The music from the party blared throughout the frat house, bodies danced together, and empty liquor bottles littered every table.
You should be out enjoying yourself on the dance floor, instead, you’re in the kitchen trying to avoid a certain white haired frat boy.
“Hey, sweets, long time no see.”
His voice made you jump, nearly spilling the drink that you were nursing. “Jeez, Satoru, don’t sneak up on me like that,” you turned to face him, in all his backwards baseball cap and white vest glory.
The man shrugged, “Can’t help it, missed my favourite girl.” You rolled your eyes at him, “Satoru, we aren’t even dating.”
Yawning dramatically, he slung an arm over your shoulder, “Blah blah! You know you want all this.” As if to prove a point, he began to wiggle his hips in what can only be described as a feeble attempt to ‘woo’ you.
A soft chuckle escaped you at his movements, “What the hell are you doing?” Satoru stopped in his tracks, deadpanning, “Showing you what you’re missing out on, babe.”
You laughed harder at his serious expression, going as far as doubling over. Satoru huffed in mock offence, “Alright, it’s not that funny.”
The music rung through the kitchen as he began to pour himself something that was probably mostly sugar.
“Y’know…” he drawled, “There’s a courthouse about ten minutes away.”
You cocked a brow, “And..?”
“And…” he mimicked, “Don’t you think we should like, get married or something?”
You nearly choked on your own spit, “Satoru — ?” He interjected, “Come on, we’ve been practically seeing each other for months now, and you kissed me that one time!”
“That was because you’re unfairly pretty,” you muttered — mostly to yourself.
He moved closer, intertwining his hand with yours, “I’d be a good husband, I promise.” You shook your head, trying to pry your hand away from his, “Satoru, you’re insane. You can’t even blame this on being drunk, you don’t even drink!”
In one swift motion he fell to his knees, “Please?” He whined, clasping both hands together. Groaning, you tried to hoist him up, “Don’t do this here, idiot.”
But he just doubled down, bowing his head and pleading.
“Please! Just one chance? Marry me?”
“Satoru, you don’t even have a ring!”
The white haired man smirked at this, “That wasn’t a no?” You smacked him upside the head, “Of course it was a no!”
The two of you went back and forth for what felt like hours when you finally snapped. “Okay! I’ll make you a deal. Take me on at least three dates then we can talk about dating — happy?”
Satoru pouted, reluctantly getting up from his place on the floor, “I guess it’s something. Three dates and then marriage?”
“No!”
He put his fingers to his chin, stroking an invisible beard before snapping his fingers, “Oh! I got it, the third date is the marriage.”
You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose, “Keep this up and you won’t even get a first date.”
You turned to leave but he quickly spoke, “Fiancé says what?”
Thinking about Nerdjo who had been in love with you since freshman year, and after spending the entire summer terrified that you’d come back with a boyfriend, he finally gathered enough courage to ask you out. Unfortunately, he only had enough courage for the asking part.
So after class, in front of the library, he shoved a sticky note with the date and time written on it into your hand and blurted, “Will you go out with me?” before immediately turning around and running away.
You looked at the note, realized he had actually asked you out, and started running after him to tell him yes.
But when Satoru looked back and saw you sprinting toward him with determination in your eyes, his brain immediately concluded that you were about to beat him to death.
“OH GOD, SHE HATES ME.” So he started running faster.
“SATORU, WAIT!”
“No!”
“I’M SAYING YES!”
“YOU DON’T HAVE TO YELL BEFORE THE REJECTION!”
“SATORU!” He somehow ran even faster. The entire campus got to witness one girl chasing the guy who had literally just asked her out.
SATORU GOJO :: fratjo and his curated instagram profile!
(18+) :: content – frat!gojo x fem!reader, college au, smut, switch!gojo, p in v, riding, pussydrunk gojo
frat!gojo is one of those guys with a heavily curated instagram profile.
it’s not that it’s overly nonchalant, or so quiet that it looks painfully intentional, but so effortlessly busy while maintaining an air of carelessness that he makes it look like a modern day art form.
it’s all witty captions (“siri, set an alarm for those sleeping on me”, who even thinks of that?), vaguely motion-blurred pictures of neon lights and solo cups, polo clubs and martinis, late nights at the frat house, and highlights of well-shot travel pictures and selfies.
it just seems like he always knows exactly what kind of picture to take in what setting, exactly what makes him look good in front of the many people (many.) that are hungry to see what’s going on in satoru’s life. it doesn’t even seem like he’s actively trying to show off how cool and interesting and luxurious his life is – he just fucking does it.
the cherry on top? an absolutely lethal follower-to-following ratio. satoru doesn’t even follow back half of the thousands of followers he’s got.
in short: he’s got it down to a science. you’d think you knew exactly who he was simply based on the curation of his profile.
at least, that’s what you think when your sorority friends first show you his account.
you – well, you’re the type of person who’s seen it all before.
you think you’ve got it down to a science too, because you’ve always been able to accurately predict exactly who someone is based on what their social media looks like. and the minute your friends show you satoru gojo’s instagram, you don’t know whether you should laugh, scoff, or clutch your pearls tightly.
“no. he’s definitely an asshole,” you clock immediately, shaking your head. “if I tell you guys I’m bored, at least give me someone nice.”
“he’s nice!”
“I mean, someone who isn’t the definition of ‘lights on, nobody’s home’, maybe?”
your friends look at each other like they’d expected the less-than-positive reaction, but they keep pushing anyways. “just try talking to him. if you’re bored, gojo’s the person to go to. Look at his profile: he’s rich as fuck. fine as fuck. good in pictures. he passes his classes–”
you groan. “yes, because that makes him the epitome of academic excellence–”
“–just fucking text him already!”
against your better judgment, you click on that well-curated profile, and you text.
and he texts back – quickly, you might add, for someone that chronically looks like he ghosts people simply because he doesn’t have time for all of them.
it's not just that. the thing is, you and satoru keep texting – for weeks on end.
it’s not even you holding the conversations together, but him. satoru does the most; he sends you pictures of him with his brothers, him in his car, him walking to classes you didn’t think he attended.
you wanted to stop replying. you want to doubt him, call him a slut, find him annoying. but he’s really not.
you: gojo it’s getting late yk
gojo: but i wanna keep talking to you :((
you almost scoff.
you: how many girls did u JUST text that to be honest
it’s mostly a joke, partially your own morbid curiosity kicking into action. it’s late on a friday night, you’re trying to find any reason not to be intentionally texting someone who probably doesn’t give half of a shit about you, and amidst the darkness of your own bedroom, you’re fucking entertaining this. satoru’s probably off convincing some other girl she’s the only one, calling her up, coercing her into letting him come over at this hour–
gojo: [1 attachment]
it’s just you beautiful
he sends a screenshot of his recent fucking DMs.
and he’s not lying – it’s just you (pinned?), a couple of his frat brothers’ dump accounts, absolutely nothing incriminating that could justify your premature judgments about satoru.
suddenly, you’re in it now; your lip is caught between your teeth, trying to process this revelation, and he’s still fucking typing. like he doesn’t care if it looks desperate. maybe he just thinks he’s incapable of looking desperate?
gojo: soo will you keep talking to me now
i miss you its been 30 secs
you: ur so stupid
fine
okay. maybe satoru isn’t anything like his profile at all.
one day, he finally asks you to come over. it’s not even in a weird, frat fuck, booty call way either; you get home from a pretty late exam, and you somehow get into texting satoru about how you’re pissed, you think you flunked, and you hadn’t eaten anything in hours.
before you can even think about setting foot in your building elevator, he’s sending you a picture of a shit ton of sushi (he remembered you saying you liked it?), luring you into his place like a mouse trap, and threatening to make you feel better with free food and bad movies.
it’s irritating how saying no didn’t even cross your mind for a second.
even if there was a 70% chance satoru only wanted to fuck, you kind of didn’t even mind that.
and you learn that satoru is 100%, most definitely not an asshole.
he doesn’t even actually look that much like what you’d see on his profile – other than being absolutely delicious-looking, because of course that doesn’t change.
he’s tall, but half of all the bicep and muscle he loves to show off on his story highlights is hidden behind a faded digimon hoodie. satoru’s got a pair of black, thick-framed glasses perched on top of his head, pushing his snow-white bangs back, leaving a few strands to rest over his forehead.
he even smiles sweet, out of the corners of his lips, all “let’s stay in my room” and “you got any movies you like? I have all of them!”, drawing you in without even knowing it.
your heart is in your throat when he leads you to his bedroom, where he’s laid sushi and snacks out as if eating was the first thing on your mind.
you have two thoughts: first, that he’s nothing like the fuckboy he seems he is on his instagram, and second, coming over to his house, just him and you, may be the best idea you’ve ever had in your life.
so you think it takes way too long, because satoru’s way too nice.
in fact, it takes you shuffling close into his side on the bed and tugging at his hoodie string with your fingertip midway through detective pikachu for him to even notice you wanted something.
“hm?” satoru hums, his arm absentmindedly wrapping over your shoulders in a motion that makes your skin warm. “yeah? is it too cold, or–”
oh my god. you bite the inside of your cheek. “maybe you wanna keep me warm?”
“oh, for sure, i’ll go get another blanket–”
“gojo.”
and satoru dares move to get up. “i’ll be quick, don’t worry–”
“satoru.” and you’re tugging him back down, giving him half-lidded eyes, gazing beneath your eyelashes like he’s one more word away from being eaten alive.
and finally, finally, you see his eyebrows raise like something’s clicking into place, and there’s a faint grin starting to tug at the corners of his lips. maybe he is kind of an asshole – but you barely get to berate him before he’s clicking his tongue and tugging you into his lap.
⭑.ᐟ
“fuck, beautiful–”
you don’t even realize just how little satoru matches his instagram profile until he’s the one beneath you, hands roaming your waist, trailing up to pinch desperately at your hardened nipples, all while you press your hands to his bare chest and ride his huge cock.
it’s hard to remember how you ended up here, his back against his own mattress, glasses hitting his own headboard, with your legs hooked over each side of his hips, watching the frat boy’s face contort in absolute pleasure.
all you know is that every sound that leaves his lips, every flutter of his lashes over those blue fucking eyes – heat pools between your legs. it doesn’t help that satoru’s so big, each drop back down on his dick making you see stars behind your eyelids.
“s–shit,” you gasp out wantonly, a loud squelch resounding between you as your pussy clenched around him. he’s just so deep, stretching out your needy cunt so perfectly with each roll of your hips. “so fuck– fucking big, satoru–”
he hisses. “baby, you’re – oh my god – you’re killing me here. c’mon, let me take care of you–”
it’s cute how easy it is to get him, of all people, to shut the fuck up.
all it takes is a shaky scoff from your parted lips, as you lift your hips all the way up, sliding your wet entrance over his tip for a second, just to relish in the way the white-haired man below you practically whines, aching for the warmth of your pussy around him. and then you drop down fully, letting out a broken little cry as his cock splits you open again, the stretch achingly delicious.
“haah–” satoru sounds so pathetic like this, fingertips clutching at the skin of your waist tight like he needed to bounce you on his dick until you were sobbing in his hold. “come on, please, just– just let me fuck you properly, pretty.”
“mmh,” you breathe out airily as you grind down onto his cock, eyes rolling back. “but ‘s so good.”
“could make it even b–better,” satoru groans. “shit. shit, do that again,”
you almost grin, albeit cockdrunk and absolutely dripping on him, at the little whimper that escapes his lips when your fingernails claw into his chest, timed perfectly with a greedy little roll of your hips, shifting him deeper into the warmth of your cunt.
you lean forward, tits pressing against his skin as you press your lips to his. and satoru takes this opportunity as his only avenue of control — his tongue breaches your mouth, a dazed little whine escaping your lips in response, shoving the muscle as far down your mouth as it would go. as if taunting you.
but he’s fucking gone, at the end of the day, and all it takes to have his mouth dropping open is for you to slam that ass back down like your life depended on it.
“don’t be a — ah! — an asshole, satoru,” you murmur into his skin, devastating, manicured fingertips prying his hand off your waist. “be good.”
“f—fuck,” he sputters out amidst the wet plap! plap! plap! of your ass against his pelvis. “fuck, ‘re the asshole here, pretty—”
your teeth sink into his plush bottom lip, and the low, broken sound that escapes his mouth is almost enough to have you creaming around his dick right then and there. “you’re so — ngh — ungrateful. ‘m literally bouncing on your dick—”
“haah—” both of your words are messy, making it out through strings of saliva against each other’s lips, resounding across the space of satoru’s bedroom. “baby…”
“haven’t even said please.” you mumble, and the white-haired man keens at how easily you can pretend to be so innocent, voice soft and wrecked and sweet like you don’t even realize what you’re doing. “just say please for me, satoru.”
you swear you see something hot flash in those blue eyes.
he doesn’t say anything.
“satoru,” and there’s no way he can say no to that voice. not like that. not when your voice is so candied, so sweet, so intentional in trying to get him to beg to fuck you. you press a soft kiss to the corner of his lips, and he hisses like you’ve just bitten bruises into his shoulder. “play nice for me, okay?”
“shit, baby…”
“pleaaase. say it.”
he tries rolling his hips into you, chasing the sweet warmth of the pussy you’re denying to let him fuck. all for not much, considering you slam his hips back down and leave him whimpering beneath your touch. so adorable. so desperate, it was almost comical, considering how satoru looked, how he presented himself.
so much for the fuckboy with an allegedly long list of girls in his DMs.
because—
“please!” satoru whines out, arms flexing by your thighs, a large hand meeting your waist, fingertips gripping loosely. “fuck, please, please let me fuck you properly, you’re so tight, so good–”
he’s babbling. about your pussy. satoru’s punctuating each little plea with a pathetic gasp ripped from his throat.
the man behind the curated ig that featured countless hookups, countless parties, and he’s utterly pussydrunk as you ride him to insanity.
“yeah?” you whisper against his mouth.
“haah— yeah, fuck, yes. been thinking about it — shit! — ever since you texted me.” satoru gasps.
you find it in yourself amidst the haziness to glance down at his face, the way his lips are slicked with your drool, the way his eyes are half-lidded behind white eyelashes, so utterly destroyed. the absolute picture of intoxication, all by the hand of your cunt lewdly squelching around his length.
he’s not what he seems at all.
because the white-haired man would have never looked like he begged this pretty beneath someone like you.
and you’re just as far gone, because you kiss him hard after the admission, legs shaking as you slam your hips up and down like you wanted his tip bruising hearts into your cervix. it doesn’t take much — you’re biting at those plush lips, letting his tongue saunter down your throat, and he’s whining, stuttering into your lips as his dick twitches inside of you, pumping you full of his cum.
it’s filthy, between the gasps from his throat, warm liquid seeping out of your hole and coating your pussy lips, dripping down your asscheeks, staining his sheets. you’re not exactly any better, whimpering at the sticky feeling of his cum deep inside of you, your own wetness soaking his entire cock in a pretty sheen.
satoru’s spent for a moment, and so are you — heavy breaths are exchanged between kiss-bitten lips, his hands gripping your waist tight like you’re his only lifeline. like you’ll disappear if he doesn’t bruise your skin.
the afterglow lasts about five seconds longer. because you realize just how fucked you are when you feel the frat boy grin against the corners of your lips, long fingers moving down, down to grasp your plush thighs.
“satoru,” you mumble, somewhere between a warning and a request.
“shh,” his voice is wrecked. “said please for you, baby. promised i’d get to fuck you properly.”
“satoru—”
he presses down on the bulge where his cock is buried deep inside you, earning a soft little moan from your mouth.
and that voice makes you shudder. “you be good for me now.”
⭑.ᐟ
frat!gojo's profile is a heavily curated one.
he’s got it down to a science.
so no one realizes anything is out of place — even when he posts a carefully-shot picture of you, passed out on his bare chest, hair splayed out to obscure your face. it’s provocative enough for everyone to know exactly what he did, but barely enough for anyone to question its place in the life he showed off online.
barely enough for anyone except you, who sees that story, dressed in an oversized t-shirt, while satoru’s waking you up with gentle pecks over your face.
yeah. he’s not what anyone thinks.
@ ttakdoll, 2026
kind of just wanted this one out of my hair,, i'll do smth better soon!
AITA FOR POSING AS A RICH MAN TO PULL A RICH GIRL..?
sum. when toji falls for the hot lady that frequents his shifts at the local grocery store, can his frat brothers help him pose as a rich hot bachelor ? or will you discover his kid & true identity first ? [n]sfw
“brokie and a baby daddy but you wanna pull y/n? don’t even joke, lad.”
ΣΧ
toji zenin is pretending to stack boxes in the third aisle of the local loblaws.
well, not exactly. toji zenin has his biceps flexing under the weight of crates but his eyes don’t lift to the shelf he places them on. instead his pupils flit to the automatic entrance doors, thick & glass-heavy, before he glances at his watch & back to the door again. 12:30 PM sunday. toji knows you should be here by now.
but you’re not, so toji’s lip twitches as he stares at the box of freezies in his arms and sighs. it’s pathetic, really. he’s got five more boxes of who-knows-what to arrange before the end of his shift but he can’t fucking focus. his mind’s on your short skirt & pretty laugh & the way your voice goes sweet whenever he pretends to help you look for items while holding your hand between the aisles. toji grunts, shakes his head. focus focus focus.
“toji.. can you help me reach the olive oil? the cold-pressed one with the pretty label?”
toji’s head snaps up so fast he almost drops the box of freezies.
it’s you—oh god, it’s you, and you’re looking down at him with those pretty lashes & short skirt & your hands holding a basket behind your back. you’re in those cute kitten heels you had on the first time he saw you—did you get your nails done? so pretty. you’re so pretty, you’re always so pretty, and toji’s mouth dries.
he doesn’t say anything because he can’t, because your perfume smells like honey & has his lungs sticking to his throat—but he slowly stands up anyway. you’re humming to yourself as you pad closer, getting in his way, heel clicking against the tile as he traps you in the aisle.
he reaches up to the glass bottle, and he can see your lashes fluttering up at him. your chest presses against his, and his lip ticks upward.
“you want this, princess?” he mumbles.
you playfully swat his chest, but your palm doesn’t slide off. you’re caressing his pecs now, teasing. “toji, give it to me. i have a pasta to make tonight. i’m busy.”
toji chuckles, slipping the bottle into your basket and letting his palm sneak over your waist instead. your hands are still on his pecs, lightly squeezing as you laugh when he tugs you closer. he nuzzles your jaw, murmuring, “only if i get an invite, sweetheart.”
“we’ll see,” you tease as his tongue licks your earlobe. you’re running a thumb over the silver tag on his chest: TOJI. “if you’re good, maybe i’ll let you wash the dishes.”
he kisses your neck. “m’always good for you, baby.”
you’re giggling now, shoving him away with flushed cheeks & a laugh too bright. toji catches your hands, tugging you back with a smile on his face before squeezing your hips. your lips are so glossy. is that the new gloss you bought last week? can he kiss it off?
he’ll never know, because he’s holding your hips while you tug at his collar and whisper something he doesn’t care about in his ear. his manager calls his name.
fuck.
toji gives your hips one last squeeze. “go pay, princess. i’ll bag your stuff.”
“you better.” you huff, spoiled & sweet, and toji can only watch the sway of your hips as you make your way to the register.
you’re a pretty girl with a posh life who will never know lack. toji’s a 24-year-old who’s still in college, working odd jobs with a son waiting at home.
in the third aisle of the local loblaws, toji zenin has his hands on his hips and his eyes on the ground. toji zenin will never say it out loud, but he knows he will never, ever, get the girl.
ⵌ AT THE FRATHOUSE !
“you can’t pull someone like y/n, no offense.”
toji wishes suguru wouldn’t spell it out. he already knows, for christ’s sake.
in sigma chi’s living room, toji zenin is sprawled out on the center rug while suguru and sato eat on the floor beside him. sato is between geto’s legs with his back against geto’s chest & his toe tickling toji’s jaw through his socks. suguru is tilting his shawarma for sato to bite from before taking a bite of his own.
sato’s about to dish out an insult of his own when the door swings open. in comes ryomen sukuna, standing in the doorway with bags in his hands and his limbs stretched out like some sort of clown. he bellows, “therapy fucking sucked today. i still don’t think i need therapy, by the way. watching porn and jerking off is completely normal—fuck you, suguru.”
“maybe it is,” suguru’s lips are sticky with shawarma sauce, “but having your dick out in the same room as other people is not.”
“a young man can’t be an exhibitionist? suck my dick, man.”
“oh, i’m not hungry..”
sukuna trudges over toji’s legs, then plops on the ground opposite sato and suguru. sato throws him the middle finger with a grin. sukuna throws it back. “i brought drinks. toji, why’re you on the floor? ya need therapy too?”
sato snickers. “toji’s fallen for a rich girl.”
sukuna snorts, “don’t even joke, lad.” but suguru and toji aren’t laughing. his brows scrunch. “wait—“ he turns to toji, “you’re serious?”
toji eyes him. “mind your own business.”
sukuna doesn’t believe in complex schools of thought like ‘minding your business.’ so instead of picking a shawarma for himself and eating in silence, he joins sato and nudges his foot against toji’s cheek. “does she know you’re poor?”
“hey, hey,” geto bites his cheek, “not too much on him.”
but sukuna continues. “what about the kid? does she know you have a son?”
toji’s jaw only tightens.
sukuna looks at toji in disbelief. then at sato, then suguru—then shakes his head, laughing. “jesus christ of jollof rice,” he cracks open a beer, “you’re fucking cooked, bro.”
toji drags his hands over his face. his eyes are hot, for some reason.
suguru sighs, resting his chin on sato’s head as sato munches happily underneath him. “i hate to suggest this, but there’s a way you can get her to give you a chance.”
sukuna and toji both perk up.
“if she doesn’t know about meg—or your, uh, economics,” suguru clears his throat, “then you keep it that way. she thinks you’re some hot older uni student who works at loblaws for beer money. lean into it.”
sato frowns. “this sounds like something i’d suggest. so not good, i think.”
suguru pokes his cheek, making sato’s pout grow deeper. “i’m just spit-balling here. it’s obvious you really like her, toji. and megumi needs a mommy.”
“i don’t like her because i want her to play housewife.”
“we know,” suguru’s smile is affectionate. “that’s why we’ll help you.”
sukuna grunts in agreement. “sounds scummy but it makes sense. if she finds out you’re a baby daddy with no money, she’ll just run back to her range rover.” he takes another swig of his beer. “we’ll help you hide your true identity. you just get her hooked enough that when she eventually does find out, she won’t leave.”
sato nods. “we’ll babysit. lend you money. heck—you can drive my porsche to your dates.”
on the floor, toji zenin is staring towards the ceiling. it’s a stupid plan, his frat brothers are even stupider, and there is no way in hell whoever is up there will actually let things work out in his favor.
but toji’s desperate. he has been for a long time. so before he can let himself think about it, his lips part to respond.
“alright,” he grunts. “let’s fucking do it.”
SIGMA CHI’S REMARK : DON’T WORRY BRO, WE GOTCHU !
BROKE BOY TACTICS #2: WHO’S YOUR DADDY ?
taught by: sato, sukuna, suguru
“babysitting a five year old brat. how hard could that be?”
ΣΧ
megumi zenin is tufts of black hair, sleepy blue eyes & a tiny fist in a jar full of gummy worms. he’s slumped against his dad’s thick leg, shoving fistfuls of gummies in his mouth with candy-smeared cheeks & a bored expression on his face.
sato, sukuna and suguru are side-by-side on a straight line.
hands tucked behind their backs & chests puffed out like soldiers. toji clears his throat. “listen up. i’m going to be gone for exactly two hours. if i come back and the kid has a single scratch on him, i’m throwing all of you into a pond.“
suguru shakes his head, stepping forward to crouch down to megumi’s height. he wipes megumi’s cheeks with a smile. “don't worry, toji. we've got him. right, little man?”
“hi, uncle sugu,” megumi’s voice is flat but he leans into geto’s palm on his cheek. “are we going to draw today?”
“of course, kiddo. i bought some new crayons just for you.”
toji scoops his son up in his arms, ignoring the way his tiny body writhes towards the gummy worms abandoned on the floor. suguru lifts the jar back to megumi with a smile. sukuna, however, is frowning. “why is his face like that.”
“sukuna, do not fight my kid.”
megumi points towards him. “my daddy calls you a pervert.”
sato bursts out in laughter. suguru’s snickering too, though he’s doing a better job of hiding it. toji drops his son to the ground and crouches to his height. megumi offers him a soggy, wet gummy worm. toji eats it off his palm & pokes his belly.
he rises to his feet. “suguru is in charge. rest of you, keep your hands off him. i’m leaving.”
megumi waves a sticky hand. “bye, daddy. bring me a cookie.”
“will do, brat.” and the door shuts with a thud.
——
“we should go to wonderland. you like amusement parks, ‘gumi?”
megumi zenin has a crayon in his hands, scribbling furiously with a focused expression on his face. he’s seated in geto’s lap, occasionally having suguru hand him a crayon as he perfects his artistic masterpiece. to his right, sato gojo is leaning over the table and talking a mile-a-minute.
megumi answers, scribbling a drawing of what looks like him and his father—DADDY AND ME. “i’ve never been to an amusement park.”
“what?” sato slams his palm on the table, distraught. “what kind of kid has never been to an amusement park?!”
“my father is poor.”
“oh,” sato shrinks. “fairs.”
suguru lets out a fond huff, burying his nose in megumi’s hair to hide the fact that he’s shaking from laughter. sato looks crushed by guilt. “i can’t take this anymore, suguru.” he clutches his chest. “we’re going to the apple store and getting him an ipad pro right now.”
suguru raises a brow. “toji said no screens. and either way, i won’t let you turn him into an ipad kid.”
megumi slumps against geto’s chest. “i want a blue gatorade.”
“i’ll get it for you, buddy,” suguru smiles before kissing his cheek, easing him off his lap. “don’t let sato teach you about investment and stocks while i’m gone, okay?”
sato has his chin on the table, defeated. and just as suguru’s back turns into the kitchen, sukuna saunters in, steps heavy, palm curled around a blue bottle of—is that the last gatorade?!
sukuna cracks the plastic seal, taking a slow, heavy swig of the drink while staring right at the five year old. megumi’s tiny brows furrow. “that’s mine. uncle sugu said i could have it.”
“well,” sukuna licks his lips, slow. “uncle sugu’s not the king of this house.” he takes another gulp, throwing his head back with a refreshed ahhhhhh. megumi frowns, lips tight.
and then he screams.
“uncle sugu! mister pervert’s being mean again!”
sukuna chokes on his gatorade. “who the hell are you calling mister pervert, you little brat—“
sato jumps over the table to hold back sukuna before he can strangle the five-year-old. suguru runs out of the kitchen in alarm, quickly scrambling to hold back sukuna’s wrath alongside sato.
megumi only blinks at the display. three grown men bickering and shoving over gatorade. hell, he’s not so sure he even wants it anymore.
he sighs, reaching across the table to pick up sato’s iphone. he dials his dad’s number, palm smushed into his cheek as he watches suguru smack sukuna for his bad behavior.
ⵌ AT THE DATE !
in the local coffee shop, your lashes are fluttering & the sunlight kisses your skin as you stare out the window.
toji zenin has his heart in his throat. his hands are in his pockets but his ribs are cracked against his chest, and the sight of you pouting out the window has his mouth drying with want. he strolls over regardless, posture lazy, steps cool, because toji zenin is a man who can only have pride when he pretends.
“hi, princess,” he slides into the booth seat—next to you, not across, because he’s been thinking about the feel of your waist in his hands since last thursday—and his ankle hooks around yours on autopilot.
“hi,” you smile, leaning into his side as he kisses your hair. toji takes your palm in his. your fingers are so dainty. fuck.
“you look nice today,” you hum. “who are you trying to impress?”
your lashes are batting up at him, but toji manages to keep his cool. his smirk is lazy & gorgeous. “you, obviously.”
toji wonders how you can let him touch you so casually. even now he’s nibbling your ear as you talk about something from class—a lazy professor or something else, it’s hard to listen when your thumb brushes his jaw while you speak—and toji’s mind wanders. he’s kissing your neck now, thumbs rubbing circles on your thighs as your breath hitches between words, and toji wonders why you haven’t yet flinched in disgust.
he doesn’t dwell on it too long, though. he knows the topic will only get him down.
so he kisses your neck as you laugh and swat him away, telling him he’s distracting you from your story. you never push him off, though, and your thigh’s on his lap now.
but all good things must come to an end.
toji’s phone buzzes.
loud & obnoxious. SATO, his screen reads. he quickly swipes it away. “sorry…just spam.”
“spam?” you poke his bicep, grinning. “or is your little side piece getting impatient?”
“don’t have a side piece, baby,” he murmurs into your cheek. “only want you.”
1 NEW FACETIME AUDIO CALL : SATO 🤡
his phone has been buzzing for ages now. you sigh, crossing your arms & clearly annoyed. “toji, just answer it. what if it’s an emergency?”
you’re right, he should answer it, because if anything happened to megumi, he’d fucking flip. he bites his lip, “one second, princess.”
he presses his phone to his ear, but megumi’s voice greets him instead.
“daddy! uncle kuna’s trying to kill me because of blue gatorade!”
toji’s eyes widen. from the corner of his eye, he can see you inching closer, brows furrowed in concentration as you try to listen in.
in the background of the call he can hear sato shrieking. “suguru—! use the spatula! use the spatula! sukuna stop—“
you’re blinking at him, inching closer to his bicep on the table. “daddy? who’s calling you daddy?”
toji’s soul leaves his body.
“daddy, are you coming home soon? uncle sugu’s spanking him now. it’s very loud—“
he ends the call before you can hear any more.
“do you have a son?”
toji’s breathing stutters. you’ve inched away from him now, lips bent in a frown, brows furrowed, expression curious—or cautious, toji can’t really tell. and it pains him to lie to you, but what else can he say when you’ve already shifted your thigh off his lap?
“nah,” he answers too fast. “it’s my nephew.”
toji reaches out to thumb your cheek, but you don’t relax into his palm. “think he meant to call my brother, not me.”
he tugs your bottom lip as you speak. “i didn’t know you had a brother…”
“there’s a lot you don’t know about me, princess,” he leans in to kiss the corner of your lips, because he knows he doesn’t deserve any more than that. your pout deepens.
“we can change that though,” he lies, smiling. “wanna get dessert?”
SATO’S REMARK : NICE SAVE, TOJI ! AND MY BAD—HAHA !
BROKE BOY TACTICS #3: BLEACH !
taught by: geto suguru, toru gojo
“inviting her over already? we’ve gotta scrub this place clean, then.“
ΣΧ
toji zenin has one hour to make it seem like megumi doesn’t exist.
geto suguru is scrubbing the bathrooms. toru gojo has somehow been roped into this predicament and is scrubbing away in the kitchen. in the living room, toji zenin is picking up cheerios from the rug, phone in his ear with sukuna on the line.
“hi daddy,”megumi’s voice is flat through the speaker. “uncle kuna’s being nice to me today.”
“that’s great, kiddo. can you put him back on the phone?”
“yo,” sukuna’s voice crackles through.
“if anything happens to my son, i will spread your ass cheeks and sprinkle paprika in the hole.”
“oh.”
“yeah,” toji shifts the phone in his neck. “make sure he has a good time at that amusement park. and don’t let sato spoil him too much.”
“heyyy toji!” sato’s voice crackles through the speaker. toji sighs before grunting back a hello. “keep megumi safe, got it?”
“yes, sir!” / “we got it, boss.” / “bye, daddy!”
toji says his goodbyes. just as he clicks the end button, toru gojo pads into the living room, glasses tilting off his face & slipping rubber gloves off his hands. “all done in the kitchen. remind me why we’re deceiving this poor lady again?”
toji picks up a gummy worm tucked under the rug and cringes. “because she wouldn’t look twice at a broke guy with a kid.”
toru softens, adjusting his glasses. “you don’t know that. have you tried telling her?”
“no.”
“why not?”
"because,” he picks up another gummy worm hidden under the couch, glaring at it before throwing it away. "because every time someone finds out about megumi, they look at me different. like i'm a burden. like he's a burden."
toru purses his lip. he’s watching as toji ducks under the couch, picking out stray bits of cereal and snacks and other things that make toji’s nose scrunch up in disgust.
toru shakes his head, taking off his glasses to set them on the counter. “but you don’t know if she’s like that.”
“i know i can’t lose her before i even have her.”
toru purses his lip. toji’s voice came out too tight.
ⵌ SHOW TIME !
when toji opens his front door, you’re in a too-short dress and there’s moët & chandon in your hands.
god, you’re gorgeous. and toji really needs to stop thinking that. needs to stop saying it in his head before he slips up and says it out loud with a tone he can’t take back.
“hi,” you tilt your head, batting your lashes in that way that makes him stupid. “you gonna keep standing there? or are you gonna take this bottle off my hands?”
ah, right. toji reaches for the bottle but you pull it back. he raises a brow.
“say ‘please pretty girl, may i have the wine?’”
you’re still peering up at him, hugging the bottle of wine to your chest, teasing smile on your glossy lips. toji leans against the doorframe. arms crossed, dark eyes raking over your hips, plush thighs, pretty waist. fuck.
his lips twitch, “i’m not saying that.”
“aww,” you pout, glossy and spoiled. “guess i have to turn back home and drink this expensive wine all by myself.” you turn, and toji bites his cheek because your dress has ridden up to give him the perfect view of your ass. so soft. he can’t wait to squeeze it.
“i’m gonna be so lonely…” your back is still turned to him, voice wistful. “and i came all the way over here, too. i’m so upset.”
toji doesn’t let you take another step.
you squeal as he scoops you up with a grunt, arms snaking over your waist & under your thighs to lift you bridal style. you squeeze the bottle of wine in your arms, eyes shut tight as you giggle while he kicks the door shut. “toji! put me down!”
careful what you wish for.
toji drops you to his couch with a thud. you land with a breathless laugh, dress bunched up to your hips & he can see the print of your panties. your hair is fanned out, and the bottle of wine is pressed to your stomach. you’re giggling, eyes bright, and god. you look so fucking gorgeous all laid out for him. toji’s jaw ticks.
he climbs over you, pressing his warm body down until the wine digs into your stomach. his eyes are dark. hungry.
“please, pretty girl,” he murmurs, breath hot, lips teasing your neck. “may i have the wine?”
oh.
your breath hitches. you stare up at him, cheeks hot, eyes wide, thighs squeezing together in anticipation. but you’re a bad girl, so you don’t give toji zenin what he wants just yet.
your smile falters, but you tilt your head. “thought you weren’t gonna say it?”
he grins, pressing a hot kiss underneath your ear. “and i thought you were leavin’.”
you let out a shaky gasp as toji licks a hot stripe up your neck. he’s filthy—big hands gripping your hips to keep you pinned to the couch, squeezing you hard each time you moan and buck yourself into him. his breath is hot against your neck, sucking and kissing and teasing, the occasional nip when you whimper just the way he likes.
his weight presses the wine harder into your stomach. you gasp, “toji, the wine—“
“hold it, baby.”
your eyes squeeze shut as his kisses trail further down your neck, tummy fluttering as heat pools between your thighs. his thumb on your hip sinks under the silk of your panties, and you whine his name before he shushes you with a sweet kiss to your cheek.
toji doesn’t kiss you on the lips. the lips are too honest, and toji is not.
you’re still clutching the bottle, chest heaving as toji presses your hips deeper, deeper—
“ow!”
toji freezes.
in truth, toji zenin has never been a gentle man. his body is too big and his hands are too rough, and life itself has never treated him gently, nor given him much reason to be gentle towards others. but as toji hovers over you, limbs frozen in alarm, his stomach can’t help but twist with disgust. said body and rough hands have crushed something soft yet again.
“did i hurt you?” his voice comes out weird. “doll—look at me. you okay?”
“i’m fine,” you wince, cheeks flushed as you try to steady your breathing. you twist your leg slightly, sliding your fingers down into the sofa cushion where something sharp poked at you. “something... something poked my leg.”
you pull out a tiny, red brick.
you blink. “a lego?”
for the second time this evening, toji freezes.
he takes it from your hand, flicking it away. he lifts your arms to wrap them around his neck, and lowers himself back to your chest. “that what you stopped me for, princess?” he mutters coolly, like his heart isn’t beating in his throat. “had me so worried, baby.”
“toji, why do you have a lego?”
he kisses your jaw, “my nephew’s.”
ah, that makes sense. you hug his neck tighter, giggling as he slips the wine off your belly & onto the floor. he presses yet another kiss to your neck, warm & sweet, and you let your chin rest on his shoulder as he loves you with gentler hands.
but then you see it.
on the metal door of the kitchen fridge, past a jar of gummy worms and a poorly placed broom, a banana-shaped magnet is there.
and right under it, a scribbled drawing. the messy figure of a man with spiky hair, and a smaller, more spiky-haired boy.
DADDY AND ME.
your body goes still.
toji’s hands are on your hips, thighs, waist—but his touch suddenly itches. the warmth has gone cold.
“toji,” you whisper. “who drew that?”
toji doesn't move. his eyes slowly follow your gaze to the fridge, and the panic in his eyes is unmistakable. the lie slips out of his mouth before his brain can even catch up to it.
“sociology project,” he breathes. “developmental regression. drew it with my left hand.”
“your left hand…”
your voice trails off as toji sinks his lips back to your neck.
toji zenin does not study sociology.
TORU’S REMARK : YOU CAN’T FOOL HER FOREVER.
BROKE BOY TACTICS #4: LEAN INTO THE LARP !
taught by: sato gojo
“you can’t pull up to a date in an uber. take my porsche—you’re a rich guy now.”
ΣΧ
it’s late, and three floors down, toji zenin has his hands on his hips, staring at sato’s sleek black porsche in disbelief while his tie itches at his neck. three floors up, in toji’s crappy apartment, the gang’s all there.
megumi has a blanket pulled up to his chin, seated on the couch next to suguru. sukuna is lounging on the floor with his back against said couch. sato is flipping through TV stations. the light in the room is dim, and sato snickers at something sukuna says before tossing him the remote.
“why does everyone always leave me?”
the trio freeze.
megumi’s expression is flat. he’s staring into the tv’s glow, but his eyes are soulless and empty. suguru hesitates—but then he rests a hand on megumi’s hair. “what do you mean, kiddo?”
“daddy’s always leaving now,” megumi closes his eyes, rigid against the couch cushions. “he never spends time with me anymore. he’s acting like my mommy did.”
the three boys’ hearts crack right down the middle.
they’re staring at each other now, the weight of megumi’s words on their shoulders. how do they tell a little boy that the reason his father has been less present—and is also not present tonight—is because he’s currently trying to hide his child’s existence to impress a woman? and that they’re all helping him?
sato speaks first. too quick, too fast.
“he’s just been busy,” he croaks out. “he’s been picking up new shifts. he’s working really hard.”
“yeah,” sukuna agrees. “he’s working hard. to take care of you, meg.”
megumi stares into the tv screen. geto’s hand is still heavy on his head, and his body is limp and his eyes are heavy.
“i know.” megumi mutters. “he’s my hero.”
suguru bites his lip. “you know what, meg? why don’t we draw something? a new picture for your dad?”
megumi’s eyes flit to the kitchen fridge. DADDY AND ME. the picture is still there, but the paper is crinkled and damp now. as if someone threw it away with heavy eyes, then somehow thought better of it.
megumi nods, “yeah.”
“okay, buddy. i’ll go get the crayons.”
“i’ll get the paper!”
“and i’ll… uh. you want a gatorade, kid?”
the three adults go after the various items. megumi takes one last look at his drawing on the fridge, and then he slips off the couch and pads away.
ⵌ SHOW TIME !
toji zenin is a man who can only have pride when he pretends.
so today, he pretends the sleek black porsche parked outside your house is his. he pretends he’s not wearing sato’s luxury cologne, that his tie isn’t secondhand, that the cuff of his suit isn’t too tight on his wrist and that the guilt in his mouth doesn’t taste like his blood.
he’s gripping the wheel so hard his knuckles turn white.
when you open the car door, you look like a dream.
your lips are glossy, always glossy, but it’s a different shade of shimmer tonight. your hair is loose all over your shoulders, heels clicky, dress black and matching the shade of sato’s car. toji stares, jaw slack as you slide into the passenger’s seat. the words in his throat have turned into bile.
“Hi.” you blink at him.
“Hi.”
he can’t say much else, and he really ought to but he can’t, so instead he only watches as you huff and click your seatbelt in place. toji licks his lips, turns back to the wheel. says a quick prayer to a god he doesn’t believe in. “you look gorgeous.”
you don’t respond.
the car starts with an expensive growl. it makes toji wince, and he hopes you don’t notice. he’s practiced starting the car three times so he can pretend he’s used to it. he isn’t, and he’ll never be.
he pulls onto the streets, eyes frantically scanning the road as his pulse drums in his teeth.
“toji?” you say, eyes trained ahead of you, voice flat.
“yeah, baby?”
“where are we going?”
toji’s fingers drum on the steering wheel. he turns right at the fork. “somewhere nice,” his voice is strained. “somewhere you deserve to be.”
he lets his right hand shift to the center console, trying to bridge the gap. his hand is sweating, maybe. you glance at it. glance away.
you peer out the window, head against the edge, watching the lights blur through the glass. “i feel like i’m sitting in a museum,” you murmur, quiet. “everything feels curated. including you.”
he swallows. “i’m trying to make tonight special.”
“special…” you trail off, lashes fluttering as you stare out the window.
“i don’t know who you are, zenin.”
toji’s head aches. and so does his chest, violent and sharp and stabbing. he’s a liar, a con artist, a selfish man with rough hands and a son waiting at home. oh—megumi. his phone’s been buzzing in his pocket for a while now. how’s megumi?
“i’m just a guy,” he chooses to say. “a guy who likes you.”
“do you? or is that just part of the exhibit?”
maybe there really is a god watching, because before toji can respond something makes a sound.
he’s not sure what, honestly, but he’s quick to capitalize on it. he needs the air. toji turns into an empty street to park. he unbuckles his seat belt, leans over a bit. “stay in the car, okay?”
you only nod, and toji’s throat curls with guilt.
the night air is cool on his skin. he opens the car bonnet—careful, as careful as a man like him can be—pretending to scan the engines for a possible source of the noise. he doesn’t find anything wrong, and he knew he wouldn’t, but he holds up the bonnet and pretends to check anyways.
three minutes pass before he returns to the car.
three minutes of toji zenin teaching himself how to breathe. the same way he does when megumi shuts down even though he thinks the steps are corny. having a kid really changes you, doesn’t it?
megumi. he looks at his watch, 9PM. his boy should be in bed by now.
the buzzing from his phone has stopped. he should check it now, but you’re still waiting. still beautiful. still hurt.
so toji slams the hood shut. sucks in a breath and slides back into the driver’s seat. you’re staring at him as he buckles his seatbelt.
“toji,” your voice is careful. “do you have anything you want to tell me?”
yes. i work three jobs and i’m drowning in student loans. i got a girl pregnant when i was eighteen, and she left me when i turned twenty-one. i have a boy who’s five-and-a-half and he’s the only good thing i have left. and i’m sorry i lied, but i didn’t want you to leave me before i could love you and i’m sorry, and i’m sorry again, and you deserve better, and i’m sorry.
“no,” toji lies.
you purse your lips. “okay.”
the engine roars back to life. and toji is sweating, and the date feels over before it’s even started, and his pulse is too loud and—
“daddy?”
toji’s blood runs cold.
in the backseat of sato’s porsche, megumi zenin is there, body tucked under a blanket and rubbing his eyes. he slips off the seat and stumbles towards the console, still rubbing at his face. “hi, daddy.”
toji zenin can only stay frozen as megumi wraps his smaller arms around his neck.
he tries to speak, fingers twitching as they hover over his son’s back. “megumi—hey, buddy—what’re you doing here?”
megumi buries his nose into his father’s neck. “i didn’t want to be alone again.”
toji bites his lip. he can feel your eyes boring into him, and he nervously scrambles. “hey—you’re never alone, buddy. where are your uncles? come here.”
he lifts megumi into his lap, avoiding your gaze.
“is this your son?”
toji’s mouth dries.
he could say it’s his nephew, make up some lie about him referring to both him and his ‘brother’ as dad, but god. you’re already looking at him with something he doesn’t have the vocabulary to name, and toji’s jaw aches.
“yes,” he sucks in a breath. “this is my son, megumi.”
he brushes megumi’s hair back, taking his little fist away from his face so he stops rubbing at his eyes. “meg, say hi to the pretty lady.”
“hi, pretty lady.”
megumi waves a small hand, then collapses against his father’s stomach.
you force a smile and flick your eyes back up to toji.
“i think you should take me home.”
???’s REMARK : YOU CAN’T LARP YOUR WAY INTO BEING LOVED !
BROKE BOY TACTICS #5: EMBRACE YOUR ECONOMICS !
taught by: nanami kento, megumi zenin.
“maybe she doesn’t hate you. maybe she hates that you thought so little of her you felt the need to live a lie.”
ΣΧ
it’s a new day, and toji zenin is laden with old burdens.
he’s slumped against his bedroom wall, phone pressed to his ear with megumi on his stretched out legs. megumi has a red & green colored hand in another jar full of gummy worms. toji makes a mental note to hide it better next time.
“you didn’t just lose the date,” nanami’s voice cuts through the speaker, flat and professional as always. “you insulted her intelligence. made her out to be a shallow woman who’d only care about you if you had money in your bank account.”
toji stares at the ceiling. then at megumi, who’s about to eat a gummy worm off the floor. he flicks it away. “she looked at me like i was trash, nanami.”
“she looked at you like you were a liar,” nanami corrects. “which you are.”
nanami sighs, breath sending a crackle through the speaker. all he wanted to do was spend his afternoon reading his new favorite BL, doukyuusei, but once again the shenanigans of his friends have interrupted his peace.
“toji, you’re a smart man. and she sounds like a smart woman. i doubt she’d lose interest because you have a son—i believe she hates that you lied to her.”
megumi takes a worm and makes it crawl through toji’s lips. it’s cold, but toji chews and swallows anyways. “i need to apologize.”
“yes,” toji can hear a page flip. “and quickly. i have to attend to other matters now, but say hi to megumi for me.”
the line goes dead, and toji drops his hand to the floor.
megumi chews a gummy worm. then he takes it out of his mouth, frowns at it, then eats it again. “daddy, are you mad at me?”
toji frowns. “for what?”
“i ruined your date,” megumi looks into the jar of worms, frowning, then back at his dad. “with auntie.”
toji looks at his son. at his candy smeared cheeks, sticky hands, black spikes of hair and sugar in his teeth. megumi looks just like him. he’s always known it, but he’s growing to look more and more like his father every day.
“you didn’t ruin anything,” he murmurs, pulling his son into his chest. “you’ve never ruined anything in your life.”
he pats megumi’s hair, head thrown back. “i’m sorry, meg.”
five-year-old megumi zenin has already lost interest. he’s more focused on getting the red and blue gummy in the sea of yellow-green ones, small hand grabbing fistfuls of worms before dropping them back. he doesn’t know his father is sorry, sorry for everything, for trying to erase his existence to impress a woman and for bringing him into this world knowing he will never be able to give him the future he deserves.
megumi retrieves the red and blue gummy worm. his favorite flavor. he blinks at it once, twice.
then he turns to his dad. lifts the gummy worm on his palm to his face.
toji zenin eats it right off.
ⵌ SHOW TIME !
megumi zenin is in his best clothes: baby blue button-up from suguru. a white top with a red race car that sukuna had got him for his birthday. light up skechers from uncle sato. toji had tried to get him to wear normal shoes, but megumi shut that down quickly. he wanted to be seen.
you no longer frequent the local loblaws.
and it breaks toji’s heart, actually. you haven’t blocked him just yet, thank god, so toji thinks you might not yet hate him completely. that he might still have a chance.
call him a weirdo, but he’s been to almost every grocery store nearby.
no frills, sobeys, you name it. and now, at 12:30PM sunday, toji zenin is in his car with his son, watching you load groceries into the backseat with a pout on your lips. like you’re above this. like you need a big, strong man to offer his help. and toji’s chest aches. because he could be that man, you know. if you’d let him.
toji slips out of the car. megumi hops out too.
he stops just a few feet behind you, watching you mutter curses as you haul a carton of juice. toji’s lip twitches. then he pulls megumi along.
“let me help.”
you blink as toji comes out of seemingly nowhere to save the day. he lifts everything out of your cart and into your car, never breaking a sweat. truthfully, your groceries aren’t even that heavy. he’s not sure why you were struggling, but he thinks it’s so fucking cute.
he lets you click your remote to close the boot shut. then he turns to you: “i owe you an apology.”
you tilt your head. “do you?”
he squeezes megumi’s hand in his own to ground himself. “i lied because i was scared,” he admits, and you never thought you’d hear toji and ‘scared’ in the same sentence. “you’re a pretty girl from a nice family who spends my rent money on groceries,” he breathes. “and i want you, bad. and i thought if you saw me—the me who lived paycheck to paycheck and has nothing except this little brat,” he raises megumi’s hand, “you’d leave before i even got a chance.”
he shifts his hand to megumi’s head. “it’s fucking stupid, i know. but this is my son,” he ruffles megumi’s hair. “say hi, kid.”
“hi, auntie.”
your gaze shifts away from toji, and drops to the little boy beside him. megumi is apple cheeks, dark, messy hair and nervous feet shifting on the pavement. he looks like his dad, and the sight makes your heart melt.
“hi, baby boy.” you crouch down to his height. “i love your shirt. do you wanna come here?”
megumi nods. he abandons his father’s side to let you scoop him up in your arms.
toji frowns.
megumi’s a shy kid. or not shy—awkward. he can’t make eye contact with kids his age, his tone is too flat, and his eyes are always bored. he doesn’t like to be touched by people he isn’t familiar with, and he’s very quick to say no to what he doesn’t like or want. so toji can only watch, brows knit in confusion, as megumi’s fist curls over your necklace and he lets you press a kiss to his cheek.
“hi, auntie,” megumi collapses into your shoulder, fist still gripping your necklace. “i did a very good job.”
“so good, baby,” you kiss his hair, grinning. “i’m gonna buy you all the gummies in the world.”
megumi blushes from the affection. he shifts his head over your shoulder so all you can see is his pink chubby cheek.
“what the hell is happening?”
“daddy’s a big dummy,” megumi mutters into your shoulder. “the biggest,” you agree.
toji’s frown deepens, and you laugh. “i’ve already met megumi, silly.”
toji blinks. he’s about to ask how, but you beat him to it: “remember when you got out of the car? megumi woke up in the backseat,” you kiss his ear softly, and megumi’s blush deepens. “we had a long chat about you, toji. and i asked him to pretend we’ve never met, and go back to sleep in the car.”
you watch megumi, fond. his fingers curling deeper into your necklace, his eyes shy and staring behind you. “i can’t believe you’ve been keeping this little angel from me. you’re a monster, toji.”
“dummy monster…” megumi mutters. you kiss his cheek again and he hides.
toji thinks about it. to megumi referring to you as auntie back in the apartment. fuck. he didn’t think too much of it, but perhaps he should’ve.
“so? you two were testing me, or some shit?”
you shift a hand from megumi’s back to your hip. “no attitude, mister. i’m still mad at you,” your frown, and then your shoulders drop. “did you really think you had to fake having money to impress me? picking me up in a porsche when i’ve already seen your crappy apartment?”
you stroke megumi’s hair. “and lying about meg,” your expression goes soft, sad. “have you apologized to him?”
“yeah,” megumi tugs your necklace. “he told me sorry.”
you smile at him, then kiss his little fist. “that’s great, baby. you deserve an apology. and i’m sorry as well, for taking away your time with your father.”
megumi pats your face, voice flat. “i forgive you.”
you giggle, pinching his cheek, and toji can only stare in disbelief.
megumi’s cheeks are pink from your kisses, little fingers curled tight around your necklace while you sway him absentmindedly against your chest. his light-up skechers blink every time his feet kick against your thighs. you’re smiling at him like he’s heaven as a boy, and megumi—quiet, awkward, megumi—is hiding his face in your shoulder because he’s shy.
how greedy.
how greedy of toji zenin to pick out cheerios from between couch cushions like trying to erase evidence of a crime scene. how greedy of him to scrub crayon off his walls, peel gummies off his floors and hide away his son with other people he can’t truly call family. how greedy of him to rip his son’s drawing off the fridge, only to put it back again later because he can’t even be greedy right.
how greedy of toji zenin to hide the only good thing in his life away; all because he wanted yet another good thing: you.
he wanted your pretty laugh in his apartment. wanted your heels by the front door, wanted your perfume in his sheets and your voice mixed with megumi’s cartoons on saturday mornings. toji zenin wanted everything.
now his everything was shoving his chubby hand in the face of his other everything to keep from getting attacked by kisses. but he was smiling. megumi zenin was smiling, and blushing, and laughing—and toji thinks about how he hasn’t seen megumi this childish in a while.
his heart aches.
“i’m sorry.”
sorry for what? he knows what he’s sorry for, but the words have failed him again, so he can only watch. watch as you tilt your head the way you always do, before megumi glances at you and tilts his head back at him the same way. oh god.
“‘gumi, do we forgive daddy?”
“yeah,” megumi’s feet kick. his shoes light up, red and blue. “if he stops hiding my gummies.”
toji won’t hide his gummies anymore. hell, he’ll never hide anything again in his life.
and maybe megumi senses the guilt on his father’s shoulders, because he squirms his tiny body for you to set him down and dashes so hard into his father’s legs that he knocks his forehead against his knee. “ow…”
toji snorts, crouching. “what are you doing, kid.” but he’s scooping megumi into his arms anyways. you pad closer, grin cheeky, and poke megumi on his side.
“how about we go shop for some gummy worms?”
BONUS — Y/N AND MEG’S FIRST MEET !
“who are you?”
the voice makes you jolt. you’re staring at your hands in the passenger’s seat of toji’s rented—no, probably borrowed—porsche, blinking away tears in your eyes when a tiny voice speaks behind you.
you whip your head around so fast your neck aches.
and standing there is a little boy, tiny, maybe four or five, rubbing away sleep from his eyes. his hair comes in tufts of black, and his eyes are blue, and oh my god he looks just like his father.
toji.
megumi is rubbing his eyes harder now. your heart melts.
“hi, baby,” you coo, patting away your own tears on your lashes. “i’m friends with your daddy. what’s your name?”
“i’m megumi,” he sniffles, yawns. “my friends call me meg. but i don’t have any friends.”
oh. “hi, meg. what’re you doing here? did your dad leave you home alone?”
you hope he says no, because you know toji’s been hiding something—someone from you, but he wouldn’t go that far. at least, you hope he wouldn’t.
“no, my uncles are at home,” he says sleepily. and you hover your hands over his face in silent permission. he blinks at your hands, sniffles again, before nodding to let you brush his hair back from his face. “i wanted to see daddy. he left for work.”
work? no he didn’t. toji zenin is outside, lifting the bonnet of a car he knows is too good to call his. “did he tell you he was going to work, meg?”
“no, but i know he is. he works for us. he wears the tie and he goes away.”
“oh, baby…”
toji zenin is a liar. a liar with a handsome face, and warm touch, and words that make your head dizzy. and you should be mad, really. you are, but the sight of this little boy with a face like his father’s only makes your heart ache.
you want to ask questions: who are your uncles? where were you when i came over? is your mother still in the picture?
but megumi zenin is blinking sleepily as you caress his cheek, leaning into your touch with a sigh.
“megumi, do you wanna make a deal?”
“what kind of deal?” megumi tries to rub his eyes, but you ease his fist away.
“a super simple one. your daddy’s been acting really strange, right? to you and me,” you pat his cheek. “all you have to do is act like we’ve never met, and i’ll give you anything you want.”
megumi thinks very hard. then he asks, “are you the lady daddy wants to impress?”
you blink. “what do you mean?”
“i heard him on the phone with uncle sugu,” megumi rests his head against your leather car seat. “he said he likes a nice lady. said he wants to be a better man for her.” he rubs his eye. “then he started leaving me. where’s daddy? i wanna talk to daddy.”
“oh, meg,” your heart breaks. “come here, baby.”
megumi hesitates, but then he lets you pull him into a hug. his hands are limp by his sides, but he pats your back once before his tiny hand slips away. “auntie, why are you crying?”
your shoulders shake over him. you sniffle, “don’t worry about it, meg. and your daddy’s gonna come back soon, okay? and he won’t leave you alone anymore. i’ll make sure of it.”
megumi pulls back. “you promise?”
you cup his cheeks. “i promise. go back to sleep, okay?”
EPILOGUE !
on the couch of toji’s crappy apartment, megumi zenin is curled into his father’s side, gummy worms in his mouth as he presses his sticky hands to the screen of his brand new ipad pro. a shiny gift from his loving uncle sato, who bought him the device despite suguru and toji’s wishes.
megumi offers his father a gummy worm. “when is auntie coming?”
toji eats it off his palm. “soon, kid,” he clicks his tongue. “swear you like her more than me now.”
megumi picks out five gummy worms from the jar, then lines them up on his ipad screen for convenience. “nah, i like daddy the most.”
toji softens.
all toji can see right now is the top of his little boy’s head, his tiny nose poking out and his chubby little cheeks. the ipad screen is sticky and candy smeared—much like megumi’s hands—and on the screen is a video of a teacup in a ballet dress—ballerina cappucina?—getting married to a little espresso man wearing a ninja bandana. toji frowns. the video gives him flashbacks to his days of working as skai jackson’s personal AI prompt writer. he shivers.
toji shakes his head. “meg, you know i’m never leaving, right?”
“i know,” megumi groans. “you told me a billion times yesterday!”
“quit whining,” toji murmurs, pulling his son into his lap. megumi reaches for his jar of gummy worms, and toji tugs it closer. “just wanted to remind you.” he mumbles.
megumi slumps against his father’s chest. soft, distracted, satisfied. “you don’t need to say sorry anymore. i forgive you.”
toji kisses his hair, burying his face in the dark strands. he sighs, “thanks, kiddo.”
———
when the doorbell rings, toji zenin is already half-asleep.
the sound—and megumi’s accidental jab of his elbow against his stomach—wakes him right up. toji smooths his hair, rubs the sleep from his eyes. then he turns to tell megumi to go wash his sticky hands, then decides not to.
he sucks in a breath and opens the door.
“hi, pretty.”
“move. i’m not here for you.”
you shove at his chest and push your way into the apartment, and on the couch to the right megumi zenin is there, ipad in hands and cheeks sticky and looking up at you with big, blue eyes.
“auntie?”
“oh, my baby!”
you scoop him off the couch and into your arms, and megumi clutches your shoulders tight as you attack him with kisses on his forehead, cheeks, everywhere. toji’s eye twitches in disbelief. “are we serious?”
“oh, you’re still here,” you glance over at him, bored. “meg and i are gonna make cookies today. mind being a doll and fetching the ingredients from the car?” you toss him your car keys.
toji looks at the keys in his hands. then you, who is cooing silly things that make megumi blush and bury his head in your neck.
toji pads over to you, slow. “i wanted to see you.”
you ignore his hands snaking around your hips. you turn your nose up at him, “and now, you have.”
“you still mad at me?”
of course you’re still mad. maybe not as mad as you were a week ago, but still upset. that he lied. that he thought so little of you that he went out of his way to sculpt a whole other life and hide away the little angel in your arms. but toji’s hands are still heavy on your hips. his voice is warm in your ear. and he apologized, you know. in the parking lot that day. at your house on monday, holding a bouquet of half-dead flowers and wearing a rented suit that went to waste because you refused to go out with him anyway. he sent you an hour long voicemail apologizing. you listened to it all on the way here.
toji zenin is such a sap.
he acts like he isn’t, though. but he is, and you feel it in how he presses his lips to your neck, over and over and over again. i’m sorry i’m sorry i’m sorry.
megumi shoves his father’s lips away. “daddy stop.”
you laugh, nuzzling megumi’s cheek. “he’s such a dummy, isn’t he meg? do you think i should forgive him?”
“yeah,” megumi mutters, collapsing into your neck. “he said sorry a billion times to me yesterday. daddy’s really sorry for everything.”
“aww. daddy’s so cute when he’s sorry, isn’t he?”
toji is glaring at you. you can only giggle and press a kiss to his jaw, and his eyes widen a bit in surprise. you cup his jaw and press another one to his cheek. just one more, because you’d be lying if you said you hadn’t missed him as well.
“i forgive you, mister. now go get those groceries—shoo!”
toji nuzzles your neck before leaving the apartment.
megumi is still on your hip, clutching your shoulders for balance as you pick out pans and trays from the cupboard. he grips your hair in a tiny fist. “auntie?”
“hm, gummy?”
megumi hides in your neck—shy, nervous. “are you gonna be my new mommy?”
you freeze.
megumi clutches you tighter. his face is buried in your throat, and he’s gripping so tightly his little nails bite into your skin, but you soften. toji had already confessed everything in his voicemail. his mom isn’t in the picture anymore. how a mother can let go of a little angel like meg, you don’t know, but who are you to judge and conclude?
“i don’t know, meg, it’s too soon,” you hum softly, setting a pan on the tabletop. “but i know i’ll be here, baby. for you.”
“will you be at my school, too?” he peers up at you, big eyes glimmering with hope. “all the other kids have mommies except for me.”
“oh, megumi—of course i’ll be there!”
it’s taking everything in you not to carry this boy and run! you attack his face with kisses, and megumi squirms in your arms but he’s giggling. his hands are sticky on your face, neck, everywhere, but you kiss him over and over again, because you’ve only known him for a little over a week but you’re already ready to give him the world. “auntie, stop!” but he’s laughing. “there’s lip gloss all over me!”
when toji walks in, he can’t believe his eyes.
there are too many shopping bags in his hands, because everything about you is too much, even down to your shopping, and toji is staring in disbelief. the woman of his dreams in his kitchen, holding his son, and his son is laughing. laughing the way he used to before his mother left him two years ago.
and he doesn’t really deserve the warmth curling in his chest, or the strange feeling coursing through his veins, but who is toji zenin if not greedy?
so he drops the bags to his feet (gently, because you’d curse him if the eggs broke), and pads over to the kitchen where you’re showering megumi with affection, and he snakes his arms around your waist and drops his head into your neck. you turn, grinning, and you don’t push him away when he presses a quick kiss to your lips. the lips are honest, and now toji is too.
“aww, look at you getting all sappy.”
“auntie made my face all sticky..”
toji squeezes you both tight. a little greed never killed a man.
𓈒⊹ mdni fluff + silly misunderstandings. reader is a lovergirl. slight yandere suguru. 𓈒⊹
All you really wanted was for him to like you back.
It was pathetic. A foolish girl’s dream wished upon a few too many falling stars.
Staring at the seams of the stained glass window overlooking the quaint village outside, sighing to yourself as you waited to be called into his office.
How many fates were worse than being condemned to a side character in your favorite romance novel? One where you would soon be forced to watch the second male lead you loved so much fall for the leading lady while you were stuck working all day and slumming it in the shitty dorms of the mage’s tower all night?
Even though you had access to magic now, you were barely an amateur, making low-level potions for them to sell to merchants rather than anything remotely cool or exciting.
“He’s ready to see you now.”
Shit.
You didn’t have your story rehearsed.
How the hell were you supposed to explain why you had stolen a handful of restricted books from their archives to research opening a portal back to your real world?
You nervously nodded, brushing down your skirt as you followed his assistant back into his office, sneaking a peek up at the beautiful man behind the desk.
Suguru Geto.
The most talented mage in the past fifty years. Dark hair spilling down his back, half of it tied up in a messy bun that still managed to look deliberate, thin glasses perched on the bridge of his beautiful nose. You didn’t think there was anything about him that wasn’t beautiful.
He came down to the level where you worked a few times a day, always offering warm smiles and murmuring things in that honeyed tone of his, checking in on how everything was going with the rest of the workers. Sometimes you thought he even looked at you, convinced you caught a glimpse of his gaze on your skin only for him to be focused on someone else every time you glanced back.
Sometimes he left treats for everyone. Ordered a round of drinks for the room when you were at the tavern next door.
But you never thought he really noticed you. Until now.
God, you were so going to be fired.
You knew he'd never like you. Not the way he would love her once the story you had the misfortune of getting sucked into started. So why the hell did you have to be punished for just trying to go home?
Even in a place like this where magic existed, you sincerely doubted he'd believe you if you confessed you belonged to another world where this was all just a book.
"Sneaking into the archives is a fireable offense," he spoke sternly, pulling off his glasses to look up at you with soft purple eyes. "Stealing tomes-"
"I'm sorry," you blurted out, your voice coming out all squeaky as you bowed your head with apology.
Maybe if you seemed remorseful enough-
"You weren't trying to sell them on the black market, were you?" He asked, his sharp tone nearly making you flinch as you starting wildly waving your hands in denial.
"No, of course not, I just-" You gasped, taken aback at his accusation just to clamp your lips shut before you could tell him the truth.
"You just what?"
"I just wanted to study some of the spells in it," you muttered, an awkward half-truth.
"Like the love spells?" He asked, your face scrunching up in confusion as you scrambled for a new defense.
What use did he think you have for a love spell?
Your cheeks were heating up, embarrassment coursing through you as you considered the possibility your crush wasn't nearly as subtle as you previously believed.
"N-no," you mumbled, cringing at how unbelievable you sounded.
"You're a cute girl," he murmured, and you wanted to dissolve into a puddle on the spot, a little whimper threatening to leave your throat as he pushed back his chair and stood up. "Why do you need a spell to get someone to love you?"
"I really wasn't-"
"The date you took it out was the same day the prince came by to visit," he commented, as if he was making a connection your humiliated brain was struggling to comprehend. "Was it for him?"
Just when you thought it couldn't get worse, he was convinced that you were a loser so in love with a man out of your league that you were willing to cast a spell to capture his heart.
"Am I being fired?" You impulsively asked, itching to just go back to your room and collect the meager handful of belongings you had and leave before your pride could take another hit. You'd rather go be a waitress or find work somewhere else than live like this.
"I was thinking of a reassignment," he hummed, a hint of a sly smile curling up on his lips as you contemplated just quitting instead. It's not like he'd expend any energy searching for you if you ran away either.
"Reassignment?" You nervously echoed, fiddling with your fingers.
"I've been needing a new apprentice," he murmured, shrugging his shoulders as his robes fluttered around him. Dignified. A dangerous glint in his swirling stare as it seared straight through to your shaking soul. "I appreciate your, ah, unconventional thirst for knowledge."
"Really, I, uh, couldn't dream of accepting," you tried to insist, caught off guard again as he effortlessly disarmed all the excuses you'd been preparing. "I'm flattered, but I'm not nearly skilled enough-"
"His Highness comes to visit me regularly," he added, as if it sweetened his offer, and you wondered if he could feel the heat of your humiliation burning you up from across the room. "I can't allow you to test your spells on him, of course, but-"
"I wouldn't do that," you protested, nearly stomping your foot in frustration as your lips pushed out in a pout.
He paused, smiling nonchalantly as he pulled out a paper from the thick stack on his desk and dipped his quill in ink, holding both out for you.
"Uh-huh," he hummed. "Please sign here to confirm your new assignment. It comes with a higher pay and a better dorm."
"I would be working directly under you?" You asked, swallowing hard as you eyed the parchment.
"Learning from the very best," he confirmed, eyes crinkling softly as he tilted his head to the side.
Spending your shifts by his side instead of the back of the sidelines.
Even if he thought your heart was in someone else's hands.
Perhaps that was for the best.
You'd be forced to move on if you were faced with proof of his disinterest every single day.
"Okay," you anxiously accepted, nervously walking over to his desk, leaning over to take the quill from his hands and sign your name by the X. "If you're sure you want me."
"I want you."
𓈒⊹
More than you knew.
Suguru ran his fingers over the dried ink of your name, still clinging to the faint traces of your perfume in the air, glancing up at the door you just walked out of as he sighed.
It wasn't his fault you had enraptured him from the first moment he picked up on the strange aura that surrounded you. Who could blame him for being addicted to your shy attention, the adorable affection you were too scared to show him? Shyly staring and sneaking around trying to look up love potions?
He liked your desperation.
How was it any different to devotion?
It was obvious on your face when he asked about the prince that you were trying to just cover up your crush for him.
Was he supposed to not find it cute?
He filed your contract away, an easy smirk curling up on his face as he got one last look at the fine print.
A little love spell of his own. Sealed by your own signature
𝓖.𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐔 🌷♡ ͏͏ has you sucking his dick while he drives you home. the problem? you're his son's best friend.
♡. 𝓱𝓮𝓪𝓻𝓽𝓽𝓱𝓻𝓸𝓫. older!satoru :: age gap (40s/20s) :: smut :: roadhead :: m.oral :: fingering :: dirty talk :: reader is megumi's best friend
"Fuck, your dad's gonna kill me."
All you had was that new car smell and the scent of Satoru's cum clogging up your nose.
Rough, long fingers gripped at your hair. Blunt nails digging at your scalp. Forcing you down harder. Deeper. Till you gagged and spluttered all over his dark pants.
Swallowing your best friend's dad's cock down your throat was exactly how you wanted this night to end.
Satoru's white-knuckling the steering. You could picture his jaw set tight. Grinding moans between his teeth as those woman-killer blues of his locked to the windscreen even with his fogged, rimless glasses.
Streetlights flashed by. Pouring over the lewd scene in the front seat. Of you, on your knees and leaned over the centre console, his thick cock straining your lips. Your cherry gloss mixing with foamy precum as bob your head back to his base.
His hips twitched. Breath hitched. As the car slowed to a red light, his head finally fell back.
"Sweet lil' brat," he heaved. Sounding like his lungs were fighting god as he gripped at the back of your neck. "This your plan all along? Study session with my son so you could get me here?"
"Mhhhm."
You hummed, honeyed as you withdrew with a filthy pop. Tongue laving over his underside. Swirling on his throbbing, blushing tip.
"Of course not, Mr Gojo." You croaked, delicate hand squeezing his cock, thumbing on a vein. You pressed the hardness into the side of your face. Batting your doeish lashes up at him.
"I'm a good girl. I promise."
A curse hissed from his heaving chest. Stare heavy as it scowled down at you. A dark grin cracked onto his lips.
"Yeah? Good girl sucking old man dick? Knowing damn well my son's got a crush on her?" His hard shove forced your head back down his cock. Stretching your aching glands around his thick inches.
His hot tip smacked the back of your throat. Smearing his sickeningly sweet pre all over. Earning a saliva-filled whine from your dazed self. Your eyes fluttering back with little hearts as you slaved your mind and mouth to the sick course of sucking on a man who was twice your age. Old enough to be your father. Hell, your best friend's dad.
Gurgled babbles and filthy gawks filled the dim, humid space. Your knees rubbing raw on the leather seat as you let him fuck your throat. Taking you all the way till your chin grazed his balls and tears spilled from your eyes.
"Now that's a good girl. Fuuckk. Pretty lil' thing like you really knows how to suck a dick huh?"
His rough groan vibrated deep in your tummy. Your shaky thighs rubbed together to ease the hot slickness blooming between them.
"What's this?" Satoru breathed, cutting you a small glance as the car took off again.
The hand on your hair slipped down your back. His arm long enough to easily reach over your ass and tuck between your thighs. A sly middle and index nestled against soaked cotton. Stroking over your swollen flesh.
"Getting your panties all sticky just from sucking me off? Oh poor baby," his tut was drawled, pouted as he massaged your quivering cunt. Rubbing on the wet spot and grinding his callouses right beneath your clit.
You choked around him. Eyes fluttering back as you tried to press yourself into him. Whimpering around his pulsing cock as your head stuttered in its movements.
His hips bucked a bit. Stuffing you full again until you spluttered.
"Uh uh sweet thing, c'mon." He cooed. "Keep that throat niicceee and full. You're a good girl, remember?"
You barely managed a nod. Taking him back down till he bulged your bobbing throat again. All while he played with your needy cunt and kept his eyes on the road.
Never slipping in, never stuffing you full from both sides, Satoru merely kept you in the desperate position. Bent over his centre console, in his car, with his cum threatening to spill down your throat any second.
"Three minutes, sweetheart. Better— fuck. Hurry if you wanna take something home with ya." He strained, pinching your clit through your soaked panties.
You whined. Hollowing your cheeks. Squeezing your throat. Your head pumped in a shot of vigour. Eager to taste his cum before you trotted back into your house and smiled at your parents. Lied through your teeth about how productive your study session was when you wouldn't remember anything other than the smell of your best friend's dad and the taste of his cum.
Spit and pre mixed. Stringing a filthy web between your lips and his crotch. Snapping and splashing as you worked him. Jerking back to focus on his tip. Sucked on a vein. Then greedily took him back all the way. Till your throat would miss the shape of him when this was all over.
The car slowed as Satoru got close. Both to your home and his orgasm. Words melting into a stream of deep groans and gruff grunts.
His hips slammed! up as he turned the corner. Grinding nastily into your mouth. Twitching and throbbing like mad as that thick, underside vein of his pulsed hard at the back of your tongue.
"Better fuckin— take every, hah, every drop like the good girl ya keep telling me you are." Words broken, rough. You swore his eyes must've been rolling back.
As the car pulled up, his hand slammed down. Shoving your head all the way. Till your eyes rolled into your skull and your mind flatlined.
"Fuck, oh fuck babbyyy."
Hot, thick spurts frothed up your throat. Creaming you so full that it bubbled back up into your mouth. Spilling around your glossy lips. Trickling down your chin.
You didn't care for the mess. Too lost in your newest addiction: old cock and cum.
Satoru's breaths heaved. Wheezed and burning as he slumped back into the seat. Glossy eyes looped to the car roof as his glasses slipped down his nose.
"Fucking. . . gonna give me a stroke." He groaned, grinding his hips a few more times into your greedy mouth.
You hummed in response. Dazed. If it were up to you, you would have stayed there. Nursing on his cock and lapping his cum.
No such luck. Satoru lifted you off of him soon enough. Cupping your face and swiping a thumb on your lower lip.
"Can't keep doing this, y'know." He breathed. But his eyes told you that's hardly what he wanted.
Nudging your face into his palm, you pouted. "You can't ignore me now. I sucked your dick in a car. We're practically engaged."
He sighed, deep and fond before he pressed a kiss between your brows. Achingly affectionate.
nerd gojo & fem reader, awkward gojo, occ characters
nerd 𝐆𝐎𝐉𝐎 𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐔 who cannot flirt even if it meant that his life was on stake, yet still tries to hit you up cus he has a confidence of an ugly straight white man
ಎ ⎯⎯ ✉️
nerd 𝐆𝐎𝐉𝐎 𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐔 who WAITS till you start chugging down your coffee before blurting out stupid shit in hopes of swoonin you up,
"are you.. uhm.. like.. made of copper and tellurium?" he waits painfully long before continuing, "because you’re Cu-Te." and when your thoughts are, tf is ts ho on ab, he scrambles around, mumbling to himself
"no-- you know the periodic table? its.. its a chemistry joke aha.. sorry, do you.. do you want me to explain?"
AND HE FUCKING DOES EXPLAIN. like for two FULL minutes. this mf didn't even notice you choking on your coffee.
ಎ ⎯⎯ ✉️
nerd 𝐆𝐎𝐉𝐎 𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐔 who decides to "play it cool" by casually sliding into the seat next to you in the library.
except he miscalculates the distance and before he knows it, the chair screeches loud and eventually falls along with the manchild.
but the great gojo satoru does NOOT give up, instead, he whispers while still laid out on the ground,
“i fell for you,” (tht korean heart thingy included)
“are you done?”
“yes, sorry.”
ಎ ⎯⎯ ✉️
nerd 𝐆𝐎𝐉𝐎 𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐔 who tries to be subtle. you’re prob complaining about being tired and this man, dead serious, will go on
“well, you must be exhausted.. from running through my mind all day,” he blurts.
there’s a pause. a loooong pause.
in his mind, he got you speechless-- which he did, just not for the right reason, and he starts nodding to himself like he’s proud.
ಎ ⎯⎯ ✉️
nerd 𝐆𝐎𝐉𝐎 𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐔 who picks the worst possible time-- mid-argument about a group project,
“are you a 90-degree angle? because you’re looking right.”
he got tomatoes thrown at him after that.
ಎ ⎯⎯ ✉️
nerd 𝐆𝐎𝐉𝐎 𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐔 who literally practices pickup lines in the mirror. he times them, with different ways of saying it, with different smiles-- deepen his dimples or lazy smirk? (he looks constipated doing it, but he's cute so lets slide it ok? ok.)
he's convinced you'll fall for him if he adjusts his glasses. but when he finally approaches you at the vending machine, all that comes out is,
"doyoubelieveinloveatfirstsight,orshouldiwalkpastagain?” im not kidding u when i say that this man actually turns around to redo it. while he’s halfway through the second attempt is when he trips over someone’s bag AND THEN CONTINUED TO WALK.
you didn't understand what he said, so for you, gojo rapped some bs, walked all the way towards the gates, returned back after falling face first just to hit you with a pose with his hands on his hips.
ಎ ⎯⎯ ✉️
nerd 𝐆𝐎𝐉𝐎 𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐔 who thinks the best time to confess he likes you is during a study group. in front of everyone because he read somewhere that confidence is attractive. so when you lean over his shoulder to look at his notes, he freezes, ears red, and says way too loudly,
"if you were a triangle, you’d be acute one." the room goes silent. you blink at him. he immediately adds, softer this time, "i mean… you are. cute. not-- mathematically. i mean, also mathematically, but--"
he doesn’t sleep that night. but he keeps the way you smiled at him stored like a sacred relic.
ಎ ⎯⎯ ✉️
nerd 𝐆𝐎𝐉𝐎 𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐔 who pretends the cheesy lines are ironic, but he highlights the ones he thinks would make you laugh specifically. he notices the way you tuck your hair behind your ear. he notices when you’re tired. he notices everything.
and every terrible joke is just his very nerdy way of saying, please like me back.
𝓖.𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐔 🌷♡ ͏͏ is fighting demons while you hump his thigh in your sleep.
♡. 𝓱𝓮𝓪𝓻𝓽𝓽𝓱𝓻𝓸𝓫. older clanhead!satoru :: age gap (40s/20s) :: arranged marriage :: smut :: wet dreams :: satoru's fighting a losing battle
⊹ ꒰ 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚝 𝚘𝚗𝚎 ꒱ ⊹
"Are you scared I'll pop your hip if you let me bounce on it?"
You chirped one day during breakfast.
He choked up his mouthful of rice. Hacked with tears in his eyes while you had the audacity to rub smooth circles on his back. Hellish minx with your hands softer than heaven.
Satoru was the strongest, and you tested all forty four years of that strength.
"You are actually going to kill me," he grunted, wiping his mouth with the back of his sleeve.
Your eyes glimmered. "You've got a hefty life insurance, rightttt?"
Never in his life had it been so hard to fight a smile. You were something else. A demon and a doe, placed into his scarred hands.
You were all he was looking for and everything that he shouldn't want, even three months into your marriage.
Every day, you chipped away at a new section of his sanity. Made his slowly failing hormones surge and erect. Ahem, in more ways than one.
It was the way you spoke to him. Silk and smooth.
The way you batted those bratty, bambi eyes at him.
The way you flaunted that pretty body of yours. Teases of skin with your kimono dipped below your shoulder. Or the towel you'd prance around in the room with, agonisingly slowly as you went about your morning routine.
Yeah. Satoru had accepted that he was married to a crazy girl. A young girl. Who looked like she was a second closer every day to jumping his bones and giving him more wrinkles in his thighs.
To say he didn't fantasise about it would be a lie. Satoru thought about the things he could do to your soft, tender body more times than he'd like to admit.
Were you all big talk? Would you crumble the second his worn hands slipped between your thighs?
Would you be able to take him at all?
Guess that's a thought that'll remain just that. A thought. A guilty fantasy he'll condemn himself for until the day he closes his eyes.
After much whining and those puppy eyes that his infinity had no chance against, he loosened up enough to cuddle you. Hold you through the night when you curled into him and tucked yourself under his chin like a cat. You sure were as mischievous as one.
But in your sleep, without those damning eyes and pretty smiles, Satoru could admire you without the threat of a vein popping. Or a stroke. Or a heart attack.
The tender slopes of your face. The gentleness of your brows. The softness of your lips. Angelic. You were angelic.
Well, when you weren't trying to hump his thigh.
Somewhere in the dead of dawn. On a day the gods decided to test his every ounce of patience, Satoru awoke to the softest, sweetest sound.
A moan.
Groggily, his eyes fluttered open. Halfway through a stir when he heard it again—
"toru."
His stare shot down. Hands already on your waist and a scold rising to his tongue.
Only to see that you were fast asleep.
Brows twitched in a small pinch. Face blotched in the darkness. Lips parted. Your fingers curled into him while your hips rolled in a stuttered rhythm.
He took a breath. Then two. Three. Enough for him to catch up to what was happening.
You were dreaming.
"Mm. . . Satoruuuu."
Worse, you were dreaming about him.
Stewing in guilty pleasure, Satoru watched for a selfish moment. Your scrunched up face. Your hips rutting on his haphazardly.
His breath lodged in his throat.
A damp spot bloomed on his thigh.
Fuck.
He grit his teeth. Summoned all his strength. Squeezed his eyes shut and said every affirmation under the sun.
I will not touch my wife who's half my age.
I will not help her horny dream self.
I will not drive myself crazy with her sweet moans.
I will not be tempted by her little wet pussy on my— NO.
He gulped. Hard. Glaring to the ceiling as he fought off demons while you humped him like a rabbit in heat.
Eventually, he found the strength to grip your waist. To stop you. More importantly, the strength to not pull you over his crotch and grind up into that sweet cunt.
Your moans stirred into whimpers. Stirred into shudders. Your bucking hips slowing until they laid motionless.
Peace.
Or well, as much peace as he could have with a heavy, hot throb between his thighs.
This was a comic. Fucking. Joke.
There you were. Sleeping soundly with a content smile on your face. Like your wetness wasn't smeared on his thigh and you weren't humping the hell out of his leg just a moment afo. Looking as beautiful as you were damning.
Fuck. He was gonna lose his mind.
Sucking in a breath, Satoru slowly unwinded his limbs from yours. Slipping away before he broke all of his vows. Not tonight. Not ever.
Even through the ice cold shower, he was staring at his pulsing erection. Refusing to go down. Standing high at attention.
He almost wanted to slap it.
Slap himself.
Slap whatever divine force brought him here. Strung him between all of his morals, and his sweet young wife.
"Toru?" Your petal voice called out.
He groaned. Slumping his head against the tiles. Oh yeah. You were gonna give him a stroke.
sfw. bf! toji who wants to be fiance! toji and ultimately husband! toji
“what are you doing?” toji asked, a bit sceptical at what has you so glued to your computer screen. he was putting away the last of the now clean dishes as you sat at the kitchen table, the light from the screen illuminating your face. it was late, and he was tired—all he wanted was to drag you to bed with him so that you could fall asleep together. only, you barely seem to be paying attention, even when he clearly asked you something.
“online shopping,” you muttered, raising an eyebrow—something obviously caught your interest. he was tempted to sneak behind you and get a look at the screen for himself, but he didn’t have the energy for it.
“oh yeah,” he hummed, trying to get more information out of you while stacking plates in their rightful place. “for what?”
“wedding dresses.”
his heart thumped against his chest before almost stopping entirely.
did he hear you right? he hadn’t even proposed yet—did you find the ring he had been hiding?
he was sure that he did an amazing job hiding it, too, putting it at the very top shelf in your closet—the one that you could never reach and therefore had no reason to try to examine.
“what,” he deadpanned, face turning as white as a sheet, his brain short circuiting and unable to form any other words.
all he could do was picture your face upon discovering that diamond—did you like it, at least? did he get the wrong cut? was this you trying to say you wanted to marry him too?
“cookie presses,” you said, repeating yourself while tilting your head curiously to the side. as. you were clueless as to what was causing his confusion—did he not hear you right or something? “i told you i wanted to get into baking.”
he felt as if he was shot back to life, internally sighing with relief. he was hearing things—thank god.
“i think i’m gonna order them,” you explained, reaching into your pocket to fish out your credit card.
he came to your side, trying to act smooth—-as if he wasn’t in crisis mode only a few seconds earlier. he looked down onto the screen to in fact, see the baking supplies you’d been talking about. he let out another breath, his heart finally reaching a normal pace.
“sounds good, babe,” he scratched the back of his neck, “go for it.”
toji just hoped you weren’t onto him, but what he didn’t see was your other tabs.
wedding venues near me
blue bridesmaid dresses
white dress inspo engagement
pinterest wedding table decor
what he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him, and the fact that you had just deep cleaned the entire apartment was just another secret you would have to keep to yourself.
you find them in your locker, waiting for you on your desk, or on your bedside table. just small things, 'nothing crazy' gojo says.
the first was simple, a red rose. it was after gojo complimented you for the first time, his words soft instead of sharp. he left it with a note as well, saying 'i meant it.'
the next was a new pencil case and a set of pens. these were a little more expensive, and your jaw dropped slightly when you read the brand. you tried to return them to him, not quite willing to engage in the weird relationship he was instilling, but he refused. told you 'if you want any chance of not failing, i recommend you shut up, sit down, and use them.' you were too scared to say anything after that.
and then, of course, there was your laptop.
but then the gifts started to become a little more, scary. photos of you on the bus, walking home, at the mall with your friends. that one shirt you loved to wear suddenly showed uop in your locker with a little note saying 'sorry baby, just needed to smell you.' you try not to think about all the dick pics he's left scattered around, quickly ripping them up and throwing them away before your friends or parents see.
but nothing compares to this gift.
you knew gojo had his way of getting into your house, either through your parents or other means, so the fact that he got in wasn't surprising. no, what was surprising was the glittery white dildo sitting on your bed.
you tentatively walk over to it, jaw dropped as you look at it. it's so detailed, all the ridges and skin in depth, the tip too. it's perky and big, big enough to make you question if you even can take it. you finally pick up the note next to it.
'hi honey. i had this made so that whenever you need me, i'll be here. no need to use those other cocks when mine is always available to you. i hope you love it.
ps: maybe we can get one of your pussy? or i'll just have to keep you close ;)
distracting toji while he's on the phone...♡ (rough!toji x sweet!fem reader)
tojis halfway through a phone call when you climb onto the couch beside him, immediately curling into his side while he keeps talking, one arm stretched across the back of the cushions behind you and his phone pressed to his ear.
its something about money, something about work, something thats got his brows pulled together while he listens with that oh so familiar rough expression.
"yeah, I heard you," he mutters "then tell 'im I aint payin extra."
meanwhile, youre completely occupied with him.
your fingers find the side of his hair first, gently combing through the shorter strands near his temple while your cheek rests against his shoulder. toji keeps listening while you continue absent mindedly playing with him. your hand drifts lower, tracing the line of his jaw before finding his collar, smoothing it down and then fiddling with it again for no reason other than you just felt like touching it.
"because that aint what we agreed on." he says into the phone, voice steady despite the fact youve now moved on to his hands.
you turn one of them over in your lap, running your thumb along old scars and rough knuckles, tracing every line in his skin with a quiet concentration while the conversation continues.
the man on the other end keeps talking, and toji tries listening.
then your fingers slide to the rolled sleeves of his top, adjusting them before trailing slowly down his forearm, following the muscle there with light touches that dont mean much to you and mean everything to him.
his jaw tightens slightly. "yeah," he mutters into the phone, "mhm"
by now youve found his hand again, interwining your fingers with his, turning them, tracing the shape of his thumb while leaning a little more heavily into his side.
youre not even looking at him, youre just happy sitting there, all soft and sweet, quietly occupying yourself with whatever part of him happens to be within your reach.
the silence on the other end of the call stretches.
"...you still there?" the guy asks.
toji blinks once, realizing he hasnt heard a godamn thing for the last minute. his eyes drop to you where youre curled against him, happily playing with his fingers while resting your cheek on his shoulder.
"yeah." he says "keep talkin."
but his free hand is already settling over yours, thumb brushing across your knuckles while he looks down at you for a second longer than necessary, then he leans over and presses a rough distracted kiss against the top of your head without interrupting the call, squeezing your hand once before settling back into the couch.
toji still isnt listening to the man on the phone, not with you tucked into his side playing with his hair, his sleeves, his hands, every soft little touch way too distracting.
𐔌 ﹒ ⋆ working with line cook! toji and line cook! sukuna
sfw. waitress! reader. pining. touch of angst? resturant au. unedited.
just something i whipped up quick tehehe. nsfw version????
the guys in the kitchen were always nice—at least to you they were. they were often spatting, throwing around insults, always on the verge into breaking into a fist fight or dramatically quitting. they became especially rowdy when a waiter came back with a messed up order.
toji and sukuna were the worst out of the staff, and not just in their individual attitudes, but the way they acted to each other—their strings of curses knew no bounds, and the kitchen was lucky if by the end of the night every line cook still had their fingers.
“the fuck it’s wrong,” sukuna would mutter under his breath, “this is medium rare—do they wanna be chewing on leather?”
his sneers were strong, and the way his tattoos wrinkled up with every exaggerated emotion. he’d swear under his breath, turning to the vegetables he’d been chopping, using his knife with such precision it was almost deadly. for someone who was always in a bad mood, though, he seemed to be passionate about what he did—maybe that was why he got so offended any time anyone questioned the food they had received.
toji, on the other hand, was there for the paycheck and the paycheck alone. he found any excuse to slip out of the kitchen, sometimes pawning a cigarette and taking as long as possible to smoke it. he showed up half-awake, always looking a little scruffy, and with a blunt attitude.
“stop fucking standing in the way,” he’d grumbled at waiters that rushed in, and worming they way through the kitchen. he’d roll his eyes and get back to half-assing his job. sukuna could sense the laziness from across the room, and within minutes the two were bickering.
“quit standing around, you little shit,” sukuna would order, although toji was anything but little.
the older man stood there with a grimace, looking up from the vegetables being sautéd on the pan. toji narrowed in his vision.
“i’m fucking cooking here,” he claimed, gesturing to the meal being prepped. sukuna scoffed again—making his emotions known to the whole kitchen—a clear sign to steer clear of the two of them. unless you wanted a rolling pin thrown at your head, of course.
yet, as soon as you walked through the kitchen doors to pick up the next order, their behaviour seemed to improve drastically.
“um sukuna,” you started, looking down at the plate with a bit of a pout. “they ordered the sweet potato fries. these are just the regular ones.”
you held up the plate to show him, voice small, clearly not wanting to inconvenience him. sukuna only stared, eyes widening slowly, studying the way you stood there. if it had been anyone else he would’ve chewed their head off. but, it was you, and slowly, he pulled the ticket up to inspect it. he then eyed the plate once more, drawing his conclusion. his lips pressed together, and he took a deep breath.
the rest of the kitchen held their breath for you, hoping that he wouldn’t take it out on you. just last night he and another waiter nearly poked each other's eyes out over a mixed up order. so as they watched sukuna, it was as if the whole room fell silent.
“my mistake,” he grunted, taking the plate from you, surprising everyone with his lack of outburst. it was like a blue moon experience, especially as they heard the following words slip from sukuna’s mouth: “i’ll fix it—sorry about that.”
his subtle kindness went right over your head, and everyone could see the way he softened up, yet no one wanted to be the one to point it out—they didn’t want to deal with an angry sukuna while he held a knife. it was painfully obvious to the whole kitchen staff that you were his favourite waitress, and they wondered when you would finally notice it.
“hey were are you heading off to?” sukuna would ask as he saw you pacing towards the punch-clock. he almost lost track of the meat he was grilling, focussed on the way you seemed to be in a rush.
“oh i got cut, so i’m heading home,” you said, smiling. although, sukuna’s face was far from mimicking that reaction.
he knew that you going home meant that he wouldn’t get to see you for at least another week, which felt like an eternity away. he contemplated switching his availability just to raise the chances of being scheduled at the same time as you. he sighed internally, nodding at your words, even though he didn’t want to accept them.
“right,” he said, confirming what you said as if it was a question. “have a good night.”
he wasn’t a strong flirt, or a smooth talker—not by any means. he hoped that you noticed his kindness—or, at least, his attempts at kindness.
“you too,” you smiled at him, making his heart thump. “see you later, suki!”
sukuna wasn’t sure if it was the heat from the kitchen that was making him feel so hot, or the fact that you had a little nickname for him. either way, his cheeks were burning, and if anyone else looked close enough they would see a playful pink tint added to his face.
toji wasn’t any better at hiding his intrigue in you.
he could spot you dotting around the kitchen, sticking out like a sore thumb. clearly you were too caught up in your own work to notice the chaos of the kitchen, which often made him snicker.
every now and then, when he would wait outside to smoke, you’d stumble out carrying a heft garbage bag from the kitchen. with both your hands gripped the black blastic, you were barely able to hold your own balance.
“what fuckers made you take this out?” he’d question with a scoff, shaking his head at the thought of the boys in the kitchen making a pretty little thing like you do such a tough task.
“it’s okay, i got it,” you replied with a false sense of confidence.
only, the bag most definitely weighed as much as you did, and although toji didn’t want to be rude he was sure that you didn’t have the strength to haul it up into the big, rotting bin they kept in the back. especially with the way you were already huffing and puffing as you tried to haul it.
he took a step forward, leaning off the wall he’d been resting against and reached his hand forward.
“here,” he said quickly, his fingers brushing over your knuckles as he took the bag from you. you didn’t fight him, though, feeling flustered at the contact. toji took a few steps over and threw the bag into the garbage like it was nothing.
he wiped his hands against the back pocket of his jeans and then smirked back at you, “see, it was no trouble.”
“thanks, toji,” you hummed, still catching your breath.
there was a nice breeze, and the moon was out. it didn’t help that your feet were starting to throb. maybe you could join toji while he was out there?
“it’s good to get some fresh air every once and a while, y’know?” he interjected, as if he could read your thoughts. he dug into his pocket and pulled out a pack of marlboros, sliding out a cylinder and slotting it between his teeth. next, he fished for a lighter and cupped his hands in front of the cigarette’s tip, lighting it carefully.
you couldn’t help but watching, catching the way his arms flexed ever-so-slightly. you had never looked at toji in that light and as he locked eyes with you, any thoughts about work or the tables that were being waited on slipped from your mind.
“you want a hit?” he questioned, a little rasp in his voice.
tucking a piece of hair behind your ear, you shook your head softly.
“i don’t smoke,” you replied, and toji realized then what sukuna was seeing in you. that soft, sweetness, that even though the business could be a little cut throat at times, you were still an optimist.
“probably for the best, sweetheart” he hummed along, letting you stay by his side regardless.
time seemed to pass differently outside, and before you knew it, you had been gone longer than you had anticipated. laughing along with the jokes that toji made, you heard the door creep open, and turning your head you quickly noticed sukuna standing there.
“it’s getting busy,” he stated, although he seemed a little pale—like there was a lingering disappointment in his eyes. “manager’s been looking for you.”
“shoot,” you frowned, looking down at your watch, rushing back into the kitchen and praying that your tables weren’t getting angry. you ran past sukuna without saying anything else to either one of the men, trying to get back on track for the rest of your shift.
when sukuna stared down at toji, they didn’t exchange a single word, just a quick scowl and a vicious glare. it was like two animals trying to get territorial, the real question was which one would be successful?
