𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐡 𝐝𝐚𝐲.

꒰ྀི 𝒲𝐻𝐼𝒫𝒫𝐸𝒟 𝒞𝑅𝐸𝒜𝑀 ꒱ྀི

꒰ 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐜𝐞𝐞𝐝 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 . . . ꒱ 3.8kay word count , fem reader , daddy kink , oral sex [ r. receiving ] , könig punches someone , pet name usage [ reader callz him koo , könig callz her little one , little girl , princess ] , mentions of reader bein physically smaller than him , pussy wedgie , creaming + squirting , size kink ? i dunno , he gets kind of jealous + possessive . .

𝜗ϱ 𝓁𝓊𝓋 𝓃𝑜𝓉𝑒 𝒻𝓇𝓂 𝒷𝑒𝓁𝓁𝒶 . . . jus take dis ໒꒰՞ ܸ. .ܸ՞꒱ა . hvnt posted anythin in like , ovaaaa a month so 🧁 ennnnjoi ! ! Minors + Ageless Blogs Do Not Touch ! ! ! ! !

“sechsundachtzig . siebenundachtzig . achtundachtzig.”

you’re a sweet girl.

you know this. he knows this — everyone knows this. doesn’t mean that he necessarily likes just how chasmal your warmth and comity goes, but, könig supposes he can’t complain. he won’t complain. it was the very thing that drew him to you . . no, rather, wrenched him in to you. the sound of your laughter, a gentle, pleasant thing in which a cute snort, an eccentric titter counterbalances near the end of. it’s obvious that you may have gotten teased for it during your early years because it’s never overly loud, you snap your hand up to your nose and determinedly guard a pretty, gleeful gleam with your fingers before it can expel fully into the air, and könig will be honest, he’s not anything if he’s not an honest man, if there’s anything that he loathes about you, it’s that . . only that.

he’s seen you giggle at fawning children, an aberrant one liner he’d retort underneath the tide of his breath, from your favorite movie’s dialogue — he’s never really seen you give that cute, quirky huff of a snort anywhere else however, until tonight.

the annual modern military association gala.

“too many people,” he grumbled into that warm twill of skin beneath your neck the night before — that area that smells most like you, unrefined of perfume and lotions scented of gilded iris and praline amber, but just you. “fuck no.”

you had given him a short whine and clutched tighter onto the index finger of his hand that laid directly upon the area of your womb with a small fist, “they’re decorating you though — you’re gettin’ three medals koo’, y’gotta go.”

fuck the medals. ornate and encrusted with gold and silver, admired and respected for shoving a bk-1 claymore into the sweat ridden flesh of another soldier or bulling the barrel of 98k sniper rifle past their teeth until the slimy pads of their tongues got corded inside of the cable of their throat — könig likes to watch that split second of panic fill their eyes, gives him an refreshing kick of adrenaline, before his index finger is pulling back the trigger and making brains splatter against the canvas of a wall . . . a picasso of red and pink, no, a könig. made uniquely by him, for him, not anyone else.

getting a medal for doing so, sure, he’ll take it, however, not in front of six hundred people. ridiculous.

but, he’s forced to — by you and the general.

he’s forced to stand beside you and hear the incredulous whispers of his colleagues’ wives and friends ask if ‘that’s him?’ ‘is that really him?’

“he’s the one that . . — oh, oh wow.”

“jesus f. christ, why does he look like that?”

“you don’t talk to him, honey, right? do you?”

then there’s you. sweet, precious you. you remain a step ahead of him at all times, his own, select, darling bodyguard. your head reaches his mid torso, the difference span of his fingers against yours racks up to about three inches, and you’d probably tip over with the weight of it if he were to let you hold one of his guns but, you’re cute. you squeal and clap, bouncing on the tip of your toes after his medals are collected, outstretching your arms for him until he’s there, blanketed, within your embrace.

you give him a small kiss, a treasured one, over the fabric of his veil and murmur that you’re proud of him, you’re happy for him. and really, fuck the medals, they don’t compare to you. not by a long shot.

könig’s ready to go, and you see no point in staying after he’s gotten his praise, nevertheless, you’re stopped right before exiting through the doors.

by some fucking . . rookie — his name is something stupid. lars . . . lester . . laird. könig recognizes him sometimes on the field. he’s not bad, but he’s not good neither. the greens of his eyes twinkle when he looks at you. he congratulates könig, compliments his work, says something fairly funny because you give a giggle. könig notices it, but he doesn’t think you do, laird seems to like that — your laugh, that is. because he quips something else and you giggle a little louder, give that precious snort near the tail of it. shrewdness frays the edges of his smile . . it begins to teeter the blurred line of flirtation and könig feels the familiar skip of his heart. it starts to hammer against the cage of his ribs, sends his mouth dampening with an influx of saliva.

“—but i’m sure you’re used to it right? colonel here always gone, gets lonely, no?”

his inquiry makes you give a small hum. you genuinely seem to think about it. “sometimes. but i know he’ll always be right back,” you lean back into him after answering. könig’s a pillar — a man carven of stone. to establish a boundary, a strong arm circles around your hip . . his forearm rests within the sink of your waist, drawing attention to the flowing silk of your evening gown. it’s pink and flowing with a thigh high slit and cowl neck. könig waits . . and he waits, until he sees it — the flicker.

with the weight of his arm, your dress obeys the laws of gravity and the neckline dips a little lower, flaunting off the crease that splits your plump tits into two.

laird asks another question and waits until you hum again and lift your eyes up towards the ceiling to ponder an answer before his own gale down to take a small peek.

könig thanks him — truly, he does. he gives him a reason to draw both his arms back. his left, the one holding you rotates behind himself so that you’re shielded behind the great expanse of his shoulders and to protect you from the few feeble splatters of blood that shoot out into the air and onto könig’s cloak after his right arm ricochets back forward with enough strength to rival a bullet bouncing off of steel. the sound of knuckles colliding with a nose bridge is loud — soft music is screeched to a halt, the entire venue goes silent.

with a quiet spout, “dummer hurensohn,” könig takes hold of your hand and steps from over laird’s unconscious body, uncaring if a heavy boot knocks against the side of his head as he does so. your heels quickly pitpat after his strides, and weirdly, you’re quiet. you remain silent on the drive home, when you both step over the threshold, when you shower together, and as könig rubs an exfoliating sponge across the scope of your body. you don’t speak and könig doesn’t make you. he lowers himself up then down on the pull-up bar, muttering his count with each one. he sees you, seated upon your shared bed, both legs laid down and folded at the knee, soles of your feet pressed up against one another. you thumb with the dangling chain of your gold anklet, twirling it around and ‘round your little finger, prior to letting it go for just a second, then doing it again.

he keeps staring at you — your face is blank, eyes dim, muscles relaxed.

then the plump cushion of your bottom lip starts to billow.

“awh, no, no, no.”

it’s a demand.

mightily, he falls down onto his feet and is at the bed in two long strides. you’re still pouting when he leans down, swoops a sturdy arm underneath the bend of your knees and at your lower back. he takes a seat, you upon his lap, and like a babe, he holds you so, “no pouting. kein schmollen.” he touches it, with one large, scarred finger — delicately presses upon your lip, as if it were a peds candy dispenser, capable of slotting back to its normal shape.

“you shouldn’t have hit him, könig.”

“i did what needed to be done.”

“he’s probably dead.”

behind a hood of ink, eyes of blue waves glimmer with relish — akin to the golden rays of the sun against the foamy brine. “mm.” he says nothing more.

you huff and straighten yourself out until you’re seated upright, facing him and legs spread around his hips. “this is serious. what if you get fired?”

there it is — a smile. a big one. it creases the corner of his eyes. he stares at you as if you were but a wiseacre child, thinking you know everything. “not going to happen, kleine.”

“mm.” it’s your turn now. you look away from him, still frowning, still pouty.

könig doesn’t understand. why are you upset? his mouth twists in a firm scowl, “. . . looked at your tits. stupid fucker — i’d do it again,” he bites out.

“hittin’ him doesn’t make it right.”

“don’t care.” huffing, he looks down at your breasts himself. yeah, he can see why laird gravitated towards you. they’re pretty . . sit nice and full, even with no support. you wear just a camisole and shorts to bed tonight, both are textured with some sort of scallop fabric, and laced with pink along the edges with a bow threaded snug in the middle of the top trim. könig palms one and you give a small inquiring croon. when he starts to roll it within his heavy paw is when you go to smack his hand away. “no,” you grumble.

“ ‘s my tits,” he grouches in reply, lifting his hood a few inches above his lips. lowering his head, he then begins to suckle a line of wet, tongue filled kisses along the globes of them. “not yours, neither.”

“y’so,” your back curves in and you grasp for balance with your hands on his knees when he sharply tugs your camisole down so that they spill from over it and into his awaiting mouth and hands. “so mean, koo’.”

“es ist mir egal.” i don’t care.

he doesn’t get you. you’re nice, too fucking nice. you confuse him, bewitch him, mystify him, entrap him in your hold, your smile, your voice, your touch. he engulfs his mouth around your nipple — nearly devours your entire tit. it’s as though he’s trying to swallow you whole, you wouldn’t doubt that he is. you mewl as he frees it from his lips with a slick pop. he doesn’t even swallow his tongue back inside of his mouth, like a weir, saliva drips from the tip of it as he pants and hauls it over to your other breast to lave it across the opposite nipple. it’s soft, puffy . . cute. “mm,” you sigh and with a hand, coast it underneath his hood, scratching your nails across the short strands of hair near the nape of his neck. “b-be . . more . . nice.”

again, he pops off to murmur one word — a gruff “no.”

the fucking nerve of that guy. the nerve of you. there isn’t a person you belong to on this earth that isn’t solely him. könig’s put a lot of work into this, a lot of long nights and even longer days, trying to better the more worse parts of himself, all in efforts to have you. he’ll be damned if some rookie, some fucktwat of an amateur attempts to come in and mess it all up — innocent flirting or not. “my tits,” he shifts, turns on his side, lets you fall back against the bed with him atop of you. “my ass. my pussy. all of you, mine.”

his fingers find the crotch of your shorts. he slips them underneath the fabric at your mound until it squidges into a slim line and fits between the fat, pudgy lips of your cunt. your gasp is quiet, reflexes forces you to lift your legs up and hold them at the knees. “mmm,” he grunts at the sight and with his opposite index finger, stokes it quickly from left to right across the chubby skin of them, watching how your pussy jiggles and quivers. “pudgy. fett.” fat.

warmth whelms the surface of your cheeks, “you’re gross,” you whimper.

he knows.

decent, refined men don’t smack pussy just to watch it bounce off of their palm. they don’t lean their head down and make out with a clothed clit, suckle and nibble on labias until they’re a second away from nutting in their sleep bottoms. you’re a whiny thing — hiccuping and whimpering, pulling at his hood until it goes askew. it’s always sudden . . . you never know when he’s going to take it off because könig doesn’t ever know himself. he realizes that he needs to tonight though, if he wants to eat you out the way he wants to, fuck you the way he wants to, he needs all obscurities out of the way.

it’s torn off and tossed upon the lamp on the nightstand.

he hears you give a little coo of happiness. you’re tugging on him harder now, wrapping your legs around his neck, curling your pretty toes against his shoulders. “greedy thing,” a finger probes against the hole of your cunt through the fabric of these tiny, little sleep shorts. “feels good?” he drags it up to your clit then back down, pressure firm.

you inhale, eyes closed, palms weakly cupping your tits, “mhm.”

you’re so sweet. you’re so good. you need a man like him by your side . . someone a little bit more mean, more rough and vile. balances out, no? that’s how it goes. opposites attract and what not. könig knows he needs you, too.

when you relax again, he takes that split chance to pop another firm smack against your pussy, knocking you out of that space of contentment. you wince and give another sweet whine and really, okay, he’ll stop. tugs your shorts to the side, slips his tongue right where you need him most. he swallows the horribly sweet sap of your love within the back of his throat — fucks his tongue sloppily inside that little hole, splits it open, forces it to gape and take, take, take. the bulbous knob of his crooked nose knocks against your clit as he does, he makes sure to sway his head from side to side occasionally, nuzzles, makes sure she gets some well needed attention, too.

“o-oh,” your voice is stuck in your throat. you keep trying to speak but they sound like little squeals. “oh g— . . oh god.”

“mm ,” he coarsly murmurs. “süsse muschi . . rub it, princess. rub it on m’tongue.”

you know what he wants you to do. you’ve both done this before.

your legs fall, feet planted flat against the bed, and you rise to your toes and lift your hips when he elevates his head an inch then keeps it still. könig lets you do the work, makes you stroke your pussy across the open plane of his wide, long tongue, up and down. already so delirious — your mouth is brimmed with drool, eyes closed, you work shyly at first . . slow and careful, “h-hah,” you breathe, quiet and tender. “daddy . . mm, d-daddy.”

when he closes his mouth to swallow, he lets his lips enclose around your clit, nice and tight. “mmmm,” you whimper and push yourself faster, holding onto his hands that he gives for stability. “d-don’ stop . . koo, don’stop.”

“i won’t,” he breathes. he needs your cum on his tongue just as bad as you want to give it. with an extended opened mouth comes an immoderate amount of drool — it dribbles off of it, makes your pussy that much more of a mess, the sounds are disgusting. wet and slick, slimy and thick. “mmph . . fühlt sich gut . . . no? pussy’s crying,” the volume of his voice is but a mere rumble, he’s cautious of you, doesn’t want to fuck up your pace too much. “needs cock in her.”

your tummy trembles. your nails, layered with smooth acrylic, long, and sharp, burrow inside the stoutness of his flesh and soon, you’re cumming — thighs quivering and pussy creaming onto the welcoming mat of his tongue. he groans, you sob. “yeah, good girl,” fiercely, he swallows it, licks into you for more, similar to the way a person would bury their tongue inside of a canister for more meringue. “good girl, good girl.”

you fall flat onto your back and he’s on you without another second lost. sweat shorts are kicked down strong thighs and soon his hands are parting your legs wide enough to accommodate his stature. “ptuh.” you watch him spit . . marvel the mostly healed scar that runs about four inches diagonally across the thin skin of his lips flex as he does so. he polishes it across the thick, long column of his cock, smooths the pre cum down, cups his balls, “mm, keep still.”

one of your legs is thrown across the ridge of könig’s shoulders, the other remains pinned to the mattress. you watch as he strokes his cock between your lips, dowsing it with his saliva and your cream. “filthy, lil’ pussy . . cock hungry, isn’t she?”

you react to his words — clench and another ripple of slick blesses the tip of his cock. at his responding chortle, you cover your face and shake your head, “könig.”

“ja, ja . . i know. papa knows.”

when he first pushes into you, you groan and turn your face away to pull the fabric of the comforter between your teeth. big. so big. too big. his face dips in low in order to bury it against your neck and in him doing so, he effectively bends your leg back further against your shoulder — god, it burns. he doesn’t stop. he sheaths himself in, nice and deep . . basking in warm, gummy tightness. he feels at home. “oh f-fuck,” you sound about two seconds away from crying, soft, sweet voice thin and warbled. “ungh.” he suddenly slams in the last inch, lets his fat, woolly balls plop against your winking hole, indulges in the pulsing rigged cordage of your insides. “god, yes. fuck, yes,” he rolls his hips, nice and slow and this is where you melt and finally give in. “yes, yes, yes.” könig saves lovemaking for special occasions. anniversaries, your birthday . . veterans day.

he can never help his instincts — the ones that demand him to fuck and fuck and breed. with his weight, he keeps you still after his hips pick up an immediate, smooth, quick momentum.

god it’s so good. you feel so good.

his balls plap against the soft skin of your ass and he keeps you still with only a hand. he’s so big, in every sense of the word.

“f-fuck,” you sob, arm thrown across the back of his neck, face buried in the crook of it. “deep . . daddy— . . shit, awe.”

könig thinks of how pretty you are. how sweet you are, how kind, and precious and dear. he thinks of the looks you’re prone to receiving each time you step out of the house, how much you love him. “like that, eh?” he asks quietly, reaching a hand down and away to let it firmly fall back onto your ass. he smacks it again and again. “feels good for m’kleine, mm?”

your toes crack when they curl, it nearly hurts. “y-yeah,” you squeak beneath shallow breaths. “k-könig, please.” you don’t know what exactly you’re pleading for — him to slow down? no, you’re already on the brink of something phenomenal. you need him closer, you think. he’s already as close as can be, both your sets of tits pressed up against one another but, you need him even closer. you squeeze him tighter.

“muschi’s . . sloppy,” he huffs a heavy breath. “hear her? — n-nice an’ wet. ekelhaft.” disgusting.

the headboard pounds ceaselessly against the wall. you lift your hips, beginning to meet him halfway, making your pussy swallow him to the base. könig groans out a loud sound — similar to a snarl. “yes, yes, yes — good, little fuckin’ pussy . .”

the both of you feel you creaming — making a hell of a mess. it smears across the front of his balls, drips down the puckered button of your ass.

his breath is against your ear and yours against his. you whimper and cry and squeak. he pants and huffs and groans. the air seems vapid. you can’t suck in enough, even though you try your hardest.

his cock is fat, your pussy lips are fatter. they split far apart to take all that he provides and it leaves open access to the throbbing, wet nub of your clit which the thick patch of his pubes stroke against. “good girl,” he groans. “good, little girl — mm, jus’ give it . . give papa yr’cum. make me a mess.”

your eyes lift on their own accord — they lift and then they cycle back inside of your skull when you feel the fat mushroomy tip of his dick kiss the sensitive ridge of your cervix . . once, twice, thrice. “uungh god,” you breathe. you’re completely out of it, voice gone, brain empty, breath lost. he adores you like this and you know it. there isn’t another reason that’d make sense as to why he’d be fucking you this way. “m gonna . . d-daddy, ‘m gonna cum,” you sound scared almost, as though you’re fearful of it. so, könig kicks it into high gear — maintains his pace though implements a pivot of his hips with each stroke in to caress his cock across that tender of nerves angled near the roof of your squelching cunt.

that’s enough for your legs to seize, for your back to arch, arms squeeze that much tighter around him. forthwith, his cock is forcibly pushed out of your cunt with a lewd ‘pop!’ as a vulgar scene of liquid is gushed from out of your gaping, little hole. “aaaahh.” he drags it out through a low chuckle and taps his tip within the mess, willing more of it out. “mm, there it is. there we fuckin’ go.” he’s pushing himself back in before it completely diminishes — fucks you with more vigor, more strength. you’re so sensitive. tremble all over, bite onto your own fingers to muffle your squeals and blubbering of overstimulation.

“ja,” he heaves. “ready for it? . . gonna . . j-ja, fuck.”

with firm circles of his hips, könig presses himself up flushed against you, soon allowing his cock to erupt eight, long jets of cum deep inside your womb. “hng . . . mein gott.” my god. his dick swells with the influx of it, balls jump in time with each one that gets released and buried inside the warm depths that is you. and he doesn’t even stop there — continues to slowly sway his hips back and forth, as if he were trying to work it in deep, make sure it sticks. you feel the product of his love, of his adoration, and care, and sweetness. it’s thick and hot, white and runny . . dribbles out of your battered pussy when he pulls out with enough slowness to rival molasses off a spoon — seems like it hadn’t wanted to leave. he kisses you and you kiss him back, weak though enthusiastic. you feel how tight he holds you and he doesn’t have to say it because you know it regardless. mine.

A massive Konig 👑 art dump

🥵🥵

## cockwarming simon whilst he bench presses <33

“you’re doing so well, love.” you encourage him from your proud perch on his cock. it’s after hours, the gym is empty. perfect for the two of you to train in privacy. simon grunts as he benches the impressive weights on the barbell, pushing it away from his pumped barrel chest until his arms are straight above him.

your hands are resting on his soft tummy, slightly strained beneath your fingers whilst he uses his strenuous might to complete the set. his meaty thighs flex against your arse causing your cunt to flutter around his width and you twitch, fingers curling into his sweat-drenched hoodie. “a few more then you can rest before your last round.” the double entendre is absolutely intended and you feel him swell within the sleeve of your cervix.

you’re aware the circular plates on either side of the bar probably total to double your weight, and still, you could comfortably assume the bar itself weighs at least a quarter of that alone. so you know it can’t be easy on him, working his muscles so intensely all the while one ‘muscle’ in particular slots inside of you — plugging you on its stiff strain. you can feel him pulsating against your spongy sheath, the blood and adrenaline pumping to more regions of his body than one.

simon grits his teeth, jaws locked beneath the fabric of his mask as he makes his final push. and he tenses beneath you, his legs shifting which inevitably readjusts you on his cock. you both groan and he almost drops the bar onto his chest, but he regathers his composure and you position your hands so you can catch it should it fall — not that you trust yourself to be able to hold such weight.

when he finishes the set he drops the bar somewhere behind him, exhausted arms dropping so his callused hands can fall to find purchase on your spread thighs, feet dangling above the floor from his sturdy lap. “well fuckin’ done, my love.” you smile, leaning forward so you’re chest-to-chest. his throbbing dick follows your reposition, ultimately bulging in your belly due to the deepened angle.

simon smirks, peeling one palm from the skin of your thigh to collide it with the curve of your arse. you jolt, his cock hitting that gummy spot perfectly as a result. “c’mon then, dove. gimme my reward ‘fore my next set, yeah?”

“you love it like this, don’t you sweetheart?” is such a cunty thing to say and it is so so price coded (๑﹏๑//)

during sex is toptier but imagining this man just dropping this any chance he gets: when he ties your loose shoelaces and peers up to see your lips wobbling in giddiness, and jokingly asks if you must like seeing him on his knees before you. you stammer out a reply, mouth dry, and price just chuckles at your reaction as he stands up. “i’m jus’ teasing, lovie. swear.”

or when you’re reaching for something stowed away in a high shelf and he cages you with his bulk, teasingly murmuring how you must like it like this—all pressed up against him, feeling the contours of his muscles and fat.

“mm but maybe i should be the one doing this more often ‘cause i’m really liking how you feel against me, hun,” he finishes before stepping away and planting the mug you were trying to get on the counter.

you murmur out a thanks and john lightly pats the fat of your ass in response, humming underneath his breath. you watch him waltz back out of the kitchen, feeling the way your cheeks fill up with warmth.

(when it’s during sex, price says it when he’s got your ankles hooked to his shoulders, with his belly pushing against the back of your thighs as he bears his weight down on you. he huffs at your confused whimper, and brushes his nose over your cheek.

“you really love it when my body weight is pressing against you, huh, darlin’?” he murmurs, trailing his lips along your jaw.

you clamp down on his cock, hips twitching, and john coos at the spike of your reaction.

“shh, i love it like this too, baby. no need to be shy.”)

⠀ 𝝑𝑒 ⠀⠀ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒. you show your husband some affection, thinking you two were alone - only to be interrupted by your son.

tags. dad!toji fushiguro x wife!female reader. fluff, suggestive. mentions of toji developing / having a dad bod. & reader having a mom bod. reader gets called ‘princess, mama (by gumi)’. baby gumi waking up bcs of a nightmare. excuse me - not beta read bcs i was half asleep when writing this rt_t

“tooooji,” you smile as you enter the kitchen. you’ve put megumi to bed - finally - and have the chance to spend some one-on-one time with your dear husband. both of you deserve the rest after a hard day of work.

toji has been putting the dishes back in their designated spots whilst you were away. the dark-haired man turns his head to the side once he feels a pair of arms wrap around his waist. a small grin tugs at his lips, “missed me, princess?”

you roll your eyes. even if years have passed since your marriage, toji has not stopped using that specific nickname for you. he loves calling you ‘princess’, because that’s what you’ll always be to him. in his eyes, at least.

“mhm,” you decide to indulge him. you bury your face into his broad back, feeling the muscles he’s worked so hard on obtaining. after megumi was born, toji did let himself go for a bit, but that is a good sign.

it means he’s content with his life - this peaceful life that he’s settled down for with no regrets. no more being reckless, no more battling for money; he’s now got a family to come back home to after all.

“is the little brat asleep?” toji asks while putting the last dish away. he’s visibly enjoying your warm hands that have slid under his shirt. your skin is so soft to the touch compared to his.

you chuckle and nod to his question. “gumi’s sleeping like a baby,” you rub your husband’s stomach gently, feeling the little bumps of his fading abs. you’re loving his new body - just as much as toji loves yours.

toji turns around to face you, desperately needing to return the favor. he can’t get enough of being with you. his rough hands grab your waist and bring you closer against his body, until your chests are nearly touching. he lowers his head to your neck, “that means i can show my wife how much i love her, yeah?”

you shiver at how toji’s voice turns from soft and gentle to sexual and husky. big hands find their place on your tummy, massaging the loose skin with its stretch marks. you can hear your husband’s breath hitch. “fuck,” toji swallows his spit, his fingers moving to grasp your hips.

toji loves how your hips got wider after you’ve given birth to your child. every change in your body, whether big or small, is completely welcomed by him. your body has blessed toji with a son he loves and he’ll forever be grateful for that fact. the least he can do is take his time to appreciate you.

“so beautiful,” toji sighs as he leaves soft pecks on your neck and throat. his fingers are working their way down to your thighs and ass—not leaving a single patch of skin untouched. his lips eventually find yours and you melt into his embrace.

it’s getting heated and the tension is palpable. toji’s about to lift you into his arms when you catch a glimpse of a short figure in the doorway. your eyes widen and you immediately detach your lips from your husband’s.

toji quickly catches on and sighs. he cocks his head to the left, the sight of his toddler standing at the doorway coming into view. “damn kid,” he whispers, nearly pouting because of the interruption. you playfully slap his bicep—a warning to fix his potty mouth in front of megumi.

“h-hey, gumi,” you say with an awkward giggle, walking towards the child. you fix your shirt in the meantime, straightening the material. you crouch down to megumi’s level and pat his head tenderly, “what happened? why are you out of bed?”

megumi stares up at you with teary eyes. he’s clenching onto his dog plushie, hugging the stuffed animal to his little body. you can easily guess that he’s scared—probably because of a nightmare. he’s been getting those more frequently.

though, instead of explaining himself, megumi searches for answers to something else. he points at his dad who’s leaning against the counter with his arms crossed. the toddler then looks back at you like he’s made some big discovery;

“mama papa kissing!”

you nearly choke on your spit. megumi’s a clever little boy and it shows through his advanced vocabulary. you’re surprised that he’s learnt what that meant already. you try to deny what your child said, “no, uhm, mama and papa were just hugging!”

toji snorts at your half assed excuse. he lazily walks over to you two, hands in his pockets. he bends forwards and looks megumi in the eyes with a huge smirk on his face. “yeah, we were. ‘n you totally ruined it,” he utters without any shame and menacingly sticks his tongue out at the little boy.

you hiss and lightly shove toji—he cannot take anything seriously. you’re trying your best to distract megumi’s attention from what he’s seen his parents do, to what his reason is for waking up.

“did you have a nightmare again?” you coo and pick your son up. he instantly snuggles up to you and presses his face against your chest in search of comfort. you smile and can conclude that your assumptions are right.

you pet megumi’s head whilst softly humming one of his favorite lullabies. toji watches your interaction with his son and his mood softens once more. he silently hugs you from behind—also wrapping an arm around megumi—turning it into a little family group hug.

“y’re all right, buddy,” toji mutters to megumi and the little boy sniffles in response, “mama ‘n papa ‘re right here.”

after a couple minutes, you carry megumi back to his room before putting him down in his bed. your husband stands next to you as you make sure your kid is tucked in properly.

megumi stares up at you with a sniff and you nearly melt at the adorable sight. you brush his bangs out of his eyes and kiss his forehead, wishing him a good night. the toddler nods and hugs his plushie to his chest again, still a bit shaken up from the nightmare. however, he’s doing a lot better after he got comforted by both his parents.

“sweet dreams, gumi,” you whisper and rub megumi’s cheeks with a fond smile on your lips. toji simply stares at you conversing with megumi—his face showing little to no emotion. though, from within, toji is absolutely in awe at your motherly personality. you’re the perfect mother.

megumi gets drowsy and tosses onto his side so he could be more comfortable. he struggles to open his eyes, but manages to look at toji. the little boy pouts and points another finger at his dad, this time drowsily warning him, “papa no kiss mama, ‘kay?”

that comment catches you off guard. you’re embarrassed by the fact that megumi still remembers what he’s seen in the kitchen. you try to clear your throat and explain yourself, but toji’s one step ahead of you. he silently mimics megumi’s words and rolls his eyes—

“yeah yeah, whatever. i won’t,” toji promises his son. the toddler clearly inherited your husband’s protectiveness. you chuckle at the playfulness between the two, enjoying the jokey banter the father-son duo have each time.

megumi huffs in victory and nods. he can sleep in peace now, knowing his dad won’t try anything funny with you. he closes his weary eyes and is asleep within just a few seconds.

you stretch your arms and sigh in content. you can’t help but chuckle once you notice how megumi’s fallen asleep with a tiny smile on his lips. you give the child one last forehead kiss before leaving the room in silence.

toji follows right behind you. now that his son is sound asleep, he doesn’t have to keep his promise. technically— he wasn’t planning to anyway.

“c’mere,” your husband mumbles and grabs your hand. he pulls you into a tight hug, hands instantly roaming your body which he admires so much. he plants his lips onto yours not a second later.

you smile into the kiss, finding it funny how toji couldn’t keep his (fake) promise for even one second. he would die if he actually couldn’t kiss you, and that isn’t even an exaggeration.

toji pulls back after a moment and smirks at you—those bedroom eyes of his very telling.

“so, where were we?”

unfinished stuff

15 SECONDS OF FAME! — ☆ GOJO SATORU.

headline. fucking your client wasn’t on your bucket list. the famous popstar 'toru' says he can’t perform because of issues he’s having with his voice. but he finds another way to warm up his vocal cords—it involves being between your legs.

word count. 4.2k

warnings. fem! reader, popstar!gojo, pwp, unprotected sex, modern au, he's a whiney brat, overstim, degradation, praise, semi public, impact play, cunnilingus, fingering.

an. lol this was fun 2 write !! ty @osaemu as always for beta'ing

“…nono, you don’t understand. i can’t go out there, i just…can’t—!” gojo mutters, and he’s pacing back and forth. talk about a drama queen. to think you had to deal with this every day, being the infamous satoru gojo’s personal assistant was never an easy task. his attire was…quite enthralling to say the least. gojo was draped up in a sheeny black one-piece with rhinestones attached in a few places, he always had his outfits designed a certain way. not too tight, not too big.

you sat on the sofa, taking a sip of a latte he bought you as a thanks for saving him to deal with the hoards of paparazzi that practically lived outside the stadium back-way entrance.

“satoru, you do this before every show,” you sigh, glancing at him. you couldn’t lie to yourself, he was strikingly handsome. gojo’s hair was a tad bit messy and ruffled. it was a slight v-cut towards his chest to show a bit of skin. his fangirls always went wild over the most minimal things such as that. “you do realize you’re supposed to be performing in front of 10,000 people? canceling right before a show isn’t a good l—”

“i know…i know,” he pouts, and he’s so unserious, you sort of found it hard to believe this was a millionaire pop star who’s such a household name. gojo lets off a loud sigh before walking towards you with a sheepish grin. “these cough drops you’ve been givinʼ me haven’t done shit.”

“really...” you deadpan, casually giving him nothing but a sly eye roll.

gojo sulks and he’s just a few feet apart from you now. “mhm…really,” he says, and the slight rasp in his voice catches your attention. his earpiece was still on, as well with his mic that hung just barely underneath his chin. “i did research though. about other methods that help with heh, um vocal fry..”

you stare up at the popstar, and he’s returning the gaze…as if he was trying to hide the smile that was already forming against his pink lips. you don’t give him an answer and this time, he’s the one to roll his eyes.

“…well since you asked so nicely,” he grumbles, the same pout going against his face before he pulls out his phone. gojo scrolls a thumb down against his bright screen before clearing his throat. “hm, according to this totally accurate article, it says… to fully recover from vocal fry, a guy must uh, receive a special treat within a woman’s—”

you blankly stare at him, already second-guessing his fake response. “just say you want to eat me out, satoru.”

“wha— where’d you get that impression?” he plays dumb, furrowing his eyebrows and cowardly looks around the room. a few seconds go by before he shrugs, speaking quickly, defeated. “….fine i wanna eat you out. hmph.”

you turn your head for a brief moment, hearing the defending roars of the crowd just a few areas down from the dressing room the two of you currently stayed in. “maybe after your show, they're chanting for y—”

“they can wait,” he frowns, and he turns you around, two hands softly holding onto your shoulders. gojo remained with a pout, bottom lip just slightly tucking underneath the top one. “i can’t.”

the both of you grow quiet for a long moment, and gojo seems serious—dramatic, but serious. you and him both exchanged sensual eye contact, and you were so close to gojo that you could practically smell the strong cinnamon scent of his intoxicating cologne. the popstar smooths his lips together before briefly shifting his eyes down at the floor and then back up at you. 

“five minutes…five minutes, that isn't too long is it?” he stammers, and the gaze the two of you made starts to get more and more intense. “i won’t get into too much trouble if it's just five minutes right?”

“you’re insufferable.” you mumble, letting off a soft sigh. “okay, five minutes. if you say this helps with your—vocal whatever.”

not much to your surprise, five minutes turned into half an hour. 

you held back a moan the sudden second you felt gojo’s warm tongue swiftly lap against your drenched folds. he made you wriggle against him, and you maintained a rough grip against the laid-back sofa.

“s-satoru,” you’d whimper out, gasping at how sloppy he was. you were prompt up in such a position to where you were bent over the arm part of the couch, skirt lifted, fishnets just barely pulled down, and the most vulgar expression. “oh my g-goddd, you're gonna make the others outside h-hear.”

“you’ll just have to be a little more quiet, assistant,” he whispers, cool breath fanning against your pussy. perhaps this was unprofessional, no it was very unprofessional. a plethora of following consequences started to race through your mind. “what time is it?”

you moaned, reaching near the wooden half table for his watch and read the time, “um.. quarter past eight.”

“aw man,” he sulks, softly licking the your tender pulsating numb with the very tip of his tongue. with a quick second, he maneuvers circles all over your clit to feel you squirm and jitter against him. “that much time passed? can’t stand rushing…”

as you cling onto the fluffed couch, your black pencil skirt that was just sluggishly raised up and yet, you continued to gnaw the inside of your lip from the feelings of his tongue, entirely sloppy.

the slurps that exited from his mouth had your bottom lip quivering in such desire. you craved more, the way he swirled and curved the length of his tongue throughout your pussy earned umpteen gasps and whines from you. 

“s—satoru,” you’d croak out, and he’s casually taking the time to make out with your folds. languidly, your slick race down his chin, and between breaks to breathe, he'd lap up his tongue before diving back in. “fuck, ‘m gonna cum again, think ‘m gonna cum..”

“wait a little longer, yeah?” he murmurs, grabbing the fat of your ass with two rough hands. you felt bundles of butterflies stir inside your stomach, feeling gojo’s nose swipe against your folds for a few jiffs. “let me eat, haven't had a good meal all fuckin’ day.”

you swallowed, not even facing him but you could practically see the grin stretching across his lips. “and…and who’s fault was that?”

he chuckles, warm breath fanning against your cunt. “okay, you have a point,” and your thighs feel feverish—you’re so hot, and not because of the sudden humidity wafting around the small dressing room.

the popstar lolls out his tongue, humming before you moan, feeling him lick your pussy in a straight direction. “mhm, this is better than anything else though.”

you were about to speak, but all that did was make you let out a shaky whine. the smooth pads of his thumbs graze against both parts of your ass as he continued to eat you out like a starved man. it was as if time stood still, your mouth grew exceedingly dry and your legs felt like they could barely stand up on their own. 

“sa..satoru,” you once more repeated, not knowing how long you could last. simply, his tongue was dangerous—god, it was just the way he moved it in every direction.

he knew where to lick, where to suck, and even nibble. gojo found himself tickling his tongue against your little nub before sucking on it. all to hear you cry out in desperation. cacophonies of whimpers depart from your glossed lips such as, ‘satoru,’ ‘please-please,’ and ‘m gonna c-cum.’

there was no denying, gojo had you an entire stammering mess. you found yourself even questioning how this became, the two of you were never intimate. although, there's always been steamy moments between the two of you. 

for instance, there was a moment where gojo took you with him to the hot springs while he was on tour…which non-surprisingly led to a hot make-out sesh. that was a few months ago, and the two of you decided to not think much of it. of course though, there are always assumptions being made about the two of you—always from the nosy journalists and interviewers. 

each interview, it’d always be questions they’d ask about the precious little assistant that’s essentially attached by the hip to the famous gojo satoru.

“are you and that girl exclusive yet?”

“how long have you two seen each other?”

“please. describe to us. what’s she like in b—”

they’d get more perverted each time. alas, gojo always loathed it whenever the press referred to you as ‘that’ girl.

his jaw would always clench in sheer annoyance. perhaps he didn't have the right to feel that way, but he was somewhat protective over you. it wasn't like you were his bodyguard or anything clearly, but still. he always liked how you treated him just like you’d treat anyone else.

“satoru..” you'd cut him off from his deep thoughts. “your phone keeps beeping.”

“huuuuh?” he grouches, ears perking at the annoying screech of his device. gojo’s thumbs remain against both edges of your ass before he breaks off his lips, a long string of his own saliva running down your slit. “oh, can you hand it to me?”

he's so nonchalant, and with your back still arched, you lightly fling his phone towards him.

he grumbles.

picking up the phone, typing in his twenty one digit passcode of ‘sexymansexyspraycan69’ before with a click, it unlocks. gojo darts his eyes towards his phone and hums at the five messages left from his manager, kento nanami. 

‘Greetings. Where are you? Message me Ass.’

‘ASAP. Autocorrect.’

‘Your fans think your dead.’

‘Don’t tell me you're busy with that assistant of yours again.’

‘When your sales start going low, don't blame me.’

and many more unread, “blah blah yeah yeah,” gojo murmurs, skimming through the loads of unread gray bubbled messages. “nothing important. geez, can't have a single moment to myself.”

you were so close to orgasming and that's when gojo flips you over to face him—you're panting and he flashes you a soft smile, leaning in to kiss your forehead. “aw, waiting for me?” he whispers, bringing a gentle kiss towards the inner corner of your neck. his touch was immensely warm, something you just couldn't describe. “you wanna cum don't you, baby?

“m-mhmm.” was all you could manage out, wrapping your arms around him as he got right between you. gojo continues to trail kisses down your neck before chuckling. 

“use those words, c’mon. don't be shy. i wanna hear ya tell me what you want.”

the way he was such a tease, you couldn't stand him, then again you could. so annoying, gojo’s warmth of his performing outfit brushed against your skin. the perfectly knitted fabric of it dancing against your skin as he inched closer towards you. “tell me how much of a messy girl you wanna be.”

“i—” you started, and he took a moment to stare into your eyes. gojo looked so pretty, smug yes, but pretty. long lashes each time he blinked, fluttering against him. whenever he showcased that well-known cheeky smile of his, his dimples would poke right against his lips. “i-i wanna cum. please, lemme cum, ‘toru..”

“pretty girllll wants to cummmm,” he sings in a  playful melodic tune. again, you couldn't stand him. singing right in the middle of something so intimate. gojo runs a hand down your buttoned-up shirt before chuckling. “hm, i suppose. go ahead, let go fʼr me.”

once you do, immediately your vision turns dizzy. all you saw was a few blotches of white, and it feels so good that the feelings have you biting down on your lip. gojo leans into your neck, whispering sweet nothings against you while giving your ass a soft caress.

“good girl, just let go…yeah,” he purrs, giving your collarbone a gentle suck. you taste so sweet to him. you're addicting, simple as that. like candy he can't get enough of.

gojo satoru had a sweet tooth for you, there was no doubt about it. “fuck, i can just suck on you all day,” he utters in a low voice, and his warm hands part your thighs so he can get a bit more between you. “i need more…fuck the fans, i need you.”

“idiot, don’t say that..” you moan, and he's kissing all down the crevices of your neck again. gojo’s lips against your tender skin gave you chills. even still, you were so hot, from the neck down. it felt amazing, the feeling of him sucking and kissing against your skin to such a point that you're just throbbing. “t-they’re waiting for you.”

“they can keep waiting,” he smiles, leaning down to kiss near your chest, moving the exclusive backstage lanyard pass away with a slight grip. “damn, you don't know how hard i’ve been during rehearsal. i—i think about you, you know?”

you gawk up at him as his body towers over you, his costume glimmers in the light before he starts to peel it off carefully. you were taken by surprise so you mutter, “you…you do?”

“well yeah girl,” he rolls his eyes, such sass in his tone, following with the low rasp that hid underneath his voice. “you drive me crazy in the worst way.”

“the feeling’s mutual, popstar.” you utter, a glint in your eye.

“hmpf. now that i was nice enough to let you cum, you decide to be a brat, huh?” he raises a brow, using two fingers to brush his mic piece aside. 

a coyish grin goes against your lips. “sorry. are you gonna do anything about it?”

“…shut up..” he grumbles, and he does. 

pretty much, you then found yourself on your hands and knees on the couch, feeling gojo caress your ass briefly before meeting the mounds of your skin with a mean spank.

you suck in shortened breath. “ooh,” he says as you moan in unison of the light thwack. “you get off on spanks, huh?” he utters in a grouse, the feeling of his palm kissing against your skin making you continuously pulse. 

“n-no.” you spat. 

“liar,” he matches your snarky tone, and you let off a gasp once you feel him finally rub the tip of his dick against your folds. gojo grows abnormally quiet the minute your slick coats his length freely. “fuckkk,” he sighs, eyes closing for a short second. you teasingly wriggled your ass against him and he spanks you again. “you’re so impatient, wait.”

“do you even know how to fuck?” you slip out, and you held back a giggle. perhaps you shouldn't have said that, your thoughts did speak way more than they should anyway. 

gojo’s eyebrows curl into a furrow, and his voice genuinely sounds offended. “wha—?! of course i  do.”

“just asking.” you tease. 

“just asking,” he mocks your tone, completely butchering it purposely and gojo slowly starts to make his way inside of your tight pussy. he's gradually moving himself in, and you let off a moan before he continues, “yeah. shut the f-fuck up.”

a small grin stretches against your lips, because you hear how gojo stutters whilst sinking inches into you. even while trying to be mean and degrading, he was so close to moaning himself. it was simply adorable. you maintained a mere pristine arch while biting the inside of your cheek once more. 

“you're s-so wet ‘n sloppy,” he huffs out a groan, and the squelches your pussy made against him was simply enticing. for a second, you grew mute once you gave your own body a listen. just the faint sounds of gojo’s jagged breathing, “f-fuck, ‘s good. keep facing that way, just like that. good.”

gojo’s touch against your spine was purely gossamer. 

he was soft, gentle, delicate.

yet the minute he started to create a pace with his rollicked hips, he couldn't contain himself. the way his dick probed throughout your walls, you kissed your teeth in longing—just for him to just hurry.

gojo was always such a tease, the fat plump head of his cock dabbing against your pussy. 

“s-stop playing and just put it in.” you moaned, growing impatient by the mile. 

“heh, you know what they say,” he mumbles, you pulse even more once you feel him slide in about a single inch or two…only to then go right back out. “patience is a virgin.”

“…it’s virtue.”

“that’s what i sai—”

“just fuck me.” you whined. 

gojo giggles, and finally, he starts up his slovenly pace again. he grips onto your hips before sighing. he takes note of the way you progressively suck him in.

you linger over the couch, the fabric of your own pencil skirt just hovering over your waist before gojo starts to sway his hips. 

you had to stop yourself from being so noisy, executives were probably in the other room.

some kind of meeting perhaps occurring, yet here you were, happily entangled with your client. such thick inches he was dumping into you had nearly drooling. gojo’s base was rotund and fat, thwacking and thwacking against you to where you're so dizzy. 

“f-fuck, ‘toru.. ‘s good.” you whined, every few seconds he’d smack your ass to watch your ass jiggle with such recoil. it was one of his favorite moments to witness. as your lips stuck together, your thighs already felt weak and tremulous. 

“damn girl…didn't expect you to s-start throwin’ yourself back again me,” he sibilates, and for a concise moment his head goes back. a groan flies past his glossed pink lips as your ass continued to thrash against him. “you're such a needy girl. tryna…f-fuck me back..”

the way his voice unintentionally got low whenever he was in such a trance had you throbbing, such convulses making you nearly weak in the knees.

to you, the feeling was indescribable. such pools of heat ran between your legs the more his thrusts picked up.

his dick reached every spot, so much so being precise—you felt the curve of his length analyze all throughout your inner walls. it didn't miss a spot, he reached deep and you let off the cutest whimper. “god, r-right there. please, ‘toru. y-your curve, ‘s reaching me deep.”

“you f-flatter me,” he pants, trying to ignore his flusteredness. gojo’s right hand, the hand that had a half-cut open glitter glove that coordinated alongside his outfit ghosts against your ass. his lip quivers from his pace, and the way your pussy just sucks him dry, a few splotches of pre-cum cutely coated against the outer part of your ass. “fuck, dunno how much i can take with you movin’ your ass against me like that…shit, shit.”

“…s-satoru,” you breathed, biting down on your arm to suppress your moans a bit. not before long, he deepens the angle and you feel his sharped hips piston in utter contentment. “fuck, f-fuck. ‘s deep.”

gojo groans, swallowing the nonexistent lump in his throat before he feels himself coming close.

“think you’re gonna m-milk me dry,” he gasps, jerk after jerk his hips go against you at full throttle. the base of his dick, you hear the pap pap pap noises commence, and it’s so obscene. “shit, think ‘m in love,” and then you grow hot. it’s a long inelegant pause before he adds to his words, “…i-in love with your pussy.”

you were gonna comment something, but you were too fucked dumb to comprehend anything. you’re basically being fucked stupid into the cushioned sofa. the cottony bristles of the fabric went against your skin as your body lurched forward each time. 

splaying at an almost animalistic pace, gojo’s ears, the very tips of them at least grow incredibly hot, you’re making his body heat up, scorching. the way your pussy tightly hugged around him like a vice, he was obsessed.

he just couldn’t get enough. to think this was the first time he’s been this intimate with you—oh, how he could only imagine what it’d be like for a second time, or a third time, or a…

“s-satoru, your phone’s ringing..”

he grunts, glancing down to see the bright-lit screen display, and this time it’s geto. with an eye roll, he ignores it, still gripping your hips, he’s attaining his peak before he lets off a husky groan. “f-fuck, ‘m gonna cum.. can i—?”

“y-yes, jus’ do it, ‘toru,” you spoke, not even letting him finish his sentence—you knew what he was gonna ask though if he could shoot inside. you were so drunk from his dick, thoughts on your mind were straight mush. 

“okay, okay,” he breathes, and even his moans were pretty. figures, gojo was a soprano, so he was bound to sound angelic, even while moaning his head off. it had the perfect pitch to it, such rasp in it, almost breathy. 

you feel gojo’s pelvic bone thrust a bit more at a quickened pace, accelerating just a bit more and his nerves were just going wild. “fuck, f-fuck..” he grunts, and he starts to grow a bit whiney, his sloppy hits against your rear made out to be a tad bit voluntary, rhythm a bit more expedite, and he clenched his jaw. 

once gojo came, it's so much.

thick ropes that seeped right into you. you moan, and he pauses his hips just to watch, feeling himself pouring all inside. velvety ropes of the popstar’s cum fills you up to the brim. you're panting, he's panting, and gojo was in love.

was it love? he didn't know, but his pupils were dilated for sure. 

his breath hitches once he slowly pulls out, watching his own cum slowly spill out between your folds and he lets off a moan. “made me fuck such a mess into you,” he spouts, running a thumb down your slit to watch you cutely jounce against his touch. 

“you ruined my panties.” you whined, turning over to face him—gojo leans in for a kiss, and you return the favor, tasting yourself once more on his lips. the sweetened taste of your own slick that still remained all over his tongue. 

“baby, it's not like you need them,” he rasps, grabbing ahold of you, and he positions you to get on his lap. “besides, i was gonna ask to keep them.”

“why?” you mumble, wrapping your arms around his neck, slipping off a moan at his already sensitive tip hovering against your entrance as you realigned yourself. 

timidly, he runs a hand down his neck. “y’know. for uh…good luck? was gonna keep them in my pocket or something.”

“you're so—”

“shhh.” he hums, interrupting your words for another tender kiss. your tongue slides against his, and he tastes minty.

as his breath collides against yours, you playfully bite down on his lip. gojo grunts, and he’s making your way inside again. gingerly, you sink down against his thick base and he gives your ass a mean squeeze before spanking it once you start to move. 

“oh f-fuck…fuck, forgot how sensitive-” he hiccups, watching with half-lidded eyes at your hips rotating against him in an orderly fashion. you moan from his pleasure, taking a second to swallow before whimpering—softly, you kiss against his neck and he grunts. “you-you make me feel so good, baby.”

gojo’s almost at a lost for words, he’s had his fair share of women, but none could make him feel like this.

besides, he's never had the time. touring day in and day out was a hassle, and intimacy was a straight no due to his overly busy schedule. 

although, whilst the two of you were screwing around, making out and you're riding him cowgirl, that’s right when the wooden creaky door bursts open.

not to anyone’s surprise, it's no one other than gojo’s best friend and bassist, suguru geto.

“you've got to be joking,” he utters with crossed arms, immediately darting his eyes away. “everyone’s been calling you, there's a search party, and—”

geto pauses, tilting his head. “…is that my clothes you're wearing, satoru?”

“suguru…hey man,” gojo gasps, nervous laughter following his tone—you jump in surprise, and he wraps an arm around your waist. “i’m… kinda of busy here.”

“i don't give a fuck,” he grumbles. “by the way. your mic was on the entire time. you moan like a girl more than her.”

gojo’s eyes widen, reaching for the tiny button near the edge of his mic.

indeed, the switch was turned on and he awkwardly laughed, bringing the speaking part up to his lips.

“eheh…hey mic check?” and he could hear himself echo through the ear piece. embarrassing.

despite you still being inside, you just sat there—geto staring away, not even trying to comprehend what was happening before gojo coos out a subtle cheeky, “uh…i didn't know my mic was on. my bad.”

“you're so stupid...” you run a hand against your forehead in disbelief. an entire stadium practically heard the both of you. 

the heels of geto turned before gojo brings a finger against your lips to shush, and he pouts. “sugu wait,”

“what.” he mutters, turning back around. 

“wanna join…? don't think a few more minutes wouldn't hurt…r-right?”

“…….”

❝ 𝐁𝐄𝐒𝐓 𝐅𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐃'𝐒 𝐁𝐑𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐈𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐌𝐄! ❞

❝ A PUNK ROCK DRUMMER AND HE'S SIX-FOOT-THREE !! ❞

✧ pairing: older brother! choso kamo x best friend! reader

✧ summary: you've been asked whether you and yuji are together a million times - but the truth is his brother is more your type -- so what happens when you end up sharing a bed one night?

✧ warnings: 18+, nsfw, smut, fluff, reader is two years younger than choso (same age as yuji), (all in their 20s but age is vague), bed sharing, switch! choso, soft dom! choso, sub! choso, oral (m), handjob (m), dry humping, fingering (f! receiving), sex (p in v), creampie, implied itafushi, implied bi king yuji, a little angst with choso, but a lot of comfort, cuddling, nobara hijinks, art by @/yume041624

✧ wc: 5,597

✧ for my 2k celebration event: item 2 has been sold to one anon!

Yuji Itadori was not your boyfriend. 

It was a sentence you had to say probably as many times as Yuji had to tell people you weren’t his girlfriend. It was the first thing people asked when they saw the two of you together, or some iteration of “you two are soooo cute together,” “you’re the perfect couple,” or your favorite, “when’s the wedding?” 

The last one you liked to answer with when hell froze over. 

And it wasn’t because Yuji wasn’t attractive — he was. He was cute, athletic, loyal to a fault, somewhat intelligent when he put his two brain cells together, and had a really nice smile. But you said that with all of the platonic energy in the universe — because if anyone asked you to kiss Yuji (year seven, a dare that went horribly wrong, and ended with you shoving Yuji into someone’s lap) — you would probably laugh or puke. 

Whichever naturally came first (or possibly both). 

But the good thing was Yuji felt the exact same way — he saw you as a sister, someone he respected, loved, but never romantically — you knew that by the way he barely had reacted when he had barged into your bathroom when you were getting dressed from your shower still, and just promptly just shut the door with a shouted, “sorry!” 

You glance to your right, at Yuji who was playing a video game beside you on the couch — No, your type was not the golden retriever, stare into your eyes longingly, and bring that boy home to your parents — no, your eyes slid over to your left, your type was…his older brother. 

Jet black locks that hung to his shoulders, inked tattoos peeking out from beneath his black t-shirt, bags under his eyes as dark as his gaze itself, and his perfect lips were curled in a small smirk — at you.

Choso Kamo was absolutely your type — except for the fact he was your best friend’s older brother. That little problem still niggled into the forefront of your mind, even as you saw him lick his lips out of the corner of your eye, the rounded metal piercing on his tongue glinting in the fluorescent lights of the basement. Your eyes drew back to the TV screen where Yuji was badly losing a fighting game online, toying with your phone in your hands. 

“Yo bro, are you headed back to school tonight?” Choso went to a college couple hours away — his break nearly over now — while you and Yuji went to a nearby university, two years behind Choso. 

“Yeah, I’m going to make the drive tonight, probably get there before midnight or just after,” he sighs, raking his painted fingernails through his hair, “when do you two head back?” 

“Next week,” you replied, watching Yuji fall into sudden death in his match, “Yuji promised to help me move this time, and not blow me off to help his boyfriend move this time,” 

“Fushiguro isn’t my boyfriend,” he snaps, and the other player takes him out, Yuji glares at you, knuckles white against the controller, “look what you did,” he grumbles, tossing the controller onto the table, clattering against the wooden surface. 

“Careful, you break another controller, and your dad will kill you,” you smirk, “if you weren’t so sensitive about Fushiguro, you wouldn’t have lost!” 

His cheeks are stained an incriminating red, as he gets up and stalks off, muttering something about getting a soda from upstairs, and he’s gone in a flash, as you chuckle, far too pleased with your work — a little more prodding, and maybe you’d win that bet with Nobara about Yuji and Megumi getting together on the first day back. 

“So, is that Fushiguro kid good enough for him?” Choso’s voice snaps you from your thoughts, as Choso raises an eyebrow, a smile pulling at his lips. 

“Who’s really good enough for Yuji?” But you add, “but Fushiguro’s a good guy. He’d be a good match for Yuji,” 

“And what about you?” 

You tilt your head, your heart stutters in your chest, “What about me?” 

“Who’d be a good match for you?” And you bite your bottom lip — you can’t be honest can you? How could you? Yuji had no idea how you felt and if he did, he may be horrified at the thought of you dating his older brother. But what if he wasn’t? And what if — your eyes meeting his own — you didn’t care? 

But you don’t get to reply as Yuji comes bounding back down the stairs, bad mood already dissipated in the short few minutes he was gone, as he tosses you your favorite drink and does the same with his brother, “what I’d miss?” 

You rolled around in bed, tossing from side to side — until you sighed again, resting on your stomach. You were so stupid. You had all day with Choso, all day to say something — to steer the conversation back to what you were talking about before. But no, you couldn’t. The three of you had dinner together, and you watched Choso leave, bags in hand, as you did the last two years. 

He and Yuji clap hands together, as he ruffles his little brother’s hair as always, “Don’t do anything stupid okay? Visit your dad as much as you can. And let me know if you want to visit,” and his eyes find yours, “the both of you,” 

And his palm comes to ruffle your hair as usual, leaning far too close for your heart’s sake, 

“Be good ok?” And god, you have to force yourself not to shiver, as you nod, “Yuji, let her sleep in my room. She shouldn’t be forced to sleep on your couch again.”

“I always tell her to take my bed but she always says no—“ 

“That’s because your mattress sucks—“ 

“Well mine doesn’t,” Choso cuts in, and fuck, why does that make you press your thighs together discreetly, “So just sleep in there, ok?” 

And now that’s where you find yourself, in Choso’s bed, in the room that Yuji’s dad had set up for him to use — it was relatively neat, a guitar left in the corner that he often used when he was here to practice — the one he had been sleeping in for the last month, the bedroom you’d pass each night and wish you had the courage to knock on his door, let the door swing open as you leaned close to him, fingers resting on his shoulder, breath warming your lips before you finally—

This wasn’t helping, you groaned into his pillow, and neither was the fact that this entire bed smelled like him — like musk and spice and something that’s so distinctly him. So distinctly him that you can’t ignore the ache between your legs, as your traitorous mind summoned images of him lying shirtless in bed — you knew from how his t-shirt would ride up that his body was far more toned than he looked and from when his chest pressed against your back when he reached for a plate from the table. 

Fuck. You buried your face into the pillow again, you would be lucky to sleep an hour, much less a full night. But finally, you do drift off into Hypnos’s realm, however brief it is. 

Until you’re awoken by rustling, you turn on the bed, consciousness stirring, as you hear the sounds of shifting again and your eyes blink open only to see a shirtless Choso standing in front of you. 

You nearly pinch yourself to ensure your sinful thoughts before bed hadn’t betrayed you (and you do discreetly, as you stare at each other), “Choso?” You ask, voice thick with sleep, despite your body being far too awake for its own good, as your eyes finally dart away from the expansive view that is his bare chest, “what are you—“ 

“The roads got bad while I was driving back, it’s raining really hard — I got drenched even just heading from the car to the house,” he pulls on a shirt, “sorry I just came to grab a shirt—“ 

“Do you wanna sleep in your bed?” You move to get up, but he shakes his head, his hand finding your head again, as he ruffles your hair, “I can sleep in Yuji’s room — it’s fine,” 

His lips quirk, “No, it’s okay — I’ll take the couch in his room, it’s not a problem,” 

There was a problem — Yuji had locked his door before bed — the idiot. And once he was asleep, he slept like the dead — and the only way to wake him was the scream your throat raw, or a necromancy blood  ritual — whichever was simpler. 

“You can take your bed, I can sleep on the floor,” you chew your lip as you watch him set up a sheet and blanket on the floor of his room, “Choso—“ 

“I’m not going to have you sleep on the floor,” he raises an eyebrow, as he lays back, “just go back to bed, I’m sorry I woke you,” 

You shake your head, “you’re fine,” and you glance at the bed — there was enough space for both of you, wasn’t there? “we could share the bed—“

“No,” 

“It would be fine—“ and he seems unconvinced, his dark eyes finding yours again, cutting off your train of thought, “what?” 

“Do you always insist on sharing a bed with a guy?” And your cheeks burn, eyes unable to meet his as you glance at your phone, “you should be more careful,” 

“I trust you, and Yuji,” you add, chewing your bottom lip — you were veering into dangerous territory,  “I wouldn’t do this with anyone else,” 

“Really?” 

“Really,” and he reaches up, you think to ruffle your hair again, but instead his fingers brush his cheek, long fingers trailing the length of your cheekbone, “Choso—“ 

“Go to sleep, we can talk in the morning,” and his fingers fall away as quickly as they come, as he turns away, his black locks fanned out on his pillow, “good night,” 

“Night,” you murmur, as your eyes rest on his back — how was he so close yet so far? You barely remember a time he wasn’t there — he had found Yuji when he was in middle school — right after his grandfather had passed away. You were by Yuji’s side, holding his hand, when Choso tapped on his brother’s shoulder. And it wasn’t love at first sight — you were overprotective of Yuji, but Choso took his time to gain your trust with actions — until he had gained a lot more than just your trust — he had gained your heart along with it. 

And even now, those adolescent feelings still lingered, and he remained just barely out of reach. Close enough to touch, but not enough to breach. 

You close your eyes finally, maybe it wasn’t meant to be. 

You barely drift off when you hear the sounds of soft cries and even a whimper — your mind is pulled from the arms of sleep into reality, eyes fluttering open to only find the darkness of night, the barest glimmer of moonlight let in by the cracks of the curtains, and you see him. 

Choso. His teeth dug into his bottom lip, fingers clutching at his blanket — his knuckles nearly white, his brow formed valleys seemingly as deep as his fear. His breath left his lips in short pants, and you’re climbing off the bed before you can think. 

Yuji had told you Choso hadn’t had the best upbringing. You didn’t know much, but you had known Choso had grown up taking care of his other siblings, left to be a father instead of an older brother. And his father…had abused all of them when he had bothered to be around — Choso taking the worst of it. 

You’re at side, but you don’t know what to do — your fingers shake as you reach to touch him, but you don’t know if that will only scare him more, “Choso, you’re safe,” you said softly, “I’m going to touch you okay? You’re safe, you’re okay — come here, I’ll keep you safe,” and your fingers graze lightly against his brow, smoothing it’s ceases before running your fingers through his hair, “no one can hurt you,” and your other hand eases his fingers from his blanket, intertwining your fingers, “you’re okay,” 

And his body slowly grows more limp, the tension ebbing away with each second, as his breathing slowed, your name leaving his lips, “I-I’m sorry,” you shush him gently, “I—“

“Come onto the bed,” you murmur, and he’s shaking his head, “Choso, it’s okay, it’ll be fine.” 

His eyes slowly flutter open, but instead of fear, you only find sadness, “But what if…I hurt you somehow?” His voice is soft, and you almost chuckle at the thought of him hurting you. 

“You could never hurt me, I know you, Choso,” you tug him by his hand lightly, “come on, please?” 

You get onto the bed first, and he slowly follows, the bed dipping with his weight beside you. Your heart squeezes at the warmth of his body being so close, your fingers hesitantly reaching for him, and his arm slowly wraps around your middle, giving you enough time and space for you to move away (you don’t),  “Thank you,” he murmurs, and your lips curl in a soft smile. 

“Of course,” you say, and you inch even closer, as his breaths slow and warm your skin, and your eyes finally flutter shut too. And as you slip back into sleep — you wonder if you’ll truly wake to only realize this was a dream. 

Choso had watched you and Yuji grow up — well, he was still growing up too — it felt as if he had aged so much faster the way he grew up. When he found out about Yuji from his deadbeat father, Choso went looking for him — only to find him with a death announcement — Yuji’s grandfather’s. Choso knew what it was like to lose family — the wounds never would heal, it was a poison that seeped into every crevice of your body, and hung on your bones like weights. But even so, Choso didn’t know Yuji — and he didn’t know how he’d react to a random person showing up to his grandfather’s funeral. 

But he did anyway — and he was so glad he did, because he not only found his brother, but he found you too. 

You — Yuji’s best friend, and who he thought his little brother would eventually date, even despite his protests that the two of you were just friends. You, who had encouraged Yuji to spend time with him, while guarding him as you did, eyes sharp and evaluating around his presence. But that eased with time — and with time, you both had grown up. 

You had grown up to be even more beautiful than he thought was possible. And it wasn’t just your appearance — that had shedded the second skin of insecurity and awkwardness that came with adolescence — but it was everything. Even more than before, you radiate warmth, the same kind of warmth his brother did, but instead of a blinding sun, you were soft light that enveloped those you wished to.  

And this past month had been an exercise of self control if not torture. Seeing you in the mornings, hair askew as you emerged before Yuji did, a soft smile that he only could hope was reserved for him. Voice thick with sleep as you told him ‘good morning,’ and it was — every time he got to wake to the sight of you. 

This morning was no exception, but only cemented that fact.  

Although, now that he was waking up beside you, maybe he was wrong, maybe you were blinding — because you blinded from seeing every ounce of logic he thought he had. Your face was buried in the crook of his neck, your soft breaths tickling his skin, as his fingers tucked a few stray strands of hair behind your ear. 

How were you so beautiful? The back of his finger traced the slope of your jaw, no one should be allowed to be this ethereal — especially while they slept. Your feet stuck out of the blanket, and he fixed it, making sure you were warm enough, but he only succeeded in making you stir. 

He froze as you only nuzzled into him further, your fingers grasping at the front of his shirt, while your legs further entangled with his, your waist, pressed right against his and…a particular problem presented itself. 

Fuck. 

He needed to leave the bed, but how would he without waking you? He carefully slipped his arm away from you, trying his best to detangle your legs from his own. But only for your eyes to flutter open anyway — his breath catching as your half asleep gaze meets his, your lips curling into a soft smile. 

“Morning,” you murmur, voice still thick with sleep, and god, he hopes you can’t hear or feel how his heart skips a beat at the sound of your voice. You don’t seem the slightest bit concerned at the proximity, your eyes opening and shutting still, “are you okay?” 

“I am, thanks to you,” he murmurs, his cheeks warming at the sight of your sleepy smile, as you rubbed your eyes, “did you sleep okay?” 

“I did, I think I slept the best I had in weeks,” you admit, as you blink away sleep, and really look at him — only to find him staring, “what?” 

“You’re just…really beautiful,” and he delights in your eyes darting away from his shyly, and his fingers brush against your chin, guiding your gaze back to his, “you really have no idea what you do to me, do you?” 

And he feels your breath catch — and he wonders if he’s crossed a line, if he should back off, if he had rung a bell that should have never been touched — but your fingers curl around his, lips parted, “Then why don’t you show me?” 

He swallows thickly, as he draws closer, thumb rubbing the length of your cheek, and you let him — putty in his hands, “Can I kiss you?” And you nod wordlessly, and he doesn’t wait any longer, his lips brush yours. 

It’s chaste, barely a kiss at all, lips parting far too soon, but he can’t help but hesitate, he wants this to be right, he never would want to hurt you — never wanted to even approach that line, much less toe it. But by the way your fingers threaded in his long locks, finding purchase on the back of his neck to only kiss him — he figures he’s fine. 

But fuck, you’re more than just fine. You’re everything, everything to him. 

Your lips glide against his so utterly softly, his tongue dragging against the seam of your lips, and you part them for him with ease. He swallows your moan eagerly as he tastes you, as your fingers tug at his shirt, urging him on top, as you roll onto your back for him. 

“But—we shouldn’t—” he bites his lip, “Yuji—” 

“Who the fuck cares about Yuji right now?” and you’re climbing on top of him this time, your clothed cunt dragging teasingly over his morning wood, as a gasp escaped his lips, “you’re a lot more honest down south, Choso,” you tug your shirt over your head, tossing it onto the floor, his eyes widen, raking over your exposed skin, gasping when you lightly grind down on his already tenting erection, “Yuji doesn’t need to know, as long as we’re quiet,” and you lean down to kiss him. 

All sense leaves his mind — right as your lips find his again, and your hands slip under his shirt, the sounds of your kisses ring in his ear, your lips quirking up when your teeth graze against his bottom lip and he groans. 

Your fingers pull at the hem of his shirt, and he leans up, helping you toss it onto the ground to join your shirt, “I thought you liked Yuji,” he murmurs, “I never thought you would—“ 

“Yuji is my friend — my best friend. The only thing we’ve ever come close to sharing is a kiss when we were kids because of a dare, and even then, I had pushed him away,” and you smile that same way that had stolen his breath time and time again, “but I’d never dream of pushing you away, Cho—“ 

And he’s flipped you under him, your back pressed against the mattress, your breath caught in your throat, as his lidded gaze finds yours, “Even if I make you scream?” His fingers trace down your cheek, the length of your jaw, across your collarbone and down the valley of your breasts, “you won’t mind letting Yuji hear you then? Hear how good I make you feel?” He murmurs, and you whimper as his fingertips breach the edge of your bra, teasing the perked peaks underneath, “won’t push me away when I push into you?” 

“Choso,” you gasp, as his fingers roll your nipples between his fingers, “fuck—“ 

“You have such a filthy mouth for someone so innocent,” he murmurs, voice gliding over your body like velvet, “have to put your mouth to good use, won’t I, baby?” And his fingers glide down your stomach now, teasing the waistband of your shorts, “you like it when I talk like this? I wonder how much,” he hums, his eyes finding yours, looking for confirmation as his fingers drag down gen elastic of your shorts, and sees the wet patch of your slick, “been waiting for this as much as I’ve been, baby?” 

“Yes, please,” you whine, and he’s teasing your hardened clit through the wet fabric, “been waiting so long, Cho, please—“ 

“You were so bold before,” and his lithe fingers are tugging your underwear aside as his fingers circle the outside of your cunt, “does it only take a few touches to have you so pliant under me?” 

You pout, and it’s so unfair how adorable you look — god, it was always so unfair how cute you looked — “Please, don’t tease me,” 

“How can I not when I waited for this for so long?” he kisses the length of your collarbone, sending a shiver down your body, his knees pressing your thighs apart, as his thumb presses teasingly against your clit, “tell me, how long have you waited?” 

“Choso—” you whine, but it falls on deaf ears, even as your hips try to grind against his touch, he’s pressing your hips back down, “I-I don’t know,” but he knows from the way from your forearm covers your face out of embarrassment that you do. 

“I know you do, sweetheart,” and he’s easing your arm from your face, thumb dragging down your kiss bitten lips, “don’t hide from me,” he murmurs, “you’re too pretty to hide,” 

“Please, just touch—“ and a gasp parts your lips again, back of your head pressing into the pillow as a single digit works it’s way inside your fluttering walls, the wet squelch of your walls against his finger nearly enough to make him cum in his boxers there and then, “Cho, so good,” and god, he’s reaching a hand into his boxers to palm at his aching erection. 

“So fucking wet f’me, baby, just for me, right?” and you’re nodding wordlessly, his finger was so much longer and thicker than your own, “can’t wait to sink inside you, baby,” and he’s adding another finger, slowly working you open, toying and teasing you until the moans he’d dreamed of spill from your lips again and again. His palm grasps desperately at his weeping erection, imagining your smaller fingers around his cock, 

“Choso, s’close, can’t—” a soft groan leaves your lips. 

“Cum around my fingers, pretty, fall apart for me,” he grunts, and his thumb bares down on your clit, and you’re tipping over the edge, as your mouth falls open, back arching as you cum hard, pleasure ripping up your body, as he finger fucks you through your orgasm. Your eyes flutter open slowly, as he pulls his fingers from you slowly, your slick clinging to his fingers. You watch him as he presses his fingers into his mouth, sucking his fingers clean of your cum, “best thing I’ve ever tasted, baby,” and he’s leaning to press a kiss to your lips, swallowing your moans with ease, as he lets you taste yourself on his tongue. 

And you’re rolling him over onto his back, as his dark gaze finds yours, as you kiss your way down his body, until you settle between his thighs, “My turn to taste you,” you look up with half lidded eyes and curled lips — and his cock twitches even before you even lay a finger on him.  Your fingers tug down at the elastic of his waistband of his shorts and pull them down with ease, eyes glazing over as you stared at his bulge, tip weeping against his boxers, a large wet patch that your fingers brushed against. 

“I wasn’t the only one who was eager, Choso,” your fingers graze his tip, teasing his slit  through the damp fabric, drawing a hiss from his lips, “such a pretty noise,” you press your thighs together, “wonder what other noises I can pull from these lips,” 

“Pretty, fuck—“ he grunts as you tug his boxers down finally, his cock slapping against his stomach, as your eyes seemingly dilate at the sight of him. 

“You’re the pretty one, pretty boy,” his cock was lovely flushed red, pearly bead of pre-cum dripping from his slit — and god, he’s really sensitive, keening as your fingers wrap lightly around his tip, smearing his pre down his length, “now, who’s gonna be the one to wake Yuji? Gonna let your brother how good it feels have his best friend touch you?” And his cock twitches at the thought, and you don’t miss it, as your fingers begin to slide down to his base, “oh, you want him to hear us? Want him to hear me suck you off too?” And your lips press a chaste kiss to his tip, his hips jerking, as the tip of your tongue traced his weeping slit. 

A whine leaves his throat, as your mouth envelops him now, fingers touching what your mouth couldn’t take, your tongue running along his veins. 

God, you’re a fucking vision, he nearly blows his load in your mouth as his eyes flutter open to watch you — head bobbing and sucking at his cock, a mix of his precum and your spit dribbling out of the corner of your mouth. His fingers thread in your hair, as he resists the urge to fuck your mouth. 

And he’s easing you off, your lips removed with a pop, a string of your saliva and his pre connecting you to his aching erection. 

“Such a good girl,” he’s pressing his thumb on your tongue, letting you swallow his precum, “fuck, baby, please, I need you,” 

And he’s got you under him again, your legs folded and pressed against your chest, long fingers pressing into his soft flesh,  “Choso, fuck me, I need—“ your words cut off as you moan as he drags his cock against your fluttering cunt, your thighs quiver and shake from anticipation, “ngh— ah, stop teasing me,” 

“You’ve been teasing me for so long, baby, can I have two minutes?” His tip sinks into you, far too fucking slow, “wanna make this last, been dreaming about this for too long, wanna make you feel good—” now that he’s had a taste, he can’t go a moment without it, your skin the sweetest thing he ever had — he’s no better than a desert wanderer gulping water down for the first time — because now he can’t help but want you swallow you whole.  

You whimper, and he can’t hold back anymore at the sight of large tears pooling in your eyes, and he’s sinking into you, inch by inch — and god, your warmth is so much fucking better than he could have ever imagined. And he had, with guilt gnawing at him, as his fingers jerked his pulsing cock off, imagining that it was your pretty pussy he was cumming in, instead of his fist. 

You swallow him whole instead, your needy cunt pulling him deeper and deeper, until he finally bottoms out. “Princess cunt gonna make me cum before I even fuck you, baby,” he’s groaning, and your walls flutter around him, tugging him in even before he tries to pull out. 

“S’big, Choso — I’m so full, baby,” you’re moaning, fingers trying to find purchase on something, anything, but even so your legs are parting more for him, as he slowly starts to fuck you. 

The smacks of your skin meeting his echoes in his ears again and again, your hips rising to meet his thrusts, and he’s so fucking deep — you swear you can feel him in your stomach, tip surely brushing against your cervix. 

His grunts only make you wetter, as he pistons his hips desperately, murmuring sweet words in your ear about how perfect you were, how good you were taking him, and how he couldn’t wait to fill you up. 

Your eyes squeeze shut as large tears slip down your cheeks, that he thumbs away, finding your lips in a sloppy, messy kiss as he splits you open, “Cho, fuck, please I’m s’close,” 

“Cum for me, baby, cum all over my cock,” and his fingers are reaching down, rubbing circles over your clit just as his cock finds that spot that has your back arching and pleasure running up your spine. And you’re gone, squirting all over him, unable to even be embarrassed as he fucks you through your orgasm, his low groan at the fucking mess you’ve made of his sheets and his cock — ring of white forming around his base, as he fucks you through your orgasm, “g’nna cum, where—“ 

“Inside,” and that’s all it takes for him to fall over the edge with you, his cum painting your walls, spurting as his hips slowed as he fucked his release into you, slowly easing your wobbly legs down, groaning again as he pulls his softening dick from your messy cunt, watching your mixed releases spill from inside you. 

He’s rolling off of you, lying beside you, as he cuddles you, burying his face in the nape of your neck, pressing sweet kisses to your still burning skin, “Are you okay?” He murmurs, leaning back, as he runs his fingers through your hair. And his gaze is impossibly soft with concern only for you, “are you in any pain? Do you need—“ 

And you kiss him softly, still full of need, but just for his presence, for his touch, for him, all of him. 

“All I need is you right now, okay?” His cheeks grow even more flushed, eyes shying away, even after all the two of you had done. And as the afterglow ebbs away, your anxieties creep back in — was this just a one time thing? Did he really even like you? Or was this just a matter of circumstance? You were almost too afraid to ask but you were too afraid not to, “Choso—“ 

“Will you be my girlfriend?” He asks, cutting off your sentence, and he’s biting his lip, “sorry did I cut you off-“ and you kiss him again, smiling against his lips, as you pull away, eyes shining, “is that a yes?” 

You laugh, “What do you think?” And you kiss him again. And again, and then a thought occurs to you, “you don’t think Yuji heard us right?” 

And Choso considers it, checking his phone, “No, he would have been giving us shit about it by now,” and he smiles, “but like you said before, I really don’t want to talk about my brother right now,” and his lips find yours again, “we can worry about telling him later.” 

You both have a very late start by the end of this. But the next time someone asked you if Yuji was your boyfriend, at least you could say something else: 

You’d smile, and shake your head, showing off your lock screen of you and Choso, “No, my best friend’s brother is the one for me.” 

“You owe me 5,000 yen,” Yuji says over the phone, grinning, “I told you they would hook up by the end of the break,” 

Kugisaki whines on the other end of the phone, “Fuck, you rigged this, Itadori — I know you must have,” 

“It’s not my fault the roads were bad when he was going back to school,” although it was his fault that his brother couldn’t sleep in his room and had no choice but to sleep in his room — but Kugisaki didn’t need to know that, “at least you didn’t have to hear them all morning,” 

She laughs, “Oh please, it’s not like I haven't walked in on you and Fushiguro making out, what twice now?” 

Yuji’s cheeks flush, “Shut up! And don’t tell anyone about that. She won’t ever let me hear the end of it, and Choso — you know what he did to my ex girlfriend, he practically interrogated her,” he really didn’t want to subject Megumi to that — not yet at least. 

“Yeah, yeah, then you better treat me to lunch when we’re back on campus,” and he opens his mouth to reply, “or I might just let it slip to your bestie that you actually don’t have classes on Tuesday and that’s the day you’re gonna spend at Fushiguro’s place,” 

“…Nowhere too expensive, okay?” 

“You don’t get to make demands in this situation.” 

✧ a/n: my itafushi heart popped off sorry hahah. this was a fun concept and i hope you guys enjoyed it!! thank god this one wasn't as long as my last celebration fic :). i was able to finish it in like two days, rather than like a week lmao. i will be doing my original concept for the celebration fic -- it's just taking a different form :) and didn't quite fit these prompts / request like i wanted it to. also yes the title is from that victorious song lmao.

✧ taglist: @celestie0, @that-goth-bisexual, @jj333sworld, @nysrevenge, @gojolvrr34, @crazychaoticizzy, @sunnyf4lls, @ahniebeauxbonnie, @sukaibg, @rrosieroo, @buffytheangelslayer, @alliereece, @strawmariee, @complexivelovely, @fushitoru, @telvess, @firelordazulaaaa, @peachyminx, @celestie0, @ririthedevil, @levyonthelevel, @awniie, @jj333sworld, @strangehuman101, @sailortongue, @nctstrcngencugh, @catsgomurp, @gojoedd, @sugurusdiscordmoderator, @ch0c0bsess, @maybe-a-bi-witch, @teatreeoilll, @pricetagofficial,

🤤🤤🤤🤤

oh my…

ac : dawit_min.kim on insta

boyfriend!ghost who's just a little bit older. boyfriend!ghost who wears a black leather jacket. boyfriend!ghost who has a bad reputation. boyfriend!ghost who uses you to warm his bed. readers!mama who doesn't trust him. readers! mama who says, "he's only here for one thing," but, so are you. ˙ᵕ˙

"s'too big, si--!! wait!"

simon grips your chin and turns your head to face him, pressing a kiss to your pouty lips, thick cock spearing through your slick, gummy walls, his pierced tip nudging your spongey nerves. “you were jus' begging me earlier, hm? does it feel good sweetheart?”

your dripping cunt clings to him, a creamy ring of cum starting to form on his cock. you whine, lips parting and thighs shaking. your voice fails you, his cock bullying your cervix and punching the words from your throat, only a shamefully loud moan escapes your trembling lips.

simon snickers and covers your mouth with his hand. "don' want y'r mum to hear, do we?"

˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖

connected with this post!