in which you go on a date with the future Olo’eyktan instead of your younger sister determined to give him the biggest ick possible (Spoiler Alert: your plan horribly backfires)
F!Omatikaya reader x Neteyam te Suli Tsyeyk’itan
Meet me at our spot: hear me out cake Y/N goes on a date Loak crashes out Neteyam's POV
in which you are Aonung’s and Tsireya’s sister and you go on adventures with the Sullys and Roxto of course
Slight F!Metkayina reader x Neteyam te Suli Tsyeyk’itan
Beside you Chapter 1
in which Neteyam finds companionship with a certain Na'vi whilst navigating his new life in the spirit world.
F!Omatikaya reader x Neteyam te Suli Tsyeyk’itan
Jujitsu Kaisen
Protecting the Crown Prince: Part i
jjk medieval au x reader (reverse harem)
after the turmoil following the emperor’s death, the empire prospers in an era of peace—but beneath the surface, an assassination plot is brewing. Will you be able to stop it before it’s too late?
in which you end up being roped into being baby yuji's bodyguard
HELP! I Tried to Summon the Perfect Boyfriend and Messed Up so I Summoned a Demon Instead!?!?
demon!sukuna (true form) x reader
in which your disastrous love life leads you to summon the perfect boyfriend, except you end up with a demon instead?!
Others
Kickin’ it (A03 link)
Baboon is ready to enter the next stage of his life: A-Levels. He wants to get A* A* A* but he ends up getting more than what he was hoping for…
the best fanfiction you've ever read was written by a woman in her 40s before she made dinner for her kids. it was written by a teenager after school when they should've been studying for a history test. and a barista came up with the idea while they cleaned the espresso machine and busser fact-checked it on their break and the post-doc edited between writing grant proposals and the nurse apologized for typos in the notes after a long shift and behind every drabble and one-shot and multi-chapter fic there is a person with a wonderful and interesting and chaotic life and it is such a privilege that we get to be a part of it because they decided to do this thing we all share, for fun.
HELP! I Tried to Summon the Perfect Boyfriend and Messed Up so I Summoned a Demon Instead!?!?
in which your disastrous love life leads you to summon the perfect boyfriend, except you end up with a demon instead?!
demon!sukuna (true form) x reader
yes this is based on the game in itch.io heheh: https://junekazoo.itch.io/i-tried-to-summon-the-perfect-boyfriend-and-messed-up
mb if sukuna is ooc. can u tell i hate mahito? good.
heehe also i learnt how to make banners do we likeeee
tw: there is smut towards the end (which i refuse to proofread bc i fear ill cringe so take it as u will)
Being single was not that bad, you were perfectly content with scrolling tiktok, thirsting over random fictional men and reading fanfics.
After all men in real life never failed to disappoint.
It's not like you hadn't tried, you had crushes in the past that you wanted to pursue, but alas a crush is just a lack of information.
Looking back on it, your first love was a real piece of work.
Naoya was your typical rich boy, he had a group of lackeys in your high school that bullied people. Just your typical bullies. You suppose there was just something about it that made you thirst over him. Was it that sleazy grin of his? Or his air of arrogance? You had no clue what your younger self was thinking. For some reason, blame it on your hormones, your delusional self thought you could change him.
And what was even crazier was that when you asked him to go out with you, he said yes?!
Throughout the whole date, he was on his phone paying you no mind and only took you where he wanted to go. Whenever you expressed your dismay, he would snap at you and throw a tantrum. Like a child.
"Silence woman, you were the one who brought me here so we will go where I want to go."
To make matters worse you just took it.
You shivered at the memory, the embarrassment lingering from it hitting you like a tidal wave. From there, your taste in men had gone progressively worse. Your last boyfriend, Toji, practically leeched off you. You had to pay for his petrol, his rent and even his toilet paper. And after all of that he was the one who dumped you! Curse you and your lack of self respect.
You were tired of being disappointed. So you decided to put off dating for a while.
But unfortunately, as lovely as your fictional men were they couldn't prevent the growing loneliness that tugged at your heartstrings. Your house was always empty, and whilst you used to find comfort in the silence now all you felt was desolation. Not to mention, there were times when you felt that you really wanted a boyfriend. On rainy days, summer walks or times when you were feeling upset you thought perhaps companionship wouldn't be so bad.
But obviously, the dating market was looking really bad right now.
You even tried dating apps and uhh they were quite interesting...
You matched with a guy called Mahito, and at first you hit it off quite well. He asked you harmless things at first like your favourite food and tv shows, what were you doing how was your day etc.... and his responses to them got progressively worse...
"Can I hop in the bath with you?"
"I love your dreams, mine literally was just us in the bed doing it lol"
And he had an odd obsession with death, which is not what you wanted considering the main things you were looking for in a relationship were escapism and comfort.
"enjoy that salad cause that'll be the last thing you enjoy when you step out that restaurant hehe"
Then he asked you what your biggest phobia was.
You responded with spiders.
Then he sent you 20 different pictures of one spider from different angles.
"Come over to cuddle so you're not scared🥰 "
You just decided to ghost him, but he wasn't getting the hint.
"Why didn't you answer my call lol"
"Why do you just leave me on read"
"I did a curse on you. You'll never find love."
Blocked.
So after your failed attempts at finding love could anyone blame you for a resorting to this method? You spent hours online scrolling for ways to find the perfect boyfriend and you came across a summoning circle guide posted by an etsy witch. Now you didn't think this would work but there's no harm in trying right??
You drew the summoning circle on a piece of A3 paper with a neon pink pen and carefully placed your scented candles on it. Then you placed the pieces of crushed bones (from the chicken dinner you ate last night) on it and waited.
A few minutes passed and honestly your patience was very thin so you were ready to throw it in a bin until a piercing bright light surrounded you.
You blinked twice and looked up.
A broad being towered over your hunched figure. You craned you neck up, making eye contact with four red piercing eyes, which assessed you diligently. You trailed your gaze over the muscles bulging from his four arms, Black markings wound and swirled from his neck down across his bare torso. A huge mouth on his stomach smirked at you, licking its lips slowly. You gulped.
"Tch pathetic."
At the sound of his rough voice you quickly looked back up, ignoring the shiver that trailed down your spine.
"Excuse me?"
He gave you another assessing look, "Tell me, why did a weak thing like you summon me, Ryomen Sukuna, the great demon king?"
You jaw dropped and he let out a scoff.
"Tch you mortals have no manners, answer me when I ask you a question."
You scowled, reminded of Naoya by the way he spoke to you. Demon or not this time you will not take the disrespect.
You huffed and stood up in front of him, crossing your arms, "There's no need to be so condescending."
He sneered and leaned in closer, "And what exactly would you have me be? Overjoyed that I have been summoned by a pathetic human?"
You scowled.
"Oh? Did I strike a nerve little one?" he smirked, "Now tell me what you summoned me for, before I force it out of you..."
His gaze roamed over you, and you couldn't tell whether he was planning on torturing you or doing something else entirely. The reason why you summoned him suddenly felt really embarrassing. He couldn't take you seriously as it is, imagine how we will react when you tell him you summoned him expecting a perfect boyfriend instead.
He observed the way you squirmed under his gaze, your cheeks flushing.
"Well?"
You sighed and muttered, "I wanted a boyfriend..."
Sukuna's lower eyes twitched, surely he must be hearing things?
"Say that again," he hissed, gripping your chin so that you were looking up at him, right into his narrowed eyes.
"A boyfriend."
An uneasy silence spread through the room, you shivered feeling a sudden chill as his gaze darkened, settling on you like a dark cloud. His sheer presence was already stifling, now it felt like it was choking you.
"A boyfriend?" he leans forward, "You summoned the King of Demons to be your boyfriend?"
You nodded.
His smile turned wicked, he seemed almost amused.
"How utterly pathetic."
You scowled, "Well in my defence I didn't expect it to be you. I wanted a perfect, human boyfriend."
In seconds he had you pinned to the bed, his lower arms pinning your hips the mattress, as one of his upper hands curled around your throat.
His smile was replaced by a cold, dangerous glare.
"You dare act ungrateful?" he sneered, squeezing your throat as his massive form loomed over you.
You struggled against his grip to no avail.
"I should kill you for such insolence," he snarled, pressing down on you harder until you sank further into the mattress.
He then paused, looking down at you properly, at your soft, pliant form underneath him and smirked coldly.
"You wanted some weak human boy to hold your hand and whisper sweet nothings," he mused, his thumb stroking your throat softly, his grip on your neck loosening ever so slightly.
You sighed murmuring, "And now I'm stuck with you."
His grip on your neck tightened in mere seconds, "Too bad."
You parted your lips to say something else, but was interrupted by a loud growl from your stomach. You both froze at the sound, your cheeks flushing as Sukuna dropped his hand from your neck and stood up, a hint of surprise flicking across his features.
He scowled, "Can't even control your own hunger. How ridiculous."
You cleared your throat and stood up, dashing to the kitchen. Seriously you wanted the ground to swallow you whole.
Sukuna leaned against the door frame, his upper arms crossed as he watched you chop onions. He couldn't lie he was slightly amused, it had been a long time since a mortal had summoned him. Not that they had been able to.
The stronger the desire is, the stronger the demon summoned. And Ryomen Sukuna, the King of Demons, the desire had to be immense for him to pull him from his realm.
You must be really lonely, he mused.
"Running away from a demon is futile sweetheart. I could snap your neck easily from here."
His eyes flickered with a wicked glint as he watched you flinch, though you continued cooking anyway. He could practically taste the fear radiating off you.
"Continue talking to me like that and you won't be getting any food," you snorted.
Suddenly he was behind you, his lower arms gripping your waist, as he breathed heavily against your neck.
"And what makes you think I would want your disgusting mortal food?"
You ignored him, much to his dismay, he growled, plotting on how he could kill you slowly in the most torturous ways. He imagined, with great satisfaction, tearing your head off your neck and the delicious sound of your screams.
He was interrupted from his thoughts when you shoved a spoon in his throat. The taste of hot sauce hit him immediately and he coughed violently. His grip on your waist tightened, as he spun you around furiously.
"What was that?"
You gave him a slow, taunting smile, "Oh my, the great Demon King cannot handle spice?"
He wiped the tears from his eyes aggressively and looked at you with a dangerous glint in his eyes. Now he wasn't sure if he wanted to kill you or punish you for looking at him in such a manner.
"How pathetic," you smirked, mirroring his earlier words.
His pupils dilated at your challenge, "Give me another."
You tutted and turned back around to cook, "It's not ready yet, go sit over there and wait."
You gripped your wooden spoon that you had been using to stir, half expecting him to fling you across the room for such "insolence." Instead you were surprised to see him sit at your dining table, waiting patiently. It seemed your earlier stunt had damaged his ego and he was intent on restoring his pride.
A few minutes later, you walked up to him with two bowls of food in your hand and sat down. You watched in amusement as he practically inhaled your food, before triumphantly setting the bowl down and looking at you with an arrogant smile.
"It was mediocre at best," he declared.
"Mhm sure, considering you ate it up in seconds it was definitely mediocre," you mused.
He cleared this throat, but you noticed the slight pink tinge on his cheeks.
"So human, what do boyfriends do?"
You looked at him in surprise, "You're actually considering it?"
"Of course, as pathetic as your request is, it will be a stain to my reputation if I don't fulfill it," he sneered, crossing his upper arms. You took a minute to appreciate how they bulged and flexed under the lights, you wondered what it would be like to bite them or-
"So?"
You shook your head looking back at his expectant gaze.
"Hmm, well we could go out on dates, travel, watch films and-"
"How dull."
You scowled at him, "You're the one who asked."
"I expected something more interesting, like going out killing, feasting on souls and taking pleasure in torture?"
You blinked, then crinkled your nose in disgust, "What is wrong with you?"
He let out a low, amused laugh, that rumbled through the room.
"I should say the same thing about you, I don't know how you manage to come out with the most boring things."
You scoffed, "Well that's because I clearly don't take pleasure in other things that does not involve hurting people."
He paused, his gaze sweeping over you, as he crossed one leg over the other and leaned in closer, "Oh? Is that so?"
"Yes that is so!" you huffed, attempting to ignore the way his eyes slowly trailed over you, almost appreciatively.
"And what.." he crooned, his pupils dilating with predatory intent, "Do humans take pleasure in sweetheart?"
Now if you told the past you that your unfortunate love life would be worth it, because you would end up in the Demon King's arms she would have laughed you off. To be honest, even you are still shocked at how you got here.
His stomach tongue ran over your slit, circling it possessively as his upper arms kept your hips straddled over his stomach. His lower hands spread your folds, as he thrust one finger in, leaving you a moaning mess on top of him.
"What's that little human?" he mused, admiring the way you fell apart at his touch, "What happened to all that attitude from earlier?"
"Shut up-"
He licked a slow, wet stripe up your entire slit and felt you shiver in response. He groaned sending electric shocks through your core.
Your back arched involuntarily, his grip tightened on your hips, locking you in place.
"Tch, isn't this what you wanted human? A boyfriend to satisfy your needs?"
You scowled, "Don't twist my words that's not what I meant-"
You gasped as he thrust another finger in, his tongue lapping up the wetness leaking from your pussy eagerly.
"You know what I think?" he crooned, his lower hands gripping your ass cheeks possessively spreading you even wider on his stomach, "I think deep down you know that those other feeble humans couldn't satisfy you like I do."
He spanked your ass, as you moaned loudly, your pussy making the filthiest sounds as his large tongue obscenely fucked you, his fingers circling and teasing your clit.
He drank in your needy, desperate sounds, groaning as your hips bucked wildly against his tongue. He buried his face in your neck, inhaling your scent.
"There's my girl..." he praised, "Cum for your demon."
You came all over his stomach with a loud moan, the pleasure crashing and washing over you at once. He watched appreciatively, watching you fall apart at his touch.
He threw you on the bed, looming over you with a feral grin.
"Spread those pretty legs wider for me." His command rough and possessive, as you obeyed too drunk from pleasure to deny him.
He raised your legs, leaving a trail of kisses from your ankles to your inner thighs before wrapped them around his waist. He smacked your clit, which earned a surprised jolt from you.
"Heh, you're going to take all of me now, like a good human," he chuckled, the deep sound had more of an effect on you than you would like to admit.
He looked at your glistening pussy and spat on it, admiring the mix of saliva and cum as he unbuckled his belt, freeing his two massive cocks. Wait two?!
"There she is," he cooed, "All mine."
"Hold up Sukuna I can't-"
His eyes darkened dangerously, as he flipped you over onto your stomach.
"You will."
He ran a thumb over your slit from top to bottom, before spreading your folds, letting the tip of one of his cocks be coated in your cum. You groaned softly, as he slowly began to sink in.
"So pretty.. " he murmured, "Gonna fill you up, till it takes."
As he watched his cock bury into you, he stroke the other, already leaking with pre-cum, slowly, as he stared at where the two of you connected like a precious treasure.
He thrust slowly, leaving you a moaning mess, gripping the bedsheets.
"Sukuna-"
Hearing his name fall from your sweet lips, he pulled back and thrust deep and hard, making you gasp.
"Say that again," he groaned, feeling your walls flutter and clench around him.
You moaned his name like a mantra as he fucked you deep and hard, his hand moving up to grip your throat gently, whilst another trailed down your bare back reverently before grabbing your cheeks possessively.
"I'm gonna take you from here too," he groaned, using another hand to spread them, whilst another raised your hips further into him. He gave a sharp smack to your ass cheek, watching it redden with dark satisfaction, before inserting a finger into your hole, slow and teasing.
You gasped, as he buried his face in your neck moaning, "So tight here too."
He thrust deeper into you, his chest pressed against you, mouth by your ear, "Those puny humans couldn't fuck you like I can admit it."
You moaned softly, "No they couldn't it-"
"Say it," he landed another smack to your ass, "Say you belong to me."
"I'm yours- fuck-"
He thrust his other cock into your ass, bottoming out with a satisfied sigh, "That's my good girl."
He pounds into you from both ways, biting your shoulder leaving bite marks all over your shoulders and neck, the mouth on his stomach littering your back with kisses and hickeys.
His lower hands leave bruises on your hips as he pulls you back onto his cock, "Looking so pretty stuffed and full of my cocks."
One of his upper hands grabs a fistful of your hair yanking your head back.
"Look at you, your greedy cunt is gripping me so tight."
"Cum for me sweetheart. Show me how much you love being fucked by your demon's dick."
He fingers find your clit and he presses down, circling it firmly, leaving you overwhelmed with pleasure.
"Fuck yes just like that," he groans, as your pussy squeezes him tightly milking his cock. He keeps thrusting through your orgasms, drawing it out.
He buries himself deep inside you with a guttural groan, both of his cocks cumming at once, thick ropes of cum painting your walls, marking your insides with his release.
"Take it... take all of it.." he grinds deep, his lower eyes glued to your pussy, watching it take all of his cum with possessive satisfaction.
His upper eyes studied you carefully, memorising every expression: the dazed look in your eyes, the soft flutter of your lashes and the way your chest heaves.
He pulled out slowly, taking you in his arms gently, holding you close to his chest. His lower hands held your thighs that were tangled around his waist, as his upper arms wrapped around your waist gently, thumbs stroking your hips reverently. burying his face in your hair as he inhaled your scent. A scent which he knew over time he could grow accustomed to and never get bored.
You buried your face in his chest, spent and exhausted, before lifting up your head to look up at him, smiling slowly with a dazed expression.
"So does that mean you're my boyfriend now?"
He groaned, "Shut up and go to sleep brat."
As he watched you sleep in his arms, admiring your soft features before burying his face further into your hair muttering, "Yes I'm yours."
Synopsis. In this season of The Bachelorette, 22 of Japan’s hottest bachelors vie for a chance for your hand…and between your legs. A plethora of eligible men from a buff personal trainer to a handsome lawyer, to a white-haired model with way too much charm—this might just be the steamiest season yet!
Pairings [SEPARATE] Higuruma x Reader, Gojo x Reader, Ino x Reader, Sukuna x Reader, Choso x Reader, Geto x Reader, Nanami x Reader, Toji x Reader
Content. MDNI, fem!reader, The Bachelorette AU, reality TV, interviews, confessionals, sIight pIot, one-on-one dates, rose ceremonies, máting presses, they’re FÉRAL, spítting, chokíng, manhandIing, sIight bréeding, tummy buIges, DlLF!Toji, semi pubIic (Ino), sIight exhíbitíonism, sIight bòndage (Higuruma), p talking, p sIapping, fuII neIsons, DÚMBIFlCATION, cervíx smooches, MMA fighter!Sukuna, HEADLOCKS, Gojo’s PÚSSYDRÚNK, babbIing, creampíes, cúmpIay, proposals, possessive!JJK men, showing off, surprise at the end, you get to actually choose, pet names, swéaring.
A/N. Those pics from Artemis II are making me saur emotional- also Happy Easter to everyone that celebrates!
♡ TOJI FUSHIGURO - First rose.
“Name? Toji Fushiguro. Age? Hah- who’re you to ask?” Even his introduction sounds like he’s sizing everyone in the studio up, a single unimpressed brow raised. In front of him Toji keeps his beefy arms crossed - both to stave off the awkwardness of speaking to a rolling camera, and to flex his biceps—just a little bit.
They were still filming the footage of their introductions - Toji hasn’t even entered that infamous mansion yet and somehow he finds his knee bouncing.
He doesn’t know whether he wants to (reluctantly) thank Shiu or throttle him for signing him up for this…bachelorette show. Is this what the youth was interested in these days?
Verdant eyes darting around the dimly-lit room, “I work as a personal trainer, among…many other things.”
A producer probes from one end, “And are you confident you’ll be picked, Fushiguro-san?”
“Confident?” He can’t help but crack a smile at that, “Please- who wouldn’t pick me? One night is all I need.”
A sudden hush falls over the studio—cameramen meeting eyes with each other, and producers who simply couldn’t see past the multi-million yen signs that were popping up in their vision. They’re rubbing their hand together, and urging the handsome man on the seat to continue speaking-
The producer that was more in charge of the B-roll footage speaks to Toji once more, “Now that’s certainly the way to enter this season, Fushiguro-san.” Flipping through the notes given on each condition, “And what else? Could you please tell the audience what you like to do for fun?”
“Hah…going to the gym, martial arts, taking care of my little one.” He scratches behind his neck.
“You have a child, Fushiguro-san?”
“Yeah, I have a son. Just six years old.” And he wonders just what booming sound effect they might add on into the background of this confession. He chuckles just thinking about it - how did Shiu convince him to come on here again? Well…he supposes it might also have something to do with you.
Toji’s eyes slide over deftly to the small screen at the back end of the room - just to get the contestants more familiar with you prior to your actual meeting at the mansion, they were replaying raw B-roll from your own introduction.
And Toji isn’t one to latch onto someone like that but- fuck, his eyes really couldn’t stop drifting over.
The curve of your smile. The way you’re looking behind you.
The way those lashes of your flutters just so—
He’s sure the cameras around him notice and hone in on the slight flickering of his peripherals, and he has to shake his head ever-so-slightly to stop himself from making a fool out of himself right here and now. “Yeah…” He rubs his roughened palms down his thighs, “Could you ah- repeat that last question?”
A few crew members chuckle. “Do you think that being a dad is going to hinder your chances in any way, Fushiguro-san?”
“Nah.” He leans back n’ tightens his crossed arms, scarred lips parting with a grin. “I’m a Fushiguro and I always get what I want—and I know what I want now.”
Eyes wafting over once more.
.
.
.
Most of the contestants still remained after the introduction phase - other than a few that were just plain rude, or the two-toned Zenin bastard that was kicked out for his outdated opinions. Upon entering the mansion, Toji Fushiguro had received your first impression rose that night - a signal to Toji that you’re keeping your eyes on him, and a signal to the 21 other men to up their damn game.
They were threatened, clearly.
Perhaps that’s why some of them were throwing disgruntled looks his way. Perhaps that’s why they ducked their heads whenever he passed, whispering behind their hands like high schoolers at a slumber party of some sort.
He’s witnessing this bizarreness as he trudges into the mansion’s vast kitchen. And honestly, Toji could almost laugh- but that’s before he’s catching a shred of what garbage they’re spouting.
“—heard production discussing that he’s a dad.”
That makes him pause.
Though Toji doesn’t let it show on his face, he keeps his hands working on his bottle of protein shake- and his ears turned in the direction of a bunch of stupid bastards that didn’t think they could be heard.
They shoot a few glances at him once more—“You really think she’s gonna fall for an older guy like that? I bet you it’s a pity rose-”
“It’s to get the ratings up, duh.” Another pipes up. “Everyone knows that in the end, she’s never going to go for the old guy.”
“A dad, at that.”
“Shouldn’t he be with his kid, instead?”
“I don’t think she even knows-”
“Probably too embarrassed to tell her-”
SLAM!
The protein shake bubbles over as Toji struggles not to grip it to bits- ultimately ending up banging it down on the marble counter. The group of men swivel their heads around as they realize that he might just have ended up hearing—not so geriatric now, huh?
And Toji feels his face twist into something akin to…a smile. Something welcoming, that you’d never catch dead on his face.
He’s looming one step towards them - just one step - when lo and behold you’re making your way into the kitchen. Baring such a beautiful smile at them all.
And who was Toji to pummel some ugly faces in when your gorgeous one was watching?
Instead, he’s taking you by the hand.
Not even a second glance at the stunned losers left behind- Toji’s dragging you to the quietest, most private room he can find in this house filled with bachelors. Ultimately—it ends up being his room, and the cameras and microphones can only catch snippets of his confession to you.
“There’s something you hafta know.” Comes out Toji’s usually-gruff tone, “I’m a dad.”
A pause.
And then your voice, “Dad? Like…zaddy?”
Beside himself, he laughs. “No. A dad—I have a son.” And by that excited look in your eyes - the way it piques your interest that this might just be the hottest DILF you’ve ever seen - he already knows that those other bastards are going to eat their words.
.
.
.
“S-so about that- ngh—” All the cameramen had been kicked out - just in time for Toji to let you grapple him onto the creaking bedsprings. Clamoring on top. Swallowing n’ sucking down as much of his thickened length between your legs as you could.
You’re feeling his incredible girth stretching you out- throwing your head back as far as it would go.
As you’re babbling and drooling on his sheer length, Toji clasps onto one side of your hips. He’s using but a fraction of his strength to bounce you towards him - in a figure-eight motion that could barely be completed given the sheer shakin’ of your thighs. Squeezed around him.
Rolling his sage-green eyes with rough laughter, he’s spreadin’ his meaty thighs and bucking up into you—the edge of his cock bulges even deeper inside. Deeper than you ever thought possible.
Deep enough that your stomach was displaying a slight bulge where he was pushing his erection against your walls. At least you could feel it like so…and the older man wastes no time before reaching up and pressing the front of his palm against it—feeling for that cylindrical outline. “So? Cheh- finish your sentences, doll.”
“I was just about to…” You pout- and he coos. How cute…
Before craning his head down and spitting between those jutted-out lips of yours. Toji looks up at you through the gaps in his shaggy black bangs, “Are those lips wet enough to finally enunciate your words or do I need to spit again?”
“I was saying—so about you being a father…” You’re trailing off - and there’s a glint in his eyes that lets you know that you’ve certainly caught his attention now. Shyly continuing on with the cockdrunken thought that’d been tumbling around your head, “This is definitely too soon- too forward, but um…have you ever thought about perhaps wanting…another…?”
You could barely meet his eyes- fuck.
Though he doesn’t seem to mind that. He’s wrapping his large hand around your neck and forcing you to look into his eyes either way, breathless. Stunned.
Something so charged between the two of you that it’s easily leaving you even wetter—staining the ridges n’ muscles of his abs with your slippery slick.
Toji leans in close enough that you think he’s about to kiss you. Before he suddenly stops - lips millimeters away from your own - and asks. “Who said you could stop, mama?”
Your eyes widen, “Wh-what—oh.”
And you hadn’t realized that in your tension for his response- you’d completely halted your bouncing hips. You’d completely let your cadence peter out.
And Toji Fushiguro couldn’t have that, now, could he? Especially not when he was…
Before you can even gather your thoughts, he’s arching his sculptured back against the comfy mattress. And fuck- you almost wish you had those cameras right about now—because the way his muscles rippled beneath you was heavenly to look at - Toji smirks like he knew exactly what you were thinking about.
That smug quirk of his lips turning into something far wider, something far more feral once he’s holding onto you from beneath and rut-rut-rutting his slick-sheened cock into you.
Hard hits. Dark brows furrowing in concentration.
Despite you being the one above, you’re completely at the mercy of his swollen cock.
At the mercy of his heavy balls plapping! against the forefront of your cunt. At the way he’s using one hand to keep you stable on top of his vicious pelvis, and the other to press down upon that one spot on your stomach where he could feel himself—Toji runs his calloused fingers across where his reddened tip was pokin’ into your cervix.
Bashing away - he smiles as he feels every single one. Every single bruise he’s pounding out into your deepest depths.
And you’re wracking with shivers on top of him once Toji presses down. “Like I said- who said you could stop?”
There it was again. “I-I mean—”
“If you want to be fucked pregnant, then you’ve gotta continue until those pretty legs of yours are begging you to stop.” Your jaw drops as he continues in his hoarse tone, “You’ve gotta need it.” He tap-taps on top of your core, where your poor innards were being absolutely molded to the thickness of his cock. Vein-covered and hot. “You’ve gotta hunger for it—”
And it doesn’t matter what he could say at this point - every single word was sending your mind spinning even further. “I am-” The globes of your ass stinging at the feeling of his contact-driven body beneath.
“Nuh uh. You’ve gotta work for it, girl—” Emphasized by pushing down on that spot of your tummy once more, “Arch your back.”
Whimpering, you can’t help but listen.
“Heeeeeh- good.” And as a reward, his free hand finds itself slitherin’ between your swollen folds. So sensitive that you’re damn-near sobbing- he teases out your cute clit and gives a few good pinches. “Now clench your pussy. Swerve your hips ‘round and ‘round.”
“L-like this?”
“Mhmmm. You’ve gotta keep on milkin’ my cock for every last drop m’gonna give-”
Your gaze drops between your legs, “I-”
“And then it doesn’t matter if m’shooting blanks—you’ve gotta milk me even more.” Something crazed in his eyes, he’s leaning into your kiss with a smile. Again and again; he’s splitting up the sweetest syrupy orifices inside you - and with only a few more sloppy slashes inside, you’re feeling your body get overcome by the waves of your high.
It fills you up with an initial warmth- from the tips of your toes and to the crown of your head.
Toji snickers as he fucks you through the soaring pleasure, making you feel as though you were on cloud nine. You’ve never known yourself to cum this easily with someone else before - and it’s only growing stronger and stronger inside of you given every thud-thud-thud against your cute g-spot.
Roverin’ his red, rounded tip and keeping it there—
You swear you feel his rock-hard cock start to bead out in even more pre- and perhaps something…even more?
“Follow all that n’ we’re not just going to win the season with an engagement…” Toji snickers to himself, palm massaging over the tummy bulge he was fucking into you. “But a baby, too.”
“O-oh…”You wondered how the producers were doing to explain away this.
♡ NANAMI KENTO - HEART RATE <3
“My name is Nanami Kento, I’m 27.” Such a deep, droning tone—one that immediately catches the attention of those watching, one that immediately sets the speakers slightly, sensually alight.
The camera pans upwards, up and up: revealing a firm torso, clad in such a smart suit. Sculptured core. Strong shoulders. Blond, slicked-back hair that glistened with a thin sheen of gel underneath the studio lights.
Nanami wonders what clips they’d be playing for his B-roll montage - something with the mock-business calls the producers made him act out, something with the sweet treats he bakes as a hobby, something with the long walks on the beach.
The entire process has been a whirlwind ever since Shoko signed him up- for a joke, mind you.
He never expected to actually see himself on trash- ahem, eccentric television.
And yet, here he was.
Hot around his collar as he sneaks a glance at a small screen to the side, replaying raw footage of the show—but most importantly, you. Nanami gulps.
“I’m looking for something serious.” He hopes he doesn’t sound as awkward as he feels, and the tips of his ears tingle once he’s looking away from the screen. “My friends signed me up for this show because they think I’m married to my work- hah. Perhaps I do tend to get caught up in it sometimes, but I really do hope to get married someday…to someone sweet, someone tender.” Nanami glimpses at your smile once more, “To someone I can come home to- not a physical house, but to someone I can leave my heart safe with.”
A producer whispers a question.
“Oh? What’s my position at work?” He repeats the question, before staring straight down the barrel of the camera, “CEO.”
.
.
After an early coupling—the producers couldn’t have anyone closed off too early, of course. Where was the fun in that?
And so came…the challenges.
Just a few days into mingling, the producers pulled you aside to let you know that you’d be taking part in the first challenge of the season: The Heart Rate challenge.
The rules were simple - you were subjected to three minutes of a striptease from each of the contestants, in whatever manner and outfit they chose. In the meantime, a heart rate monitor would be tracking your BPM to announce which contestant had raised your heartbeat the most with their performance.
Simple…right?
Not.
Not quite when there were 18 (a slight drop from the initial 22) of some of the hottest men baring you with their washboard abs- showing off their sculptured shoulders- shyly bringing themselves closer to you. And though it’d been a tie between a certain white-haired model and your favorite DILF (who’d promised he’d be the one to win), who would’ve guessed that calm, collected Nanami Kento would’ve been the one to catch your eye the most?
He was clunky in his moves, that was true, but the ultimate killing shot came towards the end of his somewhat-awkward routine—when Nanami had leaned in close- half-dressed in his suit, tie dangling ‘round his neck - he’d forgone any extravagant costume.
Closer and closer. You were sure he’d be kissing you before…he gently grasped your hand and pressed his lips to your inner wrist.
Right on the erogenous zone.
To you, at least, it hadn’t been a surprise when Nanami had won the heart rate challenge.
Toji’s jaw had dropped- the producers were loving this.
And your reward - a night at a getaway suite with no cameras - had ended up a little…
“N-ngh—” Your mouth gapes open on top of the silken pillowcase, spit leaking out at a dizzying rate. Back arching. Thighs clenching-
Nanami shoves a hand between your pretty legs n’ spreeeeads your pussylips apart for him to slip in easier. “Now now, my love…” His smoky breath rumbles beside your temple, head bowed into the crook of your neck. The blond man feels a single line of tears splash down your cheeks, and he’s running his flattened tongue up the salty liquid- “Has this pussy never been fucked by a gentleman before?”
Before you know it, the rugged hand at your core smacks! down on your puffy lips. And you whimper- “Shit, no—?”
“Oh, reeeeeeally?” Nanami’s sweet, sweet tone coos at you—and you’re given no warning before his beefy right arm wraps around your neck in a headlock. “I fear I could tell, darling.”
Just the slightest twitch of his grin- pressed against the clammy side of your neck.
It’s all you’re getting before Nanami’s reeling his toned back even further, even hungrier - he lets his reddened, bulbous tip throb-throb-throb at your first ring of muscle before shoving it all the way down to the bottom. All the way until your walls have gobbled him down to the hilt, and you’re gasping as you struggle to take him.
Spit drivelling. Fists clenching the pillowcase.
And so he waits.
Juuuuuust waits and watches his massively thickened length disappear between those pussylips of yours. Until you’re starting to whimper. Until you’re starting to perk your hips up impatiently-
And Nanami plasters you to his firm body- the weight of his hips leaning down upon yours. The muscles of his v-line digging into the globes of your ass. Pinning you down to the comfy mattress—he’s then languidly gliding his shaft in and out. In and out.
With the most lecherous squelches! Nanami starts off slow at first - looooong and languid…before then thrashin’ himself carnally inside. “Easy—easy there.” Raspy whispers in your ear, “When you take a cock this- hah, big you hafta take it slooooow, my love.”
Your legs twitch as he’s easing inside a few inches even deeper, probin’ that girthy top into the base of your cunt. “Sh-shit…”
“C’mon.” Nanami grumbles, “Breathe with me, my love- breathe.”
“Breathe?”
“Mhm—s’what you do when it’s hard to take.” He huffs, “Never been taught that by those other boys, hm? Never been made to stretch like thiiiiiis-” Just as long as he elongates his words, his knobbly fingertips scissor open your crevice slightly- making it even easier for him to slip in and out. “Never had this needy pussy fed- hah, until she’s full? My poor lady…Never had these spots over here-” You’re trembling as he swipes down tender orifices, “-stimulated, hm?”
Shaking your head.
He audibly controls his breathing, urging you to do the same.
“Thought so. Now breathe in slooooow—” The blond man directs you- and when you’re taking too long to listen, he’s slammin’ his hand down on top of your cunt with another spank. “Yeah-” Once you’re listening to him after a few struggling seconds- “Yeah, you’ve got it. Take in a deep inhale f’me…”
Just as you do, your stomach contracting with the action, he’s mazin’ away a few more lewd inches - his palm skidding upwards to press down on your stomach. Feeling for himself as he pushes and pushes and pushes inside—“And then- fuck. Then exhale.” Nanami’s usually-steady tone almost…wavers as he says so.
“It feels so—mmm, good.” You’re babbling away as he slots inside. Almost as if your cunt was made for him, he’s lodging against every slick ridge, crevice, and bundle of nerves.
Hitting all the way at the very bottom.
He cracks a little smile, “And that’s how a gentleman fucks.”
Hiccuping, those torturous strokes of his made you wrack with primal shivers. “B-but I want it more-” Attempting to push yourself up onto your elbows, “I want it harder, Nanami-”
“Kento.”
Before you can babble out something questioning at his sudden interruption, you’re being shoved right back down onto the springy suite bed. The luxurious mattress engulfing you. The globular head of Nanami’s cock propels even deeper inside you.
He crushes his bicep even harder around your neck- cutting off your airway.
Even harder.
And you’re choking n’ sputtering - both on the stronghold he had on you, and on the thorough movements of his shaft shovelling inside. Eyes rolling to the back of your head as he lodges himself straight at the spongy door to your womb.
Nanami tugs you up to his firm front then, “Call me Kento when we fuck.” Something different in his tone now - something dark and barely held back. It’s as though he was gnawing down on his bottom lip to keep himself in check, he lets out a roughened grunt as he plants one hard stroke—one incredibly hard stroke. “And be careful what you wish for, darling.”
For a gentleman never denies his lady, right?
You whimper.
Steadying his hips, he’s somehow managing to stretch your delicate walls out to his shape. Somehow managing to rub n’ pinpoint the most sensitive areas with his flared ridges. Already locating where your sweetest spot was- Nanami inches his long cock backwards and bashes it right near your g-spot.
Harder and deeper. Harder and deeper. Again and again. Just so thorough that it feels as though his round, red tip was pushing into your very throat.
In just a few sloppy strokes, he’s mapped out your entire cunt.
And no matter how much you’re moanin’ and clawing at the headboard - attempting to pull yourself up as though you’re caught between fucking down to him and moving yourself away - Nanami merely has to tighten his beefy arm ‘round your neck and haaaaaul you right back down. Pressing you against his plush pecs.
“For m’not going to leave this cunt high n’ dry like those other boys-” He whispers in your ear, callused fingertips darting down your slippery crevice to pinch your clit. Those pearly white canines of his nip at the shell of your ear, “I’ll have you know that I’m a man, my love. I’m a gentleman.”
Tears welling up in your eyes, “A-and that means…?”
“And that means I’m going to treat you as this lady-” Rolling over your sweet nub - it sends sparks up your spine. “-deserves to be treated. I’m going to take you out to a nice- loooooong dinner. I’m going to fly you out anywhere your sweet heart desires, my love. I’m going to take you out shopping and- fuuuuck.” The irritated end of his shaft trickles out hot precum, “I’m going to let you try to max out my debit cards- ”
You catch his emphasis, “Try?”
He chuckles, “You sure can try. And then…” Before you’re left eagerly wondering what else he has to say- Nanami rests his cockhead against your g-spot inside.
And then he’s making your poor walls bulge with the sheer force of him digging in and in- such raw pleasure that it makes moans rip at your throat. He didn’t know where you were drooling more from at this point - your mouth or your cunt.
Nanami’s golden hair nearly curtains his gaze now, though that doesn’t shield you from the sheer intensity of it. “And only then am I going to fuck this pretty lady.” He plasters his reddening pelvis against the globes of your ass cheeks, “After such a long, hard day of being spoiled- best believe that m’gonna fuck her to sleep. Fuck orgasm after orgasm out of you.”
“A-and what about you?” You’re turning your head backwards to get a good look at the handsome man, “Aren’t you going to cum, Kento?”
“Oh, my love…” It was just so cute how fucked you were - how you still had your manners despite being so. The sweetest smile graces his face, “Having you cum ‘round my cock is my greatest pleasure.”
And then you’re cumming.
Oh- you can’t help it. Head throwing back into his collarbone. Hands grasping at his own- ones in a headlock around you.
Those zaps of electricity curl at your toes, heat taking over your body, and all it takes is a single glide—down the pulsating area of your g-spot for you to be thrown completely over the edge. Wave upon wave of euphoria floods your body until you feel numb- and through it all, Nanami’s slick-glossed cock was shoving into you at a rapid rate. “Please…” Your mouth waters at the perfect way that Nanami was fucking you through each peak, “Sh-shit, it feels so good-”
Vein-covered cock massaging you up and down, in and out.
Even the tiniest bumps of his prominent veins leave you seeing stars- twinges of pleasure exploding between your legs. Your body goes slightly limp during the crescendo of your high.
“Oh, don’t tap out just yet, my love.”
And something primal inside you twitches at the sound of calm, cool, collected Nanami Kento’s voice like this- before you’re feeling his buff arms pull you right back to him.
“Because this is just the beginning-” He presses a soft kiss to your temple, “-isn’t it, my love?”
♡ GETO SUGURU - One-on-one.
“Hm? Oh, who doesn’t like long walks on the beach?” Geto laughs something deep and rich- unabashed. Blowing his knee-length hair out of his face, some of those Stygian strands get tucked delicately behind one ear. “My name is Geto Suguru, I’m 28, and I’m a professional masseuse.”
Geto’s murky amethyst eyes stare down the camera.
He already knows he’s got them captivated.
He crosses his legs, hands intertwining on top of them. Geto’s smile was utterly feline towards the lens, “And don’t take this the wrong way, but…” When his best friend had jokingly suggested joining this show- he didn’t think that it’d be so fucking fun. “-I’ve never had to chase anyone in my life.”
Geto feels the temperature in the studio drop a few degrees.
A producer stutters, “Y-you aren’t serious…are you, Geto-san?”
“Dead serious.”
He might get his scenes cut out and edited together to paint him as the villain- he doesn’t care. Because it was true—really.
All the confessions, the letters, the sneaking glances down the street. It wasn’t a lie that Geto Suguru never had trouble with the ladies and gentlemen and everyone in-between - to the point where he’s almost grown bored of it. But—you?
He’s seen the raw footage of you on the screens around, and he can’t deny that he was damn intrigued.
You were a challenge. You were someone that made his heart race- and oh, wasn’t that a strange feeling?
“So it’s nice that the roles are flipped for once.” He continues, flashing that infamous smile - breaking a few hearts, or so he’s sure they’ll make it seem so in production later - at the camera once more. He knows how these shows go…“At least, for now.”
.
.
.
“Fuck, Suguru-” Dreamy mewl echoing out in the enclosed space, bouncing off those polished wooden walls. It sounded even louder in the production-made massage room - like music in Geto’s ears.
Geto’s expert hands slide down your body, coated in a sheen of oil.
It smears down your skin—illuminating the spots that he touched. Which seemed quite fitting, in your opinion, as wherever Geto’s fingers traced seemed to leave you alight - his thumb digs into one particularly stubborn knot on your right calf and you shiver.
“Tell me if it gets too much, gorgeous.”
“I will.” You just barely manage out.
The numbers had dropped down to 15, and it’d been time for the one-on-one dates. After your getaway with the blond man, Geto had been the first to whisk you away from the mansion once more—and needless to say that production was having a lot of fun with his profession as a masseuse. The best in Tokyo, actually.
Clients travelled far and wide for an appointment with him - and you’re beginning to understand why.
With you spread face-forward on the smooth table, with your arms crossed in front of you- lips cracking gently open with a sigh once his rugged fingers touch on just one spot—
“R-right there.” On your inner thighs. Too aware of the cameras surrounding you two, you still can’t keep the pleasure out of your voice.
And Geto shifts aside the towel on your otherwise-naked body - shooting a content smile at the camera as they don’t get to see - to rub up on that specific spot once more. “Here?”
Biting on your lower lip, you’re nodding your head. “There.”
Bit by bit. Press by press; he’s inching up the plane of your right leg - kneading and unravelling those knots you didn’t even know you have. He massaged you so well that you could moan. And just as Geto’s fingertips are about to become so blissful that you might have to ask him to pause - not for you, but for the cameras - he speaks. “You’re very tense here, I can tell you don’t let yourself rest.” The crowns of his thumbs rolling circles at your inner thigh, “You have so many knots here- if you want, I could…nevermind.”
And you’re looking over your shoulder at him with an anticipating gaze. “What was that, Suguru?”
“It’s stupid.” He shrugs sheepishly- though the glint in his eyes was telling you a whole different story. “It’s just…there’s this other type of massage that I never actually offer- but it might help you…unravel your body a bit more. But forget about it-”
“Let’s do it.”
And his lips quirk upwards.
And you knew what he was inferring- you fucking knew it. Which is exactly why you’re holding back a slight smirk as it takes Geto Suguru exactly 1 minute and 30 seconds to kick the camera crew out.
Then less than that to hoist himself up onto the massage table as well, to tug his baggy pants down, n’ have you bouncing on his cock.
Spit leaking down one side of your lips as you’re crashing your mouth against his pretty, puckered one- moaning straight into the hot, open-mouthed kiss as Geto’s thick cock swabs inwards. He was just about eight inches, and decorated with so many veins—he might just be stretching you out in ways you never thought were possible to feel before.
The plumpness of his cockhead, the zig-zagged patterns of his veins.
Geto didn’t just have his size going for him- he manages to curve his incredible length just perfectly inside your tight channel. Targeting your sweet spot within mere moments of finding himself between your legs—“Oh-ohhhh.” Crackling out from the back of your throat, “S-Suguru, that feels sho good.”
“Sho good, huh?” You feel his grin against your own mouth, “Don’t tell me you’re that cockdrunk already, gorgeous? And I haven’t even used my fingers on you, yet…”
Before you know it, he’s reaching up his mean left hand- letting it smush your cheeks together. You’re sure that that makes you create such a lewd expression upon your features, but Geto merely beams down at you as though you were the most beautiful creature he’s ever set his eyes upon.
Amethyst peripherals murky with something indiscernible. “C’mon- can you say something without slurring? Can you count from one till ten?”
Crossly- you couldn’t believe his sheer audacity right now. “Of course I can count until—ngh.” Only to be cut off with a thorough slash of his rounded cockhead- you feel it throbbing right against the spongy layer of your cervix.
Gluing himself even deeper with a few wads of his sploshin’ sap. He cracks a smirk, “That’s not the way you count till ten.”
Your mouth gapes.
And Geto takes his long, lingering time to lean closer and spit straight between your stunned lips - before using that left hand of his to close your mouth. “You’ll catch flies, gorgeous.” He titters to himself. The massage table creak-creak-creaks with each thrust of his - and his pace was something thorough and lingering.
Geto knew that his mushroomy tip felt good - and he was using it to his advantage. Not a single hammer of his hips was without reason—he was making sure to massage all the inner linings of your walls - every nook and hidden crevice - before he’s emptying out dollop after dollop of pre at the very bottom of your pussy. Giggling to himself at the way you’re utterly ruined on his long, long length- “Yeah- fuck, yeah. My poor baby can’t even speak?”
Your g-spot, however…he merely teases. Lightly grazing his flared tip near that treasure trove of nerve ends, but never quite hitting it. Again and again.
The velvety walls ‘round that spot quiver with need.
“But can she at least remember her own name?” He echoes. And throughout it all, you’re mindlessly attempting to angle your hips further into his- the ruthless man grabs onto a handful of your hair with his right hand. Jerking your face to look into his own, “I said- can she at least remember her own name?”
You hiss at the searing burn—
“Tell me your name, my cockdrunk girl.”
“Suguru- fuck.” Barely even registering the question - you doubt you could even hear him by this point.
Merely babbling away expletives at the way he’s fucking his cock up even more rudely—he’s poundin’ and poundin’ up into you in sloppy, structured hits. Deep. And Geto peers up into your dazed pupils whilst he fucks you - whatever he’s seeing there makes him smile, “Suguru? Heh- you think that’s your name, gorgeous?”
Mouth gaping, “I-I mean…”
“Well, you’re not technically wrong.” He hums- more to himself than anything.
And by now he’s rammin’ his length away into you at such a pace that the pap-pap-papping sounds were nearly louder than your own mewls. The sheer pressure of the strokes leaving you limp. Tenderly, you’re pushing your face into the sweaty crook of his neck- only for Geto to pull you back once more with the vicious restraint he has on you.
Making you stare into his ravenous gaze, “Look at me when m’speaking, gorgeous- you might be fucked stupid but you’ve gotta remember your manners, right?” Taking your cutesy whimpers as an affirmation, “And you might not be Geto Suguru but…how about Mrs. Geto Suguru?”
Shockwaves of pleasure cascade down your spine.
“Yeah- yeah, you like that?” Snickering to himself - who’d have thought you’d be such a romantic? He was, too…not that he was fucking you like it.
Geto was fucking you rough and hard- bruisin’ his rotund girth at the back of your pussy. He was leaving his mark for anyone else that came after - let them know that he’d been the one to make you feel so good. “I can take your last name, too, if you’d like.”
You’re breathless, “You- you really want to win—”
“Oh? So you can speak.” He speaks with slight amusement, “And, gorgeous- I really want to make you mine.” His tip bulges even bigger at the feeling of you clamping down- shit, it feels so good that he has to gnaw down on his bottom lip to keep from making any embarrassing noises. Panting out again, “Mrs. Geto Suguru.”
“Fuck-” You’re bouncing down onto his gluttonous cock.
“Mrs. Geto Suguru-”
“Please-”
“Mrs. Geto Suguru—” The pretty man smiles to himself as he’s finally - finally - pressin’ down on the button of your g-spot. Watching as your thighs quake, watching as your eyes spin to the back of your head. “Cum on my cock, Mrs. Geto Suguru.”
KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!
Who the hell doesn’t wait after knocking?
Surely part of the producers’ ploy; both your heads snap in the direction of the massage room door to see a flash of auburn hair—followed almost immediately by the door slamming closed once the intruder registers what he’s witnessing. And a familiar skater boy’s voice emanating through the slim wooden panel, “S-sorry–!”
You and Geto can do nothing but look at one another.
You’re sure the rest of the contestants would be hearing about this very…very soon.
Though Geto doesn’t look perturbed in the slightest. And he’s the first to move-
He’s the first to flip your positions around so that you’re splaying your back against the massage table now. His toned body hovering over you, he doesn’t waste a second before swatting- yes, swatting aside your trembly thighs n’ swivelling his length inside once more.
Long, luxurious slides down the narrow channel of your cunt.
You’re taking his strokes with a moan, “Suguru—y-you’re not bothered by- ngh, that in the slightest?”
“Why would I be?” He answers. And with that said, his soft fingertips snake between your legs- pinching that swollen clit of yours. “In fact…”
Just the slightest roll of his thumb - and you’re already feeling pleasure wreak havoc on your body. Then he’s pressing, then he’s tugging- then he’s alternating between teasing and pulling and massaging your needy nub over and over in ways that drive you wild. Spelling out what you’re piecing together to be his name—
Geto was about to show you what a masseuse could truly do.
“-how about we step up that volume, Mrs. Geto Suguru?”
♡ CHOSO KAMO - Fan-favorite.
“I-I’m Choso Kamo, I’m 29, and…um, I honestly don’t know why I’m here.” The dark-haired man beneath the spotlight fidgets with his thumbs, lips barely moving as he attempts to continue the introduction that he’s surely fucked up by now. “My little brother submitted an application on my behalf because he thought that The Bachelorette would be p-perfect for me to find someone and…um…yeah…”
The producers look at each other. Eventually, one of them calls out—“So is she?”
Choso startles- almost as if he didn’t expect to be addressed. Almost as if he didn’t expect himself to be perceived at all. “Well…”
And his eyes drift towards the small screen behind the camera - one that had been playing B-roll footage of you so that the contestants could get more familiar prior to the actual meetings. Oh. It’s strange how as soon as his gaze latches onto you, his eyes can’t seem to find any other purpose but to linger.
Choso’s shoulders raise up to his ears- as if to cover the faint blush that was creeping onto them. “Yeah…” He whispers, “Yeah, she’s just beautiful.”
And it’s all quiet on-set for a second—nothing sounding out but the mechanical hum of the lens as it zooms in on the flush he can’t deny. Choso jumps back a bit as he realizes just what they’d been focusing on, and he’s flickering his eyes uncertainly towards the cameraman behind it- “Are those things always going to be on?”
The other man nods, deadpan.
“Oh.” Choso gulps, “W-well I made sure my little brothers won’t be watching this season- but for the erm…Tiktaks? For the Tiktak edits they’re sure to get, could you make sure you get my good side, please?”
A producer asks, “And just for your brothers- if you could say something to them now, what would you say?”
And he gets a slightly determined smile upon his pretty, pretty face. “Your big brother’s going to win.”
.
.
.
“So…bachelors, as you may know, this week’s Rose Ceremony is going to be like no other- because tonight we’re introducing the infamous golden rose—” A hush falls over the set. The host turns and blinds you and the lined-up contestants with his smile - one of those contestants being your future husband, perhaps.
You’re nodding back at him with a confidence you hoped your expression falsified.
And he turns back to the camera, “Tonight, whoever you choose to hand the golden rose to-” An impression rose just like the others before it, only this time it’d been sprayed gold and held a weight far heavier than just the paint. “-is who you’re going to be going on a three-day romantic getaway, with a honeymoon suite to boot—! No cameras.”
Twisting the rose nervously in your hands, your mind still whirled with names. So many handsome men. So many eligible bachelors- fuck, how were you ever going to choose?
“But…there’s a catch.”
12 contestants - and you - snap their heads over to the slyly beaming host.
He claps his hands in satisfaction, “You won’t be the one choosing your getaway partner.” Your jaw drops- and the host continues into the greedy lens—“It’ll be all of the world that’s been voting, day in and day out, throughout this week to pair up just who they want to see more of. Just who they think will be the perfect match for you…”
“Oh goodness.” You feel something - excitement, anticipation, fear - shoot through your blood vessels.
And looking straight at you, the host pulls out a glossy envelope from his suit jacket. You’re eyeing it as though it was a ticking bomb - and he merely waffles at the camera some more. “And our viewers have chosen: your romantic companion, your getaway partner, the man you’ll be sharing a bed with is—” The words hang in the air for a few more seconds, perhaps minutes, perhaps what feels like hours. “Choso Kamo.”
.
.
.
“Shit…” Choso’s jaw drops, pupils turned into the cutest lil’ hearts and peering right up at you—as you lower yourself down onto him.
His sensitive, twitching shaft disappears between your pussylips, and one hand of his immediately darts upwards to clasp at the side of your waist. Even just touching you like this…fuck, it sends bursts of electricity shooting from the tips of his fingers and up to his frazzled brain- then right back down again to his rock-hard cock.
He doesn’t think he’s been harder in his entire life.
Choso’s letting out a rugged moan as he fits inside your dripping wet cunt with a sluuuuurp! Pretty brown eyes rolling to the back of his skull- he’s shocked once he flutters them open to find that you’ve leaned yourself closer to him.
“O-oh, god…” Words barely a whisper.
One of your hands softly cupping the side of his face, “Something wrong, baby? Would you like to stop?”
“No.” The answer explodes out of him faster than he can control, and before you can register it - before he himself can register it - Choso’s quickly pressing both hands deeper against your hips to keep you from leaving. Even though there didn’t seem to be any immediate urgency of that- he doesn’t let up for a single second.
Digging his nails into your flesh- he’ll apologize for that later. Planting his feet on the soft mattress.
He slams you down to pin that hot, wet cunt of yours against his pelvis - until your clit caresses his happy trail—such a primal scratch down where you were most sensitive. And his body moves before his damn mind as Choso’s swabbin’ his cock inwards-
Not with any specific rhyme nor reason in mind.
Nothing but the primal urge to fill you up - to chase that heavenly squeeze of your walls. They’re spreadin’ apart juuuuust wide enough to gulp down his inches, and then when he’s reeling his hips back you’re clamping down until the man’s held hostage- gladly.
Shit- his lower lip trembles at the feeling. This was like nothing he’s ever felt before- and he hasn’t—
“You’re a virgin, Choso?” Your sweet, sweet hum breaks through the haze of his lust- just about the only thing he hears past the papping! of his hips arching up into yours.
And the man below you blinks up in confusion for a few seconds- long lashes dotted with tears. Before the smile upon your face makes him realize that his muddled brain - all your pussy’s fault - might have just said those last thoughts out loud…
You’re coming to the same realization he is. And you’re cooing down at him- pushing aside the sweat-dampened curls of his bangs. “Awww, pussydrunk already, baby?”
“M-mhm…” He’s nodding languidly.
“Tha’s alright.” You tut, “You’re doing so well for your first time- oh.”
Almost as if jinxing it - though that really wasn’t your fault, he was barely holding himself together as is - he throws his head back n’ lets his aching cockhead dribble out a few wads of…cum. Just from that. Just a few ivory beads of sap that glue to the veeeeery back of your pussy, making Choso lose his mind every time he’s gliding down your cervix and feeling his mess splosh ‘round inside you.
A singular line of cum leaks out of you, and Choso shivers as he catches it. “S-sorry, baby, I didn’t mean to-”
“Nothing to apologize about.” You’re cutting him off with a smile, meeting his thrusts by grinding your cunt down to meet his cock. “You’re still doing so well, baby…fuck, look how much you’re cumming.” And with that said- Choso thinks he sees the pearly gates themselves open up once you’re spreadin’ aside your thighs—just the slightest bit.
But Choso Kamo takes one look between your naked, shivering legs and moans.
Your pussy was just drenched in his cum - absolutely drenched. He hadn’t even recognized that he’d been cumming so much until he’s taking a peek, and he’s watching a few velvety ribbons of seed run down either side of your legs - creating a sheen that smears n’ spreads the more you’re meeting his cadence with your own. Skin against skin.
He’s letting out a ruined whimper—and you’re pushing down on his chiselled chest with a snicker. “See that, baby? You’ve been- hah, holding back for so long.” Even the slightest sound of your voice is enough to make his overstimulated cock spark with pleasure- he’s sure he empties out a few more droplets of cum. “How long have you been wanting to fuck me?”
Choso startles- eyes darting up to meet your expression. Damn that smile of yours. “I-I don’t know what you’re…”
“Oh, c’mon—” Teasing him. Putting pressure on his toned body, you’re now fully letting him recline- it was just so fun how much in awe Choso was…especially when you’re taking control instead.
Almost as if he was being thrown further and further into dreamland with every sloppy drag of your cunt - swallowing him up from his round, blushin’ tip and aaaaall the way to his hilt. His heavy balls, tightening as though he wanted to cum again. “With the way you’re grabbing me? With the way you’re- hah, rutting up to me?” Shoving between his pecs once more—“Down, boy.”
He whimpers.
“How long have you been wanting to fuck me, Cho?” Your lips twitch with amusement- he looks torn between sobbing in pleasure and sobbing in embarrassment. “It’s alright…I won’t judge-”
“Always—” Choso finally echoes out with a sudden squeeze of your velvety pussylips.
Practically wrenching the answer out of him- he laughs out something hollow at the back of his throat. “I’ve a-always wanted to…ngh.” The pointed edge of his tip draaaaags down your cervix, and he’s shivering as he recognizes just where your womb was. If only he could…“Ever since I first met you, I-I’m ashamed to admit but I’ve always wanted to stuff myself between those gorgeous legs.”
You’re giggling scandalously at his admission.
But Choso wasn’t done just yet-
Soon enough, he’s using the firm hold upon your hips to increase n’ increase his pace. Grabbing you firmly and burrowing his cum-soaked tip deeply between your folds- “I’ve wanted to know what she’d feel like wrapped around my cock.” Almost on cue, he’s throbbing between your legs- even harder. “Wanted to know how she tasted-”
“Don’t tell me you’re…”
And without a second thought, one hand lifts off your body - for the briefest split-second - to swipe at your sopping slit. Catching a few droplets of your mess and bringing it up to his lips to suck.
He moans at the taste of you, “Wanted to know how she’d take me. Wanted to feel her get stuffed-” Choso grumbles, and you’re vying to catch up with his needy pace - utterly needy. “Wanted to fill her up so much that every other man afterwards w-would be able to feel me…”
And then he’s trailing off, a harsh blush flooding his pretty features.
“B-but that’s just stupid-”
“Why’s that stupid?” He looks up at you in shock- only to find that you’re already beaming. “How would you know if you don’t try? Heh.”
“I think m’gonna cum again.”
♡ RYOMEN SUKUNA - BOMBSHELL!
“These losers aren’t going to know what fuckin’ hit them.” Sukuna scoffs, crossing those beefy arms in front of him. Unlike the introductions for the other contestants, he had…his t-shirt off. For what reason, you might ask?
Well, you’d go unanswered.
Even the producers were unsure just what had compelled their latest bombshell to display his chiselled front. But that didn’t stop them from keeping the cameras rolling- already knowing that audiences were going to go wild for the pink-haired, foul-mouthed addition to your roster. “Name’s Ryomen Sukuna- remember that. Age doesn’t matter. Occupation’s professional MMA fighter.”
He gestures to those scarred ears of his, as most fighters don like medals.
Behind him, there’s cues for footage of his uproarious and successful MMA career - particularly one clip of him winning the title of UFC light heavyweight champion last year - to be added in post-production. And he cocks his head to the side with a chuckle, “Best know that I’ve never lost a match before- and I don’t plan to change that anytime soon. I bet those losers at the mansion- and my pretty lady are going to be damn excited to see me.”
There’s a cue card for him to talk about his hobbies.
“Haaah…” All that boring shit- he wonders who gets off to small-talk on a show like this. “Boxing. Lifting. Meditation. Cardio- many different types of it.”
One producer pipes up, “And why that part about remembering your name, Sukuna-san? Could you clarify that for the viewers?”
“Heh-” Sukuna leers something sinful, crimson eyes flickering over to the small screen of your own footage. It was some B-roll of your own introduction interview, muted for the moment yet he thinks he could almost hear your soft chuckle in his ears- playing on repeat over and fucking over. “Because my future wife’s gonna be moaning it soon enough.”
Someone drops a boom pole.
There’s a cut in filming called out. He knows they won’t be editing that out.
.
.
.
“H-haaaah, now that’s just unfair.”
Toes curling. Your back arching deeply into Sukuna’s sculptured front- it was almost Herculean how he flexed and tensed his abs to show off…particularly when it came to ramming his hips up into yours. Out of all of the contestants, Sukuna was the only one to put you in a full nelson.
“Heh- what’s unfair?” Sukuna’s deep trundle makes your body erupt in shivers- the smugness was practically seeping into every syllable. “Isn’t the bombshell supposed to mess up this pussy- whoops, I mean…season?”
“You’re messing up nothing but my peace that’s for sure…” You’re grumbling back at him - slightly nervous to meet his crimson eyes.
Though you’d have been foolish to think that the MMA fighter wouldn’t catch that- he’s grasping the edge of your chin with a single hand. Tugging your face behind to look at him. All of it in just a few seconds. And Sukuna raises one pink brow as he smirks, “Look me in the eyes when you’re saying something like that, brat.”
“Y-you’re messing up nothing but my peace—” You’re just barely managing to stammer out - Sukuna was savage with his thrusts. And they’re only seeming to grow even faster as you’re answering, as though he wanted to see you struggle n’ choke around his thick cock.
Around that pierced head of his.
The frigidness of his metallic Prince Albert runs down the sides of your walls - and he’s purposefully stopping right before where your g-spot was pulsing. “That’s not what this cunt’s telling me.”
And without any warning, he’s reaching one hand down and smacking! the swollen top of your pussylips.
“Isn’t that right, my pretty girlie?”
Not talking to you—he’s talking to your cunt now.
Dragging the fatness of his thumb - that greedy edge - vertically down your sopping slit. He collects the wetness that leaks out of you, “My wet girlie—yer a lot more honest than this one here, hm?”
You shiver as he slams his rugged palm down on your cunt once more.
How’d you even get here?
Right now, the contestants had been weaned and weeded out until only your very favorites had remained…and then there was Sukuna. It was just today that the bombshell MMA fighter had been introduced to the mansion, and for the short amount of time he’d gotten here- he’d already started seven fights, triggered an emergency meeting, and had enough time to whisk you away on a one-on-one date that had ultimately ended up like…this.
Your legs hooked behind your head. Your back arching against the mattress of your beach cabin—the waves rolled softly outside.
The only thing separating you from it were the semi-sheer curtains of the cabin, swaying softly in the balmy breeze. What a romantic date the producers had set up- for an utterly unromantic man.
Or so he was fucking you like it.
Thank goodness you’d left the cameras behind, though your glaring disappearance was nothing if not scandalous. There goes your reputation…you ponder. This might’ve been the fastest that you’ve gotten into bed with any one of them. And you know he’s bad news, you know you shouldn’t like him so much- you know that out of all those eligible bachelors, Sukuna was going to be the most dangerous for your heart (and between those legs of yours).
But you just couldn’t help yourself.
You’re leaning your head back against his firm collarbones- mewls falling from your lips at an incredible rate.
Sukuna’s veering his hips back and rub-rub-rubbing his flared tip around the area of your g-spot—but never directly upon it. Frustration makes your brows furrow, and you’re just about to bounce your hips down when-
“Ah ah—now what do you think you’re trying to do, woman?”
Just then you’re being pinned right back down with a sudden thwack! of his fingertips. Hard and fast. They’re lingering over your pussylips for just a few seconds, before reachin’ in-between and pinching your cute nub.
And as you’re shaking in his arms - “Did ya think that after so much back-talk you’d suddenly get to play nice?” Sukuna titters to himself, mean lips pressed up against your temple—it would’ve been a sweet gesture…but this was Sukuna you’re dealing with. “Ryomen Sukuna never plays nice.”
“P-please—” Had this been any other time, then you might’ve been embarrassed by just how much he managed to shatter you with his fast, hard-hitting strokes.
Your thighs are flapping lewdly open, and he’s teasin’ your clit even harder with his fingers. Though he still narrowly manages to avoid your damn g-spot—“Wh-what do I have to do to- ngh, get you to hit that spot?”
He acts confused, “What spot?”
“That spot-”
“Hah? I don’t know any spots-”
“H-here…” Rounding your hips down - in something that halfway-resembled a figure-eight. It’s the closest you’re getting to Sukuna grazing your g-spot: the lightest touch of his crowned, throbbing tip. Swollen enough to stretch apart your walls like none other. He’s barely slipping past that orifice with his vein-covered shaft, and it’s already enough to make you moan—
“And who said you deserve that, brat?”
Crossly, “Me- I said that.”
He laughs deeply in disbelief, “Hear that, pussy?” Slapping that cunt of yours once more, “The audacity- it doesn’t matter if I wasn’t the one ta say you deserve this. After all, who does this pussy really belong to?”
Starting to babble out some answer-
Before yet another spankin’ leaves your folds feeling raw - and your eardrums echoing with the dampened noise once more.
It’s all the answer that Sukuna needs.
He nods as though he’s just been handed the answers to the universe, “See- see—did ya hear what she said?” This time, he’s asking you. And you’re barely given the opportunity to answer between his roughened thrusts, “She said that she’s really mine. She’s always- hah, been mine.”
You’re shivering, “A-always…”
“And she wants you to beg for your orgasm.”
That being said, Sukuna reaches down and clasps your neck with his thick digits. Choking you- choking your moans, he’s wrenching such primal noises out of you through the combination of the pressure on your airway, and the pressure between your legs.
Shovelling his thiiiick cock over and over-
“C’mon, my spoiled brat—” Sukuna chuckles, “Beg-” Between thorough thwacks! of his rotund cockhead hitting your cervix. You always have said that Sukuna was so big it feels as though he had two cocks…“Beg, girl, beg—”
“P-please.”
“Tch, you can do better than that.”
The only thing you’re left to do - after so many battering rams of him bottoming out - is to meet his gaze with your teary one. Your bottom lip trembling with sobs, “Please, hit my g-spot.”
“What was that?” He leans in. Smile utterly mocking.
And though your stomach churns, you can do nothing but repeat, “P-please hit my g-spot…please let me cum.” At the very least, now he was letting you swerve your hips back into his - “Please make my- your…pussy feel good.”
And it’s that last sentence that deals the final blow.
“Damn right.”
Because in the next breath you take, Sukuna arcs his pelvis deeply and thuds his drippin’ wet cockhead against your g-spot. Just the slightest push. Just the smallest pressure. And yet, it’s still enough for you to throw your head back and cum—
“Fuh-fuck…” It takes you by surprise - sure, you’d been feeling a few zaps n’ whips of something at the pit of your stomach, but you didn’t expect for Sukuna to actually make you cum so easily. It almost leaves you shy.
For he levers his thick cock backwards, balls twitching eagerly once he pushes his entire length inside. Inside and inside. Fucking you through every single wave - Sukuna’s cold piercing targets your g-spot exactly at the moments where you felt the dopamine in your body surge, and the stark contrast in temperature is only making you even dizzier.
Even needier to feel him.
And he certainly wasn’t leaving you wanting for long- soon enough, Sukuna’s poundin’ away at your sweetest spots so hard that it stings both your slamming skin. His was red and swelling with the print of your hips on his hips.
Yours were barely able to keep up-
Just as you feel the hot flashes of your high bate, Sukuna’s pulling you close and whispering—“Knew that hadn’t changed…” And he’s gesturing to the way you’d - in the heat of your moment - intertwined your fingers with his. Without you even realizing. “Heh, those losers are going to be so pissed when they find out.”
When they find out what you and the producers already know…That Ryomen Sukuna was your ex-boyfriend.
♡ INO TAKUMA - Group date.
“My name is Ino Takuma, I’m 23.” Ino’s pushing back his dark-colored beanie, exposing tufts of cute caramel hair- “And I’m a professional skater.”
“Professional skater?” A producer urges him, “Tell the audience more.”
“W-well, I’ve been skating for a while now, and…” The sheer amount of focus being put on him makes him blush, fingers fighting the urge to pull down his beanie - entirely over his face - once more. Goddammit—Ino watches every season of this show, he can’t deny - trash television was his thing. Saturday nights with a facemask on, phone turned off, volume turned up. So when one drunken night out with his friends meant that he ended up applying for it…he didn’t think he’d actually get in.
It’d been like navigating through thick fog- so many cameras, and boom poles, and acting suave (somewhat) for his introduction footage. It almost made him dizzy. “You might have seen me ‘round in a few competitions…some competitions…the Olympics…”
“The Olympics-”
“Yeah.” He fiddles with the hemline of his beanie awkwardly.
“And did you win a medal, Ino-kun?”
Ino smiles because he knows that it’d been plastered across every headline and sports magazine - there’s no need for him to clarify. Though he does it for the clicks anyways, “I did. First place.”
Excited whispers spread around the studio.
The skater shuffles once more beneath those harsh white lights- this time more out of embarrassment than anything. The cameras roll eagerly, following every movement, and a producer probes at his silence—“And does this mean you’ll be aiming for first place to win her heart, too?”
He chuckles nervously, “I won’t be aiming for it.” Scratching behind his neck, he cocks his head up and catches sight of the B-roll footage they were playing of you on one screen. “I’ll be first.”
.
.
.
Okay, so maybe his introduction was a little overconfident…but wasn’t everyone’s?
Ino Takuma has watched many a dating shows in his twenty-something years, alright; which means he’s gotten used to the pompous one-liners, the nonchalance that everyone attempts to show, the self-assurance—he’s just never wondered what happens when that self-assurance simply…doesn’t produce results.
Which- alright, alright…that’s not to say that he hasn’t produced any results.
As more and more of the contestants dwindled away, Ino still found himself (somehow mercifully) still on the show. And he’s had a handful of good conversations with you, along with a few bonding moments.
It’s just- how come that long-haired masseuse managed to get you into his arms - and on his cock…he’s ashamed to admit he actually saw when he’d walked in on the two of you - all on this show?! Ino didn’t even know that sort of thing was allowed here…
And he feels foolish admitting it but he’s grown to really, really care about you. So thinking about you with some other guy like that pink-haired bombshell or the CEO or whatever—it was starting to make him tick.
Which is why he’s jumping to drag you away from the others at the next group date.
This time, the producers had arranged an indoor skating park date, perhaps to make up for the fact that he hasn’t gotten a one-on-one date yet.
And as you’re a little wobbly on that new board, Ino’s using his expertise to teach you, to hold your hand, to gently direct you around the park—and eventually let you direct him out of sight of the cameras.
Soon enough, you’re pushing him against the wall of the restroom on-site - vast and clean, and spacious enough for you to push him into one of the stalls. “I’ve seen the way you’ve been eyeing me.” Leaning up on your tip-toes to whisper in his ear, “We’ve gotta be quick, though.”
He thinks those might just be the best words he’s ever heard.
You’re turning around and placing both palms on one plastic wall of the stall. Panties in your pocket. Smirk something delicious.
And it takes just a few sloppy strokes between those pretty cunt lips of yours for Ino to become utterly gone—
He’s pussydrunk already.
Mahogany eyes criss-crossing. Weakening in the knees.
The skater holds onto either side of your hips as though to guide the way you’re fuckin’ back into him- but really he’s gripping onto you for dear life. To stop himself from collapsing onto his knees on this damn washroom floor. To stop himself from making a complete and utter fool of himself - the curve of your hips is the lifeline he can’t let go of.
And yet another wretched moan leaves this throat when you’re veering your hips down to his base and clenching-
“Taku, baby…” Your giggle comes out unfiltered, harmonizing with the sinful sound he’s just let out. “You’ve got to be quiet, otherwise they’re going to find us- cameras and all.”
He lets out a slight whimper at the thought, “I w-wouldn’t want you to be exposed because of me like that.”
“Mhm—” Just as soon as Ino’s agreeing to be quiet- you’re gently suctioning your cunt down until his hilt - coating your gooey slick along all his inches - and he’s letting out a euphoric noise. Even louder than before. And you’re just looking over your shoulder with a grin, “Now, what did I say about being quiet, Taku?”
Sounding as though he was on the verge of tears, “I-I can’t help myself, sweetness.” Tone husky. Octaves higher. His poor hips stutter out a singular thrust, and even that seems too much for the skater boy to handle- he reaches up to tug down his beanie. “It just feels so good…maybe m’just not deserving of your cunt- ngh.”
“Awww, don’t say that, baby.”
With a resounding squelch! you’re letting Ino pull out - and instead of telling him to tuck himself back into his pants, as he might’ve expected, you’re gesturing for him to seat himself down on the closed, clean toilet.
Straddling his slender hips and kissin’ his blushing tip to your entrance.
It doesn’t take long for you to siiiiiink yourself down onto him—he might not have been the thickest, but Ino was a length that you swear you could feel at your very throat. And he was actually the perfect girthiness to stretch apart your walls enough that tears prick behind your eyelids- but still smooth n’ slim enough for you to immediately start up an urgent pace. Quick.
Up and down. Up and down.
Ino’s shaft had a particularly prominent vein going down his middle that made you shiver - it was in the perfect position to massage your puckered, pulsing g-spot. You could feel the squiggly line of it practically emblazon against your wet walls.
Your hamstrings keening at the stretch - and Ino was, too.
At least…until you’re tugging out the damp panties you’d kept in your pocket this entire time. And the next moment that Ino’s letting his maw ajar with a sudden moan- you’re quickly stuffin’ his mouth full with the lacy fabric.
Smirking, “See? Isn’t that a lot better, Taku?”
First, Ino’s eyes go wide—then he’s blushing as he registers just what you’d put in his mouth. Then he’s letting those dilated pupils roll aaaaall the way to the back of his head at the feeling of your cunt lavishing out looooong, luxurious thrusts. Squeezed tight around his cock.
He throbs even harder inside of you, “Mmmpf- ngh—sh-sho…can’t even-” Muffled.
“Shhh, you don’t have to say a thing.” You’re reassuring him, pushing back his beanie- there. Those chocolate-brown eyes of his were so pretty. You’re witnessing him tear up - and you weren’t sure whether that was because of the sudden blockage in his airway, or because it just felt so good—you had a sneaking suspicion that it was the latter. “Just be good f’me and fuck up to me, okay?”
“M-mhm.” He’s nodding obediently.
Because it might’ve been him teaching you how to skate out there- but in here…he was all yours.
He was at your beck and call. At the mercy of your bounces-
You’re telling him to go easier on your poor cervix - and though it takes every single shred of will within him to do so - he’s listening to you without fuss. You’re telling him to speed up, and he’s gladly bashin’ away his eager cock inside of you until the skin of his pelvis feels raw…
You’re telling him that someone might be inside the bathroom, too, and he’s too gone on your pussy to even compute—
“Taku.” Stern tone. Serious eyes- despite the fact that your pussy wasn’t letting up for a single second. You’re grabbing directly by the throat - something his cock twitches at - and bringing him up to face you. “Someone’s in here, okay?”
He feels goosebumps go down his spine, “Mmmps- schtawp?”
You giggle, “No…no, we don’t need to stop.” And perhaps in the next few seconds you’d suggest that you two should slow down, instead. Perhaps you’d suggest cockwarming until whoever was inside (and Ino could hear the other person’s voice as they splashed water on their face) left.
But instead you’re merely leaning in- grasping one of his strong arms and guiding it beneath you. You’re directing Ino to cup his fattened base, “This way it’ll be quieter.” Whispering to him, “In fact—how about we see just how quiet you can get, huh?”
And his maw unhinges - drool dripping down each side - and those gorgeous eyes of his nearly bulge out of their skull.
“Of course this bombshell’s gonna blow this whole season up-” Gojo didn’t need to try to make everyone opposite the camera faun - it was practically what he was made for.
One of the tallest in the show. One of the flashiest.
One of the most famous - there wasn’t a soul who’d walked past the billboards in Tokyo that hadn’t already seen Gojo Satoru’s dazzling smile, or peaked traitorously at a blown-up picture of his abs on numerous billboards.
Brands were practically clawing for him—just as much as the ladies and gents were. But that’s exactly why he was here - wouldn’t it be fun to be the chaser for once? Besides, his agent had told him that if he behaved himself, then he might just end up boosting his career to heights never seen before. This season had been a hit so far- but of course, what was a hit without Gojo Satoru?
Pretending to flip his hair over one shoulder, Gojo’s posing with all the best angles for the lens. “I mean- no offense, but have you seen me?”
And on anyone, such confidence would have been seen as a turn-off, a red flag, perhaps even compensation for something lacking. No one should be this confident.
Except Gojo Satoru, of course.
And he smiles like he knows it- rows of pearly white teeth flashin’ in the direction of the camera. “Oh, I guess I really should introduce myself, huh?” He sighs, “I’m Toru, I’m 28. And I’m the man of your dreams~!”
A producer whispers something to him.
“I’m also a model.” Gojo adds, “High-fashion. Editorial. Digimon ads- you name it. I don’t consider myself a romantic, nor someone that really needs love but…” His eyes drift to the B-roll footage they were playing of you on some small screen in the back, getting the contestants more familiar before they actually joined you in the mansion. “-who knows? Maybe things can change.”
Dimples pop out when he smiles.
No one should be this handsome.
He winks.
Except Gojo Satoru, of course.
.
.
.
Gojo Satoru was sent to the mansion to wreak havoc.
And wreak havoc, he did.
In the four hours and forty-five minutes that he’d been here, he’d interrupted your rose ceremony and thrown out the rose that you’d been about to give poor Usami—and taken it for himself. Not a shred of apology, he’d tucked it straight into his button-up pocket and winked at you.
Leaving the other man to whirl around at the producers that simply shrugged. Who was to say what Gojo Satoru did?
And you can’t deny it…that charm of his was irresistible.
You were sure that the viewers were loving this- in even less time, he’d picked a fight with Sukuna because of the long-standing rivalry between the two - something the producers had likely known just to stir the pot even more. According to what the skater boy had whispered in your ear, it was because the two had been battling it out for the title of TC Candler’s #1 Most Handsome Man for the last few years now.
One year it’d be Sukuna. Next it’d be Gojo.
The next they’d get absolutely washed by Zayn Malik and would have to lick their wounds and battle it out over second place.
It all left you a little dizzy, if you’re being honest.
And sure enough- after a hectic few hours of introduction between the new bombshell and the rest of the contestants - during which you’d seen more fists flying than small talk - Gojo finally managed to pull you away for a chit-chat.
He stuck his tongue out at the other men as he dragged you by hand, pulling you into the cosy gazebo outside—the one with the creeping vines up its pillars, and shutters for if you wanted privacy. Speaking of, it gave you way…way too much privacy…
And soon enough he’s pulling you into his arms, you’re crashing your lips into his in a searing kiss.
Having kicked the camera men outside, they could only see just the faintest shadows of the two of you inside - before Gojo’s dragging you down to the fucking floor like an animal—helping you tear through your panties n’ sticking his fat cock inside.
The crown of his reddened tip was burning hot, streaming out precum that sticks to your inner thighs in heavenly layers- he’s sucking in a breath as he fits his first inch inside. “Oh.” Maw dropping breathlessly - you think that perhaps for the first time in his twenty-eight years, Gojo Satoru shuts himself up. Low. “Oh.”
Clammy head falling to the crook of your neck. White bangs sticking against the side of your throat.
He lets out a sensual few groans that seem to almost cling onto your skin - just like how his muscular body was right now. Long limbs nearly collapsing on top of you as Gojo’s stutterin’ his gleaming shaft inside a few more inches—“Oh- ohhhh, fuck. Do you h-hear that?” Voice cracking towards the end of that sentence.
“Hear what?” Your brows furrow.
And Gojo’s snowy brows knit even deeper - more confused than you by what you seemingly couldn’t hear—how could you not hear it? “You- you seriously don’t…?” And those toned hips of his reel a few inches backwards, draggin’ the zig-zagging lines of his veins along your tightened channel- ever-so-slightly before thundering back in. “Hear it- now?” He asks, strangely out-of-breath. The pupils in his ice-blue eyes blown wide. The breaths emanating deeply from his chest.
Though his sheer desperation only leaves you more confused, “I…”
“You s-still don’t hear it—?”
As if he’s trying to prove his point, he’s grabbing ahold of one side of your hips- the manicured nails upon his left hand digging into your clammy flesh. Thrusts growing more emboldened. Gojo’s connecting his body with yours until he doesn’t know where his starts and yours ends—gripping onto every inch of you like adhesive coats your body.
His eyes lazily fail at keeping shut every time you’re clampin’ your tight pussy around him. A thin trickle of perspiration lines the side of his face, and once he’s finally able to veer his gaze to meet yours- you’re swearing that it’s as though his pupils have suddenly turned into hearts.
Something dazed and drunken in his gaze, “Can you…”
Barely able to finish his thought let alone his sentence.
“The only thing m’hearing right now is that you’re- fuck-” Gasping between the roughening and roughening rams of his hips—he pistons his swollen cock inside until your walls are bulging at the size of him. Swerving n’ swerving it into every single sweet spot inside you.
Almost as though Gojo didn’t even need to try - he’s discovering your g-spot after only a few more determined strokes. And just the sheer force of him pinpointing that cute lil’ bundle of nerves - whacking it - makes your thighs squeeeeeze around his waist. It makes your pussylips get crushed together under the sheer pressure of movement, letting out an audible squelch!
“That.”
Blinking through your tears, “What?”
“That-”
Gojo’s so excited that he’s running out of breath - almost as if he’d just run an entire marathon, and would run at least five more just to experience this again.
His red-hot tip smears aside your walls, scouring your insides like a hidden maze. You feel the exact moment that he’s bottoming out his long, entire length at the very back of your cunt—“There…” A thin ribbon of drool glides down the side of Gojo’s mouth, tone almost in tears.
He flinches-
The raw softness of your womb- it was almost too much. Gojo reaches his right hand down to spreeead open your pretty pussylips, opening you up like lotus petals for him, then rolling his thumb down on your neglected clit.
You’re moaning at the sparks of carnal pleasure wracking through you - and Gojo himself grins at the music: your gorgeous noises, the sound of the night, the way your cunt’s lettin’ out the most lecherous squelches as he eases his cock in and out.
“There- right then.” Gojo finally - finally - husks out after one particularly loud slurp! Looking up at him, only to feel a jolt go through you at something primal shifting beneath his gaze. “Can you hear her say my name?”
“Her…?” Dazedly asking, “Do you mean me—?”
“No.” Gojo stubbornly answers, “I mean her-”
And before you know it, he’s honing out a few more strikes at your poor g-spot. Until you were sure it’s bruised enough with the round circumference of his length - hard and fast.
It’s enough to make you bellow out a few more hoarse noises—before Gojo himself is letting go of your waist to clasp his slender fingers around your neck. The cold sensation of them sending thrills down your spine, he’s teasingly tightening his hold as he bores deep into your eyes with his nearly-glowing ones.
“Shush, sweetheart.” Gojo admonishes softly, “Let me show you- hear her?” And it’s only after a few seconds you’re realizing that…her really meant your sopping wet pussy. Namely the lewd noises that you’re creating from it- just that wet. “Hear the way she’s whimpering? And mewling? And yowling?”
You yourself were struggling to get a single word out when he’s holding onto you like that. “Y-yes—”
“Well all that pretty noise is her…” He trails off, listening to a few more syllables of your pussy. “-screaming my name.”
Jaw dropping. “Your…”
“Mhm.”
Thin fingertips leaving marks.
He continues, “She’s been beggin’ for me to fuck her ever since- hah, ever since I got here.” And without a single warning, he’s toying with your clit and ultimately pinching it. “I know she’s been thinking about me—hah, shirtless. I know she’s been thinking about being under me, over me-” An almost wolfish expression taking over his face, “All on my face until I can’t breathe-”
“S-Satoru—!”
“Oh yeah, that’s exactly how your pussy’s saying it.”
You’re smacking Gojo’s bicep for that, and he merely chuckles.
“I’m just saying~” The motions of his thumb then start taking a more…interesting turn. And you have to tilt your head down to get a proper look at what he was doing - Gojo’s moving so fast that his digits were nearly nothing but frenzied, feverish blur between your legs. “That’s exactly…”
He himself couldn’t keep up.
Just too enraptured by the swervin’ and swoopin’ movements—the way his fingers had to quirk just right when he’s spelling out a repeated S-A-T-O-R-U.
S-A-T-O-R-U.
S-A-T-O-R-U.
S-A-T-O-R-U.
Both in Japanese and English.
Looking up at you through his curtained white bangs, “What’s that spell—?”
“Satoru—” It would’ve tumbled out of your mouth regardless of whether he asked or not, and you’re sure he knows.
“Exactly.” He responds.
You look on in gaped speechlessness as he flashes you that award-winning grin. The last thing you’re seeing before your high floods you in bursts- nothing like the torrential waves of dopamine, or the hills or relaxation that’d pass by you during your other highs.
This one was taking you over.
This one was zapping every atom of your being and leaving it charged.
“Sh-shit, Toru—” Hiccuping, your nails drag red, red lines down the plane of his shoulders. They’re standing out stark, and you’re hit with the strange feeling that he’d be the type to show them off during his next photoshoot - “It feels so good, Toru-”
“Heh, you’re welcome.”
Babbling out stupidly- the way he elongated every single peak left your mind heated. “Y-you could at least pretend to have some humility.”
“Humility? Don’t know her.” He winks, “You’re my only gal, sweetheart.”
Grumbling, “I better be…”
“Now why’d you hafta go and say something so cute…” You’re still seeing white from the pure shockwaves of your high- “Because that’s only gonna make me cum.” When Gojo himself throws his head back and cums inside. Loooooong and deep slashes at the back of your cunt, he draws numerous lines of white that dribble all the way down your channel then.
Ending up frothed between your shiverin’ legs.
The glistening layers of it smear n’ make your entangled bodies slip.
Jostling you even further, making you feel the splashin’ of his clingy sap inside you. More and more. More and more and more—no matter how many wads Gojo’s fucking inside- he just can’t seem to get enough of you—
“Because no one else can fuck you like Gojo Satoru can.”
Just the seven previous men and this bombshell left in the mansion.
Who would you even pick at this rate?
♡ HIGURUMA HIROMI - One-on-one.
“My name is Higuruma Hiromi, I’m 33.” Deep voice. Deeper eyes. There was a certain handsomeness to Higuruma that made it hard to look away - perhaps it was the dark features - that nose, the intelligent twinkle behind his eyes.
Perhaps it was the fact that he was dressed to the nines in his smart, black suit.
Or perhaps it was that air of confidence around him - nothing of the outward flashiness that most of the other contestants boasted. Something quieter. Something that had the edges of his pouty lips quirking, as though he already knows he’s won this season…he just won’t admit it yet.
For the viewers’ experience, of course.
He cocks his head slightly to the side and sighs, “I’m an attorney at my own law firm. I enjoy long baths and even longer debates, I’m looking for someone that can indulge me in both of these things.”
“And why are you here, Higuruma-san?”
“Because some interns of mine thought that it’d be funny to sign me up.” He chuckles softly to himself, “They’re mad- of course, perhaps I’m more mad to actually be here.”
“In the long run, Higuruma-san?”
“Ah…” He takes the time to think, eyes drifting over to the screen replaying footage of you - he’s already heard some of the other men gossiping amongst themselves in the waiting room about just how beautiful you are. And he hates to admit it when someone’s right, but he can’t deny it—they were fucking right. “I guess I’m looking for my wife.”
His eyes never miss yours on the screen.
The producer probes once more, camera angles shifting to accommodate for his intense staring match. “And do you think that you’ll find that?”
“I think I already might have.”
.
.
.
The audience had been curious about the hotshot lawyer from Tokyo.
“H-Hiromi, I’m ngh- cumming again…”
And so had you.
It’s been a string of more one-on-one dates that the producers had arranged prior to the finale where you had to choose…your future husband. Fuck- at this point you were wondering whether you couldn’t just have them all. And though the dark-haired lawyer had made it this far, he hadn’t featured in too many of the episodes—that is, until a recent edit of his B-roll footage had gone absolutely viral online - quite to the distaste of one particular white-haired model.
Clips of him laid back in a bathtub - suit still on. Clips of him slamming his gavel down.
And so, of course, they’d rushed to bring the two of you together to raise viewership—lo and behold you found yourself sneaking off to the couples’ suite after a romantic spa date. Escaping all the cameras - shutting those hungry lenses behind the door - it didn’t take long for the man to corner you against the rose petal-covered bed and bend you into the meanest mating press that you’ve ever even heard of.
Though Higuruma might’ve seemed all cool and composed on the outside- he was drilling his rock-hard cock into you like a fucking madman.
Thick and throbbing. Thrust after thrust after thrust-
“Fuck—” He snarls something primal from the back of his throat, prominent Adam’s apple bobbing. Hoarse, sensual grunts leave him after every battering ram.
His skin was still damp from all the hours prior- when you’d been riding Higuruma’s face silly.
And even now, you could see the slight sheen of slick clinging onto his handsome features. Without thinking twice, you’re reaching up and swipin’ away some of the remnant excess, which immediately makes him snap his head down with a low trundle. “Fuck, don’t act so sweet, sugar.”
You huff, “M’not acting-”
Before you’re immediately getting cut off by the slam! of his round, reddened tip on your cervix. Barely reeling from the sheer pressure of it- before Higuruma reaches somewhere above your head - at the clothes that you’d discarded hours prior at the start of the night - and produces his favorite black tie.
You’re blinking up at him in slight confusion.
To which he doesn’t say much - he doesn’t say anything at all, really. Without a single word, Higuruma loops the soft silk of the tie around your wrists, and he’s tightening it into a knot that your muddled mind barely computes—tying you up.
It’s too late once you’re realizing- no matter how much you tug, you’re left unable to move. At your sultry mercy before the man - exactly how you wanted to be.
“S’not handcuffs, but it’ll have to do.” He mutters to himself.
“And why would you want me in handcuffs?”
“Because act sweet t’me one more time and you’ll be walking out of this suite pregnant, angel.” And you can’t believe it—the ever-eloquent Higuruma Hiromi was slurrin’ and babbling because of your cunt. “Why else?”
“O-oh…”
You snark back, “And what if I want that?”
“Well, you don’t deserve that.” He counters, “You’re a guilty girl.”
Squirming- he runs a long finger of his down the crevice of your pussylips. Just the very tip of it teasin’ in-between, uuuup and down, uuuup and down until you’re restless. And you can’t even do anything because of the ruthless restraints that he’d tied around your wrists.
“G-guilty for…?”
Higuruma doesn’t answer instantly.
He’s curling his dominant hand around the ribbons of fabric that were decorating your hands.
Cold fingers grazing your own- you’re just about wondering what Higuruma was about to do right then and there. But just then, he’s tightening his hold and draaaagging your body down.
As though you weighed nothing.
Higuruma’s hidden biceps bulge ever-so-slightly as he’s manhandling you down, down, down—onto his thickened cock. The silken bedsheets bunch up around your waist, and the bedsprings creak at the way you’re being thrown about like a ragdoll-
This rough angle makes his globular tip maze even deeper inside of you- burrowing a circular bruise at the very bottom of your pussy. And you’re gasping—you’d be clawing at Higuruma’s handsome back had it not been for this damn tie.
Almost as though sensing your desperation, the man looming before you huffs out in laughter. It fans your face in a scorching breeze - you think you can feel the smoke and need in his breath. The addiction to white-knuckling your cuffs and hauling you down after every thrust pushes you up, up, upwards- “Count one: seduction”
“S-seduction?” Your eyes damn-near bulge out of your skull.
“Count two: temptation of a working attorney.” He lists off. The slightest smile lifts up the edges of his lips, “Count three: temptation of a working judge.”
“You’re the-”
He sighs as though this was just another day in the court for him - though if this was the type of court he led, you’d be showing up for jury duty everyday. “Count four: perjury.”
“Perjury?” You gape, “When have I ever lied to the court?”
Higuruma cocks his head, “And when you told me you weren’t acting sweet?” That rounded tip of his lingers where your g-spot was, “I know how filthy you are, angel, no need to put on an act…”
“I—fuck, please…”
“Count five: greed.” Higuruma finally ends off, and you’re probing into his darkened eyes for clarification. “You seriously think you deserve to be fucked pregnant by me, sugar?”
“Y-yes…” You’re barely able to mumble out.
And he merely scoffs out a
And he scoffs out a slightly mean bout of laughter, as if he’d expected for you to say that. Oh, how he’d expected you to say that. But instead of responding to that directly, Higuruma’s openin’ up your sopping wet pussylips.
The hand between your legs bears your stuffed entrance for him to examine. Those intelligent eyes of his twinkle as he’s taking in the plushness of your swollen folds, the way your hole leaked even when stuffed to the brim with his fat cock - struggling to take him, yet still yearning for more. And most of all…he’s admiring the way your cute clit twitches- “Count one…” Higuruma announces with no warning—and even less of a warning is given before he’s planting a solid spank on your clit. “Guilty.” Even harder than he might’ve done with that gavel of his.
You’re surging up on the bed due to the sheer shockwaves coursing through you. “Fuck- fuck, you’re just-”
“Count two—”
“Shit-”
Barely giving you the time to compute before his hand comes slammin’ down once more. “Guilty.”
Tears stream down your cheeks, “Hiromi, I’m going to cum-”
“Count three-” And it wasn’t like he couldn’t hear you - he just refused to respond until his judicial duties were completed. Higuruma was a man of the law, after all. And surely it was that discipline that led him to spank your cunt two more times, “Guilty. Count four- guilty.”
Your thighs were shaking with your impeding high, “I-I’m seriously going to-”
“Count five-” The fifth, final punishment. “-guilty.”
And you’re crashing against the waves of your high - it feels as if you’re floating on air. On clouds. On the white-hot pleasure that Higuruma was fucking into you.
His pace doesn’t falter for a single second. The plush edge of his shaft probin’ into you in and in and in—Higuruma knows exactly which nerve-filled spots you wanted him to push. Exactly where they were. And he doesn’t do so immediately…but once he’s glissading his lengthy cock inside your cunt, he sure does press his pointed tip hard into wherever he can reach.
Not quite agonizingly teasing, but not quite giving your guilty self what you wanted.
Somewhere along the way, you’re feeling his gooey white sap fill you up as well. He lets out a choked-up groan as he floods the lining of your cervix- “Guilty…haaaaah, on all counts.” The sheer volume of him forms a little puddle there, “And I sentence you to…”
“Y-yes…?”
“Hmmm—” He pretends to think, though the lewd humor in his tone told you that Higuruma already knew. The full stop at the end of his duties- he thwacks! his palm down upon your cunt once more, “How about five more rounds? One for each count- hah.”
You’re letting your head fall to the side, where the curtains of the suite were just barely cracked to reveal pinkish-yellow lighting filtering inside. It was morning.
You weren’t making it out alive for the rest of the season.
So, viewers, who's getting the last rose as your husband?
TOJI
NANAMI
GETO
CHOSO
SUKUNA
INO
GOJO
HIGURUMA
Voting ended onApr 7
A/N. MAYHAPS have a special treat for whoever wins. Can you tell my best friend made me watch Single's Inferno with her-
Synopsis. Five times Fushiguro Megumi and his particularly determined elementary class attempt to matchmake the strong, surly divorced Fushiuro Toji with you—their pretty elementary school teacher. And the one time it doesn’t end in disaster.
(Or in other words; the one time Fushiguro Megumi might just become a big brother?!)
Pairing. Toji Fushiguro x Reader
Content. MDNI, fem!teacher!reader, DlLF!Toji, 5 + 1 things, crackfic tbh, Iike MAJORLY, brainrot, sigmas, Megs and co., faiIed matchmaking, Toji’s a YEARNER, but can’t pull, bake sales, cherry bIossoms, SO many references, kids Iearning bad words from Toji (smh), parent-teacher meetings, tension, oraI (m + f), he’s FÉRAL, manhandIing, spítting, p taIking, p sIapping, fíngering, cIit bíting, GRADING, somewhat roIepIay, he’s MEAN, he’s BIG, biiiig stretches, you grade HIM, cervíx smooching, sIight banter, cIit pinching, more p sIapping, sIight bréeding, mentions of kids, feeIing for himself, taIking you through it, creampíes, cúmpIay, stuffing you FULL, brief headIocks, implied marathons, getting together, happy endings, pet names, swéaring.
Word count. 15.4k
A/N. And shoutout to Megan THEEEEEE StaIIion for teaching me what rizz was mhm- aIso slightly inspired by my Unckuna fic here <3
FUSHIGURO MEGUMI’S (and co.) FIVE-STEP PLAN TO MATCHMAKE HIS FATHER AND HIS TEACHER—PHASE ONE: RIZZ.
“…and that’s the problem.”
Fushiguro Toji can’t believe this.
No matter how he looks at it—this is weird, right?
After all, no respectable single father would be hesitant to drop his son off at his elementary classroom- instead lingering by the wide, multi-colored building steps for a few seconds before finally entering like a lamb to the butcher’s. And even worse- no respectable single father would let himself be ruthlessly interrogated by his son over this fact.
And worst of all, reveal - after much intense probing by a nine-year-old - that this was all because…he happened to have…a stupid crush on one of the teachers.
“Which one?” Megumi looks up through jet-black bangs much like his, nose crinkling at the thought of his father having- eugh, feelings.
Toji sighs. “Don’t mean to push you into your emo phase early, kid, but…”
And then he glances beyond the little one’s frame.
Right. At. You.
The entrance to Tokyo Jujutsu Elementary opened up to the main hallway; with classrooms upon either side, and doorways spaced between walls that were kaleidoscopes of crafts and schoolbag hooks and polaroids of students over the years. If Toji looked hard enough then he’d even be able to find the polaroid where Megumi was flipping the camera off—he’d learned that one from him, see.
That was an awkward parent-teacher meeting.
But that was also the day he properly met you - beyond just the polite nod and hasty small talk at drop-off and pick-up.
With your adorable flowery apron on - courtesy of elementary school policy - and your lips trying very hard not to twitch up into a smile—very nicely telling Megumi that that wasn’t something good kids do.
Toji agreed then. He’d have agreed with anything you said.
“But you were the one that taught—”
He’d slapped his hand over Megumi’s mouth then.
You’d let a small laugh slip- and he was a goner.
After that meeting, Megumi may have lost something (iPad privileges for a whole month), but Toji gained something: this little ember of attraction that he couldn’t shake off no matter how much he tried. Every routine pick-up and drop-off, every bake sale, every little notification that lit up his phone—you typing into the parents’ groupchat about some announcement or the other. And though it’d never be anything too personal, his heart always thundered in his chest as he clicked those notifications open. Is it weird that he set a different tone for your notifications?
The harder he tried to ignore it, the further it kindled.
Until he evidently couldn’t even walk inside that damn building without feeling some part of him melt just a little…
Even now, his skin burns as he watches you.
Biting back a laugh as one of your students hugged their guardian goodbye- so hard that both adult and child topple over. And then you’re being grappled into the same embrace, which you’re letting yourself be tugged into—soon enough, three more of your students join in. One tucks a wildflower from the garden behind your ear.
Sunlight falls across your face as your head falls back in a laugh - and then you’re leaning forwards and grabbing all of those tiny bodies in a hug.
Toji can’t help but wonder whether you’d like to be embraced just the same. Toji can’t help but wonder whether you’d laugh just like that when you’re picked up and spun around, feet never touching the ground. Toji can’t help but wonder why the hell Itadori Yuji was pointing and laughing at him.
“Mr. Fushiguro’s dad, your face looks funny—!” He squeals. Loud enough for multiple parents to turn and look.
Toji grumbles something underneath his breath and straightens, like the respectable adult - the respectable adult - he is. Cool. Calm. Collected. Mature. “Oh yeah? And your hair looks funny, kid.”
Now those same parents were turning to him and glaring.
“What—?!” He gruffs out at them, hands raising in surrender. “He started it.”
Itadori turns to them and smiles an utterly precious, gap-toothed smile.
He tells himself that he’s imagining the way they seem to be pulling their kids away from him.
Itadori stops laughing and ruffles his own coral-pink locks. The boy had strong-armed himself to become one of Megumi’s best friends since their first day; and he always has made himself known as the chatterbox of the group. The sweetheart. The trouble-stirrer (one of them, at least). “My grandpa says it’s um- jeanetic. My father had pink hair, too.”
Toji raises a brow, “Oh?”
“Yeah! Did you know my uncle’s in prison?” The boy looks squarely up at him and beams. “He sets things on fire.”
“Same, bud.”
“I eat dirt.”
“…what the fuck.” Toji whispers underneath his breath- though it must’ve been loud enough for the keenest of eavesdroppers to listen, because before he knows it, a little boy with a face mask and the most atrocious bowl cut Toji’s seen in his life—pulls out a notebook from his backpack and starts furiously scribbling something down.
Assumably the profanity he’d just spoken.
Inumaki Toge, was it?
Now he’s the one stepping away from these damn kids.
But before he can get too far, Toji feels a tug on either arm—he looks to his right: Itadori.
Attempting to climb up his forearms and biceps like monkey bars.
He looks to his left: Kugisaki.
Looking knowingly between you and him.
“These partners stink of-”
“What was that?” Kugisaki asks.
“Nothing.” Toji quickly replies. And then there was the other one: Kugisaki Nobara was impossible to miss in a classroom. If not by her chattering that was just as loud as pink-haired Itadori’s, then by the red, rubber hammer that she seemed to be fond of, smashing it on top of people’s heads if they displeased her. He was just in the middle of wondering whether he could be successfully knocked out if she hit him hard enough when-
“Where…are you taking me?” He quickly narrows his eyes- just as soon as the little girl started pulling him by the hand. Towards your classroom. “Hey—”
“Oh, c’moooon.” She rolls her eyes in a manner that was far too expert for her age. “How is the male lead going to get the heroine if they don’t even talk?”
“I’m not the main character?”
Itadori - who had by now managed to perch atop his right shoulder like some parrot - whispers uncomfortably in his ear. “How’s the rizzler going to get the skibidi?”
Toji whirls to him- “Bless you?” The fuck…
Megumi follows and nods sagely. Deadpanning. “Dad’s not sigma enough for that.”
“Not you, too?!”
“Hi?”
The Earth had given way from underneath him. But in reality, it was just your voice breaking through the chaos of the elementary lobby—Itadori had begun gripping onto his shaggy, black bangs for balance now- and Toji was doing all he could to peak through the boy’s cutely chubby fingers.
A breath catching in his chest once he realizes that they’d walked him all the way over to you.
Apron on. Brows raised. A flower tucked prettily behind your ear. Standing right at the door to your vibrant classroom; you kept a hand on your mouth to stifle your obvious smile. Though nothing could hide the light in your eyes.
And before Toji’s given the opportunity to wax shitty poetics about it in his mind, you’re nodding at the boy latched onto Toji’s head. With a smile- “Down now, Yuji. What have I said about climbing people like monkey bars?”
He sighs and removes his hands covering Toji’s eyes, “To not climb people like monkey bars.”
“And what are you doing right now?”
“Climbing people like monkey bars.”
“Down, please.”
Yes, ma’am…Toji’s thinking to himself. Snap out of it, man.
It was like a miracle. Itadori Yuji - for however much of a sweetheart he was - was never the type to listen to authority so directly—you could tell the kid to not eat glue and he’d chug down the whole bottle. Toji knows. From experience.
But it’s as easy as butter that he’s sliding off the older man now- and soon enough, his small red shoes are hitting the floor. And he’s staring up at Toji with his scarred mouth gaped open.
In fact, everyone was.
“Um, Fushiguro-san? Is everything okay?” Your brows then pinch in concern.
Kugisaki slaps her forehead, and Megumi seems to sink deeper into his bangs. As quickly as the words are registering in his head—he’s shutting his mouth and faintly puffing his broad chest out. Making sure that you see the way his beefy biceps flex as he scratches behind his neck. “Yeah- yeah, everything’s alright. How about you?”
“Can’t complain.” You giggle. And when there doesn’t seem to be a follow-up question, he flexes even harder. “I see uh…you’ve been hitting the gym lately, Fushiguro-san.”
“Oh, me?” He has the audacity to look a little shocked. “That’s cute, doll. But I don’t hit the gym.”
“You must take steroids then.” Itadori pipes up gleefully. “My uncle takes them, too-”
“I’m all natural—”
As this subsides, you’re taking control of the chaos like the professional you are. “Alright, oh- look at the time!” Sweeping a glance behind you at the classroom clock, “We’re almost late for attendance and rehearsal time. Let’s get inside, kids.”
You start ushering some of them inside- and Toji squirms as those balls of energy rush past him. Evidently you were preoccupied with them, but you have enough time to look up at the older man and flash him a smile-
“And I’ll see you at pick-up then?”
Faintly, he nods. “Uh-huh.”
“Good.” You cock your head up at him, “Hope you have fun with the gym then~”
“U-uh-huh.”
He can only watch mutely as you whisk a few students inside and clap your hands to get their attention—some of the parents were filtering out and he knows he must look like such a creep…but you were just so astounding. And at least he hadn’t completely fucked up that interaction-
“Mr. Fushiguro’s dad, sorry for your aura loss.” Itadori pats him comfortingly on his side. There were still some students milling about with their goodbyes.
He whirls, “Fushiguro Toji doesn’t lose aura-”
“But you did.” Kugisaki nods with her arms crossed. “You fumbled, Fushiguro-san.”
He turns to his beloved son for reassurance.
Megumi looks at Toji blankly. “You never had aura to me, dad.”
“That’s it-”
“But it’s okay.” Kugisaki says, “The male lead never gets the heroine in the first five minutes. They have to suffer first. You just messed up Phase One.”
He almost feels sorry asking. “And…what is Phase One?”
“The rizz phase.” This time, it’s Itadori that answers. “You have zero rizz, Mr. Fushiguro’s dad. But—we have a plan.”
“A plan?”
Itadori holds up three fingers. “Four more phases before you win Ms. Teacher’s heart!” Not so loud…he’s grateful you haven’t noticed them yet.
Megumi holds up the correct number of fingers. “Four more phases to embarrass yourself, dad.”
What moral support, son.
“I don’t know…”
Itadori nods seriously, “Take it this way, Mr. Fushiguro’s dad- there’s a red button and a blue button in front of you. If you press the red button you die alone like my uncle probably will. If you press the blue button you totally rizz Ms. Teacher up and live happily-ever-after before she divorces you. Which button would you press?”
Neither?! His jaw drops. “What the fu-”
“We just want to matchmake you!” Kugisaki shoves Itadori aside.
He eyes the kids warily. Leaving his love life to three elementary schoolers? Has Fushiguro Toji really fallen this far? Oh…he really is getting old. “Whatever. I don’t a shi- damn.”
And the answer is yes, yes he has.
But then Kugisaki clasps her hands together and beams, “Then in the end you’ll be just like Jinu and Rumi from K-pop Demon Hunters!”
And beside himself, Toji cracks a little smile. “Yeah…yeah, maybe we will.”
“You’ll die in the end and she’ll become a demon!”
“…let’s just stick to Phase Two.”
.
.
.
FUSHIGURO MEGUMI’S (and co.) FIVE-STEP PLAN TO MATCHMAKE HIS FATHER AND HIS TEACHER—PHASE TWO: SWEET TREATS!
Status: Pending…
Why did he agree to this shit again?
Though it wasn’t exactly Valentine’s Day; Fushiguro Toji was lugging a cart ‘round the candy aisles of Maruetsu supermarket, followed by three children with sticky fingers that just kept on piling even more sweets into the hefty chocolate-filled cart. And more. And more. And more-
And though Toji agrees that there was never a wrong day for chocolate - he was just damn relieved that yesterday had been pay day. These brats didn’t even glance at the price before throwing chocolate bars and heart-shaped candies over the cart rim.
Right alongside a bunch of flour, butter, and whatever shit one needed to make cookies.
Because yes—Fushiguro Toji was apparently the type to make cookies now.
Itadori tosses a bunch of Daddy Tony’s Chocolonely into the cart. “We’re totally chocolate-mogging everyone in the store right now.”
Why did he agree to this shit again?
It’d been their idea.
Tokyo Jujutsu Elementary’s annual talent show was nearing. The decorations were being made. The kids were rehearsing after-school. And Toji didn’t care too much about such things—the only reason this had stuck in his mind was because you’d sent a message about it in the group chat. And he’d read that little sentence over and over again until he memorized it.
To raise funds for such an endeavour, the elementary was hosting a bake sale; where parents - should they choose to do so - could contribute their own baked goods and little treats and candies that could be sold. The year before, Toji had honestly just sent Megumi off with a bag of chips that Itadori had scoffed down in all of three seconds.
Though, in his defense, it wasn’t mandatory and he didn’t know what the fuck a bake sale was supposed to be.
Phase Two of the plan seemingly consisted of emptying out Toji’s pockets- the three of them had insisted that this bake sale was the perfect opportunity for Toji to make his move on you.
It was simple, really—bake cookies for the sale, sell them there, and when it came to you- woo you with a special heart-shaped cookie and ask you out. Simple!
Was it obvious that this plan had been concocted by a bunch of nine-year-olds?
Toji sighs.
He glimpses Megumi wandering into the meat section and reaching for ¥50,000 Wagyu-
The next day, after burning the first few batches of cookies and setting fire to his kitchen only twice, Toji found himself crammed into a pretty pink-frilled booth at the official annual bake sale. Equally as pink apron cinched around his waist—and his t-shirt so tight that he catches a few single parents giving him appreciative looks.
Though he wasn’t paying attention to that.
He was keeping his eyes on you- making your way from booth-to-booth, laughing along with parents and trying out everything your students had to offer.
Toji lets out a long, lingering sigh.
He was never going to get over this damn crush—
Next to him, Megumi and his two best friends were the ones manning the counter and giving out cookies to paying customers. He hates to admit it, but business was booming.
“Hey…hey, if I pay you in chocolates would you sell this shit again for me?”
Megumi looks up at him blankly. “I want 60% equity and ¥5 for every unit sold.”
Toji drops a cookie he was holding over the counter—“M-maybe not…”
“Hey, there’s Ms. Teacher!” Itadori squeals.
And then…and then the most sweet, seraphic sound echoes in his ears- too close for it to be something he’d imagined, too removed from him to be anyone but you. You’re making the tall man freeze where he was leaned over the counter - and the hairs on the back of his neck rise…he’s pausing to listen for you before he knows it.
“Oh, let me get that for you.”
Toji hadn’t noticed you walk over. Toji hadn’t noticed you bending down to pick up the cookie he’d dropped. “O-oh, no you don’t need to—” Not before you’re straightening up and holding it out to him with a beautiful smile.
“It’s no problem.” You chirp.
Mutely, he takes the crumbling cookie from you.
He wanted that cookie badly.
“So…I see business is booming.” You nod down at the three little ones manning the counter, “Good job, sweethearts. How are you today?”
“Good.” Both Megumi and Kugisaki echo.
“My grandma got hit by a bazooka!” Itadori beams.
Your smile falters, though Toji’s impressed at how quickly you recover. “Well…that’s certainly a time, isn’t it, Yuji? And how are you, Fushiguro-san?”
“O-oh, me—?” His faze sizzles at being called out so suddenly. And the older man hurries to scratch behind his neck—did his biceps look good in this apron? “Ah…chill.”
“Chill, hm?” You smirk. Eyeing him, “I dunno- I’d say it’s a rather hot day today.”
Features scrunching up, Toji leans his head out and looks at the sky. “Is it? Those damn weathermen always lie.”
Megumi smacks his forehead.
“No, I just meant…” You’re flitting your gaze at the paper-thin fabric of his t-shirt, wrapped around his chiselled limbs so perfectly. Gift-wrapped. And then you’re shaking your head, instead turning to the rows of cookies put on display. “Anyways- any recommendations you guys have for me?”
Toji furrows his brows at the abrupt change in conversation. Beside him, reaching just past his knee, Kugisaki kicks him in the shin and hisses- “The cookie! The cooooookie! Make a move, male lead!”
“Oh. Oh.” Toji startles. Bending down and whispering back, “Now?”
“Yes, now!”
“But-”
“Go.”
“Wait—”
“Go!”
Finally, he holds one calloused palm out at you. Bandaged and slightly aching from baking all day yesterday. “Stay here, we made something special for you.”
“Oh?”
Toji shuffles around in the box of cookies that they’d brought with them; packaged away and separated from the rest was one particular cookie—your favorite flavor, which he’d probed out of the kids. Specifically made in the shape of a heart.
His hands shake a little bit as he turns to you with it.
Scarred lips parting, “This is…”
“For me?” You cock your head with a sweet smile.
He nods. “Free of charge.”
“That’s too sweet, I couldn’t possibly-”
“Please—” Toji interrupts, fingers weak - barely holding onto the crinkled package - as he holds it out to you. “I insist. For taking care of my son.”
Something changes in your expression, and your fingers twitch closer to his.
The trio watches open-mouthed as your hands close the gap in mid-air before—
“Oooooooo, cookie! Fanum tax!”
Before one Todo Aoi leans over the counter and snatches the cookie fast- before everyone could even blink, all of Toji’s emotions, hopes, pursuits, and dreams find themselves stuffed down the crumb-coated maw of the little boy. Chomped to bits.
Everyone looks at him in stunned silence.
He polishes off the cookie in three bites.
“What?” Todo asks as the silence stretches even longer- and he notices the stares around him. “Needs a little more salt…”
Toji feels like keeling over. “I am going to-”
“Here, Ms.” Megumi picks up one of those cute, floral-decorated cookie packets on the counter and pushes it into your hands. “Free of charge.”
“Thank you. I…” You look at Toji as though you’re about to say something more—but then a call of your name from across the school field catches your attention. Another teacher was waving you over for something- and with an apologetic smile, you’re bowing your way out of there.
Itadori whistles, “Wow, Mr. Fushiguro’s dad. Maybe if you hadn’t waited around bein’ a scaredy-cat then Ms. Teacher might’ve gotten the cookies before Todo.”
Immediately Kugisaki gets down from the counter- grabs her rubber hammer, and slams it down on Todo’s head.
Then before Toji can feel a rush of pride, she grabs two cookie packets and beckons him to crouch down to her height.
Once he does, she presses both packets to his cheeks and asks seriously. “And what are you?”
“A fuckin’ idiot cookie.”
A small gasp.
From the other side of the counter, he hears furious scribbling as someone jots that particular word down—he doesn’t need to look to know that it’s that Inumaki Toge again. Nooooo—! It’d slipped out accidentally, he promises. Also on the other side of the counter was Todo Aoi who was now eyeing the other cookies enviously- Megumi frowns and starts pulling them away from him.
Itadori turns to Toji and shakes his head as though he’d been the adult in this situation. “It’s a shame, though. Phase Two has also failed - take the L, Mr. Fushiguro’s dad.”
“L.” Kugisaki echoes.
“L.” Todo.
“L.” Somehow Toge.
Megumi nods. “Loser.”
And somehow that hurt the most—
He groans.
Todo huffs. “Can’t believe you just got framemogged by the TJE class monitor, old man.”
Toji whirls around with a glower. “Mugged? I’ve never gotten mugged by anybody-”
“But since you’re all just begging me—” Todo turns to the bemused others with his arms crossed importantly. “-I’ll teach you the true art of rizzing.”
.
.
.
FUSHIGURO MEGUMI’S (and co.) FIVE-STEP PLAN TO MATCHMAKE HIS FATHER AND HIS TEACHER—PHASE THREE: A DATE.
Status: -84834832849 aura.
A date.
Not one he’d asked you out on, of course.
Spring had neared like a reawakening of the Earth; the breeze was warm. The Sun cascaded softly. The birds were twittering. And Fushiguro Toji was losing it—he had already had enough of making a fucking fool out of himself in front of you.
And now he was about to do it all over again.
Megumi’s elementary school was hosting a picnic with the kids in Ueno Park, in honor of the cherry blossoms beginning to open up.
Parents were invited too, of course.
And it was inevitable that you’d be there.
Now with that kid Todo - a student a year older than the trio, it seems he’d found himself attached to Itadori though Toji has no idea how that friendship started - onboard for the scheme, Toji was finding himself pulled around like a marionette. This ridiculous scheme to kinda-sorta try and make you fall in love with him…
That he was going along with.
So for the outing, the four had emphasized that Toji wasn’t to come unless he was looking his absolute best. They’d told him to burn that usual black t-shirt of his - no matter how many times he tried to insist that he had a wardrobe full of identical ones. He wanted Megumi to vouch for him, but the boy had lied.
That traitor.
Thus on the Saturday morning it’d been planned; Toji spent a good few hours in front of the mirror.
Tugging back the sleeves on his white cotton sweater- he’d been told that people appreciate forearms more this way. Dousing himself in perfume. Putting on one of those face creams Kugisaki had recommended after asking her guardian. Attempting to tame his shaggy, black bangs. He made sure his biceps were looking good that day—and stuffed Megumi into his matching sweater as well n’ rushed off to Ueno Park.
He thought he looked pretty good, honestly.
Todo eyes him warily once he arrives, “…That’s the best you’ve got?”
“The hell’s wrong with it?”
“It’s just…not sigma-”
“Shut-”
A few parents turn to look at him.
“He started it—he—”
After certainly no small amount of bickering (and much apologizing from the woman that seemed to be Todo’s guardian), they managed to make it to the picnic area. Where a row of multi-colored checkered blankets were laid out across the green grass like some form of a quilt—Megumi wastes no time before waddling over to where Itadori and Kugisaki were seated with their families.
And before long, the three kids were tugging several blankets closer together and creating a larger one.
As Toji sighs and stalks over to them—he’s suddenly stopped by Todo Aoi. Evidently having broken free from his guardian for far, far greater purposes; he holds his hand up and makes Toji freeze. “You have much to learn, don’t you, old man?”
“Haaah?” He balks down at the boy.
“True rizzlers don’t sit around playing teatime with kids—” He throws his arm behind at the other three, “-and my beloved brother, Yuji—” They were related?! “True rizzlers have to be tall and nonchalant even if they’re short and chalant.”
Toji eyes him warily. “…Okay? And what am I supposed to do?”
“Talk. To. Her.”
“How—”
“Go there-” Todo stabs a finger in your direction. But Toji didn’t need it to know where to look.
He sweeps his eyes across the cherry blossom gardens- and his eyes seem to find you as they always do. Even in a garden of the world’s brightest and rarest flowers, you would be the most beautiful.
“Brother eugh, you’re getting that sappy look on your face again- nonchalant. You have to be nonchalant!” Todo exclaims.
You were wearing a summer dress that fluttered around you in the soft breeze- and before he knows it, the little boy was pushing him towards where you were standing.
“W-wait—”
“Oh, has Phase Three started already?” Soon enough, Itadori’s voice is piping up right beside him. And he’s pushing Toji, too.
Then comes Kugisaki. “Ooooo they always have a cherry blossom episode! I love those.”
The dark-haired man looks to his son for help, and he pretends not to meet his eye.
Dammit.
“Fine—fine.” An unstoppable force meets an immovable object. Toji’s pushing back against their persisting guidance, and they just won’t have it. You’re going to notice him being made a fool again. “I’ll talk to her. Don’t rush me—I said don’t-”
“Why is it that every time there’s trouble, it’s got something to do with the five of you?”
Too late.
With your hands on your hips, you’re walking over with a playful smile.
Though there was nothing playful about the way his heart thunders-
High-pitched giggles emanate from behind him, and he doesn’t have the time to compute before all three sets of small hands - and Megumi’s mildly disappointed stare - vanishes. The kids are running off, leaving the two of you alone, once you’ve properly walked up to them—leaving Fushiguro Toji to fend for himself and also…collapsing to the ground. Because of the lack of force from behind now, his ass hits the soft grass and you’re trying not to laugh from above.
Pretty hand reaching out, “Everything alright, Fushiguro-san?”
“Toji.” He somehow manages to blurt out, taking your hand and getting to his feet. “Call me Toji.”
“Of course.” And then you’re sharing your own first name. He repeats it like a spring breeze.
Then, like the fool he is, Toji stands around admirin’ you—long enough that the silence stretches a little awkwardly, and you’re starting to shuffle on your feet. He hears a chorus of small groans from somewhere behind him, and quickly amends- “Uhhh, do you like walks down cherry blossom paths?”
You’re raising a brow in faint amusement, “Yes?”
“Have you walked down cherry blossom paths?”
“Not this year.”
“Will you walk down cherry blossom paths?”
“Fushiguro Toji, are you asking me to walk together?” You bump his shoulder with yours, then loop a hand around arm - he felt like arm candy, but don’t save him—Toji was exactly where he wanted to be - and start walking between pink-shedding trees. “You should’ve just said so. Should we have invited Megumi as well?”
“Who’s Megumi?”
Your startled laugh echoes—and it’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever heard.
The two of you loop around the pathway and then back again in companionable silence; though questions and confessions constantly bubbled up to Toji’s throat. Are you having fun? Is his body too warm? Can you hear his heart beating? Do you like the cherry blossoms? Do you know you’re far more beautiful than them?
Why do you glance at him with that knowing smile?
What secrets do you hide?
Before he knows it, the two of you have reached the spot where you met once more. And four eager children wait for something to happen- for something to be said.
Toji knows he might not get another opportunity—so as soon as the cherry blossoms are tapering out to more of the green grass, he’s turning to you and stammering. “I-I have something to ask…”
“Yes?” You smile.
“And it might be strange-”
“Yes?”
“And weird-”
“Oh, yes?”
“And creepy- don’t be afraid to say no if it’s creepy.”
“Huh?”
“But…” He feels the question: would you wanna grab coffee sometime? claw at his throat. Toji knows you’re waiting, anticipating—and then a cherry blossom flutters down and lands on your crown—making you look far too angelic. “Would you…happen to know that Japan is turning footsteps into electricity.”
You balk. “Excuse me?”
Toji whispers to himself faintly. “U-using piezoelectric tiles…every step you take generates a small amount of energy. Millions of steps…together…”
“Okay, old man, let’s get you to bed.” Todo’s - Todo, of all people - is coming to his rescue. Ushering him away, whilst his son hopefully manages to cover for his father with a good excuse—
“I do not know that man.” Megumi tells you, then leaves.
You’re left shrugging. Ah…
As they’re walking back to their picnic area, Kugisaki murmurs. “This is the cherry blossom episode. Next is the episode where you get hit by a truck-” Toji really hopes it is. “Guess this’ll be that sort of unfinished love drama…”
“My uncle loves hitting people with trucks.” Itadori beams.
Megumi smacks his forehead once more-
Toji narrows his eyes. “You’re gonna give yourself a concussion if you keep doing that.”
The boy smacks his head even harder. “I hope so.”
Toji mutters to himself. “Fuckin’ me too.”
Behind him, he already knows that Inumaki is jotting this somewhere in some bushes.
As the picnic continues—more and more of Megumi’s friends join their combined blankets. Toji notices you fluttering about, too.
So caught up, in fact, that he doesn’t even notice four matchmaking masterminds roping in their schoolmate Yuta into a deep conversation.
Toji sneezes- someone must be talking about him.
.
.
.
FUSHIGURO MEGUMI’S (and co.) FIVE-STEP PLAN TO MATCHMAKE HIS FATHER AND HIS TEACHER—PHASE FOUR: THE MARRIAGE.
Status: Toji, you’re scaring the huzzzzz-
It seems that Fushiguro Toji was getting married.
Though not exactly of his own volition.
And to whom, exactly? Well, that would be none other than you—
The wedding shall be held in the idyllic venue of Tokyo Jujutsu Elementary’s sprawling playground; amongst the swings and pieces of chewed-up bubble gum stuck underneath slides. Music shall be provided by the choir team. Snacks are Goldfish crackers and nothing more—you won’t want to miss it.
Don’t bother to RSVP.
Invitations are open to no one, he’s bound to make a fool of himself.
Again.
Toji should’ve known that something was up the second Megumi told him to come for pick-up a little earlier than usual. Elementary classes ended their day with around fifteen minutes of playtime, before official pick-up commenced.
And though Toji didn’t mind coming in earlier - he usually staved his entrance off for the allocated time so Megumi didn’t have to play with his dear ol’ dad looming over his shoulder.
Something had to be wrong- maybe he was sick? And yet…Megumi was the type to never let out even a peep even if he was—he’d have to be dragged out of class and still try to convince Toji that he was feeling well enough to go back. He’d never leave hints like that.
Maybe he didn’t like playtime anymore? That certainly couldn’t be it- playtime always exhilarated Megumi, no matter how much his deadpan son attempted to hide it. He loved his friends. He loved the small rabbit pen that the school had. He especially loved the twin black-and-white wolf spring riders on the playground.
Or maybe…maybe he was getting bullied-
Toji shakes his head clear of that thought immediately.
He’d no sooner be bullied by his son than have his son be bullied-
In fact, before he’d met Itadori and Kugisaki- Megumi loved the playground for…very…different reasons. He’d pile his ‘opponents’ high like a small kid mountain.
Toji shudders.
So what could it be—?
That’s exactly the thought tumbling ‘round in his mind as he walks up to that multi-colored painted building. Instead of going up those steps, however, he’s rounding the corner towards the playground on the other side - where he could hear cheers, laughter, and shrieks. Those youngsters touched the air around them with happiness, and it made some part of Toji’s chest soar to think that his son was one of them.
That’s until he’s actually in-view of the playground and spotting you. Right in the middle of the chaos of elementary classes in playtime.
At the foot of the slides.
A bundle of weeds in your hands
A paper veil atop your head.
With that kid Yuta from the grade above Megumi’s stood solemnly beside you. An officiant.
It looked like…a wedding.
And the space in front of you was empty for your partner.
Ah.
He looks at Megumi who was avoiding his eyes- so this was the plan…
Fuck.
He must have made a noise of bafflement- because just then you’re turning and letting a smile splash across your face. You exclaim. “Ahhh—there’s my groom!”
Oh…oh, he might faint.
Toji feels numb to the small hands that tug on his arm- “C’mon, c’mon! You’re late, Mr. Fushiguro’s dad—!” And he’s being dragged all the way to the front of the slide, where his bride-to-be was awaiting him, it seems…“After this we need time for the divorce-”
“No, the divorce should happen like four episodes later.” Kugisaki rolls her eyes.
“There shall be no divorce.” The seven-year-old Yuta speaks above them - out of them all, he seemed to be taking his role the most seriously. And he beckons the happy couple closer to one another—fuck, Toji couldn’t even meet your eyes.
Standing in front of you, he stuffs his hands into his pocket and keeps his eyes trained on the ground- giving you a brief nod. “‘Sup?”
“On second thought, there may be a divorce.” Yuta solemnly declares.
“Hey-” Toji sends a glare at the black-haired little boy with the wide eyes, then crosses his beefy arms. “So are we gettin’ married or not? Chop chop.”
You shake your head fondly, “Don’t worry- we cut into rehearsal time for this, it seems.”
“Start the music…” Kugisaki whispers to Megumi…simply standing on the sidelines and sinking deeper into his bangs with every passing second. “The music—!”
Megumi lets out a sigh beyond his years, and clicks on the classroom speaker they must’ve brought from inside.
In mere seconds, Stateside by PinkPantheress with Zara Larsson starts flooding the playground. Kugisaki hums to herself with a smile- “PinkPantheress n’ Zara always makes things better.”
Soon enough Yuta’s reading out of a scribbled notebook in his hands, “We’re here today to um- something about marriage.” He looks between the two of you—“Hold hands, please. They always do that in the movies.”
The two of you share a look.
And then you do.
Your fingers are warm n’ perfectly fitted in his - he doesn’t have to think to curl his own fingertips around yours. It’s as if his hands were made for holding yours—the thought zips through his body and he wonders why the hell he was getting emotional as though this was a real wedding…
Yuta continues, “-ummm, something about love.” Toji almost jolts. “Something about caring. Something about taking care of each other when you’re not feeling too good- like my momma always does, heh. She makes this chicken soup that-”
“Get on with it—!” Kugisaki hisses.
“Wait- what sort of chicken soup?!” Itadori pleads.
“That’s my rizzler! Toji bro—!” Todo cries.
“Oh, yeah—” He looks back down at his useless notes. “And stay together forever and ever and ever for at least 67 years no matter how far apart you are, or how scared of your feelings.” Yuta looks at Toji pointedly- who did this kid think he was?! “Does the happy couple have any vows?”
And maybe this was it.
Maybe this was his moment.
Maybe this was…
Toji’s scarred lips open. “I-”
Suddenly the speaker playing music explodes—not literally, though for a moment there it did feel like it. The dance-pop song that’d been playing inexplicably heightens in volume until their ears rung- and Megumi hastens to turn it down.
Kugisaki smacks the speakers with her rubber hammer a few times before it stops. Then with nothing to play in the background, she elbows the pink-haired boy in his side—“Yuji, hit it!”
“Me?!” Itadori yelps, before noticing everyone’s gaze upon him. It’s slowly dawning upon Toji that this might not be the best place for a real confession when Itadori suddenly starts doing some confusing two-step. “You gotta go and I can’t…ehh, sorry. Uhhhh…Nepal. I just don’t want to say that-”
“Please.” Megumi drones. “Please stop.”
He stops.
Mutely, Kugisaki smacks the speaker once more and Stateside blares again.
Toji turns to the officiant- and shakes his head.
Yuta looks at you, “And what about you, Ms?”
“Oh—my vow is that you’re all getting extra homework if eeeeevery single one of you doesn’t dance to the reception tomorrow.” You look at each and everyone.
Small faces scrunched in glee.
Yuta hisses at Itadori. “Time for the rings—the rings!” And the pink-haired boy startles to hand them to him- just a single one plopped onto Toji’s open palm. It was one of those cheap ring pops; still slightly sticky and encrusted with flecks of strawberry candy from before. The actual candy part of it had been very-obviously eaten…
“Sorry.” Itadori still smiles. “I ate it.”
“And the…other ring?”
“I ate that, too.” He excitedly claims, “Plastic and all!”
“I…love whatever’s wrong with you.” Toji furrows his brows. “But also what.”
“Enough talk—exchange the rings then vow your undying love!” Kugisaki yells. “Then die!” She turns to some of the other kids looking at her strange- “What? I don’t mean it like that—the drama’s just better when they die. Where are you going- where are you-”
“Scary kid.” Toji comments. “But sweet. But scary.”
Megumi distances himself from everything.
Before long, Yuta’s announcing that they ‘exchange’ rings.
You mime putting one on him.
From the sidelines, Todo sobs into Itadori’s t-shirt—seriously, were they actually related or not?! “Marriagemaxxing already…I’m so p-proud of you my rizzler…my brother in rizz…my sidekick…”
He jerks. “Side—”
Yuta speaks. “And do you, Ms. Teacher—take this auraless man to be your husband?” He can already tell who came up with this officiant’s script- but before he can throw a glance at the trio and Todo, you’re nodding.
“I do.”
Toji feels his heart flutter. He grows warm.
And his fingers are just as tender and sweet as they slip that ring pop onto your left hand—“Then I announce you married- uh. Smooch?”
“Euuuuuuuugh! Gross-” Megumi wails.
If Toji thought that he’d been warm earlier—then he wasn’t prepared for right now. It feels as though his entire body was on fire from the inside; every vein, every cell, every single part of him that hummed with delight at the notion. That made him blush.
So embarrassingly, as though this was his first-ever crush.
Toji catches your eye- and you give him the briefest of nods.
And then he’s leaning in…he’s hearing your breath catch- and pressing his lips to the back of your hand - just the lightest of grazes, where the ring pop stood out - before pulling back just as quickly. Nothing indecent. Nothing that would give away anything to you—
That ring…
It tasted sweet on his lips.
The surrounding kids cheer- loudly. Now it seems that everyone in the playground had joined in on this little act—and that’s exactly what it was.
Just a little act.
Toji’s lips quiver with the beginnings of a sentence he’s been aching to say for so long-
And then the school bell rings denoting time for pick-up.
Around you, the kids run to their classrooms and their backpacks - excited to tell their parents about what they’d just done in the playground. And as the sea of small bodies moves and thrashes against the two of you…Toji just remains standing. Staring.
Something within him still unfinished and unsatisfied—
You’re keeping his gaze for a few more seconds, before finally dropping it and unscrewing the plastic ring from your finger. “I uh…sorry about that- and thank you for playing along.”
“Yeah…” He faintly says. “Yeah, no problem.”
You give him a tight-lipped smile. “And if you don’t mind, I should probably…”
You gesture to the parents that had started walking in now, and he jerkily nods. “Yeah- yeah, go do…that.”
“Yeah, I…” You’re then holding your hand out to him- nodding at him to keep his palm open. Then dropping the strawberry-scented ring pop into his hand. “Guess the divorce came a little sooner than expected, huh?”
“Two seconds, that’s a new record.”
Starting to walk back—you briefly wave. If he was a cockier man, he’d have called you nervous. “I’ll see you at the talent show, ex-husband.”
“Hopefully sooner, ex-wife.”
“Oh- yes, the upcoming parent-teacher meetings.”
“That…” Toji murmurs to himself. That too, he supposes.
And as he watches you leave…Kugisaki is the first to speak up. “Not even a date? Awww man, I hate slowburns.”
He gapes, “I uh…”
“No, he got scared of his feelings—” Itadori adds. Toji squirms. “Did you know my uncle says he doesn’t have feelings? My grandpa agrees.”
“Dad.” Megumi pulls on Toji’s t-shirt to get his attention.
“Yes, son?”
And so deadpan, so unexpected- “You fumbled just like Klay Thompson.”
Dammit, son.
Speedwalking to the school with them. “The fuck just happened?”
That one he mouths- he mouths. But Inumaki writes that one down fast-
.
.
.
FUSHIGURO MEGUMI’S (and co.) FIVE-STEP PLAN TO MATCHMAKE HIS FATHER AND HIS TEACHER—PHASE? CURRENTLY ON HOLD…
Reason: Parent-teacher meetings.
Status: Dire. Auraless. Megumi doesn’t claim him.
Will the plan have to be abandoned?!
“So.”
“So…” You’re twiddling your thumbs together on top of the desk, eyes trained on Toji whilst his own dart around the colorful classroom. “Megumi’s such a good kid- honestly there’s nothing more to say about him.”
Because today was the day of parent-teacher meetings; that half-an-hour where parents sit before you and leaf through crayon drawings and mathematics that made them cringe. Toji himself hadn’t been the biggest fan of them when Megumi was younger—why the fuck would kindergarteners need parent-teacher meetings?!
But now that his teacher was you…
At least it gave him something even more to look forward to.
So he sets his elbows on your desk and leans in—every meeting had been conducted sitting on opposite sides of your teachers’ desk. It was far too much proximity for his poor heart to take—but you sure as hell won’t hear him complaining.
Not a single peep.
He glides his roughened fingertips over the pages before him- Megumi was never the type to be cagey about his grades. And either way he did get everything above an 80%.
Toji tries not to let the tips of his lips twitch upwards into a smile—especially as he looked over one of the artworks that Megumi had done: a slightly-smudged drawing of three small figures, one with pink hair, another with a brown bob-cut, and then a portrait of himself.
And then two larger figures on either side of them
Toji and yourself.
The prompt had been Megumi’s family…
“You should be very proud, y’know.” Your gentle voice breaks through the quiet air in the classroom.
Toji had come slightly after the other parents, as organizing Megumi’s little sleepover at the Itadori household (with Kugisaki and Todo in tow) had been absolute chaos. Today they’d offered to take the children in because apparently Itadori had gotten some earthworm movies he’d wanted to share. And though Megumi didn’t seem particularly excited at the prospect of earthworms, he’d been begging for weeks to have this sleepover.
Now. The sunlight dipped beneath the horizon outside, casting the classroom into its warm embrace—like kindling fire. The light bounced off your features and touched his lips, too. Where things were perpetually encased in day and the hours were hot and lazy—like the leaping spark from a fireplace.
For the first time in a long time, Toji lets himself smile. “Yeah. Yeah, I am.”
You’re nodding with a smile- “He speaks about you a lot, did you know that?” Once Toji shakes his head, you’re continuing. “About how strong you are, about how you’re funny—” Your nose crinkles, “-but an awful cook.”
“Hey!” Toji squawks, indignified. “I try.”
“I know.” Something about that felt so knowing. “It really is a pleasure having Megumi in my class- he’s quiet but I think Yuji and Nobara are slowly bringing him out of his shell. He’s diligent. He’s quietly kind. He’s a sensitive kid, he notices things faster than most.”
“I’m sure he gets that from me.” He smirks.
You hum, staring at the blood-orange sky outside. There’s a long pause before you speak again—“And I think it’s sweet how he’s trying with his friends to set the two of us up.”
Toji’s jaw drops.
Actually drops.
For a moment he’s speechles—hell, he thinks he might be speechless till the end of time. Sure, he’d guessed that you must’ve noticed something being off…but he never thought you’d actually realize the two of you are being set up—!
You catch the look in his eyes- “Oh, c’mon. You didn’t think I wouldn’t notice, did you?”
“I uh…”
“The cookies. The wingmanning. The wedding. The plans-” Stifling a laugh. “Elementary schoolers aren’t very good at whispering, you know that?”
“Damn.” Toji fists his hands, softly thumping them against the table. “And here I thought a bunch of elementary schoolers could fix my love life…”
You hum—something coy in your tone. “Why don’t you fix it yourself?”
And Toji’s snapping his head up so fast that he thinks he might’ve caught whiplash-
“Would you…” He swallows. He starts off unsurely. “…maybe…like to get coffee sometime-”
“Yes.”
Barely waiting till the sentence flies off his tongue before you respond- it makes Toji wonder whether you’ve been waiting for this as long as he has.
Embarrassment shows in your slightly-frantic movements, as you start picking at the stationary on your desk and smoothing out your clothes. Nervous. It hits him. “I uh…you’re my last meeting of the day, actually. I’m free to grab some coffee now, if you want?”
He’s never agreed to anything faster in his life.
Less than twenty minutes later and the two of you have found yourselves in the cute new coffee shop down the road. The faintest memory of sugary goods still etched on your smiling lips, and your cups of drinks warming your hands—the two of you were sitting and talking at a window booth when the rain had started.
“Oh, shit…” You peer outside. “You were right.”
“Hm?” Toji takes a sip of his black coffee.
“The weathermen always lie.”
More than the panging warmth at the idea that you’d remembered a throwaway comment he’d said- was what you’d followed that sentence up with.
“Hey, I know this is out-of-the-blue, but…I don’t have an umbrella with me, and taxis are costly this time of evening.” You shift in your seat, avoiding his eyes for perhaps the first time since he’s met you—“My apartment’s close by if you’d wanna maybe grab an umbrella from there? You could even hang around until the rain subsides, if you want…”
This time, it’s his turn to reply embarrassingly fast. “Fuck yeah.”
And so you’d ran.
You’d ran hot on each other’s heels as though someone was chasing you—maybe fear, maybe your inhibitions, maybe the feeling that Fushiguro Toji wanted to kiss you so badly.
So bad.
You’re sploshin’ the five-minute walk it takes to reach your apartment- before you’re both darting inside and closing the door to the world. Just the two of you. On opposite sides of the narrow vestibule connecting the entrance to the living room. To your bedroom.
Toji presses himself against the cream-colored wall and breathes in. heavy.
This entire place carried your sweet, sweet scent—and it was driving him crazy.
In front of him, your hands seemed to absent-mindedly reach for the umbrella holder- blindly clasping around one polished handle. “I uh…”
“You-”
You’re both attempting to speak at the same time—then abruptly stop when the other speaks. You gesture for him to continue, and he does the same for you-
“I just meant- here’s your umbrella.”
“Thanks.” Like a zombie, he’s reaching out and clasping it.
This was it—this was really it.
He was about to leave.
He was about to wake up from this dream.
Before Toji’s letting the umbrella drop to the floor- and you’re both crashing into one another. It’s built and built—and the coil of tension had tightened and tightened before finally snapping—!
Lips against lips.
Tongues against teeth.
His lips sliding against yours and positively ravishing you—one of his large hands finds purchase on the back of your head. His warm touch. Toji feels the pretty pulse on your neck quicken as he tips your head back and delves his tongue even deeper - memorizing the taste of you to every crevice in his brain.
Your essence…he wants it imbued into him.
Absolutely starving.
He just couldn’t get enough of you.
He just couldn’t get enough of you.
The two of you are making out sloppily- and the sounds of lips lifting from lips permeates your entire apartment. Punctuated occasionally by the hollow grunts that Toji himself was letting off.
Your cunt twitches between your legs - and you’re pressing yourself into Toji even further. Pushing against his toned body. Rolling your hips against the raging, hot erection that’d found itself home in his pants. Just the sheer size of it- the thickness, the way it throbbed against you was enough to make you let out a soft, simpering nose.
One that he’s gladly swallowing up whole—greedily, even. Because that’s exactly what he was.
A fucking greedy man for everything that’s to do with you.
And he’s waited for far too long.
In no time, you’re taking him by his larger hand and pulling him to your bedroom. Leaving the umbrella and your reservations behind.
Toji lets out a hallowed groan as he’s being pushed back into the bed- the backs of his knees hitting the mahogany bed frame. Your hands flying to the ties of his trousers. Your own knees striking the floor—
“Easy there…” Toji brushes one hand down the side of your face- reaching back into your scalp and tightening. “Don’t want my girl to get hurt.”
“Your girl?” You grin. “You haven’t even asked me out on a proper date yet.”
“And you should be buyin’ me dinner before this. Lecher.”
You’re huffing as you’re able to tear that wretched fabric off his muscular legs- finally. And your jaw…drops…
He was so…
Fucking big.
From the moment his achin’ cock’s freed, Toji springs out and seems to pulse even thicker—the start of his base reminding you of one of those soda cans. Toji reaches down to wrap his other hand ‘round it, his palm covering some of the dark curls decorating his pelvis, and he seems to look even bigger when framed like this.
Rock-hard. Covered in numerous veins.
They were dappled all across his inches and throb-throb-throbbing- so ravenously hard that Toji’s length twitched the moment he’s feelin’ the cold bedroom air.
And not only was he big, but that curve of his shaft was delicious.
It made you wonder what it’d feel like to have him curve up inside…
Upwards tilted. That crown of his craning up at the ceiling. The pointed end of his cock ended off with his blushin’ mushroom tip- so fat n’ already soaked in his wads of sopping precum. The color of it was the prettiest tannish pink you’ve ever seen in your entire life—and so you really couldn’t help but lean down and press a chaste peck-
The taste of his salted-caramel pre takes over your tastebuds immediately.
“O-oh…” Toji’s head throws backwards with a gravelly groan. “Don’t go teasing me now, doll.”
“You’re the one that’s been teasing me this entire time.” You counter. Though you’re loosenin’ your jaw and taking him in even further. Inch by solid fucking inch.
It’s hard to stuff Toji’s cock all down your throat like you so-badly wanted- he was big. N’ those zig-zagging veins down his length made you want to linger…massaging the roof of your mouth with a few semi-gulps that rub his inches on top. Again and again.
You’re shuttering your eyes and moaning deep into his shaft at the carnal scratch he somehow seemed to soothe.
“Ah ah—” You’re hearing him before you’re feeling him- suddenly, two thick fingertips are pinching your poor nostrils together. Eyelids flapping open to stare up at him.
Toji has the most cocky smile across his beautiful scarred lips as he peers down at you. “Now what’s this about refusin’ to take me anymore?” He asks you, punctuating the that of his sentence with a thorough nudge of his bulbous tip down your throat. “You don’t wanna take me any further, doll? Or you…”
And another.
Though, this time, it wasn’t a nudge at all.
And Toji’s massive length is pushing apart the wet walls of your throat- and mazing his throbbing cock inside. The noises you’re letting out when you slurp him up are so pretty—
And the older man uses his second hand to wipe a stray tear off your cheeks, “-can’t?”
“Mmm–mmmfg.” Choking down both your needy sobs n’ your breaths. You’re clawing at his thicks- so thick and toned.
“What? Whaaaat?” He pinches your nose even harder. “Wha’s the matter, teach?”
“You-” Barely able to mangle out some semblance of coherent syllables - you’re going cross-eyed trying to both take him in deeper, and look at the fingers blocking off your airway. “Mmm- ngh.” Whatever mess of a sentence that was meant to be, it’s coming out embarrassingly jumbled.
Embarrassingly so.
And tears are just starting to stream down your cheeks- your cunt’s getting even wetter at his actions and pushing against his toned calf- once he finally lets go. Finally.
With a loud pwah! you’re removin’ your swollen lips off of his cock. Feeling for your poor nose that’s startin’ to sting—“So mean, Toji. I should’ve bit that dick off.” You joke.
He looks at you with a leer, “We both know that out of the two of us, you’d be the most disappointed with that.” And it was true- it really was true. But Toji takes it a step further by lazily reaching his calf over and pushing it against your cunt. Dripping wet even through those panties of yours- your pretty dress was hiked up n’ already exposing that sweet puddle that’d formed in the middle of your underwear.
His mouth waters at the sight.
“See what I mean?” Then Toji straightens up and pats the top of his manspread thighs. An invitation.
“But, I haven’t even…”
“S’okay.” He nods at you reassuringly. You didn’t have to worry about any of that needing to please shit with him- he’d be the one driving you wild tonight. “I have something even- heh, sweeter in mind.”
And hopefully every night after that.
In a mere few moments, you’re settling yourself on Toji’s lap. And then he’s attacking your mouth in a mind-numbing kiss, tongue swipin’ between your lips before ultimately sucking on those tastebuds of yours. Sucking. Like candy.
He then maneuvers the two of you to then drape you across the sheets; slightly sodden with lust and perspiration. The blankets stick against your clammy skin as Toji presses your hips down on the mattress- “Down, girl.” His fingertips dig into the side of your waist.
“What’s that about not teasing?” You pant.
With a low chuckle, Toji presses a peck on the left side of your hips—then creeps himself down until his handsome features were huffin’ and puffin’ against your sodden cunt. His own hot breath seemed to reach out to you—curling, cloooouding, it seemed to stroke down that watery slit of yours. “Fushiguro Toji never teases.”
“You’re teasing right-”
“M’just waiting for the perfect moment.” And there’s not a second wasted- before Toji lurches himself nose-deep between your legs and gives your dripping pussy a good lick!
“O-oh…” Your mouth waters at the brazen touch- body jolting just a little. Though if you thought that Toji would let you so much as squirm whilst he’s locked between those thighs of yours, then you’d be sorely mistaken. His fingers dip down the expanse of your legs and clutches you close against his ravenous maw—“Aren’t you going to take off my panties, Toji?”
“Don’t be vulgar, doll.” He mutters- just to tease you. “M’gonna eat you through your panties, of course.”
And it’s the only warning you’re getting.
Before Toji latches his puckered lips to your cunt- properly, this time. And his loooooong tongue was lavishin’ across every inch of your pussy he can reach. Through your panties—Toji gapes his mouth open and laps like a fuckin’ animal at the leaking slit your underwear was stick to, your swollen folds, your utterly needy button.
“Mmmmpf-” Toji’s prominent nose pushes apart your pussylips, and he’s feelin’ for that puckered, pretty nub. Already throbbing like you’ve been so impatient for him this entire time.
He presses himself closely against your clit for a few seconds—throb-throb-throb!
Like a ticking time bomb. He’s driving himself absolutely wild; before snakin’ your panties to the side and thrashing his tongue against your raw cunt. Slurping. Sucking. Everything and anything of you he could find - he’s pushing himself so nose-deep into your pussy that he damn-near can’t breathe—and eating you out like an animal. “Mmmm, don’t you move a s-single inch now.” Toji tightens his hold on your quivering legs. “I haven’t even started yet.”
“Started what…?” You babble out - your hips were yearning to push off the creaking mattress.
Though all it took was a fraction of his strength to pin you back down, roverin’ his tongue on the slick-glued insides of your folds. Rooooound and round in circles that left your mind dizzy. “Heh- what else d’you think?” Toji answers. “M’teaching this pussy how to take Fushiguro Toji, that mouth of yours barely could.”
“Rude.”
Before you could pipe up anything more witty, he’s spankin’ four fingertips down on your glistening pussy. “S’not rude if it’s true.”
“I’m the teacher here, though.”
“Then maybe I’m the principal.” He leers- swabbing the fat edge of his tongue into your hole. “Gonna grade you and everything…”
“That’s fuckin’ corny—”
“Made your pussy weep, though.”
And just in good time, too- because almost immediately he’s letting that first inch of his tongue fuck inside your cunt. Just the first inch. But it was already enough to make your toes curl n’ your back arch—Toji’s wet muscle was just so thiiiiiiick.
He’s pluggin’ up your orifices with a mere few thrusts - the ridged texture of his tastebuds kneading your tight walls. Shovelling you open. Shovelling himself deeper inside. The flickerin’ tip of his tongue laps against some of your most tender areas n’ then pushes up into the sensitive roof of your cunt-
“Sh-shiiiiit—” You’re keening out in the prettiest trill he’s ever heard. Toji has the audacity to let out a wet giggle at your dripping core - clenching ‘round him.
His ears burn at the musical note- and before long, your folds are burning at the searing smack! that he’s planting on top of your cunt. Your head drops down to stare at him in shock.
“That’s a C- for handling yourself.” He echoes. Two more spanks follow—before Toji nuzzles your gummy pussy n’ laps his tongue across your clit. “But an A for pretty moans.”
“I th-think that grading syllabus is a little- ngh! skewed, don’t you think?”
Yet another spank.
“Not at all.”
He was merciless. Ruthless.
Absolutely impounding you with those slashing, scouring strokes of his - Toji’s thrusts manage to reach so much deeper than you’d have ever guessed. And when he felt that his tongue was stuffed inside your pretty pussy far ‘nough, he’s flaring those edges outwards and scraping his tastebuds down the sides of your walls. Stimulating your snug channel sooooo fuckin’ good—
“S’that so?” Toji flutters his long, dark lashes up at you. It takes a second for you to register that you might just have said that last thought out loud.
Though you’re merely steeling your expression and nodding-
He’s plasterin’ his fingertips against your puckered pussy with a chuckle. “Cute. But flattery’s gonna get you nowhere- with all this damn squirming you’re doing, your C’s dropping down to a- haaaah, D.”
Your eyes pop open. “B-but…”
“And just think-” Toji continues without a single speck of mercy for you. His tongue’s tunneling and thrusting- faster than your frenzied mind can keep up with. “-that if you’re reacting like this to just my long tongue…” Thrust after thrust after thrust—the curvaceous inches of his tongue don’t leave a single bundle of nerve unprobed. Zig-zagging and swabbing wildly - your eyes are rolling to the back of your head. “-yer gonna fucking run away when it comes to my cock, doll.”
“Oh—” You’re tumbling your hips constantly up to him. Attempting to heighten the friction. “Promise I won’t. Promise-”
“And now look at you.” And after all he’s taught you…Toji grasps his left hand underneath your arching body. Grabbing a nice handful of your ass cheeks- it makes him smile to watch your mouth drop in shock at the lecherous action. “Dropped down to a D-.”
A fucking minus.
That earns you several more wet spanks. And then a fucking pinch—right on your clit.
And Toji merely trundles, “Where the fuck does this pretty pussy think she’s going?”
Crashing his lips into…yours. Quiverin’ your weakened limbs around the back of his neck-
Your ankles are weakly latching themselves there- slightly glissading down his glossy strands. It messes up his hair just a little, and Toji’s soon finding himself smirking against those pussylips.
“Tch…fine, you get a B for neediness.”
Only a B?!
But perhaps it was better that you’d kept your mouth shut - mostly because you couldn’t speak over the primal moans that kept escaping your throat - because then Toji’s sinking his canines ‘round your clit and swervin’ his face aaaaaaall around your pussy. Every corner and inch.
He’s fucking coating his features in a layer of your shimmering slick.
Like a damn medallion.
It clings to him in long, ropey excess.
“O-oh my god—” And then your trilling vocals break the very second that he’s intruding your hole once more- this time, with his fingers…
You weave your own hands into Toji’s sweat-dampened hair and hold on for dear life.
“Hmmm, a little possessive, huh? M’bumping that neediness to a- hah, A+...heh.” As a reward, you’re getting his textured lips encasing your sopping clit—just so desperate and damn-near flinching with how hard you were pulsing between your legs. Needing. Needing.
Your breath comes out in stuttered bursts, and it takes everything in you to echo. “A-and what do I have to reach to- mm, get your cock, Toji?”
“I dunno, aren’t you the one with a t-teaching degree?” He’s babbling- before that haziness in his eyes clear up once he realizes what he’s just said. “No, wait—I’m pretending to be…I’m the one gradin’ now…”
Toji looks down at your pussy as though offended. A spank wasn’t enough, he’s properly spitting.
“This pussy’s made me pussydrunk, heeeeh?” He scoffs n’ edges in to suckle on your clit—all while his two bulky fingers were scissoring between your pussylips. “An A+ for that…”
Pussydrunk.
Though you’re not doing too well yourself.
You’re just sizzling from the very insides - even your very vessels seemed to be vibrating with that carnal sort of needy for him. And as Toji’s slashing strikes with his fingers accelerate, so does that kindling pit of pleasure in your stomach. “I th-think m’close, Toji…”
“Close?” Toji’s breath hitches. “Close? And we haven’t even finished the grading yet—buck up, doll, because m’not holding back anymore.”
“Th-that was you holding back?!”
Evidently so.
And you can surely attest to that—in mere moments, he’s adding in a third finger with a lecherous slurp! of his honed inches bein’ all sucked in. Down every single joint. Down to his damn knuckles; you’re feeling those mountainous ridges push up against your sensitive pussy, and Toji’s three fingers were rovering and reeeeeaching every single spot inside.
Claiming them as his.
Toji laps up a silken line of slick that’d dripped from your cunt and down his wrist—you were claiming him as yours, too…“Got a second to hear your grades, doll?” Whilst the desperate pleads start to bubble at your throat- “Won’t be given’ you this cock until you do…”
“Then tell them to me—” You shriek. Haaaauling at the thick tufts of his scalp, “Fucking tell them, Toji.”
“Well, manners fuckin’ F.” Toji huffs- but he couldn’t fool you. Ohhh, the expression on his face was pure ecstasy as you guided his lapping face around your cunt. “But manners for this pussy…hmmmm…B.”
“Only a fucking B-”
“Roughness: used to be C- but oh, m’thinking it’s now an A.” He comments - the more and more frustrated you become, the more your carnal urges surface. Your grip is searing on his scalp. Your legs are locking around his neck. “Doesn’t mean you can go easier on me now, teach.”
“Fuh-fuuuuck, Toji—”
“Wetness: A+ of course.” Rolling his eyes as if that should be obvious, “Sweetness: A++.”
“Fuck-”
“That mouth of yours? D.”
“Fuck you.”
“M’trying to. And hmmmm, about the way she clenches…” He ponders- before then directly diverting his round, rotund fingertips to the spot just a few inches into your channel. He’s already mapped your smallest ridges n’ crevices out by all of these thrusts- and you’re feeling pure white-hot pleasure run down your spine as Toji then rams his dexterous fingers into your fucking g-spot. “That’s an A+++”
Because of course, you’re keeping him hostage.
Of course, you’re squeezing your velvety walls around him until his joints were turning white—and Toji’s fingers were havin’ a tough time moving back and forth stuffed between those clingy walls of yours.
And yet…he’s scissoring apart your needy grip and rammin’ into your deepest, most sensitive depths.
Again and again and again- “Yeah…this pussy’s definitely gonna take me now. Isn’t that right, teach?” But the only thing your fried head can urge you into doing is nodding. “Tha’s what I thought. Dumbification: A.” Toji cocks his head. “Don’tcha think I’m being too nice with these grades?”
Shaking your head fervently- through sobs.
“Mmmm…well, I think I am.” His canines teasingly grip your clit and draaaaag that swollen nub out. “S’alright doll. After this, you can grade my cock when s’time…”
He smirks - still keeping that firm attachment onto your most sensitive place - and you can feel it. You can feel it—
“And you can be as fuh-fuckin’ ruthless as you want.” Toji’s long fingers then curl inside your cunt for a final time before…“Because I know m’gonna be fucking my girl right.”
Before you’re shattering.
Breaking into your high—it first starts with an explosion of pleasure between your legs- before teleporting right up to your fuzzy head. Your thighs were quaking. Your pulse was thundering so loud you could hear it with your own ears- and it felt as though those torrential waves of bliss were just taking you over.
“Oh—oh, fuck.” Clawing your hands through Toji’s hair. The only anchor you had was this- and the tunneling digits that were fingering you to ecstasy- he was hitting at every peak. He was elongating your orgasm more than you ever thought possible. “Fuck, fuck, fuck- fuuuuuck, Toji.”
“Tha’s right- say my name.” He grunts. Such lecherous slurps! echoing from between those legs of yours as he sucked n’ sucked on your clit simultaneously. “Say my name- say my name. Who’s making you feel this good?”
“Toji.” You hiccup. “Y-you, Toji.”
A sudden spank! resounds across all four corners of the room.
Your high crescendos even further than your limits- or at least what you’d assumed them to be.
“I was lookin’ for sir, but that works, too…” Your jaw drops at the boldness of this man.
“Sir? D-don’t think that you’re getting off easy when I- ngh, when I finally ride you stupid.” As the last few pangs of your orgasm shimmer through your body, you’re managing to gather your thoughts better than before. “What do you think you’d get anyway?”
Toji pulls off your oversensitive pussy with a loud plap! “A’s across the board.”
“Oh, don’t be so humble.”
With that said- you’re reaching out and grabbing Toji by the collar. He gets dragged upwards—the bed dips as the larger man cages you in with his strong forearms. He leers, “I think you pass, don’t you?” You could see that somewhere during makin’ out with your pussy, Toji had tugged down his pants- likely to jerk himself off as he did so.
And his long cock stood aching and rock-hard between his legs.
That round, reddened tip of his seemed to wink up at you as he dribbled out a single bead of precum. Aaaaall the way from the edge of his cockhead, and aaaaaall the way down to his bushy black curls at the base.
Your mouth waters.
Hands on his body- his fingers tearing through your own fabric. Soon enough you’re naked beneath him—and he’s just as devastatingly bare. Perfectly-aligned abs. Chiselled pecs. Fushiguro Toji had a body that made him look as though he was hand-carved by Hercules himself- it was just so sensual the way his ladder-like core pushed down against yours.
And it’s so difficult to keep a stern face facing him when those bulky biceps of his were flexing—right next to your face.
But somehow you manage- you were a professional after all, weren’t you?
“I’m serious about what I said on riding you stupid.” You’re murmuring up at him, “Flip over.”
He smirks, “And if I don’t?”
Within split-seconds, you’re grabbing a fistful of his hair and watch as his cock twitches at the rough manhandling—at the way you’re turning the two of you over and straddlin’ his hips. Toji bucks with a groan underneath you, but you’re quicker than that- and you’re clasping a hand around his gulping throat. Sweaty and scorching to the touch .
“Ah ah-” You tut. “You already had your fun. Now it’s time for mine…”
“Aye aye, teach.”
“Quiet coyote.”
Toji mimes zipping his lips shut—but there’s openin’ back up again almost instantly once he feels your sultry hips swivelling down his cock. You duck a hand underneath yourself to grab his throbbing hilt- and before long, his wet tip’s smushing apart your pussylips. He’s intruding that hole of yours and bucking up into where you needed him the most.
He shovels in a few more inches with an echoing sluuuurp! of your pussy viciously gulping him up.
“What did I…oh.” Beside yourself, your head’s throwing backwards at the sheer pressure he was creating inside. “What did I say about staying still?”
“Actually…you didn’t say anything about that.” That grin of his was infuriatingly handsome. “Still, mmm, cockdrunk?”
“You wish…” Though that wasn’t an outright denial.
It was true that your mind was coiled with fog after your last orgasm; the dopamine still coursing through your body. And the way that Toji’s thickened, textured length was pushing your walls aside wasn’t helping—it was making you feel sensations so raw and carnal- that saliva’s dripping down one side of your mouth after a mere few semi-thrusts.
Just the bulging edge of Toji’s tip scourin’ your channel inwards.
“Awww, don’t tell me I was right?” He asks you- and it registers as mere distant words. Toji reaches out his right hand and wipes away that splatter of spit - before bringing it up to his own mouth and sucking. What an animal. “Can’t grade ol’ Toji’s cock? Or is it- heh, so good that I’m breaking all the scales?”
“You fucking-”
“Yeah yeah, wish- right?” He scoffs meanly. But honestly…he might be teasing you but he was completely infatuated with the idea of your smart mouth babbling for him like this.
The way you were twitchin’ with every light graze of his flared tip.
Your insides were getting used to him, and Toji was only stuffing himself even deeper. “Right…” Though of course- Toji himself wasn’t doing all too hot. Just a single one of your adhesive-like clenches and he can’t help but buck—
“Easy, eeeeasy- you can take me, my girl.” He grits his teeth. He blinks back the tears in his eyes. He’s guiding your impatient hips n’ grinding your cunt dooooown onto his pelvis. “Fuck- fuck, and how d’you grade the stretch?”
Your eyes pop open. “The stretch?”
“Mhm- the streeeeetch—yeah?” Toji’s chest rumbles in delight as he watches your every microexpression and reaction. Even the smallest curlings of your toes. “Such a big stretch feels good, yeah?”
“Mhm- I rate it a…” Your jaw hangs open- as though to purposefully influence your grading, he’s shovelling his length a few more times. Faster. “B.”
And that…what the fuck?!
“A fucking what?” That makes Toji’s maw gape, and his handsome face twist into something of bewilderment. You look at him and you honestly let out a little chuckle - but that seems to only spur his driving hips even further. “Oh noooo, doll. You’re joking.”
“I said what I said.” Biting back. “It’s a B because…” Throwing your head back and arching—you’re gaining more movement in your hips and letting him push inside. “-you’re just not- fuck. Bottoming. Out. Fucking do it already—!”
His feet plant ever-so-slightly on the ricketing mattress- and that means you were feeling the plushness of his muscular thighs against your back. Those tendons and rippling strength. There’s honestly nothing more for you to do but gnaw down on your trembling lower lip in the hopes that those embarrassing noises won’t escape-
Because Toji then glues his hands upon either side of your hips and slams your cunt down onto him.
It’s such incredible friction. It’s so many of his winding veins- pushin’ apart your walls and scouring you all over—
You’re arching your back into him and gasping- “A…”
“A what?”
“A for your veins.” And that honestly manages to catch him off-guard and make him let out an exhilarated bout of laughter. Being in your presence was like four shots of espresso—fucking you was four shots of vodka. Straight. He’s dizzy and he’s clamorin’ his numerous inches up your pretty channel, watching as you drip glittering globs of slick all ‘round him.
“Oh…” Toji seems to grow even bigger inside you. He grips you as hard as your pussy was clenchin’ him. “Keep going-”
“And a- fuck, an A for your pace—” Just perfect. Dizzingly fast; whilst still being steady and balanced enough that you were able to feel his textured length slipping into every spot he needed to slip into—“And a…a fucking F for your attitude.”
“Hey…” Toji juts his scarred lip out in a mock-attempt at a pout. “Don’t imply m’sassy when your pussy speaks like that to me.”
Right on cue, you’re letting out some of the most sinful slurps as your cunt slaps right down onto him. Onto his hefty balls.
Toji’s thick brows raise at the sounds- even he didn’t think that your pussy could get this chatty. Mouth falling agape as he watches you drip-drip-driiiip.
You’re grabbing onto both of Toji’s sculptured deltoids for balance, increasing your pace as your legs start to grow limp. Perhaps noticing your little struggle, he’s supporting one of your legs with his left hand—and thumbing over your clit with his right. “And then? What else—dick got yer tongue?”
“You fuckin’ wish.” You snipe back.
“Yeah.” Toji simply replies. Without a single warning, he’s craning his head up and signalling you to open your mouth- instinctually, your tongue sticks out. Perfect for him to spit—a heaping mess between your lips. “You looked so pretty with my cock stuffed down your throat, too.”
Grumbling - though it was just for show - yet you swallow. “That was a B- since you almost missed.” One of your hands reaches up to swipe at the splattered saliva piled on the edge of your mouth.
“Oh, no.” With such a loving glint in his eyes, he’s leaning up and kissing the mess he’d just left behind. “That was totally on purpose, doll.”
“F-filthy…”
“You know it, teach.”
Both of your bodies were slick with sweat and glissading against one another- Toji himself was especially frenzied with his movement. His thrusts. His battering rams. The way his pointed tip struck the end of your cervix—bottomed-out, and then smeared apart your channel to drag aaaaaaall the way back down. Aaaaaaall the way back in.
And through it all- you’re sputtering out the same ruthless grading of his cock. Red-hot and ruining your insides with every thrust. Pump after pump- “Deepness…B.”
Bruising his tip’s circumference at the very back of your pussy. Dribbling out ribbons of pre.
“Hmmm, alright a B+.” Pleasure runs through your body the more n’ more Toji grows irritated- because that meant the more he was trying to prove himself. The harder he was fucking you. “And the- hah, curve: an A.”
“Damn right.” That, he could most certainly be proud of. That slightly upwards curve of him was the perfect shape to mold your walls- to let his honed tip be the searchlight.
And your sweetest spots were what he was aiming for.
After a few more vulgar strokes, Toji’s rediscovering and ramming himself into none other than your g-spot. That throbbing bundle of nerves that’d just kept on and on waiting for him to probe you with his shaft—perhaps a bit too long at that…“What took you so long to find that spot again, Toji?”
“Take it easy on me…” He pleads with a slight hint of amusement. “Your pussy was to- mmm, hypnotizing. You can’t blame a guy for taking a little time…needy fuckin’ pussy.”
That last bit was said to himself- underneath his breath, in fact.
And yet, your proximity means that you’re catching onto every single word - and without a split-second of hesitation you’re countering back. “Oh? What was that…I’m sorry, maybe I was- hngh, hearing things? Because it just sounded to me like you wanted all your g-grade to plummet to an F?”
His lips part. “You wouldn’t…”
You peck him on the mouth. “Try. Me.”
And fuuuuuck—it’s clear he’s not expecting the way that sends pangs of excitement coursing through every inch of him. It’s clear he doesn’t know what to fucking do with himself- once he propells his ruddied cockhead to hit against the door to your womb.
And Toji’s thighs are left shivering at the way your walls immediately rush to embrace him.
Suctioning him.
A ribbon of drool drips slowly from the edge of his mouth, “A-and what do I have to do to make it up?”
“Hmmmm?” The fact that you made the Fushiguro Toji stutter so blatantly like this…it was driving you wild. It was making the cockiest smile plaster across your face- he wanted to kiss it away so bad but you were teasingly inching your lips away, making him work for it.
He growls and repeats- “What do I have to fucking do to get- hah, extra credit? To make up for my…” Toji’s prominent Adam’s apple bobs. “-mistake.”
“There now. Was that so hard to- hah, admit?” You coo. “Gimme a D.”
“Huh?” Toji gapes. “Aren’t you the one supposed to be- ngh, giving out the grades?”
“Yeah, I know. I’m just telling you to shut up and fuck me harder with your fat dick—”
“Yes, ma’am.”
He lightly stirs his hips in semi-circular motions to get the most out of his veiny cock- to make sure that those prized n’ precious vessels were massaging your insides just right. “Fuck-” Your entire upper half is shaking from stimulation - “Fuck, fuck, fuuuuuck—just like that.”
“Hngh, oh yeah?” Honed canines beared.
“Faster-” And he listens.
“Harder.” And he listens once more.
“Fucking-” You’re it escape you in a trilling tone. “-b-breed me…”
Toji’s breathless once the words register to him. “Yes, ma’am…”
Pumping up into you - meeting your bouncin’ cadence - like he was angry with you. Like he was trying to shove to your deepest depths n’ then probe his erect cock even further. Like he was trying to meld your bodies into one—
He was fucking you in a way that was so animalistic.
And Toji can’t help it- fuck, he can’t help but throw his head back—it just feels so good. Eyes shuttering. Brows furrowing. His hips unsticking from the now-dampened bedsheets to arch properly up into you-
But that’s when he feels those familiar fingers ‘round his throat again.
“Ah ah ah—” You tut. Your vision was just a little bleary from all the tears and pleasure clogging up your mind- “And who said you could- hah, move, hm? Seems like you’re the one running away, not me. What? Scared m’gonna milk you too hard, Fushiguro Toji?”
He growls. “You little…”
“F- for handling yourself.” Remembering just how much he’d teased you earlier for similar reactions just made these words so much sweeter on your tongue. “In fact…”
Toji looks eagerly up at you through his bangs.
To which you’re taking your lazy time changing your sloppy cadence into figure-eights instead. It swerved n’ stirred his pussy around your depths; and made it so that the most sensitive parts of Toji’s veins - that pinkish line underneath his slit, the frailest of his veins, where his balls rested - were being stimulated. Making him pour out wads of precum into you as though it was a waterfall—
“See me after class.”
“Fuck yes.” Toji grunts to himself- his hair was flying into his face, and every bit of his skin seemed to be furiously flushed. “Fuck—fuck, I need to cum inside you.”
Plap after plap after plap! of his hips hitting yours. “Mhmmm—”
“I n-need to fill you up until here-” His thumb briefly detaches from your clit to graze your lower stomach, where your womb was wont to be. “I need to feel it pouring out of you- then fuck it all back in.” And he was pistoning into you like it, too.
“Shit, m’close-”
Hard. Fast. The wads of his sappy precum only get stronger and more frequent - “I n-need to…”
Toji’s voice hatches into nothingness in his throat, and you’re cooing down at him cutely. “What’s thaaaat?”
“Need you to make me a f-father for a second time.” Toji utters.
And then with a particularly hard press on your heart-shaped, swollen clit—you’re both tumbling into your highs together. Tumbling into one another as you both hold each other through your strong orgasms - even stronger than the one you’d had prior.
Zaps and twinges of pleasure.
Goosebumps dapple across your skin.
Your spine arches into him.
Now you have Toji’s ravenous cock bulging into your walls- his globular tip searchin’ for every sweet spot and pinpointing them using his shape. That only elongated the sparks of your high until it felt never-ending; and dopamine washes over your body and leaves you wracking. Hands clawing down wherever you could latch onto the older man. Your knees squeezing tighter around his waist to milk him through his own euphoria. “Yes—yes, just like that.”
“Oh…oh, look at the way m’dripping out of you…” Toji’s mouth unfastens. Your cunt had already been bloated around his cock- now with his volumes of cum being webbed up inside, it was almost too much for you to handle.
And Toji’s orgasm rips through him strong—even his powerful limbs were wrapped around you as he powered through it. His thumb tremblin’ as he rolled and rolled.
He breathes out hot and heavy when those fingers of his dare to wonder…right along where a sheen was spreading along your inner-thighs. Every satiny drop of cum he was pouring out gets slid down your cervix- and then trickles deep inside of you. “So messy, this pussy o’ mine.”
“Yours?” You gasp. Though even that tiny reaction meant you feel his warm wetness splosh! inside you.
“Mhmmm—” He nods drunkenly. Left arm wrapping behind you and pulling you to him - resting you against his chest. “But don’t worry…this cock is yours, too.”
You scoff. “The audacity. Didn’t I give this cock an F?”
“Yeah, you sure did give me a fuck.”
You decide that the only way to shut up him is to overstimulate him by fuckin’ him—perhaps unfortunately for you, Fushiguro Toji seemed to have had the same idea.
“Mmm, now what about the parent-teacher meeting? We already- oh, handed out the grades, didn’t we?” He’s whispering in your ear once he’d somehow manhandled you into a doggy position. Sculpted abs pressed against your spine. Beefy arm wrapped around your throat in a headlock—
“T-to say what?” You’d wheezed out.
“That m’not done fucking this pussy pregnant.”
.
.
.
FUSHIGURO MEGUMI’S (and co.) FIVE-STEP PLAN TO MATCHMAKE HIS FATHER AND HIS TEACHER—PHASE FIVE: 𝕲𝖎𝖛𝖊 𝖚𝖕…
It’s so over.
Today was the day of the talent show; and Fushiguro Megumi had never felt more untalented.
And no…it wasn’t because of any of the other competition—if he had any idea how these things go, at the end they were going to say that everyone won and everyone gets a prize. This was elementary school, after all. And he was quite grown up.
Anyways—the point is his, Itadori, and Kugisaki’s magic show had been quite the hit amongst parents especially.
And that wasn’t why he was feeling untalented.
It wasn’t because Todo’s PG-censored version of a Megan Thee Stallion song had been honestly…quite good. It wasn’t because Yuta’s puppeteering act had been something that’d drawn endeared laughter from both kids and parents alike. It wasn’t even because of the act that was happening right now…where Inumaki was standing alone on center stage with a notebook opened up in his hands. The last act of the night.
The rest of the show had gone swimmingly.
Inumaki was a bit more of the quiet type, but at this moment he speaks into the mic loud and clear.
“For my talent today, I am going to read out vocabulary words taught to me by Fushiguro-san. Thank you Fushiguro-san!”
The audience coos and turns to try and find the aforementioned man.
From his position peaking-in from backstage, Megumi watches his father pale from the first row. And then sink deeper into his seat.
Deeper.
And deeper.
And deeper-
“Bud.”
Though the rest of the audience nods in sweet endearment- Toji’s damn-near jumping out of his seat in surprise. That was…clearly not what he had been expecting.
Not at all.
Inumaki continues.
“Cookie.”
And Toji has gathered enough bravery to…perhaps properly sit up in his seat. Clapping along with the other parents- looking around to make sure that he wasn’t just hearing things. And this was actually what Inumaki was reciting.
“Concussion.”
That one draws some admiring sounds. Such a big word for such a small kid—good on Fushiguro Toji, right?
He might just be safe…
“And divorce.” That one draws mixed reactions- but Inumaki closes his infamous blue notebook, and Toji lets out a sigh of relief - one that was nearly audible backstage.
Along with the rest of the parents, he can whole-heartedly start clapping now. Maybe even throw in a cheer or two.
Let the audience know that he was the mastermind behind such academic advancements. Yeah, maybe they should pay him.
But Inumaki wasn’t done yet.
“And my favorite yet—” Which one was it? Which other important vocabulary word had Toji so graciously bestowed upon this kid? Which other aspect of his life had Toji alleviated by the sharing of precious, precious knowledge? Inumaki firmly grips the mic. “Is fuc-”
Megumi leaps onto stage and snatches the microphone out of Inumaki’s hand before he can complete that specific word…
But the implication must have been evident either way, because then each set of eyes turns behind to the black-haired man. And glares. Toji flips them off. The applause is more polite than willing now. Then he decides that he’s never showing his face ‘round here again, he’s never stepping a foot through those damn multi-colored doors if it fucking kills him, he’s never—
Just then, you’re stepping onto the stage and graciously taking the mic from Megumi. He’s so back.
“Hello? Is this thing on?” You chuckle into it.
And Toji…Toji knows. He knows he wouldn’t mind being thrown a dirty look from every single person he meets- so long as you’re there to spot him out in a crowd. Tugging his son close to you—as you beckon all the other kids on-stage and start your speech.
It’s mostly thanking those that made it possible; the parents, the staff, and especially the students. Toji isn’t quite ashamed to admit that he’d been too busy drowning in your gorgeous tone to even register your words—
Expectedly, you were telling the kids that everyone won - and Principal Yaga had been called on-stage to hand out prizes to every one of the kids. And as Fushiguro Megumi holds his prize - a custom trophy with his name, a certificate, and a bunch of art supplies - he’s suddenly remembering why he’d been feeling so untalented.
It had been a week since Phase Four of the mission to get you and his father together. And it had been a few days since parent-teachers meeting and Toji had come to pick him up the next day, smiling dopily.
Megumi’s sure his father’s losing his marbles.
And he has the strange, sinking feeling that after tonight- they’d either forget about the plan or abandon it altogether. Feeling so hopeless—it’s so over.
“Hey, Fushiguro…” Itadori not-so-successfully whispers to the black-haired boy, ultimately drawing attention from whomever was around the two of you. “Fushiguro, isn’t that your dad coming up the aisle?”
“And why does he have such a big bouquet of flowers?” Kugisaki adds on.
Though…once Toji reaches the foot of the stage everything becomes very clear.
Because with a hand coming up to your mouth, and the spotlight shined on you, he lovingly hands you the plush bouquet of roses from below. Roses. Red, red roses.
With a silent thank you—you’re kissing Toji on the cheek.
Every. Single. One of their jaws drop-
Inumaki starts scribbling something down in his notebook.
Yuta sticks an approving thumbs-up.
Even some of the parents in the audience whisper to one another - most nod approvingly.
And Toji catches Megumi’s eye to wink. “We’ll talk later.” He mouths.
Megumi nods mutely- excitement thrums through him so fast that his fists clench—and Itadori has to clasp onto them. They succeeded? They really, truly succeeded?
His eyes are glimmering as he turns to Itadori and Kugisaki- both nodding excitedly in agreement. They couldn’t squeal like they wanted to right now with Yaga’s speech droning on in the background, but after…after, they had a loooot of questions for the new couple.
Together; they loop their arms together in a silent victory.
They’re so back.
Though being silent was never something for Todo Aoi.
Yelling.
“Fushiguro Toji rizzed Ms. Teacher before GTA 6—?!”
JJK men as ancient Gods, Heroes and Warriors x F!Reader for my freaks <3
Pairings: Gojo x Reader, Suguru x Reader, Nanami x Reader, Toji x Reader, Sukuna x Reader, Satosugu
content/warnings: Historical AU, Ancient History, JJK men as historical figures, definitely heavy smut, how to tame a God/Warrior guide heh, I'll try to keep it historically accurate since im a history freak, this is my wet dream about fucking ancient Gods lmao
a/n: Since so many people loved Anubis!Geto, I decided to start a full historical series!
Taglist for this collection is open!
Want to read more historical works? Check this collection ˗ˏˋ ꒰ ✉︎ ꒱ ˎˊ˗
dividers by @saradika-graphics
༄ Geto Suguru
⋆˙⟡ Anubis, Egyptian God of the Dead ꒰ The desert is cold at night. The West Bank of the Nile deadly silent, with a sand gripping your lifeless body. But you shall not fear death, as your mother would say. You shall not, because he will come and guide you to the afterlife. Anubis, God of the Dead, Lord of the Duat, Protector of the Desert, Jackal-Headed Lord, your – oh ꒱
༄ Gojo Satoru
⋆˙⟡ Roman Tyrant Julius Caesar ꒰ How ruthless a man he was. Rome's greatest general. The man of the hour. Caesar, his battle name was, but Gojo Satoru in heart. A tyrant, a beast, a genius himself, your... only hope. Because how could you get back your title as the Queen of Egypt, by not using the help of the Imperator himself? And how could you not predict for him to drop down to his knees so pitifully? ꒱
༄ Choso Kamo
⋆˙⟡ Hades, Greek God of the Underworld ꒰ How easy was it to have the mightiest, the most frightening and stern God wrapped around your finger? Easy, apparently, because Hades, God of the Underworld, a gloomy, lone figure, so powerful as the oldest one of the three brothers, was nothing but a whimpering mess for his dearest Goddess! ꒱
༄ Ryomen Sukuna
⋆˙⟡ Set, Egyptian God of Wars, Violence and Sands ꒰ How brute of a God he was. A monster, Lord of Upper Egypt, Harbinger of Chaos, God of Wars, tormenting the country with his power. An usurper. So what happens when a sweet girl comes up one day, claiming that she's the one meant to inherit the rule over Egypt? ꒱
༄ Toji Fushiguro
⋆˙⟡ Roman Gladiator ꒰ Every Roman citizen loved gladiatorial fights. Just not you. But when you finally decided to see one in the company of your husband, it turned out that one fighter in particular had set his eye on you. A beast, a brute, a butcher, with strong knees that could bend solely for his lady ꒱
༄ Nanami Kento
⋆˙⟡ Greek Hero Heracles ꒰ What's the easiest way to get rid of a tenacious man who desperately asks for your hand? Give him twelve impossible challenges, of course, in hopes he'll drop out before finishing them all. But... maybe underestimating the Olympian's greatest hero, the strongest demigod alive, Zeus's warrior, wasn't the greatest choice ꒱
༄ Satosugu
⋆˙⟡ Alexander the Great and Hephaestion [coming soon]
DO NOT COPY MY WORK, if anyone wants to get inspired please tag me
˗ˏˋ ꒰ ✉︎ ꒱ ˎˊ˗ want to join permanent taglist? sign up here ꨄ︎
yk that feeling when u read a fic and u think omg this was so well written and im never gonna recover and find smth this good again? AND THEN U FIND MORE FROM THE SAME AUTHOR WITH SIMILAR TROPES??? guys i love these theyre so so so amazing read them rn
synopsis: ryomen sukuna- the captain of the malevolent shrine, the most feared captain on the sea, finds a treasure unique enough to keep forever; a witch. his witch.
pls lmk who the artist is to the sukuna pic i couldn't find who it was
warnings: smut (18+), possessive behaviour, mentions of violence, captivity, slight gore, not proofread.
a/n: helloo this was my first time writing smut and i'm not sure if I executed it properly (:
They don't speak his name in port towns.
Not because they've forgotten it. That's precisely the problem, you see. They remember. They remember too well. The name sits heavy on their tongues like a curse, like speaking it aloud might send the sound skipping across the waves until it reaches him, wherever he is, and draws his attention toward them. And then he'd come. He always comes, eventually, for those foolish enough to invoke him.
Ryomen Sukuna.
The King of the Deep, some call him. The Red Death, others whisper. The demon who sails under no flag because no nation would dare claim him, and no nation would survive his wrath if they tried.
His ship, the Malevolent Shrine, and it cuts through the water like a blade through flesh. Silent when it needs to be, brutal when it doesn't. Black sails that drink in the moonlight rather than reflect it. Dark wood that seems to absorb the shadows around it. Lanterns that glow red at the bow, two of them, always lit, like eyes watching the horizon for something to devour. Sailors who spot those lights in the darkness know they have two choices: pray, or drown. Often both.
And Sukuna himself?
He stands at the helm most nights, arms crossed over his chest, the wind pulling at the open front of his shirt and sending his hair dancing around his face. Six feet and four inches of pure, condensed violence given human form. Shoulders broad enough to block out the stars behind him when he stands silhouetted against the night sky. A chest that looks like it was carved from marble by a sculptor who wanted to intimidate the gods themselves, layered with muscle upon muscle until it seemed almost architectural in its construction. Arms thick enough that when he crosses them, the fabric of his sleeves strains at the seams. A waist that tapers down to narrow hips, but even there the muscle doesn't stop, the lines of his abdomen visible through the gap in his shirt, disappearing beneath his waistband like a promise of more violence beneath.
The kind of body that makes you think the gods were showing off when they made him.
The moonlight catches on his skin and illuminates what makes seasoned sailors weep into their rum and swear off the ocean forever.
The tattoos.
Black lines, thick and deliberate, ancient-looking in a way that suggests they weren't designed by any human hand. They crawl up his arms like vines made of shadow, wrapping around the swell of his biceps, circling his forearms, splitting into intricate patterns at his wrists like shackles he chose for himself. They creep up his neck in thick bands, and then split across his face- and his face? slits sitting below his crimson eyes, looking like another set of eyes themselves, and the other half of his face? A calcified, tumor-like mask claimed the right side of his face.
It makes him look less like a man and more like something that crawled out of the depths of the ocean wearing a man's shape for convenience.
Some say they're cursed, that he made a deal with something ancient and hungry and the marks are the price he paid.
Some say he was born with them, that he crawled out of the ocean already marked as something other, something that was never meant to walk among ordinary men.
Sukuna doesn't bother correcting any of them. Let them wonder. Let them theorize. Let them tell stories about him in hushed voices and terrified whispers. The fear is useful. The fear keeps people in line.
He likes the fear. Feeds on it, almost. Watches the way people flinch when he walks through a captured ship, stepping over bodies like they're nothing more than inconvenient debris scattered in his path. Watches the way their eyes go wide and their hands shake and their voices tremble when they beg for their lives. Most of the time, he doesn't grant them mercy. Mercy is boring. Mercy is predictable. Sukuna has never been either of those things.
And then there's the hair.
Pink. Actual pink. The color of cherry blossoms in spring, of sunrise clouds over a calm sea, of something soft and delicate and entirely out of place on a man who has personally sent more souls to the bottom of the ocean than most people have met in their entire lives.
There is nothing soft or delicate about the man underneath that pink hair. The contrast only makes him more unsettling, more wrong, more like something that shouldn't exist but does anyway.
His crew doesn't speak to him unless spoken to. They learned early on that their captain has no patience for idle chatter, no tolerance for interruptions, no interest in hearing their opinions unless he specifically asks for them, which he almost never does.
His right hand, Uraume, is the only one who holds his gaze for longer than a second without flinching, and even they know when to look away. The others scurry around the ship like mice trying not to attract the attention of a very large, very hungry cat. They avert their eyes when he passes. They hold their breath when he comes near. They whisper among themselves only when they're certain he's out of earshot, and even then, they keep their voices low.
Good.
This is the way Sukuna likes his world. Sharp and quiet and entirely under his control. Every piece in its proper place. Every person knowing their role and playing it without complaint. Nothing unexpected, nothing chaotic, nothing that might threaten the perfect order he's built for himself on this ship.
And then the navy ruins it.
The fleet appears on the horizon at dusk, three ships sailing in formation with the kind of precision that screams military discipline. Official sails bearing the crest of some kingdom or another that Sukuna has probably pillaged at least twice. Cannons gleaming in the fading sunlight. Men in uniforms lining the decks, armed to the teeth and looking far too confident for people who are about to die.
Sukuna watches them approach with something like amusement curling in his chest. He's standing at the helm, fingers loosely wrapped around the wheel, and he doesn't move as the ships grow larger and larger on the horizon. His crew scrambles around him, preparing for battle, shouting orders back and forth, but Sukuna remains still. Calm. Almost bored.
"They brought friends," he murmurs, and the smile that spreads across his face is the kind that would make smarter men turn their ships around and flee.
The naval officers are not smarter men.
The battle is quick and bloody and, honestly, fun
Sukuna hasn't had a good fight in weeks, and there's something deeply satisfying about cutting through trained soldiers like they're made of paper. His blade moves in precise arcs, opening throats and severing limbs with a casual efficiency that speaks to years of practice. Blood sprays across his face, his chest, his arms, and he doesn't bother wiping it away, and the smile hasn't left his face.
He's ready to leave. Already bored again now that the fighting has stopped. Already thinking about the rum waiting in his quarters and the quiet of his cabin and the blessed absence of people trying to kill him for a few hours.
And then he smells it.
Smoke, but not the kind that comes from cannon fire or burning timber. This is different. Herbal. Complex. Underneath the sulfur and the salt and the copper tang of blood, there's something else. Sage. Mugwort. Something darker that he can't identify but recognizes instinctively as not natural. Not ordinary.
He follows the scent.
The lanterns have all gone out, but moonlight streams through the cracks in the hull, casting strange silver patterns across the walls as the ship shifts and settles. The smell grows stronger as he descends, pulling him forward like a hook in his chest.
And there, in the lowest level of the ship, in a cell that's already half-filled with rising seawater from some leakage due to his assault, he finds you.
The cell looks less like a prison and more like an attempt to contain something dangerous. Iron bars, yes, but also symbols scratched into the metal, sigils that Sukuna recognizes vaguely from old books and older legends. Chains bolted to the wall, far more than would be necessary for an ordinary prisoner. And in the center of it all, surrounded by the rising water, you.
Chained like an animal.
A thick iron collar encircles your throat, etched with more of those strange symbols, connected to the wall behind you by links so heavy they've left purple bruises on the skin beneath. Your wrists are bound in front of you with more iron, the cuffs designed specifically to limit movement, and your fingers are wrapped in thick cloth bandages that prevent you from making any gestures at all.
Around you, floating in the rising water, Sukuna can see the remnants of what must have been your supplies before they confiscated them. Broken glass vials. Scattered herbs, their colors bleeding into the seawater. A leather pouch, half-submerged, with dried flowers spilling from its mouth. A small knife with a bone handle. Candle stubs. Salt, dissolving slowly into the flood.
Whatever Sukuna was expecting, it wasn't this. Most people, when they see him covered in blood with a sword in his hand, show fear. Naked, animal terror that makes their bodies shake and their eyes go wide. But you just look at him. Assess him. Your gaze travels from his face to his tattoos to the blade in his hand and back again, cataloging, calculating.
There's no fear in your expression. There's barely any emotion at all. Just exhaustion so deep it seems to have seeped into your bones, and underneath that, something else. Something sharp and watchful and not quite broken, despite everything they've clearly done to try.
Sukuna tilts his head, considering you.
The water is still rising around you both. It's up to his knees now, lapping at the bottom of your ribcage where you're slumped against the wall. In another few minutes, this whole level of the ship will be underwater, and you along with it.
He steps into the cell and crouches in front of you, bringing himself down to your eye level. This close, he can see details he missed before. Dark circles under your eyes that speak to weeks or months of sleepless nights. Faded scars on your fingers, the kind that come from handling knives and thorns and things that bite back. Stains on your skin that might be herbs, might be ash, might be something else entirely. Old burn marks on your wrists above the iron cuffs, circular and deliberate, the kind that come from being tested. From people trying to prove what you are.
Witch marks. He's heard of the practice. Seen the results before, on bodies pulled from the water, on prisoners taken from ships that sailed from colonies where they still burned women for knowing too much about plants and potions.
He reaches out and grips your chin with wet, blood-stained fingers, turning your face side to side like he's examining cargo he's considering purchasing. Your skin is cold beneath his touch. You don't flinch. Don't react at all.
"Witch," he says.
It's not a question. He knows what you are. He can smell it on you, underneath the salt water and the fear. Herbs and smoke and something older, something that speaks of rituals performed under moonlight, of words spoken into darkness, of power bartered and borrowed from things that don't have names.
You hold his gaze through the bars of your muzzle. One slow blink. That's all the confirmation he needs.
Sukuna's smile spreads across his face, slow and sharp as a knife being drawn from its sheath.
"You're coming with me."
He breaks your chains with three precise strikes of his blade. The collar around your throat takes more effort than he expected, the iron reinforced and the lock complex, but eventually it falls away too, splashing into the water that's now up to your chest. He cuts the bindings on your wrists. Unwraps the cloth from your fingers, noting the calluses on your fingertips, the faded scars, the evidence of years of work with herbs and blades and fire.
You take a deep, shuddering breath. Your first real breath in what looks like a very long time.
You still don't speak.
Through all of this, you remain passive. Limp. You don't help him, but you don't resist either. You just let him maneuver your body like a doll, your eyes fixed on some point over his shoulder, your expression never changing.
When all the restraints are gone, Sukuna stands and looks down at you. The water is rising faster now, up to his waist, and you're going to drown in about thirty seconds if you don't move.
You don't move.
He sighs, a sharp exhale of annoyance, and then he bends down and hauls you over his shoulder like a sack of particularly uncooperative grain. You weigh almost nothing, he notes absently. Whatever kingdom these naval officers serve, they clearly don't believe in feeding their prisoners.
He carries you through the sinking ship, climbing up through the hatches with one arm wrapped around your thighs to keep you in place. Water pours down around him as the vessel continues its descent, but he moves fast, faster than any man his size should be able to, and within minutes he's back on the deck of his own ship, standing in the moonlight with you still draped over his shoulder.
Uraume is waiting for him at the railing. Their pale eyes flick from Sukuna's face to your limp form and back again, one elegant eyebrow arching in a silent question that manages to convey about fifteen different concerns simultaneously.
Sukuna ignores every single one of them.
"Prepare a room," he says. "Not a cell. An actual room. With a bed."
He doesn't wait for Uraume's response before carrying you below deck.
The room they prepare is small but clean. A narrow bed with actual blankets pushed against one wall. A small table with a chair. A basin of water for washing. A window that faces east, so you'll get the moonlight when it rises. Not luxurious by any means, but a far cry from the flooded cell he pulled you from.
He drops you onto the bed without ceremony. You land in a sprawl of tangled limbs and wet fabric, your hair spreading across the pillow like seaweed, your eyes still fixed on that invisible point in the distance that seems to hold all of your attention.
Someone has already been here. There's a wooden box on the table, its lid open, containing what looks like the ship's meager supply of medicinal herbs. Dried lavender. Chamomile. Willow bark. Some things Sukuna doesn't recognize. And beside the box, a small bundle wrapped in cloth that, when he nudges it with his finger, reveals the remnants of your own supplies. What they could salvage from the sinking ship before it went under completely. Not much. A few intact vials. A handful of dried plants in waxed pouches. Your bone-handled knife.
You notice the bundle. For the first time since he found you, something flickers across your face. Not quite emotion, but something close to it. Recognition, maybe. Or relief.
Sukuna files that reaction away for later.
"Food will be brought to you," he says. "Eat it. Don't make me come back here."
He leaves without waiting for a response. You don't give him one.
You don't speak for days.
You don't do much of anything, actually. You sit in the corner of the room, your back pressed against the wall beneath the window, and you stare at nothing. The food Sukuna sends goes untouched. The water sits in its pitcher, the level never dropping. When crew members come to check on you, to bring fresh supplies or change the bedding or see if you need anything, you don't even acknowledge their presence. It's like you've retreated so far inside yourself that your body is just an empty shell, going through the motions of being alive without any actual consciousness behind it.
The only thing you touch is your supplies.
Sukuna learns this from the crew members who report back to him, their voices hushed and nervous. The witch, they say. She doesn't eat, doesn't drink, doesn't sleep as far as they can tell. But her hands. Her hands are always moving. Sorting through the herbs they salvaged. Grinding things together with a small mortar and pestle that appeared from somewhere. Drawing symbols on scraps of paper, on the wooden table, once even on her own skin with ash and water.
She works all night, they tell him. When the moon rises, she positions herself in the patch of light from the window and she works, and she doesn't stop until dawn.
It pisses Sukuna off.
Which is confusing, because Sukuna doesn't care. He doesn't care about anything or anyone, not really. People are tools to be used and discarded when they've outlived their usefulness. He wanted you for your power, nothing more. You're a weapon. An asset. The navy kept you chained and muzzled for a reason, and he intends to use that reason to his advantage.
But weapons need to be maintained. Assets need to remain valuable. And you're not going to be valuable for long if you waste away to nothing in that little room, spending all your energy on rituals instead of sustenance.
On the fifth night, Sukuna storms into your quarters without knocking.
You're exactly where the crew said you'd be. Sitting in the patch of moonlight beneath the window, your back against the wall, your hands busy with something in your lap. Herbs, he realizes. You're braiding dried herbs together with thread, your fingers moving with practiced ease despite their stiffness, creating what looks like a small bundle meant for burning.
You don't look up when the door bangs open. You don't flinch at the sound. Your hands don't even pause in their work.
He crouches in front of you, same position as when he found you in that cell on the sinking ship. Grips your chin the same way too, his fingers calloused and warm against your cold skin, forcing your face up toward him.
"Eat," he says.
Nothing. Your eyes focus on him, finally, but there's no recognition in them. No defiance. No fear. Just exhaustion so deep it seems to have replaced whatever person used to live behind your eyes.
"That's an order," he tries again, his voice harder this time.
Still nothing. Your hands are still holding the half-finished bundle. Even now, even with his fingers digging into your jaw, you don't drop your work.
His grip tightens, just short of painful, and he watches something flicker across your features. Not obedience. Something closer to resignation. Like you're so tired that even the basic act of resistance is beyond you, but so is the act of compliance.
Sukuna's jaw tightens in response. He releases your chin and stands, turning on his heel and leaving the room with a sharp slam of the door behind him.
He returns five minutes later.
In one hand, he's carrying a bowl of soup from the ship's galley, still steaming. In the other, a piece of bread that he grabbed from the cook's personal stash. He kicks the door shut behind him and then, without any fanfare or explanation, he folds himself down onto the floor across from you.
All six feet and four inches of him, all that muscle and violence and barely-contained menace, sitting cross-legged on the floor of your little room like a very large, very dangerous child preparing for a tea party. His knees nearly touch the wall on either side of you. He takes up so much space that the moonlight has to work around him to reach you.
If the situation were different, it might even be funny.
He dips the spoon into the soup and holds it out toward you.
"I'm not losing my new weapon to something as stupid as starvation," he says flatly, like this is a perfectly reasonable thing to be doing, like the most feared pirate on all the seas hand-feeding a prisoner is just an ordinary Tuesday evening. "You want to work your little rituals? Fine. But you do it on a full stomach. Open your mouth."
You stare at him.
Your hands have finally gone still. The half-braided bundle rests forgotten in your lap, herbs spilling from your loosened grip. You're looking at him like you're trying to solve a puzzle you don't have all the pieces for.
The silence stretches between you like a physical thing.
One heartbeat passes. Then another. Then ten more.
Your lips part.
Sukuna feeds you the entire bowl of soup, one careful spoonful at a time. He doesn't speak while he does it, and neither do you. The only sounds in the room are the gentle slosh of the ocean against the hull, the distant creak of timber, and the soft clink of the spoon against the bowl.
When the soup is gone, he sets the empty bowl aside and places the bread on the floor next to you, close enough that you could reach it if you wanted to.
Then he stands, turns, and leaves without looking back.
The next morning, when he checks the room, the bread is gone. And on the table, arranged in a neat row, are three small vials filled with something that shimmers faintly in the morning light.
He doesn't know what they are. Doesn't know what they do. But he recognizes an offering when he sees one.
Interesting.
It takes weeks.
Slow, grueling weeks of you existing in that strange twilight state between alive and merely surviving. But eventually, gradually, something begins to shift.
It starts small. You begin eating the food that's brought to you. Not all of it, but enough. You start sleeping in the bed instead of curled up on the floor beneath the window. You start acknowledging the presence of others when they enter your room, your eyes tracking their movements even if you don't speak.
ou request specific supplies through gestures and written notes, and Sukuna makes sure you get them. Beeswax candles. Salt. Iron filings. Certain herbs that have to be purchased at port, exchanged for coin that Sukuna doesn't even blink at spending.
The crew starts to notice changes on the ship. Small things at first. A bundle of dried herbs hanging above the door to the cargo hold, and somehow the rats that have plagued them for months suddenly vanish. A sigil drawn in salt on the deck, washed away by the morning rain but not before the storm that had been building on the horizon changes direction and passes them by. Salves that appear in the medical supplies, unlabeled but remarkably effective at healing wounds that would normally take weeks to close.
You're contributing. In your own way, with your own skills, you're making yourself useful.
Sukuna notices.
And then, one night, you venture above deck for the first time.
It's well past midnight, the ship quiet except for the skeleton crew keeping watch and the eternal rhythm of the waves. Sukuna is at the helm, as he often is at this hour, when he sees movement out of the corner of his eye.
You emerge from below deck like a ghost, your feet bare and your hair loose around your shoulders. You're wearing clothes that actually fit you now, things the crew scrounged up from storage, and you've clearly been eating because your cheeks have filled out and your collarbones no longer jut quite so sharply beneath your skin. There's color in your face that wasn't there before. Life in your movements.
"The witch," Uramue says.
"What about her?"
"The crew is afraid of her."
Sukuna laughs. It's not a kind sound. "Good. They should be afraid of something other than me for a change. Keeps them sharp."
Uraume doesn't respond to that. They just look at him with those pale, knowing eyes that see far too much, and then they walk away.
The rival ship arrives three weeks later.
Not navy this time. Pirates. A vessel called the Black Tide, captained by a man who has apparently decided that Sukuna's recent good fortune means he's gotten soft. That his legendary reputation is more myth than reality. That the Malevolent Shrine and its cargo are ripe for the taking.
He's wrong.
The battle begins at dusk and rages into the night. This crew is better than the navy was, more vicious, more desperate, and for a while it's actually challenging. Sukuna finds himself enjoying it, the clash of steel, the spray of blood, the screams of dying men. His blade sings through the air. His body moves with fluid, deadly grace. He is, as always, magnificent in his violence.
But the enemy captain is clever. He's brought three ships to Sukuna's one. He's positioned them in a formation that limits the Shrine's maneuverability. And he's got cannons, lots of them, raining fire down on the deck faster than the crew can respond.
For the first time in a long time, Sukuna considers the possibility that he might actually lose.
And then the wind changes.
It comes from nowhere, a gust so strong it snaps two of the enemy's masts like twigs. The sea, which had been choppy with cannon fire and combat, suddenly heaves, a massive swell rising beneath the Black Tide's lead ship and capsizing it completely. The remaining two ships try to flee, but the water around them has become treacherous, currents pulling them in circles, waves battering them from impossible directions.
Within minutes, it's over.
Sukuna stands on the deck of his ship, surrounded by the floating wreckage of his enemies, and he turns to find you.
You're standing near the mainmast, your bare feet planted on a sigil drawn in what looks like blood and salt.
You look at him across the blood-slicked deck, and for the first time since he pulled you from that cell, you smile. It's barely there. Just a ghost of an expression, a tiny curve at the corners of your mouth. But it's real.
"You're welcome," you say.
Sukuna laughs. Actually laughs, genuine and surprised, a sound that makes several nearby crew members flinch because they've never heard anything like it from him before.
"Do that again," he says.
Your smile widens, just a fraction.
"Buy me more candles and we'll talk."
Interesting.
That's the word Sukuna uses, in the privacy of his own mind, to describe this feeling that's been growing in his chest. You're interesting. That's all. A curiosity. A useful tool that happens to be pretty in moonlight. He watches you because you're powerful, because understanding your abilities is tactically important, because knowledge is currency and you are a very valuable coin.
Nothing more.
Nothing more.
He tells himself this when he catches himself looking at your hands. The way they move when you work your craft, quick and precise, crushing herbs between your palms or tracing sigils in the air. He tells himself this when he notices the curve of your neck, the line of your jaw, the way you tilt your head when you're concentrating on something complicated.
He tells himself this when he realizes you've started humming while you work, quiet little melodies that seem to have no source and no end, and something about the sound makes his chest feel too tight.
Interesting, he thinks firmly.
Just interesting.
The word tastes more and more like a lie each time he uses it.
One night, when he's being particularly unbearable, when he's just finished snarling at you for something trivial and stupid that wasn't even your fault, you tilt your head and look at him with those knowing eyes of yours.
"Does this actually work on the others?" you ask.
Sukuna's brain goes blank. Just for a moment, just half a second, but it's enough for him to lose his footing in the conversation completely.
"Does what work?"
"The posturing." You gesture at him, a vague wave of your hand that encompasses all of him. All six feet and four inches, all two hundred fifty pounds of solid muscle, all the tattoos and the pink hair and the sheer overwhelming presence of him. "The snarling. The whole 'I'm so scary, fear me' routine. Does it actually work on them?"
Behind him, he can feel his crew watching. Can feel their terror radiating off them in waves, because they've just watched you talk back to the captain and they're absolutely certain they're about to witness a murder.
Sukuna steps closer to you. Then closer still. Until he's looming over you, until you have to tilt your head back to keep meeting his eyes, until the height difference between you becomes almost absurd. He's close enough now that he could grab you, could hurt you, could do any number of violent things that he's done to people who've disrespected him far less than you just did.
"Careful, little witch," he says, low and dangerous.
You don't flinch. Don't back down. Don't show even a flicker of the fear that any sane person would be feeling right now.
"Or what?" you ask.
And then you smile.
It's barely there. Just a ghost of an expression, a tiny curve at the corners of your mouth that's gone almost as quickly as it appears. But it's real, and it's directed at him, and it hits him like cannon fire to the chest.
He doesn't respond. Can't, for a moment, because his throat has closed up and his heart is doing something strange behind his ribs and he genuinely doesn't know what his face is doing right now.
He turns on his heel. Storms across the deck toward his quarters. Slams the door behind him hard enough to rattle the hinges.
Breathes.
Fuck.
He's in trouble.
Three more weeks pass.
Three weeks of Sukuna very carefully not thinking about the way you smiled at him. Three weeks of him avoiding you as much as possible on a ship that suddenly feels far too small. Three weeks of him lying awake at night staring at the ceiling of his cabin and absolutely not thinking about the curve of your mouth or the steadiness of your hands or the way your voice sounds when you chant your rituals in the moonlight.
It's going well. Really. He has everything completely under control.
He breaks on a night when the moon is full and you're performing a ritual on the deck and he can't stop watching you.
You're kneeling in a circle of salt, candles arranged around you at precise intervals. Your supplies are spread before you, bowls and vials and bundles of herbs. Your hands move with practiced ease, crushing, mixing, arranging. And your voice rises and falls in that old language of yours, low and rhythmic, powerful in a way that has nothing to do with volume.
He approaches. You hear him coming, because you always do, but you don't stop your work.
"Captain," you say between phrases of your chant.
"Don't call me that," he says.
Your hands pause. You look up at him, moonlight catching on your features, confusion flickering across your face. "What should I call you, then?"
He doesn't answer right away. Just looks at you. The moonlight is catching on your skin, your hair, the curve of your collarbone where your shirt has slipped down over one shoulder. You look powerful like this. Certain. Beautiful in a way that has nothing to do with conventional standards and everything to do with the absolute confidence in your craft, the steadiness of your hands, the ancient knowledge behind your eyes.
He thinks you could destroy him if you wanted to. He thinks he might let you.
"Sukuna," he says finally. His own name feels strange on his tongue, too intimate, too revealing. "Just Sukuna."
Your lips part slightly. Something shifts in your eyes, some understanding dawning there that makes his stomach clench. You've been on this ship for months now. He has never once given you permission to use his name.
"Sukuna," you repeat. Testing it out. Rolling it over your tongue like you're tasting it.
His jaw tightens.
You notice. Of course you notice. You've learned to read him better than anyone else on this ship, better than anyone has ever been able to read him, and right now you're looking at him like you can see straight through to the hungry, wanting thing that's taken up residence in his chest.
"What do you want?" you ask. Your voice is softer now. The confidence you carry when you're working your craft is fading, replaced by something that might be nervousness, might be anticipation. Like you've been waiting for this moment. Like you've been dreading it and hoping for it in equal measure.
Sukuna steps into your circle of salt, heedless of the ritual you were performing. Steps close enough that he could touch you. Close enough that he can smell the herbs on your skin and the smoke in your hair and the strange, sweet scent that always clings to you, something he can't identify but has come to associate exclusively with you.
"I'm going to kiss you," he says. Blunt. Direct. No room for misinterpretation. "If you don't want that, you should say so now. Because in about three seconds I'm going to stop being a good man about it, and I was never a good man to begin with."
You stare up at him from where you're still kneeling in your circle.
One second passes.
Two.
"Do I look like I want you to be a good man?" you ask.
Sukuna's control snaps.
He reaches down, grips your arms, and hauls you to your feet in one fluid motion. Your supplies scatter, candles tipping over, salt circle breaking, but neither of you cares. His mouth finds yours before you're even fully standing, and he kisses you like he's been starving for it.
Which, honestly, he has been. For weeks now. Months, maybe, if he's being honest with himself. Every moment he spent watching you across the deck, every night he lay awake thinking about you, every time you smiled at him and his heart did something stupid in his chest, all of it has been building toward this.
His hands find your hair, fingers tangling in the strands, gripping tight enough to pull your head back so he can lick into your mouth properly. You make a sound against his lips, surprised and wanting, and he swallows it whole. Takes it for himself. Hoards it away to remember later.
His other hand finds your waist, fingers splaying across the curve of your hip, yanking you closer until your body is pressed flush against his. You go willingly, your own hands coming up to clutch at his shirt like you'll drown if you let go, and the feeling of your fingers against his chest makes something savage and possessive roar to life inside him.
"Inside," he growls against your mouth. "Now."
You nod, breathless, and that's all the confirmation he needs.
He doesn't let go of you the entire way to his quarters. His hand stays wrapped around your waist, keeping you pressed against his side, and he moves through the ship with a single-minded focus that sends crew members scattering out of his path. He kicks the door of his cabin open, pulls you inside, and then kicks it shut again with a slam that echoes through the wood.
The room is dark except for the moonlight streaming through the windows. It catches on the planes of his face, illuminates the hunger in his eyes, makes his tattoos seem to writhe and shift against his skin.
He presses you back against the door and kisses you again. Deeper this time. Wetter. Filthier. His tongue slides against yours, tasting, claiming, and when you moan into his mouth he feels it vibrate through his entire body.
"Been thinking about this," he says between kisses. His mouth moves from your lips to your jaw, your throat, the sensitive spot behind your ear that makes you gasp and arch against him. "For weeks. Months. You drove me insane, little witch. You have no idea."
"Then show me," you breathe, and your voice is already wrecked, ruined, and he's barely even touched you yet.
He snarls against your skin.
He picks you up like you weigh nothing, because to him you basically do, your legs wrapping around his waist on instinct. He carries you to the bed, his bed, the one he's imagined you in more times than he can count, and he lays you down onto the mattress with more care than he's shown anything in years.
You reach for him immediately, pulling him down with you, and he goes willingly. Covers your body with his, letting you feel his weight, his warmth, the solid reality of him pressing you into the sheets. Your hands find the buttons of his shirt and work them open with fingers that shake slightly, and when you push the fabric off his shoulders, baring the broad expanse of his chest and the tattoos that cover it, you make a sound that goes straight to his cock.
He watches you trace the lines across his skin with your fingertips. Following the paths they carve over his pectorals, down his ribs, across the ridges of his abdomen. Your touch is reverent. Wondering. Like you're mapping him by feel, memorizing him.
"Pretty witch," he murmurs, and his voice comes out rougher than he intended. Raw. His hand slides up your thigh, pushing beneath the hem of your shirt, and he feels you shiver beneath him. "Pretty, powerful little witch. And mine. Say it."
"Yours," you whisper, and the word breaks something in him.
He undresses you slowly after that. Deliberately. Taking his time even though every instinct in his body is screaming at him to take, to claim, to devour.
He kisses every inch of skin he reveals. The swell of your breasts, the peaked points of your nipples that make you cry out when he draws them into his mouth. He stays there for a while, learning what makes you gasp, what makes you arch up into him, what makes your fingers tighten in his hair. Then he moves lower, kissing the dip of your waist, the flare of your hips, the soft skin of your stomach. The tender inside of your thighs, where your skin is softest and you're most sensitive to the scrape of his teeth.
By the time he settles between your legs, his shoulders spreading your thighs wide, you're trembling beneath him. Your hands are fisted in the sheets. Your breath is coming in short, sharp gasps. Your eyes, when he looks up at you, are dark with desire.
"Sukuna," you manage, and his name sounds like a prayer on your lips. "Please."
"I've got you," he says. And then his mouth is on you.
He's not gentle. He doesn't know how to be, not really, and he's not sure he'd want to be even if he did. He licks into you like he's starving for it, like you're the first real meal he's had in years, like he could spend the rest of his life between your thighs and die a happy man. His tongue traces patterns against your clit, sometimes circling, sometimes flicking, sometimes pressing flat and wide. He learns you quickly, figures out what makes you gasp and what makes you moan and what makes your thighs try to clamp around his head.
The sounds you make when he hits a particularly good spot are the most beautiful things he's ever heard. He wants to hear them again. Wants to hear them a thousand times. Wants to spend every night for the rest of his life drawing those sounds from your throat.
His hands grip your hips when you try to squirm away from the intensity of it, pinning you in place with easy strength. He looks up at you over the plane of your body, his eyes dark and hungry, and says:
"Stay still. Let me have this."
You come with his name on your lips, your back arching off the bed, your fingers so tight in the sheets that your knuckles go white.
He doesn't stop.
Your body is still shaking with the aftershocks when he slides two fingers inside you, crooking them just right, finding the spot that makes your vision blur. His mouth returns to your clit, circling it with his tongue, applying just the right amount of pressure. Within minutes you're climbing again, your hips rolling against his face, soft moans spilling from your lips.
"Sukuna," you gasp. "I can't, it's too much, I can't—"
"You can," he says against your core, and the vibration of his voice makes you whimper. He curls his fingers again, harder this time, and watches your eyes roll back. "You will. One more. Be good for me."
You are.
The second orgasm tears through you harder than the first, and he works you through every moment of it. His fingers keep moving, his mouth keeps teasing, and before you've even fully come down from the peak he's building you toward a third.
"Can't," you sob. There are tears leaking from the corners of your eyes, overwhelmed tears, and the sight of them makes something dark and satisfied curl in his chest. "Sukuna, please, I can't take any more."
"One more," he promises. His thumb replaces his mouth on your clit, circling in tight, precise movements while his fingers continue their devastating rhythm inside you. He kisses your hip, your stomach, works his way up your body while his hand keeps working between your legs. "Give me one more and then I'll fuck you. One more, pretty witch. You can do it. I know you can."
You come a third time with a broken cry, your whole body clenching and shuddering, your hands releasing the sheets to grab at his shoulders instead. Your nails dig into his skin hard enough to leave marks and he relishes the sting of it, files it away as another thing to remember.
When you finally come down from the peak, trembling and incoherent and barely able to form words, he crawls up your body. Settles his weight over you. Kisses you deep and slow, letting you taste yourself on his tongue.
"Ready?" he asks against your mouth. His cock is pressing against your entrance, hard and thick and aching with the need to be inside you, but he waits. Holds himself still. Because as much as he wants to take, he wants you to give yourself to him even more.
"Please," you manage, and your voice is wrecked. "Please, Sukuna, I need—"
He slides into you in one long, smooth stroke.
You both groan. The sound mingles in the space between your mouths, his low and guttural, yours high and breathless. He's big, he knows he is, and the feeling of you stretching to accommodate him makes his vision white out at the edges.
He forces himself to pause. To give you time to adjust. He presses his forehead against yours, breathes in the scent of you, feels your heart racing against his chest.
"Okay?" he asks, and his voice comes out strangled.
"Move," you breathe. Your legs wrap around his waist, pulling him deeper, and you both shudder at the sensation.
He does.
He fucks you like he does everything else, with focused, relentless intensity. His hips snap into yours with a rhythm that makes the bed creak beneath you, that makes the headboard slam against the wall, that makes you cry out with every thrust. His hands grip your thighs, your waist, your throat. Not squeezing, just holding. Just reminding you who you belong to.
He tells you things while he fucks you. Filthy things. Beautiful things. How good you feel around him, how tight, how perfect. How he's never felt anything like this, never wanted anyone the way he wants you. How he's going to keep you forever, ruin you for anyone else, mark you so deep that no one will ever be able to touch you without knowing you're his.
"Mine," he growls against your throat, his hips driving into you harder, faster. "My witch. My woman. Mine."
"Yours," you gasp back, and something in your voice, something raw and honest and utterly surrendered, pushes him closer to the edge.
You come again, your fourth, clenching around him so tight it punches the breath from his lungs. And the feeling of you pulsing around his cock, the sound of his name shattering on your lips, drags him over right along with you.
He collapses beside you when it's over, careful not to crush you with his weight. His arm wraps around your waist, pulling you into his chest, and you go willingly. Curl into him like you were made to fit there. Press your face against his throat and breathe.
For a long moment, neither of you speaks. The only sounds are your breathing, gradually slowing, and the eternal rhythm of the waves outside the windows.
Then his arm tightens around you. His hand comes up to cup the back of your head, holding you against him like something precious.
"Mine," he says. Quiet. Reverent.
"Yours," you agree.
The present.
The rival pirates never stood a chance.
Sukuna watches the last of their ship sink beneath the waves, his arms crossed over his chest, satisfaction curling warm and content behind his ribs. Beside him, you lower your hands, the ritual words fading from your lips as the sea returns to its normal patterns.
You've gotten stronger since that first battle, your craft honed to a razor's edge by months of practice and the knowledge that Sukuna will provide whatever supplies you need. The enemy captain had been warned about the Malevolent Shrine. He hadn't been warned about the witch who sailed aboard it.
His mistake.
The crew is celebrating around you both. Drinking and shouting and clapping each other on the backs, their voices raised in raucous joy. They've gotten used to winning since you came aboard. They've gotten used to watching you turn the tide of battle with nothing but words and salt and moonlight, and they've learned to celebrate your victories with abandon.
Sukuna doesn't care about any of it.
He turns to face you. His hands come up to cup your face, calloused palms warm against your cheeks, and he kisses you. Slow and deep and thorough, right there in front of everyone, in front of the moon and the sea and the stars.
When he pulls back, you're smiling up at him. Soft and real and radiant with a happiness that makes his chest ache in the best possible way.
"That was fun," you say.
"It was adequate."
"High praise, coming from you."
He snorts. His thumb traces across your cheekbone, wiping away a smear of ash from your last ritual. He looks at you like you're the most precious thing he's ever held in his bloodstained hands. Like he'd burn down the entire world if you asked him to and say thank you when he was done.
"Come," he says, his voice low and rough and meant only for you. His hand slides from your face to the small of your back, steering you toward the captain's quarters. "My wife needs rest."
The word settles over the ship like a spell. Like a promise. Like something that was always true, written in the stars from the moment he found you in chains and thought mine.
after the turmoil following the emperor’s death, the empire prospers in an era of peace—but beneath the surface, an assassination plot is brewing. Will you be able to stop it before it’s too late?
in which you end up being roped into being baby yuji's bodyguard
guys i lwk hope this is good might delete it later if i hate it, mb if the characters are ooc
Part i
The bitter scent of coffee and ink permeated through the air as the old, grand clock chimed loudly, striking midnight. Its chiming ringing in your ears dully, perhaps a warning for what's to come. Faint moonlight cast a warm glow in the study and the tall man who was stood before you.
Nanami Kento.
The late emperor's only brother, the commander of both the royal army and knights and your superior.
A man you knew too well, some might say too intimately.
As one of the best soldiers who diligently performed your tasks, the two of you had often crossed paths. He would send you on classified, high risk missions, whether it be assassinations or simply collecting information. The two of you had respect for one another, him for your talent and you for his leadership. It was strictly professional.
Until it wasn't.
Somewhere along the way, the line between superior and inferior blurred. It started with the occasional glance during briefings to the lingering touches when handling files and papers.
One drunken night ended in frenzied caresses, stolen kisses and careful murmurs of sweet nothings under the covers.
The next morning, by the time you had woken up tangled in sheets that smelt of sweat and sex, he had already gone. You didn't pursue the matter, instead choosing to respect the silence. It was an unnecessary distraction, but it didn't create distance between the two of you. In fact, he seemed to indulge in you a bit more. Scanning over you for injury after tough missions, leaving medicinal herbs outside your quarters and consulting you on strategies.
That's why whenever he called upon you, so suddenly in the middle of the night, you knew there was trouble.
You knelt before his desk, awaiting orders patiently.
"Rise," he spoke coldly, but you could hear the fatigue in his voice.
You met his gaze, sweeping over his furrowed eyebrows to the heavy eye bags etched underneath his eyes.
"You summoned me?" you replied quietly.
"I have a mission for you."
Your ears perked up curiously.
"The second prince needs protection."
You raised an eyebrow.
Yuji Itadori.
The sun and heir to the empire, the youngest of the late emperor and the beloved nephew of the man before you. The little toddler was only five, yet was the pride and joy of the empire already. You had heard the maids gush over how adorable and soft he was, when you last visited the palace.
You weren't surprised that he needed extra protection. The previous emperor had been assassinated a year ago, the tension and alert from the incident still lingered. Even now, you could feel incoming dread and paranoia rush through your veins.
At the moment, the first prince, the emperor's stepson, was taking care of the empire until Yuji reached the age of 18. You pitied the boy who was only a few years younger than you, understanding that the weight of such a great responsibility was too heavy to bear alone.
Still, it made sense to remain guarded and alert. Surely though, the second prince had his own bodyguards who were sufficiently trained, more so than you, to protect him.
"I don't understand sir, I thought his highness already had a suitable number of guards," you questioned, curiosity creeping into your tone.
Nanami drew out a long sigh, closing his eyes whilst rubbing his temples, "There has been numerous threats to his life... an unusual number."
"At ifrst, it started with little poisonings in his food, we didn't think much of it after all there are many people who have a firm dislike towards royalty. A week later, a maid tried killing him, luckily we captured her before she could hurt him. However, she committed suicide before she could be properly interrogated."
You furrowed your eyebrows, none of this seemed like a mere coincidence. He seemed to follow your train of thought.
"There were small accidents, glasses breaking an occasional vase or trinket falling from shelves directly above Yuji," he continued, "I will not insult your intelligence, I'm sure you understand what I am getting at."
"These accidents have been deliberately planned and seemed to be orchestrated by the same group or individual," you murmured slowly.
"Exactly, and it is concerning that they have managed to infiltrate the palace without our knowledge."
You nodded your head, "I understand."
"Your mission is simple: protect Yuji from the shadows, gather information and find out who is behind this."
You nodded.
"And remember to be discreet, it is important that they do not know we are onto them. They need to think that we are treating these events as mere coincidences."
His voice was firm and commanding, but you could hear his tone slightly waver. You could tell this situation was taking a toll on him physically and mentally, based on the snippets of vulnerability he allowed only you to see. You walked closer to him, maintaining a respectable distance whilst placing a hand on his arm.
"I will protect him."
He gave you the slightest smile, his stance relaxing ever so slightly.
I can confirm this is the last chapter. Mb is Neteyam is ooc, I just like my men pathetic and yearning.
in which you go on a date with the future Olo’eyktan instead of your younger sister determined to give him the biggest ick possible (Spoiler Alert: your plan horribly backfires)
You parted your lips attempting to form a coherent response, but to no avail, finding yourself immersed in his sincere gaze. He held your hand gently, cradling it to his cheek as if it was the most precious thing in the world. You felt your breath catch in your throat as his lips placed a soft, tender kiss at the centre of your palm, his eyes gazing at you with an indescribable emotion, something that you had been refusing to acknowledge all this time. He was so pretty, that you almost forgot to breathe.
Taking your silence as refusal, he pulled away slowly, eyes drooping downwards, his lips forming a small frown. At his disappointment, you felt your resolve weaken, the sight tugging at your heart strings.
Quickly, you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him into a tentative kiss. He enthusiastically reciprocated, drawing you closer by the waist, curling his tail around your thigh protectively.
He let out a blissful sigh, as he kissed you like a man starved, his tongue lapping against yours eagerly as if he couldn't get enough of you.
You attempted to pull away to catch a quick breath, but he grasped your hips firmly, trapping you in his arms, letting out a quiet groan. You chose to ignore the juttery feeling you felt pool in your stomach at the sound.
You hissed in response, smacking your tail against his.
"I need to breathe you skxawng."
He let out a childish giggle, as if anticipating your response, instead deciding to pepper your face with kisses. You blinked in surprise, feeling your cheeks heat up. His eyes sparkled, looking at you with adoration, as if admiring the blush that crept on your cheeks.
You scowled, "What."
He shook his head, resting his forehead against yours whilst closing his eyes.
"Nothing. I am just happy that I'm finally yours."
You remained silent, slowly processing his words.
Yours.
You couldn't remember that last time you had something that was solely yours. Every little hobby you had was shared with your siblings, your endless responsibilities making sure that you had no free time. But to have something that was only yours? To have someone who proudly belonged to you?
The concept was entirely foreign.
You softened, internally promising to yourself that you would cherish Neteyam as much as he cherished to you.
On the other hand, he seemed to take your silence as hesitation. He held your hand and you could feel it tremble in your grasp, his eyes looked at you with unease, waiting, aching for you to say something. They never left your face, as if you would leave him at any moment.
Instead, you placed his hand on your cheek, mirroring his earlier actions, whilst looking at him meaningfully.
"I see you Neteyam."
.....
At her words Neteyam felt as if she had given him the world, the sense of dread that was spreading in his chest dissipating rapidly, as he stared in her beautiful eyes that were full of affection. For him.
He thought that he was satisfied after she kissed him, finally giving him what she had been denying him for so long. But now, he found himself overjoyed all over again.
Before he knew it, she was dragging him to her family kelku by the hand, his tail wagging behind unconsciously.
Under any other circumstance, Neteyam would've been mortified, the idea of him blushing and giggling like a teenager. However, there was no longer any room for embarrassment, after all he finally had her right where he wanted.
The only na'vi who had made him feel nervous in years. Even now whenever he made eye contact with her, he felt his breath stutter and his heart leap out of his chest. Those same eyes, that smile and her scent had plagued him during the weeks they had been apart. Willingly, he kept his distance thinking that he did something wrong, even though every second felt like torture. His soul ached at the thought of her forgetting him and being with another. Mating with another. Having a family with another. A na'vi who was not him. A na'vi who would be subjected to her playful teasing and occasional snapping. A na'vi who was not him. The thought used to send him in a spiral of despair.
He never thought this feeling would be reciprocated, that she would end up wanting him too.
Her firm voice broke him out of his thoughts.
"Mother," he hadn't even realised they had reached her family kelku, "I have chosen Neteyam as my mate."
He felt his knees weaken at her confession, openly declaring him as hers. He looked at Ninat, expecting vehement opposition based on the way Y/N squeezed his hand anxiously.
Instead Ninat beamed at them.
"That's wonderful my child," she exclaimed, giving Y/N a warm hug.
After she pulled away, he approached her cautiously.
"I promise to take care of her with my-"
She pulled him into a tight hug too.
"I know."
"Year you'll take good care of her alright," Yuna'te teased, he felt his cheeks heat up at the implication. Y/N smacked her in response, letting out a scandalised gasp.
"Yuna'te!"
From then on everything seemed to move smoothly. You met the Sullys formally. Both Tuk and Kiri were beyond delighted that you were going to be a new addition to the family.
"I think you could do much better than my brother, but I'm happy for you."
"Does this mean I get to play with Anuk every day?!"
Lo'ak treated you like a sister in no time, deciding to pull pranks on you by hiding your things or creeping up on you whenever you weren't looking.
"Neteyam's been downbad for you ever since he first saw you," he later admitted, to which afterwards you relentlessly teased Neteyam.
Jake and Neytiri immediately treated you as one of their own. The former taking you out hunting from time to time. The latter on the other hand....
"Just accept my apology woman," she screeched.
"I told you I never wanted to see your disgusting face ever again," your mother screamed.
"Careful, or I may forget our children are watching us," she hissed.
The two of them made up eventually (or at least you think). You frankly felt relieved, whilst your father's abandonment played a huge role in your mother's anger, you could tell there was something else too. Some sort of unresolved, lingering regret. After reconciling with Neytiri, iy seemed as if a burden had been lifted from your mother's shoulders, her mood lightening (ever so slightly).
Yuna'te was as mischievous as ever, you noticed she started teasing you whenever she came over (which was whenever Tal'vaar was away or when she fought with Ninat).
"You look awfully tired tsmuke, what was been keeping you up all night? Or rather someone...."
"Yuna'te!" you hissed, your cheeks dyed a deep purple.
Your mate, on the other hand, seemed to indulge in her behaviour.
"And I'd do it again," he murmured happily, wrapping an arm around your shoulder carelessly.
"Neteyam," you hissed.
He laughed, giving you a quick peck on the cheek.
You, from a year ago, would've never imagined your life would turn out this way. From your sister's secret to your mother's insistence. And most importantly, one little date.
To all the authors who wrote these you deserve your ass ate. Warning: some of these are nsfw, and I may or may not have forgotten to tag some of them if they are(?) IVE DONE MOST OF THEM THO
Kento Nanami
In which Kento Nanami has a (very) talkative date (oneshot) by @unmillion
Kento sleeping on the sofa seems to be a sign that attracts his children with him... (oneshot) by @lovezaynie
visiting nanami at work when you’re ovulating (oneshot) by @pika-toru
nanami kento and his very pregnant wife (oneshot) by @megumour
Satoru Gojo
Threes a crowd (series) (nsfw) by @sixxels
But it's better if you do (series) (nsfw) by @pillsatoru
Nerd Gojo and Biker Gojo (series) (nsfw) by @sweethearticism
Haunting you (nsfw) (oneshot) by @tonycries
satoru’s students ask him about how he and you met, but he can’t tell them that he stole you away from naoya zenin on your wedding day, can he? by @pika-toru
Ryomen Sukuna
Sukuna always keeps his hand on your head and you wonder why (oneshot) (nsfw) by @agejonami
hein!sukuna and his pregnant wife (oneshot) by @satorupuff
dad!kuna accidentally teaches baby!kunkun her first words (oneshot) by @falsedivide
you're starting to suspect that your husband sukuna wants to eat you (oneshot) by @fricks
sukuna comes home with a new haircut and you don't know how to act (oneshot) by @hushkuna
whipped!kuna copying his gf's mannerisms (oneshot) by @idiotoru
What the hell is happening in Shibuya? (oneshot) by @w0rm3y
KING OF CURSES being a pouty giant for his wife's attention (oneshot) by @sugurusbeloved
your life as a side character <3 (series) by @yenayaps
bf!sukuna envies his little brother, yuji (series) by @cursesandcigarettes
fluff - the battle between husband!sukuna and baby!yuji for your attention (oneshot) by @starspenxcie
papa!kuna and his teenagers (oneshot) by @kaekuna
not so silent thoughts (oneshot) by @suksatoru
fratkuna! 's little girl asks you and him about how babies are made. (oneshot) by @sashinemis
sukuna wakes up before you on a day off, so naturally, he decides to make it your problem. (oneshot) by @pika-toru
Sukuna's favourite animal is his wife when she’s drunk (oneshot) by @beaniesayshi
Child dropoffs with ex-husband!sukuna (nsfw) by @starspenxcie
TOLD YOU I LIKED GENTLE GIANTS SO YOU SOFTENED UP (oneshot) by @tvgals
frat!kuna jealous of his baby brother yuji (oneshot) by @sukunasleftbanana
Toji Fushiguro
fluff - baby!gumi going to wake up dad!toji (oneshot) by @starspenxcie
fluff - baby!gumi having a nightmare (oneshot) by @starspenxcie
baby megumi’s clingy phase. (oneshot) by @mieleism
Mario kart (oneshot) by @princesslimitless
husband!toji bathing little megumi (oneshot) by @lapsizedgf
fluff - finding baby!gumi's drawings of you (oneshot) by @starspenxcie
yes, I’m a writer. yes, I write whatever I want for myself and my own enjoyment. yes, I am my own primary target audience. yes, I am a greedy little gremlin who feeds on positive comments. yes, I deeply appreciate everyone who comments nice things on my works.
screenshotting other people’s fics and posting them to mock and shame writers is such an entitled, loser behavior and why twitter and tiktok are seen as ‘toxic platforms full of bullies and entitled teens’.
no one says you have to like every fic. no one says you can’t find a fic ‘terribly written’. but if at any point you find yourself not liking what you read, instead of being a dick about other people’s harmless hobbies that they do for themselves and you got to read for free, you could have just clicked the back button and looked for something else to read. or, better yet, you could’ve started writing what you wanted to read yourself.
this normalization of openly mocking other people’s fics — especially now with the raise of ai, bots harassing/trying to scam writers and the lack of positive engagement writers get — is why writers are wary about sharing their works with you. writers are kind enough to share with you what they wrote for free. you can just not read it if it’s not your cup of tea. but if you keep this mean girl bully energy up by screenshotting their works to mock and shame them, eventually there will be no fics for you to read, eventually there will be no fan contents for you to enjoy.
no artists want to share their hard works for free if they’ll just end up getting mocked by a bunch of childish bullies. if you don’t want to destroy the community and fandom you’re in, stop acting like a bully, stop mocking and shaming fics.
Been seeing this a lot on ao3 recently, writers aren’t employed by you they do it for free and their own enjoyment. It doesn’t take that much effort to scroll and move on if you see something you don’t like!!
Is chap 6 the last chap of ultimate ick? I love ur writing btw !!
im not sureeee i mean i feel like it doesn’t make sense to end it there bc there’s still a lot of loose ends? like neytiri and ninat and y/n’s relationship with her mother. But at the same time i like how ive left it and i don’t want to ruin it 😭😭😭😭
Not proofread so I apologise for any errors, I feel like I made everyone so ooc, I'm sorry if this is as cringy as hell- I fear I was listening to a bunch of desi wedding songs when listening to this so...
in which you go on a date with the future Olo’eyktan instead of your younger sister determined to give him the biggest ick possible (Spoiler Alert: your plan horribly backfires)
The scene of Neteyam pulling you into his lap replayed in your head over and over again. You couldn't get his alluring scent, his teasing words nor his light touch out of your head. To say you were flustered was an understatement. Whenever you thought about it, your cheeks flushed a deep shade of purple and your tail twitched. But now wasn't the time to be thinking about Neteyam. You had bigger fish to fry.
"I can't believe you two lied to me!" your mother shouted at you and your sister's kneeling forms. She had caught you coming home that night but decided on waiting till the next morning, after dropping Anuk off to school, to reprimand you. You stared at the ground, chewing your lips nervously. The idea of disappointing your mother didn't sit well with you at all.
Yuna'te, on the other hand, was anything but remorseful.
"I don't see the problem sa'nok, it's not like it did anyone harm," she shrugged.
Ninat hissed at her, "Insolent child! Do you think running off and getting mated without telling me is okay?!"
Sensing her growing anger you interjected, "Mother please-"
"And you!" she turned to you, "Why did you not tell me about this? Why did you decide to defend her???"
"I-"
"Tell me, do you think you are her mother?? You handle everything and cover up her mistakes. You act as though you know everything-"
You hissed in response, you normally wouldn't take the bait your mother liked testing your patience when reprimanding you and your sister but for some reason today you weren't having it. It felt like no matter what you did you could never please your mother. Defending and sorting out your siblings problems was seen as "money coddling" in her eyes. Whilst turning a blind eye would be neglecting your duties as an older sibling.
"It is not my job to make up for your insecurities yet here I am," you murmured, your voice quiet and steady but the words came out harshly.
Your mother paused, staring at you incredulously.
"Excuse me?"
"It is not my job to be a mother yet here I am because for some reason ever since father left us you have been doing anything but. It is not my fault that you have no patience and believe that the world is against you."
You must've struck a nerve, because she looked furious, her clenched fists remained at her sides but you could tell she was restraining herself. If looks could kill you would be ten feet under.
As if sensing the growing tension, Yuna'te stood between you both.
"Why don't we all just calm down."
You held her hand gently squeezing it in reassurance. Regardless of how your mother was making you feel, you still had a duty to your siblings to protect them in every you could. Both your siblings knew that you never fought with Ninat. Ever. The sight was unnerving to them, you could tell, your sister's hands were still trembling in your grip.
"Get out."
You turned your attention to your mother. Her words cold and sharp.
"What?"
"Get out. I do not want you in my house."
"San'ok you cannot be serious-" Yuna'te pleaded. You squeezed her hand once more before letting go.
"It's fine tsmuke, let her be she knows I'm right," you scoffed walking out of your kelku not even bothering to look back. Your sister chased after you.
"We can fix this, please come back," she begged, gripping your arm.
You understood her worries too well, she was the one who got on with your mother the least out of the three of you. Whenever they argued you would always be there to diffuse the fire, but this time you wouldn't be. Even though your mother was practically harmless, the vicious words that would come out of her mouth whenever she was moody were hurtful at times. You learnt how to block them out over time, understanding that her anger was never generally directed at any of you. You knew she just felt resentful towards your father, your situation and the world at this point. But that was something that your siblings would never understand, after all they hadn't seen firsthand how much you and your mother suffered after your father left.
You pried your arm out of her grip gently.
"She will cool off, she just needs some time," you responded, "Do not worry I'll stay with the tsahik for a while, it's about time I paid her a visit."
"But-"
You ruffled her hair affectionately.
"Look after Anuk for me."
For the next two weeks you stayed with Mo'at, the tsahik and Neteyam's grandmother. You didn't notice it before but Neteyam and her had a lot of similar features more than you initially would've thought. It wasn't just the way their eyebrows furrowed in concentration whenever they were working on something or their smile. They shared a lot of personality traits too, their deep sense of responsibility to the clan, their competence and protective nature. She reminded you of him (although it should've been the other way around since she was much older) and you couldn't help but daydream about him whenever you worked on herbal remedies. Even today, whilst grinding some herbs you collected earlier from the forest you were thinking of the last time you saw each other.
You sighed deeply, you needed to snap out of it. As if she could sense your unease, she spoke up.
"Something is troubling you, my child," she muttered softly, prying the pestle and mortar out of your hands.
You blinked in confusion.
"I'm guessing this is not just to do with Ninat, there is something else," she said in a matter-of-fact tone, it wasn't a question but a statement.
You ran your hands through your braids in frustration.
"It's complicated."
"I'm sure I have heard worse."
"You won't like it."
"You don't know that until you tell me."
"It's too confusing."
"If you tell me, I might be able to help you."
You groaned, before making direct eye contact with her, speaking slowly, "You cannot tell anyone."
"I won't."
You decided to tell her everything, from your sister's mating dilemma to your last date with Neteyam. She didn't looked surprised and you didn't know whether to be relieved or worried over her reaction. After telling her everything that happened frantically, you let out a sigh immediately feeling better. Perhaps all you needed was someone to talk to.
"I think that you like him a lot, and he likes you a lot more," she smiled knowingly.
You groaned, "Ma tsahik, I have no patience for your teasing."
"I am not teasing I am telling you," she affirmed, patting your shoulder, "Now come, let's finish preparing these herbs."
The next morning, Mo'at insisted that you attended your training as a Omatikaya warrior, whilst she visited your mother in an attempt to quell her anger. These past few weeks you had been neglecting your duties in hopes of avoiding Neteyam, mostly keeping to yourself in Mo'at's kelku with Kiri's occasional company. The possibility of running into him was little anyway but you didn't want to take your chances.
You strolled onto the training grounds, greeting familiar faces along the way. Your sister's mate, Tal'vaar approached you with a smile.
"Tsmuke it's been a while," he greeted you, giving you a warm hug which you eagerly returned.
"It has, how have you been holding up?" you asked, you have been wondering how your mother would act around him and Yuna'te, after finding out that the two of them mated weeks ago without her knowing
"Surprisingly well," he smiled sheepishly, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly, "Nina- I mean mother is always inviting me around for dinner, i expected her to be furious with me but it seems she's taken it quite well."
You felt the urge to frown, but didn't want to show your dismay to him, not wanting to ruin the moment. How could it be that your mother was still furious with you and not Yuna'te and Tal'vaar? Although, you suppose you were harsh with your words when the two of you last spoke.
As if sensing your confusion Tal'vaar parted his lips to speak, but was interrupted by the commotion happening near you. You both turned to see a crowd form in front of you, surrounding something or a certain someone with hushed murmurs.
You felt him before you heard him.
A shiver ran down your spine as you peeked through the crowd, hearing the sound of a voice that you knew all too well.
"My father asked me to oversee training today."
There he was. Neteyam. Perhaps it was because you hadn't seen him in a while but everything about him drew your attention, you couldn't tear your gaze off him. His steady voice captivated the crowd before you, demanding all attention. You couldn't help but think about that same voice that whispered in your ears as he held you close. His familiar warm, eyes scanned all of you, but there was a flicker of something in them, something that you couldn't describe. He had changed. Your gaze drifted to his toned shoulders down to his slim waist to his slender fingers. You felt your throat go dry.
He seemed to sense your gaze, because when you looked up his eyes were already on you. Heat rose to your cheeks as you quickly hid behind Tal'vaar. You felt embarrassed that he had caught you staring shamelessly and suddenly hyper aware of your last interaction, where he basically manhandled you.
You cringed as you replayed the scene in your head, and after deciding that it was too much, you quickly hurried further into the forest. Yes, training was a hard skip for today. All of a sudden, an earthy scent invaded your nostrils as you felt a hand wrap around your waist firmly pulling your back into a toned chest, lips brushing against your ear.
"You're avoiding me."
You sighed, ignoring the tingling sensation his touch gave you.
"Let me go."
"Not until you promise not to avoid me again."
"Neteyam-"
"Y/N."
Your eyes widened, attempting to turn around to face him. Your heart beating quickly as you felt a wave of panic wash over you. How did he found out? But he wouldn't let you go, his grip on your waist tightened as his lips brushed against your neck softly.
"Y/N Y/N Y/N," he murmured against your neck reverently, his tail clinging to your thigh. You couldn't lie your name sounded quite nice coming from his lips but you quickly shook off the thought. You stilled, deciding not to squirm in his hold slightly intrigued.
"How did you find out?"
"I saw you with your siblings."
"Oh."
"Yes. Oh."
You could feel him smirk against your neck.
"You couldn't fool me for ever you know."
"Took you long enough to find out skxawng," you hissed, your tail flicking against his calf impatiently, "Now let me go."
He chuckled his hand splaying across your stomach possessively. Your cheeks flushed a deep shade of purple.
"Careful sevin your hands are wandering too far for my liking keep going and I'll chop them off," you scowled angrily.
And he had the nerve to laugh! You stepped on his foot furiously which led him to loosen his grip. Quickly taking advantage of the situation you turned around and placed your hands on his chest in an attempt to push him away from you as far as possible.
Unfortunately for you, Neteyam had other plans. He placed his hands over yours, forcefully resting them on his chest, his eyes scanning your face with an indescribable emotion.
"I missed you," he whispered, his tone soft, vulnerable even.
You sighed looking back into his eyes.
"You do not mean that."
"I do, these past few weeks I have been miserable without you," he admitted.
You didn't reply, averting your gaze to the ground but he held your chin up to make eye contact with you.
"Everyday I thought of you, what you were doing, if you were eating well, if I did something wrong, if you forgot about me."
He murmured the last words, wincing as if the thought of you forgetting all about him physically pained him. You cupped his cheek, softening at his words.
"I lied to you-"
He scoffed, "I do not care."
Your eyes widened, as he nuzzled your palm, kissing it affectionately.
"I do not care about who you are or why you decided to go on that date with me all I know is that I already have chosen."
