For Today’s Main Course, I Present Satoru’s Back

megumi's teacher — gojo satoru x reader

tags/warnings: fluff. fem!reader. gojo beefing with an eight year old. 700 words.

ever since megumi started the second grade, it's been (l/n)-sensei this. (l/n)-sensei that.

gojo picks up megumi's favorite ice cream, only to be scolded by the young boy. "(l/n)-sensei's favorite flavor is strawberry, so that's my favorite now!"

gojo tries to help him with his math homework, and it's "(l/n)-sensei did it this way. that means you should too!"

gojo reaches down to tie megumi's shoes for him, before his hand is promptly smacked away. "(l/n)-sensei said big boys tie their own shoes!"

honestly, gojo is starting to feel a little jealous. megumi's known you for what? two months?

he's been raising megumi for the past few years, but does that earn him an ounce of the adoration the young boy seems to have for you?

apparently not, though he perseveres nonetheless.

he and megumi are spending the afternoon out in the city and they stop at a small bakery for lunch.

while megumi is distracted looking at all the sweets behind the glass counter, the bell on the door draws gojo's attention.

his eyes fall upon a pretty young woman. actually, you might just be the prettiest woman he's ever seen.

and of course, a smirk forms on his lips when he catches you looking his way. he's puffing out his chest, running a hand through his hair.

he's always had a certain effect on the ladies, and he's never been more happy about that until this very moment—

"megumi?" you call from a few feet away. the wide smile adorning your face makes you look even more radiant.

while gojo visibly deflates, megumi's head whips around at the speed of light. "(l/n)-sensei!"

oh.

gojo very quickly comes to understand why the boy is so enamored by you.

megumi launches himself at you, while you crouch to meet him with open arms.

"i'm so happy to see you!" he practically sings, clinging to your neck.

you chuckle at his enthusiasm. "i'm happy to see you too, 'gumi."

gojo clears his throat, hoping that megumi will take the chance to introduce you two, but he is completely ignored.

"what are you going to get? i'll buy it for you," he states proudly, despite having zero money of his own.

your gaze shifts to gojo for the first time, and having your attention even just for a brief moment takes his breath away.

"that's very sweet megumi, but that's alright." you ruffle his hair when he pouts at your words, standing back up. "who's this?"

"oh that's just gojo. don't worry about him," he states with a wave of his hand.

the white haired man gawks at him in response. the nerve on that kid! he silently decides megumi will be losing dessert privileges for a week. no, two.

you stifle a giggle before offering your hand to him and introducing yourself as megumi's teacher.

he repeats your name, taking satisfaction in the way it sounds rolling off his tongue.

"that's a pretty name," he compliments, trying to recover from megumi's dismissal. "heard a lot about you. in fact, the kid never shuts up about you."

this earns him a glare from megumi, but gojo is too preoccupied with the shy look that crosses your features to notice.

gojo insists on paying for your order, a show of appreciation for taking such good care of megumi in class. you chat with the pair of them for a little while longer before eventually excusing yourself.

"thank you again, gojo-san. i'll see you on monday, megumi!"

just as you're turning on your heel, gojo calls your name and you look back at him expectantly.

"when, uh," he struggles, scratching the back of his neck. "when do i get to see you?"

nice.

"oh! well, parent-teacher conferences are only a few weeks away! i'll look forward to seeing you then," you answer sweetly, misunderstanding the meaning behind his words.

you bid them goodbye once more and they both watch your figure disappear down the street.

megumi turns to look at gojo smugly. "weeks? that sounds like a really long time—"

"shut it, kid."

cw: they’re horny n fingers in yn’s mouth lol

there would be times when bakugou’s cooking and he’d ask if you wanna taste the sauce. dipping the tip of his finger in and offering it to your lips.

you accept. sucking his fingers longer than necessary, swirling your tongue around and gazing at him with round doe eyes. so innocent. but he knows what you’re like, causing him to pinch your side and roughly yank his fingers out.

he turns back to the pot to stir, red in the cheeks and body stiff.

“‘m just tryna cook for you ‘nd you’re actin’ all horny in my kitchen.”

then there would be times when he’d offer you a taste of the sauce on his fingers, you giving a quick kitten lick before he twists his wrist around so the pads of his fingers swipe along your tongue, hitting the back of your throat. both your hands go to hold at his wrist at the unexpected movement, eyes wide like a deer in headlights.

“d’you like that baby? d’you like when i give you a taste?”

and you nod.

you can't makeout with him without it leading to sex. the moment your lips are on his for as short as 10 seconds you aren't leaving until he's pumped you full of his cum. the moment your lips are parting from his, eyes hazy and glossed over as you give him that delectable bambi eyed look, his cock is straining against his boxers as he guides your hips to align against his own, grinding up against you. it's his mind's weird way of functioning, he likes to think. most of your mornings start with a lazy makeout session, and with him knowing your lips are pressed against his, and that your body is right there, under a layer or two of clothing nearly always ends with you caged under his arms, a blush creeping up your neck as you beg for him to touch you.

atsumu, oikawa, kageyama, matsukawa, hinata, bokuto

eren, connie, jean (sometimes), reiner

So there’s this huge dudebro in my class, who, yesterday, sat next to me. And I’m sitting there sweating because like… I’m wearing my shirt with the lesbian flag on it, and he’s the most popular jock in school, and always has this look on his face that say ‘I can and will kill you’. He looks me up and down, stares at me for a minute and then goes, “So. Girls in skirts and long socks, am I right?”

To which I nodded solemnly, both out of agreement, surprise and also a healthy amount of awkward fear. He nodded and went, “You get it.”

I said, “Yep.” He fistbumped me, and on went our lives.

CUTTING TEETH - mastuskawa issei/f!reader/hanamaki takahiro (4.2k) vampire!au, vampire!matsuhana, new vampire!reader, poly matsuhana, mmf!threesome (barely), smut, finger sucking, fingering, mentions of blood/blood drinking, lots of talk about teeth and mouths, reader is going through a bit of a breakdown, sweetheart and good girl used as petnames, matsuhana give off slightly yandere vibes but they aren't actually, and reader is physically restrained at one point but it's not non/dubcon! part of the 'more than you can chew' universe 18+ NFSW - MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS DO NOT INTERACT

Time passes differently now.

It makes sense, you can’t help but think in those precious moments when the haze lifts and grants you a reprieve of much needed clarity; It’s only logical that something would feel different now that you are too. Seconds ticking past but mean nothing when you stay unchanging. Time no longer has any meaning now that you’re frozen in it. And so nine days slip by, and they’re all a blur; one bleeds unintelligibly into the next, but they feel like what once were seconds in another life.

You’re burning. 

You’re hungry.

You feel as if you’re coming undone.

But you’re safe. You know that to be true too. Even in the haze, even in the vicious delirium and the burn, there are hands that cradle you and the gentle brush of lips against your skin. You’re surrounded constantly by the scent of pine, the whistle of the winter wind and soft, familiar voices.

They’d told you it would be like this, prepared you for it. But knowing something in theory and knowing something in practice are very different things.

You’re curled up in the corner of the smallest room in the house. It’s the only one with tatami floors, though you suspect at one time—before extensive renovations that shaped the home into something beautiful but unrecognizable—there once may have been more. This room is used for storage now, mostly; there are a few boxes piled up along one side, an extra futon folded up in one corner, and antiques in pristine condition that don’t seem to otherwise match the decor. Those are half-covered by drop cloths to protect them from dust or damage, but there’s a vanity along the wall that’s been half-revealed as the sheet pools on the floor, revealing beautiful knotted elm, a pristine mirror, and careful woodwork underneath. There’s a faint scent of must that hangs in the still air, and the little room is dark—the sole window along the opposite side covered by thick curtains to block out the sun.

But you prefer the dark now. 

You see too much in the light.

The air in the dim room shifts suddenly, and you lift your face from the crook between your knees where they’re drawn up to your chest.

“There you are—”

You heard him even before he opened the door. Heard him on the other side of the house before he even started making his way to you.

“—I’ve been looking all over for you.”

The man on the other side of the room keeps his distance as he appraises you. It’s a gesture that is not done unkindly. Everything Matsukawa Issei does is considerate, as ever. 

He knows the hell you’re suffering.

“What’re you doing in here, huh?”

Issei makes his way towards you at an easy, lazy pace, even though the room is so small. The way he takes his time approaching you is unimposing, even given his height and his breadth, like a trapper approaching small prey that had mistakenly gotten locked in their snare.

Your throat feels raw when you finally speak. To be honest, you aren’t entirely certain when the last time you spoke even was. It may have been a few days. Perhaps only hours.

You wonder when it will get easier to keep track, now that the flow of time feels so foreign.

“My jaw hurts.”

Issei crouches down next to you slowly, and your senses follow him; his warmth, his scent, the steady sound of his breaths. He draws closer and closer, his presence growing more unignorable until he’s mere inches away from your face. His proximity effortlessly eases the ache that thrums under your gums. His nearness soothes the inferno that has scorched a hearth into your chest.

“Your jaw?” he repeats your words, a careful hand reaching out towards you. His movements are cautious but sure, measured but gentle. His broad palm caresses your cheek, his touch soft against your skin. You lean into it, into him, as unconsciously as drawing in a breath.

It’s quiet as he holds you.

“…My teeth.”

Issei hums. The sound is a deep, sympathetic purr that makes your skin prickle just underneath the surface. His hand slips a little further down your face, until he’s cupping your jaw rather than the soft swell of your cheek. Your eyes finally meet his, and you’re lost in them as the pad of his thumb presses against the pucker of your mouth.

“Can I?” he asks, his head tilting to the side.

Your lips part for his willingly, wordlessly, welcoming him in.

The tip of the digit slips underneath your top lip, and you can taste the subtle saltiness that clings to his skin. Issei watches your expression as he traces along the front of your upper row of teeth, ghosting along the smooth enamel and mapping the peaks and valleys as one tooth gives way to the next. His touch sweeps a little further up and the investigation continues as he skims along the soft pink of your gums. The warmth of his hand and his closeness has your mouth filling with saliva that threatens to drip at the corner of your parted lips.

He presses, firmer now than he has yet, against a tender spot along your gums.

“Mmmmmph—!”

You clutch his wrist tightly with both hands, holding him still as you pant raggedly against his palm. Spit freely runs down his skin now, and your chin, catching in the low light of the small room you’ve locked yourself away in as it drips slowly to the floor. That all-consuming burn is still there—haunting your lungs and up the track of your throat—but you’re holding onto Issei tighter than you’ve ever held anything.

“Easy, easy,” he soothes you quietly, his other hand reaching up to pat along your hair. Your grip slackens, but you keep his hand pressed desperately to your mouth like a lifeline. His thumb is still resting against that sensitive, aching spot, and once he senses it’s safe for him to continue he sweeps the pad of it against that place again. There’s a throb deep beneath the muscle that twinges, and it’s painful but surprisingly not unpleasant. Your jaw relaxes slightly, though your breaths are still shuddering, and it grants him even better access to your mouth than before.

“Good girl,” he praises you for the utterly unconscious gesture, sweeping the digit stuck beneath your lip slowly along to the same spot on the opposite side of your top row of teeth. It hurts there too, but Issei’s touch is gentle and compassionate; soothing as it glides against the slick flesh. 

The little room around you fades away, little by little, until all you know is him.

Your vision grows hazy, your eyelids suddenly heavy as Issei continues to explore your mouth. The pain that had been so all-consuming just moments before is easier now to bear, your senses dulling to anything that isn’t him. There’s so much saliva pooling under your tongue that you can hear how wet it is as the man before you moves his thumb around inside.

Eventually he’s satisfied, a pleased little hum telling you he’s found what he was looking for, and as if to reward you he slips his thumb between your teeth and rubs it against the surface of your tongue. You close your lips around it happily. 

“Gentle,” he urges, and you heed his warning—careful not to bite down or otherwise move too eagerly with his finger caught in your mouth. You suckle it gently on nothing more than sheer instinct. It feels nice—soothing, familiar somehow even though it isn’t—and he sighs contently. “That’s it.” 

You stay like that for a while, holding his wrist as you suck against the warmth of his thumb where it rests against your tongue. You grow even more delirious the longer you indulge yourself—the demons that have been clawing at you incessantly for the past nine days quieting until you can scarcely notice them at all. 

“Your teeth are coming in,” Issei eventually speaks again in that easy, gentle way he always does, but you hardly register his words through your daze. 

You make a small noise of confusion once his words reach you somewhere you can understand.

“Your fangs,” he explains as he smiles softly down at you, watching with nothing short of fondness in his gaze.

You blink, processing his revelation though your brain is foggy and your thoughts are syrupy slow.

Issei slips his thumb out of your mouth only once you allow him to, dipping forward and dragging his tongue along your bottom lip to catch the spit that has steadily been dribbling out. He doesn’t kiss you, not really anyway, even though the gesture feels so intimate and his lips are practically upon yours. It’s as though he senses you want to say something, because as soon as he’s cleaned you up he’s pulling away and looking to you expectantly.

“My… fangs?” you sound uncertain, your voice thready and confused as you repeat what he’s told you.

Issei lifts his thumb up to his mouth; the length of it is covered in the sheen of your saliva, all the way down to his wrist. He cleans that off too as he nods. 

You shiver a little.

“Are they going to fall out?” you ask him worriedly, a tightness of anxiety weaving itself into a knot in the centre of your searing chest.

“Yes,” he says, sparing you no detail and offering you no misguided pleasantry in the interest of your own sake. He cups your cheeks in both hands this time, keeping your eyes on him, and he uses his thumbs to curl your upper lip and reveal your teeth again—one holds the lip up out of the way while the other dips down to trace over the canine tooth just below that wretchedly aching spot in your gums. “Just think of these like milk teeth.”

He traces along the razor fine edge of your incisor with the very tip of his finger, then across to your canine—careful, even with all his own strength, not to nick himself on the sharpness.

“Right now, these teeth are meant to shred—to rip and tear through skin and bone and whatever else might be in your way so you can get as much blood as quickly as possible. So you can get stronger,” he says, and his low, gentle voice softens the gruesomeness of his words into something palatable and easy to swallow. “But your fangs will give you acuity. Precision. You’ll be able to puncture just enough to draw what you need when you feed as you mature.”

You whimper a little when he presses down against your canine, as though terrified it might begin to wiggle under his touch.

“You’re cutting teeth, that’s all,” he says simply, and you wish his words were more comforting to hear than they are. He slips his finger out once more and allows your lip to return to its rightful place. He tuts lightly. “But it’s painful, isn’t it?”

You nod a bit, your head dipping as much as it’s able with his hands still cradling your cheeks on either side.

“Poor little thing,” Issei breathes, crowding you a little closer to the wall where you’ve been curled up in your misery. “Want me to make you feel better?”

Your back rests flush to Issei’s chest, two of his fingers pressed deep into your mouth. He has your knees hooked over his thighs and his legs spread to keep you open, and tips of his talented fingers orbit in rhythmic circles around your clit.

It all sounds so wet.

Your mouth. Your pussy. Your shuddering breaths. The racing thump of your heart.

The coil of tension in the pit of your insatiable stomach has nearly wound tight enough to break. 

How many times has he made you cum in the past nine days? You wonder distantly in your mind. How many more times will he make you cum in the innumerable ones that now lie ahead?

Your head pitches back against Issei’s shoulder as his mouth laves down the column of your neck. You feel the familiar drag of his teeth along your throat, and the sensation still makes your heart race—even though the thumping is little more than vestigial; even though his teeth wont pierce you the way they used to when there was still blood that he craved rushing underneath your once fragile, delicate skin.

“Feel good?” he murmurs into your skin between kisses, and your hips jump in place of an answer—as clear an indicator to your agreement than any words you may be able to offer in reply. His fingertips press a little firmer against the sensitive bud at the apex of your dripping core.

“‘Sei,” your voice is reedy and wanton as you call for him around his fingers.

“What do you need, sweetheart?”

You don’t know. Or maybe you do, but your ability to verbalize it has abandoned you along with your sanity.

But you’re needy. You need more. Need something. Need anything.

You shift in his lap, as much as you can given the way he’s holding you, and grind against the firm swell of his cock nestled behind your back. Issei pulls his fingers out from your mouth, the pads of his fingers slipping softly against your lips.

“Yeah?” his reply is deep, breathy, “that what you want?”

You nod, fervent and crazed.

Strangely, you feel a little more normal like this—a little more like who you used to be. He used to make you feel this frenzied back then too, but now he doesn’t need to be as gentle with you as he once was. In spite of that, Issei still touches you like you’re something breakable. Something precious. 

“Hiro will be back soon,” the man above you whispers as he gently lays you flat against the tatami flooring, his nose brushing yours. “Are you hungry?” 

It hardly needs to be asked. You’re always hungry. At least you have been for the past nine days. There’s a little pile of crumpled silver packets on one side of the room, long-drained, as evidence to this fact. Hiro’s been bringing you more blood each day, fresh blood—that tastes better than the synthetic stuff you find yourself guzzling in the hours in between—but it still doesn’t feel like it’s enough to satiate you. Not enough to douse the burn that torches your throat. 

You’re not sure where he’s getting it, and you don’t ask. The truth is you don’t even know where you are.

Prior to turning, Issei and Hiro had asked if you prefer the sea or the forest. The smell of salt air or pine sap. You’d answered the forest, with fond memories of wandering around the green space in the countryside where your grandparents lived when you were a child. When you’d woken up nine days ago in this big house in the middle of the woods, you realized why they’d asked you to begin with. 

You’re far away from civilization here.

Or rather, civilization is far away from you.

Because you’re the thing that needs to be kept away. Isolated. Contained. All in the best interest of the beating hearts and pumping blood that floods the city you’d once known. 

The thought of blood rushing under skin, of throngs of people saturated with it, makes your mouth water.

“Issei,” you moan, your sharp teeth gnashing involuntarily at the thought as you cling to him a little tighter. “Please."

The man hovering over you shushes you gently; a soothing placating sound. “I’m sorry, I know it’s hard,” he murmurs, slipping a hand under the silk of your robe, “it’ll get easier, I promise.”

Issei knows it better than anyone, you think. His words a little more comforting because you know he’s speaking from experience. He’d been just like you once: bloodthirsty and on the brink—a mind in tatters as it fights to acclimatize to the sudden change of being turned, attempting to knit itself back together into something new. Takahiro had turned him only 100 years ago, after all. 

Only—a part of your brain scoffs, maybe the last rational part that’s endured—when did 100 years become something you could measure so flippantly?

Issei unfastens the loose tie of your robe at your waist, letting the silky material slip from your body like the flow of water over stone. You don’t know who’d dressed you in it, only that it’s not something you’d pulled on yourself. You hadn’t washed or dressed yourself since you’d woken up.

Yet another way you’ve been cared for in the time in-between.

Two strong arms cage you in against the floor, a palm resting on either side of your face. Issei’s body is warm. You like that. He always used to feel so much colder than you did, but now that your body is running at the same temperature his touch feels more ambient.

“Hey,” Issei’s gentle hand takes your chin to turn your gaze towards him, “get out of your head for a minute, okay? Just focus on me. I’m right here.”

He is, and he has been. He and Hiro both, for the past nine days.

And for a long time before that.

And now forever.

Issei dips forwards and kisses you sweetly, deeply.

He doesn’t have to prep you like he used to, because your body isn’t fragile in the same ways it once was. You feel the thick head of his cock dragging through the sticky petals of your pussy, and know that you can stretch to accommodate him without any of the discomfort you may have once felt. When he presses inside, you just feel full. You just feel good.

You moan against his mouth as he gives the first few slow thrusts, like he’s letting you get used to it. Like he’s letting you enjoy it.

But it’s not enough.

With newfound strength, a strength you’re not yet fully used to, you roll the two of you over and pin him down against the tatami. Issei’s eyes are surprised, but not unwilling in the slightest, as he stares up at you with his dark hair fanning away from his face. Your hips begin moving freely, using your new position as leverage. You’re full, then empty, then full again as you bounce on his lap—the wet, lewd sound of skin slapping fills the room, but you can scarcely hear it over the thrum of your pulse.

“That’s it,” Issei groans, praising you. His eyes have gone half-lidded as you ride him, a little smile on his lips. “Take what you need, sweetheart.”

Your hips keep moving, chasing the pleasure that’s rising in your core. His hand finds yours, and you clasp your hand around his to guide it up your body. First to your chest, where he grabs a handful of your soft, bouncing flesh. He kneads it gently for a moment, his thumb pressing teasingly against the pebbled bud of your nipple. But that’s not where you want him either, and you keep guiding it up to your mouth.

“Careful,” Issei’s voice has gone a little raspier now as you bring his fingers to your lips. And you’re trying to be, you really are, but you’re a little too far gone to care that much. 

He is too.

If you wanted to, he’d let you bite. Let you devour him.

You lick between his knuckles, flicking your tongue up between the digits as saliva drips down to his wrist, all while you keep spearing yourself back down onto his thick, hard cock. You slip the fingertips just past your lips, and moan around the digits when you feel him throb inside of you, your free hand hand fluttering down to your stomach where you swear you might be able to feel him shaping your body to fit him inside. You’re still grinding down against him, still suckling against his fingers, and Issei is still staring up at you from the floor with a tender, heavy lidded gaze. 

“I love you,” he murmurs, and god do you know that he means it.

“Yeah, love you,” you whimper back, breathy and pitchy and desperate as you let his hand fall from your mouth. You drop down onto your elbows to kiss him, wet and messy, and hope that he knows that you mean it too.

Issei keeps thrusting up into you as your lips slot messily against his, an arm wound around the small of your back to keep you in place as he fucks into you. You’re lost in the feeling of it, in the pleasure Issei is giving to you, when suddenly light washes over the little room.

“I thought I heard you two in here.”

You squint against the light, your lips still hovering over Issei’s as you pant. Takahiro leans against the doorframe on the other side of the room, and his gaze sweeps across the scene as he pushes his flashy sunglasses up onto his head, his strawberry hair pinned back underneath them. His red eyes watch you placidly, an amused little smile on his face.

You always found it hard to believe that of the two of them, Hiro was the elder. And not marginally—Hanamaki Takahiro has seen more seasons than all of the towering trees that surround your little safe house combined. Where Issei is solemn and reserved, favouring understated clothes and quiet, Hiro delights in the marvels of the modern era; revels in them. Their stark juxtaposition is part of what had drawn you to them in the first place. 

Part of what had led you here.

“Hiro,” you breathe when you spot him, but then the hair stands up n the back of your neck as you catch the sweet smell of blood in the air.

Something monstrous squirms inside of you; animalistic and feral. You scramble blindly towards it, but Issei keeps you where you are with his arms wrapped around your waist and his cock still inside of you. He pulls you to his chest as you thrash against him. You sob, desperately fighting against his hold. There’s an ungodly burning in your throat, saliva dripping from your trembling lips. Then Hiro is in front of you, so quickly so barely see him move, patting your hair back from your face. 

“Shh, shh,” he coos in his smooth, low voice. You blink tears away, swallowing against your mouth full of spit. The ache in you teeth is back, worse now than before, almost as if you can feel the slice of fangs that want to push through your flesh and descend. You want to bite. To rend and tear. Every breath you draw in burns with the delicious fragrance you know is so close. You cling to Issei harder. “Baby, it’s not going anywhere. You’ll feed soon, just calm down. Don’t rush.”

Hiro takes your face in his hands, pressing light kisses the edge of your mouth, your cheeks, your nose. In the corner over Hiro's shoulder, you catch a glimpse of your reflection in the mirror of the vanity that sits half-uncovered.

You don't recognize the animal that peers back.

You’re tense even as Hiro coddles you, soothes you, but then Issei’s hips start moving again. The unexpected sensation punches a carnal, gasping sound out of you and it makes Hiro laugh against your cheek, all air. 

There are four hands on your body, two mouths against your skin.

“Oh, that’s our girl,” Hiro sounds chipper as you slacken, pressing another kiss to your forehead. “Breathe for us, okay? Just breathe. It’s okay.”

You hear the sloppy sound of Issei’s hips meeting yours, and the jingling of Hiro’s belt as he unfastens it with one hand.

You smell the scent of fresh blood, but also the cool early-winter air that clings to the material of Hiro’s coat now that he’s so close, still heavy with the lingering fragrant pine from outside.

You feel pleasure building while they touch you, until it drowns out the ache. You’re hungry, but the burn isn’t quite so vicious. Your teeth hurt, but you find the sting has been soothed.

“Resist it for a bit—” 

You’re not sure who moves you, but soon you’re splayed out again with your back to the floor, Issei is pinning your wrists down by your face, and both men are looming over you. Hiro looks up at Issei, tucking a tendril of his dark hair behind his ear dotingly. He smiles as he looks back down to you, his touch still lingering on the shell of Issei’s ear. 

“—For us?”

Seconds tick by that you can’t keep track of.

But it’s getting easier.

And you have plenty of time to figure it out.

You shut your eyes, nodding slightly as you swallow over the burn in your throat, and you let your mind go blank.

playstation controller - matsuhana x fem!reader

an | based on this image, for my dearest @rrazor <3 happy birthday cw | anal, fingering, oral, mdni 18+, 700+ wc

there’s something incredibly erotic about watching matsukawa fuck hanamaki.

you sit with hanamaki’s head in your lap, letting him hold onto your soft thighs as matsukawa wrecks him from behind. 

“does that feel good, ‘hiro?” your thumb strokes his cheekbone. 

hanamaki thinks you look like an angel. he cranes his neck up to stare at you, pretty and illuminated by the bedroom light, replying with a slight nod. 

“y-yeah, fuck. feels so good, issei,” he groans when matsukawa’s cock grazes a particularly delicious spot. 

matsukawa’s tan skin is covered in a light sheen of sweat, his fluffy eyebrows drawn together. no matter how many times the three of you have sex, it feels so mind-meltingly good that he might as well be a born again virgin. his hands dig into hanamaki’s hips as he fucks him at a steady pace. the room is filled with the sounds of skin on skin, and stuttered groans from both males. 

hanamaki nuzzles into the flesh of your lower belly. he likes it, calls it your cute lil’ pooch, despite your protests.

“baby.” he presses a kiss to your hip. “wanna eat you out. please?”

you hum. matsukawa moans at the thought. 

“someone’s greedy today,” you muse, but open your legs anyways, letting hanamaki eagerly dive into your warm pussy. 

he’s gentle. he’s always been that way, always been that kinda guy, to hug you from behind and lend you his cardigan when you’re cold. conversely, matsukawa’s charismatic. he walks on the side of the pathway that faces the road, and tilts the umbrella towards you when it’s raining, even if he gets soaked. 

hanamaki swirls his tongue around your clit and you whimper. your legs part even wider, fingers threading through his short hair. matsukawa picks up speed and his hands explore the expanse of hanamaki’s naked skin, making the male beneath him tense. matsukawa’s thumbs fit perfectly into the divot of the dimples by his lower back. almost like a playstation controller, he thinks. 

hanamaki’s saliva mixes with your slick and he’s so hard, the head of his cock is redder than his flushed cheeks. he eats you out like a man starved, anyways. you gasp when his fingers push into your swollen pussy.

"'h-hiro!”

you tug on his hair and hanamaki nearly cums there and then. he’s so easy when it comes to you. matsukawa thrusts into hanamaki hard and he makes a surprised noise, head bumping between your legs. 

“fuck, sorry,” matsukawa pants. 

hanamaki’s nose and mouth are drenched with your juices, his pupils so blown out you swear he’s pussy-drunk. matsukawa’s so close. his cock throbs with the need to cum inside, but he wants to see the both of you finish, too. he slips a hand over hanamaki’s hard-on and tugs, his other hand holding his hips up. 

hanamaki keens. his mouth returns to sucking on your clit, flicking at it with his tongue as his fingers thrust into you. the vibrations of his moans around you make your legs tremble. 

“s-so close, 'hiro. fuck, feels so good,” you cry. 

one more thrust against your g-spot and you’re cumming, humping into hanamaki’s face as he moans and shudders. he cums all over matsukawa’s fist and the brunet follows soon after, gasping and bucking his hips as he paints hanamaki white from the inside. 

the room stills, all three of you riding out your highs and catching your breath. the smell of sex fills the air. 

“shit.” matsukawa’s chest heaves. 

hanamaki lies where he is, unwilling to move from his slumped position. his cheek is pressed against your inner thigh. you move his bangs out of his eyes and he hums, leaning into your touch. 

matsukawa pulls out and leans down to kiss hanamaki’s lower back. his thumbs ghost his back dimples again. 

“‘hiro, you’re like a playstation controller, you know?” he grins.

hanamaki looks at him over his shoulder. “what the fuck, dude.”

you stifle a giggle. 

matsukawa moves his thumbs this way and that, the rest of his fingers digging into the flesh around hanamaki’s hips as he pretends to be playing forza on his ass. you laugh even louder when hanamaki kicks at matsukawa’s knee and the both of them collapse over one another, effectively suffocating you beneath their bodies. 

“can’t believe i got my pussy eaten out before gta six,” you say.

hanamaki gives you an annoyed look. matsukawa snorts. 

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄ being wrapped in your arms feels like coming home ⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

wc: 1,820

minors / ageless blogs / blank blogs - do not interact.

notes: here is a little drabble in honor of toji’s birthday! this piece was originally titled as “adoration” but I changed it to this instead. I’m taking a small posting break, but I’ll be back to my regular schedule within a week! I’m sorry if I haven’t been responding to tags or messages, but I will do so soon <3 I hope you’re all having a wonderful time and I’m sending all my well wishes out to you! xo

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ tags: widow toji; age gap (reader is 30 while toji is in his early 40s); a little angsty; toji attempting to break up with you but failing because he’s oh so in love

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ur fav who sees you wearing one of his shirts for the first time and is just stunned still by the image -- doesn't care about your bedhead or how you're yawning after your little nap but can't take his eyes off the way the garment hangs so wide on your shoulders, how it's seconds away from slipping off, and when it eventually does, finds himself sucking in a breath he didn't even know he was holding, feeling something deep and possessive twist in his gut as you turn to look at him questioningly like "what?"

is barely able to piece together a sentence so he says, "that's... mine."

and for a second he can't even tell himself if he's talking about the shirt or you.

you look down and pluck at the shirt with a sheepish grin, "oh -- yeah, sorry. i got lazy and didn't wanna grab something fresh to wear for a nap --"

but he's on you in seconds, raking his fingers through your hair and burying his nose into the juncture of your neck, breathing you in like a man depraved, holding you so close you squeak, "w-what's wrong --?"

he groans, slowly pressing you back into the sofa or the mattress or wherever else, his eyes glazed over with want, licks his lips, and says in a hoarse voice --

"n-nothing. you're just... perfect, y'know that?"

to which you blush and try to turn your head, "if i knew this would be your reaction, i would've stolen one of your shirts sooner."

he just grins and leans down to nudge your nose with his, lips hovering over yours.

"well... better late than never, right?"

Riding gojo so good that he starts yelling out his card info when he nuts

satoru who keeps proposing to you in the most unconventional moments—namely when he's got you dizzy from your fourth or fifth orgasm of the night.

satoru who knows some people get emotional when they climax, some get animalistic and rough, some get overwhelmed by pleasure. and maybe he's a mixture of them all, he absolutely has his nights, but for the most part: he gets sentimental.

satoru who has to deal with the roll of your eyes when he's knuckles deep inside of you, lips only millimetres from yours when he's whispering, begging, "c'mon, let me marry you. you don't wanna feel a ring on these fingers baby? tell me you don't."

satoru who knows you want to be proposed to properly. and he's planning on it, he really is, but he can't help but get caught up in his feels when you just look so pretty laid out for him. who can't bear not recognising you as his through every means necessary. he wants it to be lawful, recognised in the system that you wholly belong to him. maybe knock you up for good measure, attach a birth certificate to the proof that you're his.

satoru who has you shaking on his cock, fucked near-senseless for the second time that night. you're a babbling mess, galaxies away from earth in that pretty little mind of yours. he's not sure you even remember your own name at this point, all you're managing is a string of 'yesyesyesyesyes' that has his balls aching to empty inside of you again and again. 'marry me' he says in response, and rolls his eyes when you purse your lips shut in protest.

satoru who has even brought a ring. one you'd hit him for buying if you ever saw the price tag on it, but he knows you're worth the paycheck or six that it took.

satoru who keeps that ring on his person at all times; he never knows when the perfect sunset might happen and he'll be forced to a knee.

satoru who also can't help but slip the ring onto your finger while he's got your hands pinned above your head and his cock seated deeper inside of you than its ever been. who cums immediately at the sight of such a pretty set of jewels on your wedding finger, who almost regrets his orgasm because it blinds him for a few moments and he's trying to savour the sight of that ring on your finger.

satoru who knows you're getting sick of the lust-driven proposals. who plans on proposing one night, he's got everything planned, he's even made sure you've had your nails done for the upcoming ring photos you're sure to share. who is actually sick with nerves despite knowing what you'll say.

satoru who sits on your shared bed and is gently urging you to get ready quicker, lest you miss the sunset he's planning on proposing in front of. but you have other plans, climbing over him to straddle his lap, pressing a soft kiss to the tip of his nose. and you lean in, whisper the filthiest thing you've ever said to him~

satoru gojo, who cums in his pants at the words 'I'll marry you.'