes sincere.

He nodded, pulling a chair to sit by her side.

“You’re not really going to stay there all night, are you?” she asked with a smile.

“If that’s what you want, then yes. You know I can’t refuse my princess anything.” he replied, his expression serious.

He stayed there, watching her fall asleep, once again realizing just how essential she had become to his life.

That night, they found a new way to share silence—a silence that was no longer a barrier but a promise.

This weekend, filled with laughter, teasing, and unwavering tenderness, became a memory they would cherish for a long time.

---

Y/n was alone in the actor's living room, dressed simply in his shorts and a t-shirt. She loved the calming scent of his clothes. The TV was on, showing a documentary about surfing. The waves seemed to dance under the sunlight, and the surfers glided gracefully across the water.

She watched the screen with fascination, though a hint of melancholy clouded her gaze. She wished she could experience that freedom too, that connection with the ocean. But her fear of large bodies of water had always held her back.

As a surfer on the screen positioned himself to stand on his board, she playfully tried to mimic his movements on the carpet, awkwardly placing her arms and slightly bending her knees.

"That’s not exactly how it’s done."

The actor’s warm voice startled her. She turned around quickly, embarrassed to have been caught.

"I... I was just watching," she stammered, her cheeks flushing red.

He walked over slowly, an amused smile on his face. "And trying to become a surfer in my living room?"

She bit her lip, giving him a shy smile. "It’s ridiculous, I know."

"Not at all." He looked at her intently, as if deciding something in his mind. Then, with that calm determination that defined him, he said, "I’m going to teach you."

A few days later, they were on a secluded beach, the sound of waves filling the salty air. Y/n stared at the ocean, a little nervous.

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" she asked, crossing her arms over her t-shirt.

The actor placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "Trust me."

He had prepared everything: a small beginner’s board, a wetsuit for her, and, most importantly, his patience.

As he slipped into a wetsuit paired with matching swim shorts, y/n couldn’t help but admire him. With his athletic build, wind-tousled hair, and confident gaze, he was simply irresistible.

"You look... really sexy in that," she murmured without thinking.

He turned to her, raising an eyebrow, and an amused smile spread across his lips. "I know," he replied with mock modesty, making her burst into laughter.

"You might as well take off... those shorts," she added.

The actor looked at her for a moment, clearly amused by her sudden honesty. "Oh, sweetheart. You want to see this suit hug my little butt?" he teased, laughing as y/n blushed furiously.

They started on the sand, with the actor showing her the basics. He took the time to adjust her foot positioning and explained how to gently stand up on the board.

"Like this," he said, getting into position to demonstrate.

Y/n burst out laughing as she watched him mimic a surfer. "Are you sure you don’t need lessons too?"

He smiled, feigning offense. "Careful, or I’ll let you figure it out on your own."

They spent time practicing on the beach, y/n’s laughter echoing in the air like music to the actor’s ears.

Finally, they entered the water. Y/n was tense, gripping the board tightly.

"I’m here," he murmured, his hands steadying the board to keep it from tipping over. "Look at me, not the waves."

She lifted her eyes to him, and his smile—sincere and reassuring—chased away some of her fear.

They progressed slowly. With each attempt, she fell into the water, splashing everywhere and laughing despite herself. The actor was always there to help her up, encouraging her with a mix of patience and humor.

"I think I was better on the carpet in your living room," she joked after a particularly clumsy fall.

"No way you’re giving up," he replied, laughing.

After several tries, y/n finally managed to stand on the board, even if only for a few seconds.

"I did it!" she shouted, her face glowing with joy.

The actor, standing nearby in the water, raised his arms in triumph. "That was perfect."

He swam over to her, and without thinking, lifted her in his arms and spun her gently in the water. She burst into laughter, her hands clinging to his shoulders.

"Thank you," she murmured, looking straight into his eyes.

"You’re welcome," he replied, his gaze locked on hers.

Later, they sat side by side on the beach, watching the sun sink into the horizon.

"You were incredible today," he said softly.

She turned to him, her eyes shining with an emotion she no longer tried to hide. "Because of you."

He shook his head slightly. "No. It was you. I just showed you that you could."

He placed a hand over hers, his fingers gently intertwining with hers. The silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable but full of meaning.

"You know," she murmured, "I never thought the ocean could be this beautiful. I’ve always been scared. But with you… everything feels less frightening."

He turned slightly toward her, a tender light in his eyes. "So, stand bye me, closer. And nothing will ever scare you again."

That silent promise sealed the moment. And that night, as the sea sang softly in the distance, they realized just how inseparable their lives had become.

---

Y/n had always known the actor was a chameleon, but what she witnessed today surpassed anything she had ever imagined. From afar, she watched him embody a former prisoner, every gesture laced with restrained anger, every gaze heavy with a story he carried effortlessly.

She had slipped onto the set discreetly, sitting on a crate away from the spotlights. No one seemed to notice the quiet female figure watching from the shadows, captivated by the man who dominated the screen with his presence.

For a moment, she was just in awe of the scene before her eyes and she almost forgot that it was just the actor in front of her.

Her actor ♡(⁠ ⁠◜⁠‿⁠◝⁠ ⁠)⁠♡

When the bell signaled a break, the actor stepped out of the frame, his expression still severe, as if he hadn’t yet shed his character. He grabbed a water bottle and sat under the shade of a parasol.

Y/n approached slowly, her steps barely audible on the studio's concrete floor. When he noticed her, his gaze immediately softened, though he maintained a distant, almost teasing air.

"You're sneaking onto my set now?" he asked, setting down his bottle.

Y/n smirked, her eyes glancing over the fake tattoos running down his arms. "I wanted to see what you look like as a tough guy. Not bad, but… a little too cute to be convincing."

He raised an eyebrow, amused by her boldness. "Cute? You should be careful with your words, y/n. My character doesn’t take kindly to that."

She crossed her arms, a spark of defiance in her eyes. "Oh, really? Then show me what you’ve got."

The actor chuckled lightly, then straightened, stepping toward her with the calculated slowness of his character. Y/n took a step back, slightly intimidated by his sudden transformation.

"You want to see what I’ve got?" he asked, his voice low and threatening.

"Stop," she murmured, half-serious, half-amused, as she stepped back further.

But he abruptly stopped, his mask dropping into a playful smile. "You’re way too easy to scare."

Y/n lightly slapped his shoulder. "You’re insufferable!"

He caught her hand before she could pull it back, holding it firmly in his. "And you’re far too curious for your own good."

The look they exchanged in that moment was charged with the soft tension they knew all too well. Then, he gently let go of her hand. "Stay a little longer. I’ll be back on soon, but I like having you here."

Y/n stayed to watch another scene. This time, he played a man on the verge of breaking, his lines sharp and filled with rage. Her heart tightened as she watched. She admired his ability to become someone else, to convey so much emotion with what seemed like little effort.

When the scene ended, she clapped softly. When he looked her way, she gave him a thumbs-up. He replied with a barely perceptible smile, but she knew he appreciated her support.

By the end of the day, with his makeup removed and the fake tattoos gone, they left the set together.

"You’re really good at playing the intimidating guy," she said as they walked side by side.

"And you’re really good at playing the teasing spectator," he shot back, glancing at her.

She laughed softly. "I can’t help it. You’re sexy when you’re in your element."

He stopped abruptly, a sly smile on his face. "Sexy, huh? I’ll remember that."

She blushed slightly, almost regretting her words. But he gently took her hand, intertwining their fingers.

"Thanks for coming today," he said, his voice softer now. "It’s always better when you’re here."

As they walked through the calm night, y/n felt a lightness she hadn’t felt in weeks. The actor, too, seemed at ease, the day’s hard work forgotten.

"One day," he said quietly, "I want us to be on a set together. Not like this. Not in the shadows. Just you and me, face to face."

She turned to him, surprised by his sincerity. "You want us to go head-to-head?"

"No," he replied with a small smirk. "I want us to shine together."

Y/n blushed slightly, looking away. But deep down, she knew he was serious. And she promised herself that one day, she’d be ready.

..................................................................................

The End

Tags list :

@elizalabs3 @slvt4her

[sixeyesonathiel]

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.

[amaranthinespirit]

please PLEASE Can you write reader ovulating with Simon Riley, his dick would hurt by the end.

what happens to simon riley when you're ovulating (his dick would fall off if it were me tbh)

your sex life with simon is already active as is, so the moment you start ovulating, he's in trouble. serious trouble. you can barely keep yourself off of him. everything he does sends a throbbing want to your pussy.

manspreading? you're already on top of him, tugging his jeans down just enough to ride his heavy cock. his big hands find purchase on your hips, grunting lowly.

"fuckin' eager, huh?" he's only half hard by the time you're bouncing on him, and you don't get off until either of you can't speak, and you've ruined yet another pair of his jeans from the amount of slick and cum that stains the fabric.

rolling up his sleeves, seeing the way his forearms and veins flex? you're begging him to finger you, and he gladly listens.

"need me t'fuckin' fill ya full, don't ya?" bent over whatever surface of your house, stuffed full of his fingers knuckle deep as your walls clench around him. one orgasm isn't enough, two, three, four, five until you're babbling incoherently and spraying the front of his shirt with your release.

the thing men do when they reverse, placing one hand behind the passenger seat? belt, GONE. you make hasty work of his jeans just so you can suck his dick as he drives—bonus points if he's still reversing. half-way laid across the center console with a face-full of his throbbing cock, already leaking pre. he's a mess, whimpers spilling from his lips as he bites down on the plush flesh. he's pulling your panties to the side, burying three fingers deep in your cunt with ease at the sheer wetness of your pussy.

him, reading with glasses? you bet he isn't taking his eyes off a single page as he ruts into you from behind, book laid across your back slick with sweat. he might be a little mean, make you fuck yourself back on his dick, balls slightly slapping your clit enough to make your eyes roll back into your head. get a drop of cum on his book, and he'll punish you.

getting passionate about his interests? fuck in missionary so he can continue yapping as he toys with your clit and pounds into your throbbing cunt. his words are long lost on you—you don't even notice when his words start getting condescending.

"always gettin' in m'pants..." he grunts, the sound of skin slapping and mindless whimpers and mewls fill the room, "fuckin' slut, you tryin' to get pregnant? want me t'fill you? dirty whore..."

by the end of your ovulation phase, you might've definitely gotten knocked up, and his dick is no longer with us. (he still has his hands and face, ladies...)

[madamechrissy]

Baby You're a Star

Art in the banner by Kerravi on x!

Pairings- Pornstar Satoru x shy f!reader

Warnings- mentions of sex and sexwork, masturbation ( f) oral (m and f receiving) fingering, spit kink low-key, cum swallowing, reader is innocent DON'T read if you don't like that, mutual pining, obsessive Gojo, he can't get hard if it's not you, this whole damn chap is smut so, aftercare and feelings. A little bit of angsttt, a lil bit of cuteness, demisexual reader and pornstarr Satoru what a pair.

Summary- You meet Satoru Gojo at a wild Hollywood party, insanely out of place, waiting for your friend to show up. The two of you hit it off, spending time together, and share a kiss, but you're a good girl, and you just don't do this, but he is the top pornstar there is, and the top .01 % on OnlyFans. Once you find out, you know there's probably no match, as Satoru doesn't date, and you don't sleep around, but after meeting, you keep in touch- and soon Satoru can't get hard without thinking of you, and you get over curious, and join a livestream of the boy you like. Just how will that go for you both!? WC 10.6k!

<<<Chapter One - Masterlist- Playlist- Chapter Three>>>

Chapter Two

“Come in.”

You shyly take him in, how fucking gorgeous Satoru Gojo looks, shirtless with just a pair of dark jeans sound low on his hips, showing that perfect body up close. You can smell the shampoo he’s used, wafting in the fancy penthouse, just standing there and staring with your lips parted.

Pull it together!

“Thank you, it’s good to see you again.” You say softly, when he shuts the door behind you with a gentle click, and you eye him now, his gorgeous eyes bright and glittery, lips quirked up.

“You sure saw a lot of me.”

“Shit.” You cover your face, and he gently eases your hands down, smiling at you, laughing just a bit.

“Where are your glasses?”

“Contacts today. Do you um, like them?”

“I do, they’re cute on you, but I do like seeing your pretty eyes better.” He’s gently cupping your face as he murmurs, you’re trembling from his touch, his proximity. “Take off your converse. Keep on the kitten socks.”

“You like these huh?” You’re feeling so comfortable already, despite your nerves, of why you’re here, how fucking bold you are, so out of your comfort zone, but it feels fucking perfect. You ease off your shoes, and he kneels, making you gasp, as he runs his fingers over the soft fleece of those socks.

“They’re so hot. Shit.”

“They a-are?” He sighs, pressing a kiss on your thigh and looking up at you then, on his knees, he can inhale your arousal, making him almost press you up on the wall and eat you then and there. He barely controls himself, knowing you’re clearly not experienced, kissing your other thigh and standing slowly.

“Very hot. Need a drink?” You nod shyly, and he takes your hand, as you cross the luxurious expanse of his beautiful home, the finest furniture everywhere, plush shag carpet that would be impossible to clean, over to his kitchen now. “Pick your poison sweets.”

“Do you have wine? I do drink that a bit.”

“Do I have wine? Psh, what vintage, what year?” He pulls open a blue lit wine fridge then, stocked full, and you blink in surprise, peering down with him.

“Nothing fancy! Goodness, I like Rose?”

“Rose it is.” Satoru opens it with ease, some fancy electric cork opener that fascinates you, just making you cuter as you study it. “It isn’t that fancy, swear, this bottle is just ten years old.”

“Isn’t that fancy then?”

“No, not really, but it’s really sweet. You’ll love it.” He leans up, as you take in the enormous kitchen, he reaches a high up cabinet, snatching up two crystal glasses, your fingers brushing the pretty black marble.

“Your home is gorgeous.”

“It better be, fucking expensive as shit.” You can’t stop the little nervous laugh, praying you don’t snort this time jesus that had been embarrassing, thanking him when he hands you a glass filled with pretty pink liquid.

“Thank you so much. Mmm!” You taste it and sigh, eyes fluttering shut as the juicy strawberries hit your tongue. “Oh it’s to die for.”

“I taste better.”

You almost spit out the wine, and he’s grinning and wiggling his brow, you take another sip for courage. “That will be burned into my brain.”

“Good, it should be. I can think of a lot of things I’d love burned into my brain right now.” He sips that wine, just a drop spilling, which you lean over to brush off with your thumb, sighing as he grabs your wrist now, pulling you impossibly close. “Images of you have been steadily fucking me up since that night.”

“So it’s not um, one sided?” He scoffs, setting down both of your glasses, walking you until your back is against the counter, his scent overtaking your sense while his touch burns you.

You wondered, was it the party, was it in your head?

No.

His touch is everything, your eyes are drawn to his, while he leans lower over you now. “One sided?”

“Well, it’s insane and… Satoru I don’t just see you as some object, please know that, we could just… talk and I’d be happy.” He pauses as you murmur nervously, looking down, biting that lip too hard.

“Think I’d mind if you used me? I’d let you use any part of my body.” You gasp, eyes wide when they go up to his now. “Think you haven’t been on my mind since I blew that smoke in your mouth?”

“I didn’t know if- mnh!” He’s pressed you against the counter now, arms barring you on either side, your breath comes so fast as he towers over you in his elegant kitchen, eyes locking on his, head falling back just so.

“I wanted to respect you, despite my very disrespectful thoughts, of everything I wanna do to you.” He’s leaning lower, cupping your face with a hand now, breath mingling as he brings your face so close, lips a mere centimeter away. “Filthy things, I’ve been thinking of.”

“O-oh y-yeah?” He can’t stop his little laugh at you, sighing and tilting his head, pressing a kiss on your lips, just a brush of them that ignites need in your body, heart and fucking soul, which you try to shove down, to focus on how good your skin feels against his.

“Precious little thing, would be so fun to ruin you. Filthy fucking thoughts. But we’ll start with this one.” He picks you up now, you cling to him, arms around his neck, as your eyes meet, and he’s holding you like it’s nothing, hands gripping your ass under your skirt, squeezing and pressing you against him. “I wanna watch your pretty face when you cum so hard you can’t think.”

“God, Satoru…” He’s kissing you again, carrying you effortlessly to his room, you can’t even look at the luxe surroundings, enwrapped in his arms, drowning in his messy, expert kisses. “Mnh!”

“The little sounds you make.” Satoru certainly doesn’t fuck girls that aren’t co-stars or in the industry, but he can’t think of any time he’s ever been this ready, this filled with need for anyone. You feel so perfect in his arms, but you look even better when he pulls up, seeing you in the center of his huge bed, pretty lips swollen from his kisses.

“I love kissing you,” at your sweet words he pauses, and you clear your throat, feeling that flush hit your cheeks, looking down at his chin, touching it gently with a finger, before slipping fingers down his throat. “Too much?”

“No, I love making out.” You smile in relief, he should say how much he loves kissing you, but he doesn’t do that, right? He doesn’t just go dating, falling in love, with his lifestyle, it would just drag a good girl like you down, it’s why he held back, but now that you’re here, he can’t prevent himself from feeling it all.

He wondered, was it in his head?

How good you tasted, felt, your scent?

It wasn’t, and it’s even more intense now, the need unfulfilled by jerking his cock to you constantly, nothing like your soft, yielding lips and body under his, your breasts so soft even as nipples press hard through that fabric. He pulls back, littering kisses down your chest, your collar bone, watching you writhe under his sure touch, his ardent mouth.

“So good, ah!” Your hands grip his blankets, sweating just slightly as he drags down your cardigan, moaning then.

“No bra?” You’re shaking your head, and he smirks now, some of that LA Satoru Pornstar showing through. “Slutty.”

You giggle, before you moan, as his kisses delve lower, and he reveals a breast fully with an unbutton and tug, sighing as he sees one of your pretty tits. “I’ve never been called that.”

“I’m always called that.” You both laugh again, it’s easy, fuck, you feel so good just being under him, his huge hand gripping your breast now, eliciting a moan. “Like me calling you slutty when you’ve been such a good girl, hmm?”

“Oh my god.” He’s chuckling again, the man knows his effect, but you can’t argue, all you can do is gasp out, as he plucks a taut nipple between two fingers.

“Perfect tits, mmm.” He’s kissing down one now, tongue lapping your nipple, tastebuds rolling over the peak, and your eyes flutter shut, tummy clenching with ache for him. “Pretty, perfect, bet all of you is.”

You’re melting under his expert touch, perfect pressure everywhere you didn’t even know you were craving. “You’re so sweet.”

“I taste sweet too. Remember?” You’re furiously blushing now, covering your face as he grins down at you. “You asked, you know, slutty, it’s proven now.”

“It is slutty,” you’re giggling before he yanks the material apart further, mouth latching on to a sensitive peak. “Mnh, Satoru!”

“Mmhmm.” He’s sucking your nipple, pulling back with a pop of his lips, trails of saliva dripping from lush lips, and your heart won’t stop hammering, hot desire shooting through you.

A girl that has to have feelings.

But you already fucking do, admitting it or not, it’s more than his beauty, it’s so much more. You don’t want to scare him off, you just want to experience this, the longing so tangible it’s eaten you alive all week. The videos of him and your friend, him and other girls, dying to know what it feels like, but the way he is with you?

It’s different.

He’s gentler, more careful, sweet, with every caress you’re getting wetter, but also you’re falling into the abyss that is him. “What all have you done before, sweetheart?”

His question brings you back to the matter at hand- experience. “I have had sex once.”

He blinks now. “Once a day?”

You snort at him, as he grins, undoing the rest of your sweater and sighing at how beautiful you are. “Silly. No, just once with my ex, but I guess it was not very good, we split up the day after.”

“Your pussy probably ruined that boy.” You’re giggling again, god it feels good, natural under him, no wonder he’s just so very popular. He makes you feel so pretty as he’s slipping up your skirt, moaning softly. “Oral?”

“No.” He pauses a bit, running his fingers up and down your slit.

“Fingering?”

“Ah!” You can’t stop the cry that escapes your lips when your sticky wetness pours against his fingertips over your panties.

“Asked a question, pretty.”

“Hard to focus.” You’re crying out again, when he eases them down your thighs, eyeing your bare, glistening cunt and almost losing it.

“God it’s perfect.”

“Oh, Satoru, you don't have to say that.” His jaw clenches a bit, eyes narrowing, those white lashes shielding just a bit of the dazzling blue.

“I mean it, I am kind of an expert, you know.” You’re flushed underneath him, so adorable as you run a hand up and down his body, feeling every strong muscle, his cock is twitching, aching to fuck into you. But he holds back a bit, spreading your thighs, hands slipping up them now. “That’s why you asked, because I’m an expert?”

“Because I’ve never felt so comfortable, so…” you trail off, looking down shyly, lashes casting dark shadows on your cheeks, from the soft light over head. “I haven’t felt so wet.”

“Fuck…” He’s running his finger up and down your slit, watching you fall apart from that damn near, thighs tensing, your eyes shooting back up to his own. “You are soaked.”

“It’s a new problem.” He grins again, cocky and self sure, but there’s something to that smile, you try to pin it down but soon he’s thumbing your clit, and you’re gushing further down his hand, dripping onto his bed. “Oh!”

“You touch yourself?” You nod, covering your face again. “Show me.”

“Show you?” He nods, easing back and gently pulling your hand off your face, until your fingers are kissed so sensually, and he puts it down to your pussy, enjoying the color spreading across your cheeks. “Like now!?”

“It’s how I’ll know what you like. Women please themselves better than most men do, so I avidly study. Are you a clitoral girl, a g spot girl? Penetration, friction?”

“It’s like a science to you huh?” You’re fascinated, but not as fascinated as Satoru Gojo is when he’s watching your tiny little fingers part your plump folds, pressing up to find your little clit. The action is sexier than anything he’s seen, and he’s seen so many lewd, wanton things, but this?

God you’re just art.

How your lips part, brows together in concentration, as his hands press into the plush of your thighs, blue eyes drawn right to your slick cunt, drooling wetness out of your little hole. He’s barely hanging on by a thread, a man of his experience and profession, decimated by the pretty girl tentatively rubbing her clit for him, in nothing but a little skirt shoved up her hips, that sweater laid out under her. 

“Mnh!” Your quiet little moan elicits something feral, he tries to remain calm on the outside, give you a smirk, as he leans down, pressing a kiss on your inner knee, feeling you tremble underneath him.

“So you like your clit played with?” His husky words just make you wetter, more sensitive, as you play with yourself spread wide for this man.

“Y-yes.” Your little nod is met with a gasp, as you look at his fingers, slipping slowly up.

“Can you cum from it?”

“Usually… the wand…” He kisses higher up your thigh, watching as you get so wet you’re slippery, fingers slipping as he watches you avidly, watches the way you’re shifting, tilts his head to see where you’re pressing.

“She’s probably tiny and hard to get. Allow me?”

“Yes sir.” He chuckles at that, taking his thumb and pressing up, hitting your clit so good you can’t take it. “Oh! Oh my god…”

“She’s very tiny. But that’s good, easily stimulated,” Satoru’s murmuring now, touching your slick, bare cunt, making him die to taste you, pressing the quivering little clit while you cling to his wrist, whining out. “You like that, sweets?”

All you can manage is a nod, as he brings you to the edge, pleasure filling you, the sighs mixing with the sounds of your slick cunt clicking in his room, echoing and making it even more lewd, wild, while you let the man you hardly know touch you. Fuck you want him to, as he presses up harder, and you’re gripping his forearm, feeling those muscles tense as he works you.

“Satoru!” He moans softly, god he loves how you say his name.

“Ready for a finger inside you? Bet you’re so tight.” You nod nervously, when he slips his middle finger in then, so long it’s insane, making you gasp out, as he exhales, moaning out softly with you. “Knew it, so tight, but… here’s a spot baby.”

He curls his finger just so, and you’re gasping for a breath, while his thumb still presses your clit, your body writhing as he builds pressure. You are so tight, he’s questioning how much work up you’d need for his cock, but he’s sure it’d be worth it, to stretch this perfect little cunt out. He swipes back a little drop of drool off your lips when your back arches off the bed, tits begging for his kisses.

You realize then, it’s not just his skill, how good his thick finger feels inside of you, how beautiful his lidded eyes are, it’s the energy emitting from his being, with every exhale, how he looks at you underneath him. You gasp as he hits a spot deep inside your slick walls, making you see white hot stars for just a moment, soft cry escaping your lips, you’re so wet you can hear it, the squelching of your cunt so loud in his penthouse.

But it’s not just how good it feels, you know it’s something more, how Satoru looks at you like you’re the prettiest thing there is, like you’re all there is. His other hand strokes your hair back, as your thigh hitches up over his hip, allowing him to sink deeper with an impossibly long finger now. The way he feels, his weight on you, everything about him overwhelming all your senses.

“Look at you, fuck…” His soft murmur causes his hot breath to brush your lips, you taste just how sweet he is, your hands gripping his chest, as your eyes roll back with how his fingers hit. “There you go, feel her pulsing around me, can you take two, sweetheart?”

“They’re so thick…” He chuckles now, cocky in his little grin, pulling one out to suck it off, and your throat goes dry, seeing his cheeks hollow, and his own eyes fluttering shut as he moans.

“It tastes so sweet, god.” He sucks his other clean finger, tapping your thigh now. “Relax, if you can’t we’ll go back to one, okay?”

“Y-yes.” You’re so cute laid under him, the little squeak when he slips two into your tight little cunt making him chuckle. “You’re laughing at me.”

“You’re so adorable. Sorry.” He’s smiling at your half assed little glare, but you’re all flustered, your cheeks heated to the touch when he presses his lips on one, sinking both fingers in now, making you cry out at the stretch. “Loosen up, sweets, relax. Just feel it.”

Just feel.

But you feel too much.

Fuck.

You nod as he leans up, dying to yank his lips down on yours, craving the connection even as he eases you to relax, to take more of him, and when you do, when you’re that full, your moans get throatier, cunt slicker. He exhales as he feels it, as he watches you, easing back to shove that skirt higher up, to look at your little hole sucking him in so greedily.

“God I wanna bury my fucking face in her, can I?” Your lips part in a gasp, when he’s laying prone between your thighs, easing his fingers out to spread your lips, watching your little hole wink and twitch as it leaks more of your arousal out of it.

“Y-you do?” He smirks now, soft tousled hair falling over his brow, you brush it back then, making him even harder, cock twitching in response to that, as he inhales your scent.

“I would die to have you cum all over my face, drown me in it.” How is he. He’s insane and ruining you. “Your cunt is even fucking cute.”

“How can it be cute!?” He’s chuckling again, breathing against you, and yours comes faster, breasts rising and falling in your open sweater.

“They can be cute, especially yours.” He smacks a kiss on it - ‘muah’ making you giggle then, instantly relaxing, as you realize…

You trust him.

He’s a stranger, but fuck if it doesn’t feel like you’ve known this insane man forever, exhaling and spreading your thighs more, he notices the action, you relaxing under his palms, earning more of him dying to enter you. But he has this feeling, that once he does?

You’ll fucking ruin him.

Your taste alone is sweeter than any wine he’s had, the most corny shit he should not come up with in his sex addled mind, but you make him think of more, of every reaction of your pretty body. How you cry out, your sighs, the way your hips shift now, your little hands gripping his shoulders, nails pressing in, making him vividly picture how good it’ll feel when they’re raking down his back.

“You want it, hmm sweets?” He asks again, kissing higher, sighing as he nears you, feels your heat against his face. You nod then, shyly, and he leans up a bit, pressing one more kiss over your hood, chin brushing your needy little clit. “I need explicit consent, enthusiastic consent before we go further.”

Fuck he’s perfect.

You’re playing a dangerous game, you already feel yourself falling into the unreal swirling blue storms of the eyes looking up at you, from between your thighs. Your hands relax then, cupping his cheek, which he presses a kiss on your palm, and you decide any of him is worth it, how badly he makes you need him, how willingly your body is ready to respond, your heart needs to stay in its chest.

“Yes, I would love you to, please.” Your words end him, sweeter from your lips than he could imagine, and with that he doesn’t just lick you, no, Satoru Gojo devours you then and there. “Ah! S-Satoru!”

“Mnh…” He’s buried his face against your pretty pussy, and fuck he’s ruined further just from it, from sweet arousal seeping into his tastebuds, as he dives that tongue in your pulsing little hole. You’re tensing under him, tummy trembling when he presses down on it, making his next stroke so intense you start to fall apart under him, hands yanking his silky locks.

You taste sweeter than anything.

And fuck if Satoru Gojo doesn’t have one hell of a sweet tooth.

The way he devours you then is surreal, you’re clinging to his hair just to grasp the earth, his hungry moans vibrating your sensitive clit as he flicks his tongue up to it, sucking it in his hot mouth, making your toes curl under those socks, the sensations so overwhelming, and he’s just getting started. He’s got that smug look in his blue eyes when he glances up at you.

Your taste is something he can’t describe, Satoru loves eating pussy, but fuck if you’re not an entire delicacy, spread just for him. Some possessive, psychotic instinct takes over then, knowing he’s the first to kiss your pussy, lap you up, having you pull his hair so hard it hurts, as he presses his cock against the mattress. Why is he so fucking feral over you?

Every insane fucking instinct kicks in while he slathers your cunt with his saliva, his tongue lapping up your juices, and god there’s so much. You’re soaking his face, manicured nails pressing against his scalp, while you scream out hoarsely. Your moans and little cries just make it more intense for him, when he’s flicking his tongue just so, making you writhe under him.

He grabs at your hips, dragging you more impossibly on his face, and sucks on your clit, hard, making you jolt and moan his name now, your body arching off the bed. Satoru is relentless, his tongue flicking and circling, his teeth grazing, and it’s driving you wild, making you want to grab him and push him deeper, grind against his face. But you hold back, biting your lip, your hands tight in his hair as he devours you.

“You can fuck my face till you cum, don’t hold back.” His whisper is met with a lewd kiss on your clit, grinning against you now, you feel every line of those straight white teeth on your sensitive cunt.

“I c-can’t do that!”

“Yeah you can. Use my face till you get off.” You’re blinking in confusion, even when he’s literally been with so many women, you can’t help but feel special, how he looks at you then.

“You sure?” He nods, and you yank him against you then, to his satisfied moan, hips arching up to fuck his pretty, perfect face now, grinding on his long, talented tongue, as he continues to fucking ruin you with each stroke. “M’cumming!”

He just moans, as you can feel your orgasm building, a crescendo of pleasure that’s going to shatter you, hitting your tummy and making it clench, the heat spreading while he works you so good, like he knows your body better than you do. And then he does it, he pushes his long tongue inside you, curling it just so and pressing on your gummy walls.

At the sensation your hips pause, his nose bumping your twitchy little clit, and you cum so hard you’re blinded, your body shaking as you scream out, so loud it should embarrass you, but he’s loving it all. Your cunt squeezing and spasming around his tongue, pussy pulsing with the force of your climax. He groans into you, the vibrations sending aftershocks through your body now.

“Oh my god, oh my f-fucking… Satoru!” You’re pushing at him now, when he flicks his tongue back on that clit, making you clench around nothing now, struggling as he pushes you into another fucking orgasm. “S-sensitive!”

“Good.” His first word since drinking you up. “Messy, slutty little cunt, she loves it huh?” He’s damn near talking to your cunt now, smacking another messy kiss along it, face glistening with you, making you flush. “Can you cum one more time?”

“It’s a lot I…”

“You can, hmm? C’mon, one more f’me, pretty please.” You manage a shaky breath, nodding while he sinks a finger into your pulsing hole.

“Oh! Mnh!” You’re reduced to noises, words can’t be formed when he curls his finger just so in your messy cunt now, pressing up and hitting the sweetest pressure, your hands grip his blankets until they crumple underneath your hands, as he pushes you once more, this time more intense. “Cumming, cumming!”

“Mhmm.” He just moans that, watching you with dilated blue eyes that appear almost black, curling a long finger so deep you shatter, weak and dazed as you come down from the high, blinking away stars.

“Holy fuck… what the…” He’s sighing now, easing his finger from your tight little cunt, pressing kisses to your inner thighs, as you brush back his hair, trying to catch your breath. “You’re better than any vibrator my god.”

“Of course I am.” He’s grinning, when you swipe off your slick, embarrassed and flustered. “You’re so messy baby.”

“I’m so sorry! I’ve never done all this!” You lean up on your elbows, looking at the wet spot under you, drooling across your thighs, and all over his lips and chin.

“It’s sexy, stop it.” He leans over you now, you gasp as his hot heavy length presses against you under his pants, taking several shaky breaths, eyeing his lips.

“Can you kiss me again?” Your whisper is raw and vulnerable, you’re trembling under him, as he leans closer. “Sorry I just need it.”

“Of course, you should taste yourself.” He slams his lips down, the charge between you both unreal, you’re drinking yourself off him, thighs pressing against his hips now. Your hands slip up his strong back, feeling how hot his skin is, while his tongue delves into your mouth, and you taste your sweetness.

“Thank you.” Your little whisper ends him then, between smacks of kisses between you two, he should be thanking you for letting him, since when has he thought that way? “God, fuck that was intense.”

“You came pretty easy for me, you know.”

“Oh!” He’s grinning and wiggling his brows, and for a moment it feels too natural, too easy to be under him, making you both pause.

This was what he did for a living.

He’s certainly having fun, but you can’t get too confused.

“What else would you like to do? Are you sure you’re ready for it all?” His intent makes you so nervous.

“I wanted to suck you? Is that okay?” Satoru’s cock hurts so bad it takes everything to hold himself back, from grabbing your pretty face and fucking it, stretching that little throat out. He thinks he’s dreaming, swathed in your taste, your scent, brushing your now messy hair back gently.

“Is that okay? Fuck yes.” You giggle now, as he helps you sit up, switching positions and lying on his back now. You are almost naked, the skirt still on along with your kneesocks - those kittens, so cute he thinks - something so seductive about you keeping them on as you get on your knees.

“He’s very pretty. Is that weird to say?” He shakes his head, letting you unbutton his pants now, watching you avidly, your hair falling to the side, just over one breast, which he puts back over your shoulder now. He watches you shiver from the contact, goosebumps on your breasts.

“He’s very pretty, I already know this.” You roll your eyes a bit at him, but his laughter dies when his cock is free, and he’s helping you take the rest of his boxers off his slim, long legs. “Blushing again?”

“It’s bigger in person!? How.” He’s just beaming, you’re sure this is merely stroking his enormous ego, but you can’t help it.

“The camera subtracts two inches.”

“Does it now?” You’re leaning down, hair brushing his thighs as your tiny hand wraps his thick, massive cock, tracing a pale blue vein under taut skin, watching as he jerks, whining out softly. “Is that okay?”

“God yes…” He’s swallowing now, it was easy to be conceited eating you out, but he’s a fucking mess when you barely touch him. He shuts his eyes, trying to pull himself together, he’s supposed to teach you, not get flustered like some damn virgin, about to bust from a touch. “Have you jerked one?” You shake your head. “I’m so confused, how did you have sex at all?”

“He just put it in, and it hurt.” Satoru frowns now, seeing the expression on your face.

“You can’t just put it in, you’re stupid - ah - tight.” You’re stroking a bit, laying down now, breaths against him.

“Two virgins I guess we sucked.” You muse softly, sighing a bit. “But you’re… much, much bigger.”

“Well I wouldn’t hurt you. Okay?” You nod then, smiling because you already know, pressing the flat of your tongue to his slit, making him whimper, the sound has you pause, as you taste him, sticky precum coating your tongue.

“You are yummy.” Satoru can’t take it then, yanking you up and making you gasp, pinning you beneath him. “Satoru, let me suck it please?”

“I can’t take it.” He kisses his taste off you, drool pooling in your mouth as he hastily unzips your skirt. “I’ll bust quick.”

“How? I’ve watched you, and your stamina-”

“No stamina right now. Shit stamina.” He’s kissing you again, and something shifts, hungry and desperate, overwhelming your senses, filled with him. Your hands grip his obliques, feeling them tense as he moves, as he breathes with you. “Let me have you cum again.”

“I wanted to make you cum.” Your soft whisper elicits a low growl from him, as he clutches you so tightly you almost can’t breathe, wondering just what the fuck you’re making him into. “If it’s fast won’t that mean I’m doing good?”

“That’s one way to look at it - ah!” You’re touching him between your bodies, stroking him again, watching how his lips part, his jaw clenched, muscles so tense his arms are shaking. “Shit, okay.”

He stands now, as you’re on your knees, brushing your hair into a ponytail and holding it there, pulling just a bit as he touches your cheek. “Tell me what to do?”

“Open.” His soft command is husky, reverberating through you, as you do just that, forward on your hands and knees, as he slips the tip of his cock against your open lips, painting the precum along them like the prettiest gloss. “Fuck…”

You stay open, god you’re a good girl, aren’t you?

“That’s it, use your tongue sweetheart- f-fuck…” As you do just that, and his cock fills your mouth, Satoru loses his tentative control, pulling your hair so hard you cry out just a bit. “Shit, you okay?”

You pull back with a pop, looking up at him with dilated eyes, lidded and full of desire. “I’m good, I um… liked it.”

He pulls it again, pricking pain that makes your cunt impossibly wet again, as you suck him in, trying to remember what you’ve seen before. Satoru’s moving now, sucking in a breath when he sinks deep in your throat, feeling you gag around it, he has to pause his thrusts, exhaling.

“Relax the throat, just like that, such a good girl, aren’t you?” You’re whining out, pressing your thighs together as you suck up and down his length, so long he makes you choke, tensing. “Breathe through the nose, there you go.”

You’re listening so perfectly, would you listen to anything he said?

Satoru’s never been one for too much bdsm, but fuck if you don’t elicit every goddamn thought of anything he’s seen. Tying you up, blindfolding you, making you cum until you faint from it, waking you up and doing it again. He struggles to cling to any sense of composure as you shut your eyes, nostrils flaring a bit, sucking him in so deep inside your tight throat, squeezing him.

“Fuck, you’re doing so good, look at you. Sucking him so deep, can you bottom out?” You try to concentrate, relaxing your throat, nodding just a bit, and Satoru can feel the bulge of his cock in your delicate throat as he brushes his hand along it, sighing at how goddamn sexy you are.

His abdomen flexes, the muscles taut and defined as his hips move, as his cock pulses in that tight chamber, gripping him and making him think just how perfect your pussy will feel. The thoughts of it have him fucking your face harder, faster, as you reach down, touching yourself, unable to take it, balancing on one arm now.

“Gotta touch your pussy again, love my cock so much?” This isn’t Satoru’s ‘pornstar voice’ no, it’s husky, desperate, broken, as he feels you pushing him closer and closer with each suck, flick, gag, god when you gag it feels so good, so much he wants to keep causing it.

You’re slipping two little fingers in your slick hole, they slip in easily which has never really happened before, but how can it not when Satoru had stretched you with one of his long, thick fingers? Something is heady when you look up at him under your lashes, hitting your own spot, whining and choking on his cock, watching the flush of his cheekbones, feeling him tense.

You feel so much, more than just sucking a beautiful cock, the intensity and care of him fucking your throat means too much, how he’s delicate, careful, holding back. You see it in his tense body, you feel him shaking, holding back so he doesn’t hurt you, testing just what you like. And you want to please him, god you do, you want him feeling just a bit of what he just gave you.

Satoru’s breaths themselves are pornographic, heavy and stuttering, his words broken as he fucks your face so goddamn good, you’re pumping your fingers in quicker, but god nothing felt like his. Long and thick, compared to yours, so short and not hitting a goddamn thing, squishing and clicking, along with the sound of your suction, slobbering all down Satoru’s length now.

“You’re so good, d-didn’t need a lesson, for shit- ah! Mmm!” He’s louder than you expected, in the clips you watched he was a little more quiet, he’s so loud and vocal while he thrusts, pausing then, pulling back, letting you take a dizzy breath.

“You like it?” Your whisper ends him, he shakes his head.

“Like it no.” That wasn’t a good word for whatever your innocent mouth is doing to him, he’s had the most practiced girls, he’s had multiple sucking him at once, as he came all over their faces, crossed eyes and tongues sticking out. But nothing is like your nervous little look, as he grabs your hand now, yanking it off you.

“Ah!” You’re gasping as he sucks your cunt off them, moaning as he does, making your jaw drop.

“I’m about to cum, where do you want it?” You turn into a flustered mess when he releases your spit soaked fingers.

“Wanna taste you.” Your answer has him desperate, he’s pressing your lips open again, cock shoving deep, you moan around him, pushing Satoru over that ledge.

“Wanna swallow all my cum, like a good girl?” He knows what that does, it’s so clear, and you manage a nod, when he fucks your face faster and faster, hands gripping your face delicately for as hard as he’s going. “Ready baby?”

You merely whine out, shaking as you feel him pulse in your throat, he pulls back, and then you feel it, hot and sticky, so much cum, ropes of it pouring in your mouth now, as Satoru whimpers again. This time you know it’s different from what you heard, his usual moans, looking up to see his eyes fluttering shut, his hands gripping your face harder as he keeps filling your mouth.

You swallow him all down, he is sweet, just a tiny bit bitter, but flooding your senses as your hands grip his thighs, and you suck him all down, every rope of white cum filling your throat and now your tummy. You’re so full, sucking more and more, until he’s sensitive, gasping.

“F-fuck, god, I’ve… you…” He can’t form a word, as an innocent, nerdy little thing has destroyed him, made him into a whimpering fucking mess.

How the fuck.

He eases back, and tilts your chin up, as your hands slip up his abdomen, brushing the soft white hair above his still hard cock. “Lemme see, did you swallow it all?”

You nod, opening as he guides your jaw, and he sees your pink tongue, your mouth devoid of his cum aside from some that had spilled on the corner of your mouth. Satoru exhales, swiping at it now.

“Want more of me?”

“Yes.” It’s instant, you don’t even think of it.

“Then open again.” You do just that, when Satoru spits right down into your open mouth, lewd and filthy, the saliva stringing down until it hits your tongue. “Swallow.”

You gulp him down, as his hand wraps your pretty throat, and he can’t stand it then, a cock that’s cum twice today won’t go away, it’s coming back if anything at how debauched he’s made you. How obedient you are, looking at him in shock, wiping at your lips, cheeks tinged with color.

“Pretty fucked out little doll.” You whine out as he kisses you again, craving his lips more than anything, the way you feel in his arms, as he presses you against his hard body. “Are you sure you’ve never done it?”

“Y-yes, um… you’re very sweet.”

God. Ruining him.

You’re ruining him.

He’s kissing you again and again as his phone goes off, he smacks at it, scowling, mouth back over yours, tits squished in his huge hands. His cock is hot and heavy against your thigh when it’s going off again, he sighs, leaning up and peering over at it on the nightstand.

“Manager, shit.”

“It’s fine, go ahead Satoru.” You whisper, stroking his cheek now, he moans and kisses you again, before leaning up now.

“Yep.” He answers, still running his hands down your tits, your nipples, eliciting cries you try to bite back, much to his pleasure. “Yeah I know I just… have wanted to do solo for a bit.”

You’re trying not to listen in, caressing a bicep, feeling just how strong and cut he is, while he smiles down at you. You hear the manager’s voice, and watch Satoru roll those baby blues, sighing now, sitting up a bit. You go to do so as well, but he gently pushes you down, shaking his head.

“I don’t wanna do the gang bang, too many dicks.” You can’t stop the little laugh, and Satoru smirks at you, pressing a little kiss to your collarbone. “You’re gonna scare my friend off. Yeah I have friends, the fuck?”

Satoru continues the conversation, still kissing on you, something you didn’t know how badly you needed or craved after doing so much with him, god his cum is inside you, along with his spit. Imagining him just… leaving you… or sending you home after he came was a big fear, and what you expected, but the fact that he’s so touchy is making you feel even more comfortable.

It’s like you’ve known him.

Since you met him you felt that way, your heart aches at his cute, almost boyish grin, while he keeps speaking. “Fine, I’ll do the shoot if it’s that much money, but I swear I’m tired of Sukuna lately. And Toji? Ugh. Fine, fine then.” He hangs up his phone, and you bite that lip, making him gently tug it. “I hate gang bangs.”

“That’s not something I thought I’d hear from anyone?” He tosses his phone aside, kissing up the side of your neck, making it tickle. “You have a shoot?”

“Yeah, I avoided them all week.” He pauses then, not wanting to say why, surely you don’t… feel anything other than pleasure, right? And if so, you’re a good girl - what if this life hurt you?

“Why are you avoiding it?”

Satoru sighs, kissing up to your ear, dying to say it - you.

But that’s fucking insane.

“I get a little exhausted sometimes from it all, I figured I’d focus on the OF.” He leans up, brushing fingers across your cheeks, still hot to the touch, your gaze affixed on his collarbone now. “I really hate working with Toji and Sukuna. Suguru is fine, we’re so close I guess. But those two are so annoying. And one girl, four dicks? Dicks touching, balls touching.”

“Oh god.” You’re nervously laughing as he does. “So why do it?”

“It’s my job, I can’t keep turning em all down, already got my manager angry as fuck clearly.” He sighs now, because he can’t even fathom having a girl under him, it’s like you’ve done something.

“So a gang bang.”

“Yep. Ugh. Let’s not talk about it.” He’s kissing you again, and you can’t help but again feel envious of anyone that gets him, and you damn sure should not think this fucking way. “Do you want more?”

“I think maybe a pause. Because that was a lot. I’m a little worn out.”

“Amateur.”

“I’m not a pornstar!” You shove at him playfully and he laughs again, but this time you feel it, the tension, his hand gripping yours gently, warm and wrapped around your little wrist, as it rests on his chest.

“There are amateur pornstars you know.”

“Well that certainly couldn’t be me. I don’t think I’d let so many people see me naked- not that I mind that you do! Did that seem judgy!? Shit-”

“Shh. No, you’re just you, and that’s okay.” You heave a breath of relief, hoping he would never think you’d judge him, as you fall deeper into that gaze. “So when is your next lesson, student?”

“Student!” You can’t stop the blush, the giggle, that makes him die for you over and over, when the door opens. “Oh!”

“I forgot to mention, I share the penthouse with Suguru.” He quickly buttons your cardigan, as you slip on your skirt, and the two of you hear kisses and soft moans, Satoru steps out curiously, literally still naked. “Oh, hey Mandy.”

“Gojo!” Suguru is kissing down a pretty girl's neck as Satoru leans in his doorway, dick just out like he couldn’t care less, and you step up behind him, earning Suguru’s curious gaze.

“It’s the pretty girl from the party.” He smiles, as the girl - Mandy, you guess - looks at you as well, and you recognize her.

“Oh it’s Jenna’s friend, hi.” You wave and she giggles, bouncing over to you, while Suguru takes his jacket and shoes off. She gives Satoru a kiss on the cheek, then takes your hand. “You take the best pictures of her, oh my god!”

“Oh, that’s sweet of you.” Satoru finally goes to slip on his jeans, giving you all a good look at his little round ass, as he slips them up over them. “She told you I took those?”

“She did. Hey, I’d pay good money for a shoot.”

“Oh, I don’t do it professionally…” Satoru comes back now, a hand at the small of your back.

“You took those of Jenna?” You nod now. “Shit they look pro.”

“There are always side hustles love.” Suguru says now, holding a hand out to you, and you put your much smaller one in his, as he brings it to his lips. “We didn’t officially meet. Suguru Geto.”

You give him your name shyly, and then he’s dragging Mandy to his room, as she waves at you now. “If you change your mind, let me know!”

“I will.” You’re fidgeting a bit as they shut the door, laughter echoing through Satoru - and Suguru’s - penthouse. “A co-star?”

“She’s mainly Suguru’s co-star, but I’ve joined in. That is about as close to dating as he gets I think.” There it is, the word - dating. He clears his throat then, tilting your chin up. “Seriously, those pictures are so good. I didn’t know you took them.”

“Jenna is just beautiful, it’s easy.” Satoru frowns, watching you look down nervously.

“I mean lighting, angles baby, that shit matters in the industry. You said you did graphic design?” You nod. “Not too far off art in general, and bodies are art.”

“You think bodies are art?” Satoru leans down now, one hand on either side of you.

“Yours sure is.” His words do too much damage, words you die to hear from his perfect lips, but here you are - falling - when you know damn well you can’t.

“You’re way too nice.”

“I am not even. I told you I’m an expert.” He grabs your waist now, and you can’t stop your heart from racing, from feeling too much, for a man that apparently will be having a whole gang bang tomorrow. No, you have to keep this separated, you got pleasure, he did, and that’s okay.

Right?

Get out of your head!

“Let’s get you something to eat, bet you forgot hmm? You’re all shaky.”

“You notice a lot.”

“I like to pay attention,”

He’s perfect, aside from… his job is to fuck people.

Shit stop caring!

“Let me heat you up something, come on.” You follow him into the kitchen, hearing the moans and cries, and Satoru smirks as he peeks at his phone. “They’re really on cam right now.”

“Oh!”

“Wanna see?”

“No, no. No way.” Satoru turns on the microwave, leaning on the counter, eyes raking over your body slowly, you feel it like a caress.

“Only watch me, hmm? I’m so special?” His lips turn up, and he’s teasing, but you almost say yes, he is, holding it back nervously.

“Maybe you are.” You want to seem teasing, fun, but your voice is just soft and nervous, Satoru’s lips part, as if to speak, then the microwave beeps. “You don’t have to feed me, Satoru.”

“Yes I do. It’s nothing, I have a million of these meals, and they’re full of protein- you need that after sex you know. Sit.” You sit up on the bar stool now, as he places the little meal in front of you, then turns to the fridge, to give you the best view of this man’s back.

God it’s sexy, the curve of his spine, the dimples in his lower back, the bulging muscles so defined, your mouth goes dry for a moment. He pulls out a water bottle, before going over to one of those pretty white cabinets, pristinely clean for two bachelors living here you notice. He takes a little packet, smiling at you as he tears it now, pouring it in.

“Electrolytes, for the waterfall.”

“Oh god.” You’re covering your face as he laughs, the sound is so nice, it’s too nice, how thoughtful he is, when he shakes up the bottle and hands it to you.

“It’s hot, stop. Eat.”

After eating as much as you could, and drinking most of the bottle he’s mixed up, Satoru has you in the bathroom, tenderly helping you clean up, fixing your outfit while you’re waiting on your ride. He is by far the sweetest guy you’ve met, careful when he wipes you up in places that make you blush, then tackling your hair with a flat black brush.

Satoru’s brushing your hair gently, you see him towering over you, behind you in the reflection, so careful as he slips that brush through your messy hair, so relaxing you almost fall asleep. “You’re spoiling me.”

“This isn’t spoiling, sweetheart.” God the thought of spoiling you fucks him up. Images of fucking you in just some diamond body chain, and nothing else, brings the cock he’s trying to calm down get hard all over again. “Aftercare is important.”

“I see this. You do… for your co-stars?”

“Of course I always make sure they’re cleaned up and okay, but especially for you and not being so experienced. I imagine you didn’t get that with your ex?” You shake your head a bit.

“I thought we were in love, after that I really closed off. But no he was sweet it was like we both were a little too sheltered, and then that kind of cinched it, that we weren’t compatible. Do you think everyone can be physically compatible?” Satoru purses his lips then, shaking his head.

“I can make anyone cum, because I know how, but,” his hand puts down the brush, now he’s eyeing you in the fancy gilded mirror, brushing your hair over your shoulders, studying your pretty face. “I don’t think everyone ‘vibes’ if that makes any sense.”

“It does, actually.” Was that it, you two mesh well? Not whatever fantastical ideas run rampant in your addled mind? When he rests his chin on your head now, holding you, you try to remember, Satoru is sweet, he does this with his costars. He’s just a good guy who knows women.

It can’t be more.

While Satoru remembers that he could not ever be good for a girl like you, and he shouldn’t even let this happen, because you’re fucking his brain up. The thought of fucking anyone makes him cringe, god all he wants to do is bury his face between your thighs again, keep having you cum. He’s got to remember you trust him to show you things, and that’s all it needs to be.

He has a career he loves, right?

His hands slip further down your body, your breaths quicken, his big hand splayed on your tugged cardigan. “You really are art.”

“Satoru, the things you say- mnh!” He’s lost now, cupping you between your thighs again, as he presses you against the counter, eyes so bright with those shrunken pupils, as you feel fingers glide against your panties again. Your eyes roll back, head falling against his chest.

“Let me have you cum one more time before your car gets here?” You weakly nod, how can you not, and he moans, bending low so he can slip your panties to the side, fingering you with two, you try to cover your cry, and he yanks your hand off your mouth. “Wanna watch that pretty face.”

You’re so fucked.

He has you gushing down his fingers, making a mess all down thick knuckles, hasty and quick in the bathroom, as his lips touch the shell of your ear. “I can’t wait to sink my cock so deep in this perfect cunt.”

“Ah! Satoru… ngh…” You’re ended, wrapped in his dangerous embrace, eyes losing focus when he murmurs again.

“Look at yourself when you cum.” You never have done this, you’ve never seen your face this way, the way your eyes are so dilated, you can barely see a ring of their color anymore, your parted lips, when he slips another hand under your chin, keeping your face forward.

You’re pulsing around his fingers once more, this time so sensitive from your orgasms it’s even easier for him, when he kisses up your neck, up to your ear, breaths heavy against it. Your vision shakes when you’re getting closer, ass arching while he presses you even more against the marble sink, the soft cream walls all fading as you begin to shatter.

“Art… see?” His whisper is so raw and genuine, you nod weakly, falling against his strong body as he eases his fingers, pressing them to your clit and eliciting one more orgasm, running in circles while he watches you, hungrily, and you know it even more, cunt spasming for him.

You really fucking like Satoru Gojo.

You want to be dumb and say what’s in your heart, but it can’t be, it’s his enigmatic charm, it’s his sweetness, it’s how sexy he makes you feel. It’s his presence it’s… god, all of him, intoxicating like some drug, and you’re not sure if a taste of him is anywhere close to enough, when he takes his fingers out, leaving you empty, putting his fingers to your lips.

“Suck.” His quiet orders are so easily obeyed by you it drives him to insanity, pulling you close as you taste his fingers, eyeing how sensual and fucked out you look in his arms, wondering how he lets you go.

*****

The Next Day 

The bright lights of the set are fucking blinding, there’s too many dicks, that must be it, not the girl that’s in his fucking head constantly, that he would do anything to have gushing down his face again. The one he kept thinking how beautiful her goddamn eyes were while she swallowed him, versus just thinking of the pleasure, no it was more, far more.

“Satoru, you really need Viagra buddy.” Sukuna says with a chuckle, when the director yells - cut! - and Satoru sighs.

“Oh fuck you, it’s all your dicks.”

“You look like you really don’t mind-”

“Toji, stop.” Suguru pauses him before Satoru and Toji fight as they tend to when they butt heads on a shoot. But, the directors wanted the top stars, and here they all were in one room with a beauty, who pauses sucking Sukuna and jerking Toji then, looking at Satoru curiously.

“I need a minute.” Satoru’s manager frowns now, having seen this before in the last shoot. He comes up to him now, as Satoru frowns at his usually at least semi hard cock just hanging there, irritating him to no end.

“Go take a break. Try to… get back to it.” Satoru nods, heading to the dressing room and downing a bottle of water from the fridge, leaning over the counter where they do their makeup, though Satoru never really needs anything but a little clear mascara for those long white lashes.

He came in your mouth, he had you on his face, shouldn’t that have fulfilled something, the longing and desire? Did he need to fuck you to actually be able to function? Or if he fucked you would he be good and ruined!? Considering her mouth and hand could do nothing to him, and his annoying co stars talking shit certainly didn’t help anything.

How were you?

He hadn’t heard from you today.

Since when does he care if a girl hits him up? He frowns now, wrapping a towel around his hips, hanging low, pulling up his cell phone and seeing it then, making him smile, and he sees how lovesick and goofy the smile is in the mirror. He immediately tries to stop it, the grin, but his lips keep twitching when he looks at the text again.

Good Girl🫦 (yes that’s what he saved you as, no he’s not sorry) I hope you have a great shoot today, Satoru. I am not working tomorrow if you’d like to get dinner? Is that weird? It’s weird. Just have a good day! Ignore me!

He laughs a bit, you’re too fucking adorable and just awkward, god he fucking loves it.

🌽🌟 Satoru (yes that’s his name in your phone, no you’re not sorry) You’re cute. Of course we can do dinner, you pick a spot?

He sits down as the three dots do more to make him hard than this stupid ass shot, wondering at you then. Was dinner code for a lesson, or did you want to hang out with him? Spend time? He fears that would make him fall just as much if not more as touching you, kissing you, because god if he doesn’t just love listening to you talk, like that night at the party.

You fascinate him.

Good Girl🫦- I sure can, six pm work for you?

🌽🌟 Satoru - Sure thing sweetheart.

When he calls you sweetheart you can’t stop the goofy smile on your face, but then you remember where he is. He’s probably on a break from… a fucking gang bang, and you can NOT be jealous about that. You cannot be upset that you already want him to yourself, greedy, stupid and selfish. God you knew you probably couldn’t handle this well, but the fact that it’s more intense than you anticipated is hard to swallow.

But you want him near you, even just for dinner, you were so nervous he’d turn you down, but god if you don’t enjoy his presence altogether. He makes you laugh, he makes you feel so good, as if this… emptiness you’ve had for a long time is filled by a big white grin and sparkling blue eyes.

🌽🌟 Satoru - We’re friends, right?

Good Girl🫦 - Absolutely, no matter what ‘lessons’ we do, I want to be your friend.

🌽🌟 Satoru - Then can I get a favor, pretty please? I will make it up by buying us dinner.

Good Girl🫦 - Of course, what is it?

🌽🌟 Gojo - Another picture of you.

You’re flushed now, surely on a shoot with a beautiful girl he didn’t need some picture of you? You’re home now, just in gym shorts and a crop top, hair in a messy bun, your glasses on.

Good Girl🫦 - Satoru I look like crap.

🌽🌟 Satoru - Bet you look hot.

Good Girl🫦 - Picture of what?

Satoru sighs in relief, biting his lower lip, wondering if he should just come out and fucking say it - he doesn’t think he can get hard if you’re not there, in his head, if he doesn’t see you. It’s a theory that’s getting more and more tangible by the moment, that he doesn’t know if he can perform his damn job anymore because your taste is soaked in his tastebuds.

🌽🌟 Satoru - Your perfect tits, please? I’ll show you mine.

You giggle then, shaking your head, skin so overheated when you nervously look in the mirror in your room, scattered books and stuffed animals covering the dresser. Can you do this, take a picture of… your body for him?

Good Girl🫦 - why? Aren’t there tits for you waiting?

You’re bratty, he didn’t realize till now. It makes you hotter.

🌽🌟 Satoru - Not even close to as pretty as yours - and there are so many dicks and balls. Help your friend out :’) I will make sure I kiss them as a thank you.

Good Girl🫦 - Image.

You freak out as you send it, the picture of your tits in your mirror, and Satoru moans out loud at it. Yeah, he saw them, but fuck, you’re perfect, hair up in some messy bun, your glasses on the bridge of your pretty nose, little baby yoda plush front and center against your mirror, god it makes you even hotter. You’ve wrapped an arm under them, pressing them up and together.

Fuck.

Fuck fuck fuck.

He’s throbbing now, looking down at his cock straining the terry cloth towel, scowling back at the phone, realizing he thinks you have put some spell on his perfect cock. Are you some witch disguised as a sweet little thing!? He eyes your tits again, almost whining at how pretty they look, at how badly he’d love to fuck you between them, cum all over them.

He’d cum on every inch of your body.

🌽🌟 Satoru - You’re so perfect.

You’re covering your face, sighing as his words - probably just being nice - are too much, they mean too much from him. You’re questioning everything you are and everything you’ve ever known, throbbing with need from his mere words, nipples aching for his touch. You look back at the phone, fingers hovering on the cool dark screen, shaking slightly.

Good Girl🫦 - You still on set?

🌽🌟 Satoru - Unfortunately. That brightened my day. My cock is smiling, you know.

You snort at that.

Good Girl🫦 - You’re silly. I’ll let you get back to work.

He doesn’t want to get back to work.

He wants you on the set, but fuck if he’d let anyone else touch you if you were his-

Wait.

What fucking kind of thought is this!?

He doesn’t think that way.

Looking at your picture again, he rushes back out, trying his very best to keep up the tentative erection, he can’t manage to get involved however, touching skin that’s not yours seems wrong somehow. You’re not together - he doesn’t date, he can’t date - but he can’t stay away from thoughts of you here instead, and how he’d film just the perfect video with you instead.

You would never, but the porn he imagines you two could make is what feeds his brain for the next twenty minutes or so, he tries to let the other men fuck her, as he lets her jerk him, or suck him, shutting his eyes and picturing the tits on his screen. He doesn’t even know if he’ll be able to cum, finally settling to jerk himself, when they’re all putting the money shot on the star.

He wants to cum all over your pretty face, god. He vividly sees it as his ropes of cum pour out, and he notices with relief the shoot is over. Usually he would have some friendly banter, but he’s distant, odd as he cleans up, it feels like he’s so uninvolved, even that night he’s staring at your pretty tits again, cock in his hand when you’ve messaged him.

Good Girl🫦 - Sweet dreams, Satoru.

Fuck.

He wants you in his bed so bad, but not just to finally fuck into your perfect little pussy, shit it would be nice to hold you. He’s never done that. To just kiss on you and watch your cute reactions, the little giggles you make. His cock throbs in response, since when has Satoru became someone to masturbate to a fucking photo?

You’re laying there, hating the thoughts in your mind, that he was with someone else today - but you’re friends. Friends with some ‘lessons’ that should not mean as much as they did the other day, not just the pleasure, or how badly you want him inside you, no it was his sweet kisses, him brushing your hair, fuck he fed you and made sure you were okay constantly.

You just want him, any of him.

Cruel, cruel joke - making you fall for a pornstar who will never date. But, here you are, watching three dots move now.

🌽🌟 Satoru - Good night, sweetheart.

The LOVE on chap one is insane for me, I am so glad you all love it! Taglist is closed bc it's too much but I'll keep everyone updated!! <3 I hope you enjoy I can't waittt to hear your thoughts hehe

Taglist 1 - @rjreins @juicu @kalulakunundrum @gojoswaterbottle @aldebrana @simp-plague @wedojustbevibin @lucciferr0 @officialholyagua @privthemis @coffee-and-geto @homesickes @msniks @emi311 @mai-505 @gojoslovelylover @ren-ren23 @yihona-san06 @emochosoluvr @sylvermoon @bunheadusa @karvokr @starmapz @queenexplosonmurderr @musiclover2119 @saitamaswifey @reagan707 @midorissi @ghostskilledmyaddiction21 @itsinherited @maisiefrancesca @gyarubunny @theonlyhonoredone @chosslut @simperisksksk @xlilycoco @howlsdarling @femaholicc @maymaymarch @miseryyouth-99 @swoozleee @zeunys @cryingdevil @leafynightmares @princess-bblgm @gojosconsort @insomnicshello @joonunivrs @myahfig4 @silviscosplay