contents: playful enemies to lovers, pre-relationship, college au, reader is cold to him and he likes it, he falls first and harder, flirty and down bad gojo, banter and crack.
part 2/2: ⤷ they find out where they stand
─────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───────
the end they get married and have kids and die and he rises from the dead to jump into her casket 🌹
warnings — MDNI 18+ ．rough sex．dysfunctional relationship． nam-gyu being an awkward asshole author’s note — was kinda drunk when i drafted this, so… this may not be my best work
how had my life come to this?
you’d asked yourself a hundred times how your life had spiraled into a game of death over unpaid debts, but this? this was a new low.
NAM-GYU never bothered to hide his disdain for you—cutting you off mid-sentence, shoving past you without apology, and calling you every name under the sun whenever you so much as looked at him wrong. you’d stopped wondering what his problem was long ago. eventually, you just chalked it up to him being a miserable bastard who needed someone to take it out on.
for whatever reason, that someone was always you.
then thanos started flirting with you—it didn’t mean anything—just a brief distraction in a hellhole where people were mercilessly killed over childhood games, but apparently, it was enough to push nam-gyu’s irritation to a whole new level. he couldn’t stand you before, but now it seemed like everything you did irked him even more.
and yet, here you were, shoved into a bathroom stall with the same man who’d sworn he hated you, his body pinning yours against the door. you’d lost count of how many times he’d made you come, but that didn’t really matter.
you hated him too. no, scratch that—you still hated him. maybe not with the same fervour as before, but you sure as hell didn’t like him now. not even a little.
“thought you liked when he gave you attention,” nam-gyu sneered, breath hot against the shell of your ear. “was it fun? letting him look at you like that?” his words were punctuated with a sharp thrust, forcing a strangled gasp from your lips.
“what the hell are you talking about?” you hissed, trying to crane your head over your neck to shoot a glare at him, but nam-gyu’s hand was already gripping your jaw, tilting your head back until it rested against his shoulder.
“open,” you obeyed without thinking, lips parting to allow him to slip two digits into your mouth. the cool press of his ring grazed your lips, and you gagged slightly when his fingers hooked deeper, pressing down on your tongue as his pelvis ground into you with bruising force.
“you just don’t get it, do you?” the words poured out in a disjointed rush. “all this time, i’m right there, and you let him—” his voice broke off in a frustrated growl, and he shoved you harder against the door, hips snapping forward and sheathing himself to the hilt. you moaned around his fingers, and he cursed under his breath when he felt you clench around him.
“you’re mine now. got it?”
you nodded as best you could, his fingers still in your mouth making it impossible to respond properly. that must have been enough because nam-gyu lowered his head, trailing deceptively gentle kisses along your shoulder.
“good. ‘cause i fucking–” his teeth sank into your flesh, hard. the sharp pain startled you, and your teeth bit down reflexively, breaking skin. the metallic tang of blood coated your tongue, but if he noticed, he gave no indication.
“—hated seeing you look at someone else like that,”
he slammed you flat against the door, grasping your hips with bruising force as he rutted into you. the door hinges creaked under the onslaught, his movements relentless and animalistic, chasing his release with single-minded intensity. curse words spilled from his lips, gradually breaking down into incoherent groans as his pace quickened, each thrust sloppier than the last.
in a final, shuddering motion, he came hard, his arms wrapped around you tightly, crushing you to his chest as he trembled against you.
whimpering.
he stayed like that for a while, his breath coming in ragged bursts, the heat of it fanning across the back of your neck. slowly, nam-gyu pulled his bloodied fingers from your mouth, the faint tang of copper lingering on your tongue. warm lips traced soft kisses along your shoulder, the earlier aggression melting into something that could almost be described as…tender.
you stiffened.
the intimacy of it was almost worse than the roughness. worse than the fact that this had happened at all.
without thinking, you shoved him off.
nam-gyu let out a grunt as he stumbled back, catching himself on the wall. he stared at you for a second, then just rolled his eyes and started pulling on his clothes. neither of you said anything. the silence stretched on, broken only by the rustle of fabric.
“are you voting ‘yes’ tonight?”
you paused at his question, wiping at a smudge of blood near your mouth. your life was already a disaster—this situation was a perfect example.
“i’m here, aren’t i?”
his lips twitched into a faint smirk, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes. you rolled your eyes and pushed past him, leaving the stall without another word.
fear-is-truth 2025 — all rights reserved. do not modify, repost, translate, or plagiarise my content.
summary ⸺ dearest gentle reader, a new season is upon us as the ton gets ready for a season filled with drama, heartbreak, and passion. after being crowned diamond of the season, duke gojo⸺only looking to marry just to secure his inheritance⸺has his sights set on you, the easiest (and most obvious) option. later, when you catch his saying unsavory things about you on a terrace when he least suspected it, you swear to never marry gojo. as london's fashionable set goes through yet another wedding season, will there be hope for scandalous gossip, hate, and thinly veiled insults, or will we witness blooming love and passion?
warnings ⸺ nsfw, enemies to lovers, bridgerton au, angst, fluff, SUGGESTIVE, eventual smut, jealousy, misogyny, description of injury, concussion, blood, regency era au, gojo being infuriating, reader also being infuriating, both of them are clueless honestly
chapter summary ⸺ after the arrival of your dearest brother, you pursue a new angle to the season, one to prove that you, the diamond, will not be scorned. new opportunities with duke nanami arise and with it jealousy and bitterness fester in the ballroom. (6.8k)
prev. the house party | next. soon!
general masterlist | series masterlist
Once again, dear Reader, this humble Author finds herself vindicated. Country house parties, as ever, remain the fertile soil from which the most delicious scandals bloom. And today’s revelation is no exception.
Yes, indeed, you read it here first: the dashing and ever-elusive Lord Satoru Gojo will not be marrying Miss Itadori, this season’s most celebrated diamond. The murmurs have already begun spreading like wildfire, bringing sighs of relief from hopeful ladies and knowing smirks from their watchful chaperones. The eligible Duke-to-be’s sudden return to certified bachelorhood is, no doubt, a development many find most agreeable.
But what, pray, has caused this sudden turn of events? The dissolution of an arrangement so seemingly perfect? Alas, even this Author—a tireless seeker of truths—has found the particulars elusive. Was it a clash of personalities? A misstep at the ball? Or perhaps, a secret grievance unearthed during those long, candlelit evenings at the country estate?
What this Author can confirm is that the ballroom whispers point to Lord Gojo’s own doing, based upon the countenances and actions of the pair at the ball. Did the ever-charming lord tire of his diamond’s sparkle, or has he found a more alluring treasure elsewhere? The possibilities are endless, and so, it seems, is the intrigue surrounding the pair.
One thing remains certain: while Miss Itadori may have stumbled in this engagement, she remains a diamond among gems—brilliant, resilient, and admired. What paths now await her are anyone’s guess, but if this Author knows anything, it is that diamonds shine brightest under pressure.
As for Lord Gojo, the question lingers: will his rakish reputation survive this latest scandal unscathed? Or has he, at last, met a match too dazzling even for him to outshine? Rest assured, dear Reader, this Author will remain ever-vigilant, pen poised and ready to uncover the truth.
⸻ LADY WHISTLEDOWN’S SOCIETY PAPERS
You could have had a bit more tact when informing Sukuna of the events of the past few days, for the reaction you gained made you realize that you may have made a misstep.
“What?!” Sukuna roared, looking at the three of you with fury. Yuji jumped, while you and Choso grimaced. “He did what?!”
“Now, now, brother,” Choso stood up nervously to pat his younger brother on the shoulder. “It is all good and well, for I have arranged for a better match for our dear sister—”
“A duel!” Sukuna bellowed, standing up from his seat on the couch to stomp his way to the door. “I will challenge that Gojo fellow to a duel—” It was only until Yuji ran and tackled him to the ground that he was waylaid to God knows what he was going to do to Lord Gojo. You and Choso could only watch the scene, too perforce to the strength of bulls that your brothers had to be able to interrupt.
A few scratches and awfully purple looking bruises later, Sukuna and Yuji were seated on the couch once again, thanks to Choso’s plead for nonviolence. It was then that Choso started explaining what had occurred in the season so far. “Mother insisted,” he sighed, shaking his head. “She seemed to have struck a mutual…entente with the Duchess of Gojo. It was only a matter of time before Mother forced her ways. Now that it has not redound in her favor, I have even more rationale to have my…way with Sister’s matches. For God’s sake, Sukuna stop glaring at me Mother left me behind on the first ball—”
Sukuna did not stop glaring; in fact, he chose that moment to take a long slurp of his tea while staring fiercely at him while Choso shifted nervously. After a long bout of silence, he finally offered, “I understand Mother can be very pushy, and that you, Choso, are not fierce enough to withstand her.” Choso did not even protest, just offered a deadpan. “But I, however, will not be a feather to a simple blow of the wind that Mother is. It is time our dear sister lived up to her reputation, what she has prepared so hard for.” He looks upon you with a soft gaze—that is, a soft gaze for Sukuna. “No matter how tactless Gojo’s estrangement was, Sister will recover, so long as her morale has not lessened. Sukuna’s head turned sharply to you, “It has not weakened, right Sister? He has not left you heartbroken?”
You could hear your heart as you looked at your brother, dumbfounded. His perceptive gaze disarmed you, but you blurted out a “Of course not” and turned to hastily grab a pastry from the table next to the loveseat you were seated at.. When you looked back at your brother, you jumped as his gaze lingered on you then nonetheless turned to glare at your brother when Yuji opened his mouth, undoubtedly ready to irritatedly remark on his denseness.
No matter, you think to yourself. Whatever you feel about Gojo is of no matter. The visit at the manor was only a delay and a small obstacle for your season. It was time to attend to the matter at hand: finding a husband.
The dewy grass kissed the hem of your nightgown as you wandered to the old swing set on the far edge of the manor grounds—a relic of your childhood, weathered but enduring. The creak of the chains was a sound that had long since embedded itself in your memory, a reminder of simpler days when duty had yet to tighten its grip.
You had not been able to sleep.
The house was still, the hush of midnight settling over its grand halls and sprawling grounds. Yet sleep evaded you, your thoughts as restless as the autumn breeze that stirred the curtains of your chamber. In the quiet, the weight of your obligations pressed heavily upon you, a familiar but unwelcome companion. Deciding that solitude under the stars might grant clarity where the confines of your room could not, you slipped on a shawl and had ventured outside.
“Couldn’t sleep either?” Sukuna’s voice cut through the quiet, low and teasing. He was seated on a swing with his big frame illustrating a comical sight on the small seat. His silhouette was faintly illuminated by the dim glow of his cigarillo, and the faint ember cast fleeting shadows across his sharp features, making his smirk all the more pronounced.
The unexpected sight of him startled you for a moment, though you quickly masked your surprise. You drew your shawl tighter around your shoulders, the chill of the night settling into your skin, and stepped closer. “And here I thought I was the only one who sought refuge in our old playground at such an hour,” you replied lightly, though your voice carried the faint weight of sleeplessness. “What brings you here?”
He took a long, deliberate drag from the cigarillo before discarding it into the damp grass, the embers hissing softly as they extinguished. Straightening, he gestured to the empty swing beside him. “Thinking,” he said simply. “And you? Or do I even need to ask?”
You hesitated for only a moment before lowering yourself onto the swing, your fingers grazing the cold chains as you pushed back slightly. The seat creaked beneath your weight, swaying gently with your movements. The motion stirred a familiar ache of nostalgia—a reminder of days when life felt less complicated. “What else could it be but the endless circus of expectations Mother has so kindly bestowed upon me?”
The bitterness in your tone was impossible to conceal, and Sukuna chuckled darkly. He reached up to push a hand through his disheveled hair, his movements purposeful, almost theatrical. “Ah, yes,” he said mockingly. “The marriage parade. The grand auctioning of one’s life for the sake of the family name. What a fine role you’ve been cast in, dear sister. I don’t envy you.”
You gave a dry laugh, your voice quiet yet tinged with resolve. “Unfortunately, dear brother,” you began, staring into the star-dappled sky, “it is my duty to be wed.”
Sukuna turned to you sharply, his brow furrowing. “It is not your duty, least of all when it robs you of your freedom.”
A protest began to form on his lips, but you held up a hand, your expression soft yet resolute. “Let me finish,” you said, your tone firm but affectionate. Taking a deep breath, you continued, “If I were to grow old into a spinster, there would be no one to take care of me. You and Yuji would inherit our lands and manors, and Choso is the viscount; there would be no space for me except with some of our aunts.”
At the mention of your aunts, both of you shuddered involuntarily. The thought of their overbearing presence, their sharp tongues and endless criticisms, was enough to unite even the most quarrelsome of siblings.
“You cannot take care of me forever,” you said softly, your gaze dropping to the ground. The swing swayed faintly as you spoke, the motion as restless as your thoughts. “One day, you—or any of our brothers—might choose to start a family with someone you love. It would be intrusive of me to remain dependent on you all.”
Sukuna scoffed, his voice rising slightly with indignation. “You know better than anyone that I aim to travel the world. I cannot be chained to a family or a manor—not now, not ever.”
You turned to him, your eyes softening as you regarded his familiar fire, the same defiance that had always set him apart from the others. “Sukuna,” you said gently, your voice tinged with fondness, “you may do as you please, and I would never wish to impede you. But I cannot rely on you indefinitely. You deserve to live freely, to make your own choices without the burden of my future weighing on your conscience.”
Once again, silence enveloped you both, broken only by the faint creak of the swings and the rustle of the wind through the trees. Then, Sukuna eventually broke the quiet with a heavy sigh. “Then we must make sure to do well and find you a husband on your terms.”
You turned to him, brow arched in curiosity. “Whatever do you mean?”
“I mean,” he said, his lips curling into a mischievous smirk, “that you must stop playing the part Mother has assigned you. Demure and meek may be what she wants, but it’s hardly the truth of you. Besides,” he added, leaning closer as if to share a conspiracy, “do you think the kind of husband you’d want would fall for such a facade?”
His words caught you off guard, and you frowned slightly. “Are you implying I’m to frighten potential suitors away?”
“Not frighten,” Sukuna corrected, his tone amused. “But consider this: if a man is drawn to meekness, might that not suggest he wishes to dominate or control? Would you truly wish to tether yourself to such a person? Or would you rather find someone who can appreciate your independence, who will meet you as an equal?”
His reasoning gave you pause. The image of a husband who might respect your will, who might value the sharpness of your mind and the strength of your character, was tempting—if not entirely what you needed. “And how, pray tell, do you suggest I go about finding such a man?”
Sukuna’s grin widened. “Start by being yourself, unapologetically. Let them see the wit, the fire, the resolve that I know so well. Let them see you, and if they can’t handle it, then they aren’t worth your time.”
You smiled faintly, your heart lighter from his words. After all, this scheming was due on your part; you were only grateful this shift occurred with Sukuna as your humble advisor. “It’s a daring plan, brother. Let us hope it does not lead to my complete social ruin.”
Sukuna laughed, the sound rich and unrestrained. “If it does, then you shall travel the world with me. Who needs societal approval when there’s an entire world to explore?”
For a moment, the weight of your burdens felt a little easier to bear. Under the vast, starlit sky, you allowed yourself to hope that perhaps, just perhaps, there was a future where duty and happiness could coexist.
Despite the peace conversing with Sukuna had granted you, sleep evaded you still, leaving you to roll onto your side, the cool fabric of the pillow offering no solace. Your thoughts had been louder than ever these past weeks, and one name in particular echoed through your mind like a stubborn refrain: Gojo.
His face came unbidden, as vivid as if he were standing at the foot of your bed. That insufferable smirk, the casual way he tilted his head as if always in on some grand secret. He saw through you—that much was undeniable, no matter how much you abhorred it. It wasn’t just the way his piercing gaze seemed to cut through your defenses, stripping away the layers of pleasantries and propriety until you were left exposed. It was his words, too—sharp, direct, and unyielding. Unlike everyone else, he wasn’t content to let you be the demure and dutiful daughter your mother had so painstakingly sculpted.
You turned onto your back, staring up at the shadowed canopy above, the weight of his judgment pressing against your chest. “He wouldn’t want to marry me either,” you thought bitterly, biting your lip to suppress a laugh that was more self-deprecating than amused. Why would he? I am only but a pathological people-pleaser—a woman who smiles and nods and folds herself into whatever shape is required of her. It was a role you had perfected, a mask you wore so often that you sometimes forgot it wasn’t your face. And yet, he saw through it.
That was the part that unsettled you most—not his arrogance, not his sharp tongue, but his ability to cut through your defenses as though they were paper. He saw you, in all your contradictions and uncertainties, and somehow, you suspected that he pitied you for them. Or worse, respected you less for it.
Your stomach twisted at the thought, and you turned onto your other side, burying your face into the pillow. No wonder I’m still unmarried. The thought came unbidden, sharp and cruel. What man would want a wife who couldn’t even decide who she wanted to be?
But that wasn’t fair—not entirely. You had a plan, didn’t you? A bold, liberating plan that would take you far from the shadow of your mother’s expectations. You could already picture her face when you told her—calm, composed, and quietly furious, as though your refusal to obey were a personal affront. The thought brought the faintest flicker of satisfaction, but it was fleeting.
The plan wasn’t perfect, nor was it foolproof. It hinged on one pivotal point: finding a husband who could be an equal partner rather than a master. A man who could grant you the freedom to forge your own path in peace, without the constant weight of disapproval bearing down on you.
Your thoughts wandered to Duke Nanami. Equal in power to Gojo, fair-minded, and kind—a man with no appetite for games or artifice. If you manage to secure a match with him, the ton would not view your…blunder with Gojo with such amusement. Insofar your interactions this season, he had always treated you with quiet respect, never pressing you into conversations you didn’t wish to have or cornering you with expectations. He would be a good man to marry, you thought. A safe choice.
And yet, even as you considered him, Gojo’s face intruded once more, unwelcome and unavoidable. Duke Nanami was everything Gojo wasn’t—measured, steady, predictable. But it was Gojo who set your mind alight, who made you question things you had long accepted as unchangeable truths. He irritated you, challenged you, unnerved you in a way no one else did.
You sighed, turning again, the sheets tangling around your legs like restraints. The very fact that Gojo occupied your thoughts at all was infuriating. He had no place there, no right to linger in the quiet moments when you were supposed to find peace. And yet, here he was, as persistent in your mind as he was in person.
The plan. You needed to focus on the plan. Liberating yourself from your mother’s expectations wasn’t about Gojo or Duke Nanami or anyone else. It was about reclaiming yourself, about becoming a woman who didn’t need to twist herself into shapes for anyone—not your mother, not a potential husband, and certainly not Gojo.
And it would start at your wardrobe.
You give the most polite smile you can muster, but you do not need the mirror in front of you to know that your countenance is strained, the edges of your smile not reaching your eyes. “Lower it even further.”
A beat passes in the room as the modiste, your mother, and Sukuna stare at you in incredulity. The bustline to your dress is low. Of course, it is not yet teetering on the edge of what is socially acceptable, and that is the position you want it to be. Hence, you gesture to Sukuna, prompting him to regain his senses and snap his head towards Momo. “Please attend to my sister’s request.”
You could smell what you mother was about to say, even if she had not yet done so. “My dear,” she began, “I hardly think that’s appro–” Sukuna’s glares reorients itself now to focus on your mother, and she purses her lips with what appears to be arduous effort, knowing a quarrel with Sukuna would escalate quite quickly, both immediate and unwise.
Madame Momo, for the better, offers no protest as she lowers the deep, wine red fabric she was upholding against your body. If you were not wearing your regular clothes, you would know that quite a bit of the swell of your breasts would be framed by the dress. However, it wasn’t enough. “A bit lower.”
The modiste lets out a small sigh, her needle poised mid-air as she hesitates. “My lady, to lower it further would risk—” she pauses delicately, “—compromising the structural integrity of the gown.”
“I appreciate your insight, Madame, and know that you are quite skilled at your craft,” you flash her a semi-apologetic smile. After all, she is the one that has to attend to your…rebranding crisis and revamp a majority of your wardrobe. “However, I am afraid that I’d like to do something new this season. Something eye-catching.”
A faint chuckle escapes her lips, no doubt spurred on by the flattery. With a practiced hand, she adjusts the fabric once more, lowering it to the precise balance of scandalous and sophisticated. She steps back, her critical eye assessing her own handiwork. “Well, it will definitely be eye-catching.”
“Precisely.” You nod in approval, smoothing the line of the fabric with your fingers. “I believe Lady Whistledown,” you add, your voice tinged with knowing confidence, “will ensure that the modiste responsible for the diamond’s striking attire becomes the talk of the season.”
Momo’s lips twitch into a smile, and she dips her head in acknowledgment, already returning to her work with renewed purpose. Sukuna, standing to the side, folds his arms and smirks at the scene, clearly entertained by your audacity.
Your mother, meanwhile, remains silent, though her pursed lips betray her disapproval. Let her simmer, you think, satisfaction curling in your chest. This season is yours to command, and you will not be overlooked.
I cannot do this. I cannot I cannot I cannot I cann—
“Sister!” Sukuna called out. You regained your senses, snapping your head at once to look at him, who was holding out his hand. Swallowing, you grabbed it so he could assist you out of the carriage. What had you in a tizzy was the sheer amount of people. Yet again, you were attending your first party after the events in the countryside but this time without your mother and Yuuji. Not only had the people you were accompanied with changed, but also different attire. A red silk dress fell over your curves gracefully, the draping across your chest a bit lower than usual. It is the dress of your dreams—one that you would have worn if not for your mother and her beliefs regarding your image. Now, your clothing was still socially acceptable but nevertheless daring—exactly the image you wanted to present.
However, it was safe to say that after the events of the house party, venturing out in another—with so much of your chest exposed—had you nervous. Oh God, perhaps this wasn’t the brightest of my ideas— (a/n she’s just a girl :( )
“Presenting Miss Itadori, Mister Itadori, and the Right Honorable The Viscount Itadori!” As you were announced to the room, with your brothers linking arms on either side of you, you smiled—trying not to let the nerves show. At the sound of your name, the buzz of conversation faltered, dozens of heads turning toward you. You felt the weight of their gazes—sharp, judgmental, curious. You were certain half of them were eager to witness the fallout of Whistledown’s latest scandal, while the other half seemed transfixed by the boldness of your attire.
Your eyes flitted over the sea of faces as you moved through the room. There were gasps, poorly veiled whispers, and even a few widened eyes aimed at Sukuna, but what truly set your nerves alight was the attention fixed squarely on you. You resisted the urge to fidget, to adjust the neckline of your gown, to shrink under their scrutiny.
Then, amid the crowd, your gaze locked onto a familiar figure with a piercing stare—Suguru Geto.
He was lounging by the far wall, a glass of wine in hand, his dark eyes gleaming with mirth. An amused smirk tugged at the corner of his lips as he shook his head, clearly entertained. Your heart stuttered, the heat rushing to your cheeks making your nerves spike further. Am I being mocked?
Before the thought could consume you, he raised his glass in a mock salute, a gesture of acknowledgment—perhaps even respect. He then nudged the man standing next to him, none other than Duke Nanami.
Your pulse quickened at the sight of the Duke, his composed demeanor a stark contrast to Geto’s casual amusement. The weight of Nanami’s steady, discerning gaze was one you weren’t prepared to meet—not tonight. In the periphery, you caught Geto slipping toward the courtyard, his laughter soft but audible as he disappeared into the night.
You tore your gaze away just in time, focusing straight ahead as you approached the Queen. Your shoulders stiffened, the intricate beading of your gown catching in the light. The murmurs grew fainter, the towering figure of Her Majesty now looming just ahead. With each step, your pulse thundered louder in your ears, but you kept your chin high, determined not to falter.
When you and your brothers reached the foot of the throne, you slipped your arms free from theirs and sank into the deepest curtsy you could manage. "Your Majesty," you murmured, lowering your head to avoid the weight of her gaze. The richness of the room—gold-trimmed drapes, towering portraits, and the hum of whispered conversations—did little to steady your nerves.
"Rise," the Queen commanded, her tone clipped and dismissive, the single word laced with impatience. You obeyed, your movements deliberate and slow, feeling the weight of every eye in the chamber on your shoulders. When you met her gaze, she was already appraising you, her sharp eyes scanning you from head to toe. Her scrutiny was clinical, and when she sighed audibly, it was clear her judgment was far from favorable.
“I have not been…pleased by the recent affairs, diamond,” the Queen began, her voice cold and detached, like a blade gliding through silk. A sniff punctuated her words, and the lump in your throat grew harder to swallow. “I fear this is a failure to the crown.”
The room seemed to tilt, your heartbeat quickening in your chest. The Queen’s disappointment carried a weight that could crush reputations, and yours was teetering precariously on the edge of her approval.
“However,” her tone shifted ever so slightly, and you found yourself snapping to attention, clinging to that single word like a lifeline. “Your recent change in…style is fitting.”
You blinked, unsure if you had heard her correctly. The Queen’s gaze lingered on the daring neckline of your gown, the rich red fabric catching the light in just the right way to emphasize its boldness. “You are not a simple and bland gem, Miss Itadori.” Her words were deliberate, measured, and the faintest hint of approval gleamed in her sharp eyes. “You are a diamond, and you must start to shine like it.”
For a moment, you were too stunned to respond. The Queen’s words were praise, yes, but they also carried an implicit warning: a diamond that failed to sparkle was of no use to anyone, least of all the crown.
“Thank you, Your Majesty,” you said, your voice steady but quiet, and you curtsied again, the fabric of your gown whispering against the marble floor. The Queen’s gaze swept over you once more before she turned her attention elsewhere, her dismissal unspoken but clear. As you rose again, Choso placed a reassuring hand on your elbow, a subtle anchor in the sea of your swirling thoughts.
A light, “You all are dismissed.”
The cool night air wrapped around Suguru Geto as he strolled into the courtyard, his boots crunching softly against the gravel path. The faint strains of the ballroom's orchestra followed him, muffled now by the grand walls of the manor. A slow, self-satisfied smile crept across his lips as he glanced up at the stars. The night felt ripe with possibility, though it was the scene he had just left that truly amused him.
He exhaled, letting the crisp air settle over him, before taking another measured step toward the fountain at the courtyard’s center. His fingers grazed the cool stone edge, the chill a welcome change from the warmth of the crowded ballroom. He savored the silence, only for it to be broken by the familiar sound of approaching footsteps.
“Geto,” a voice called out, casual but clipped.
Suguru turned slowly, almost lazily, as though he hadn’t already recognized the speaker. Gojo Satoru emerged from the shadows of the colonnade, his silver hair glowing faintly in the moonlight. He moved with his usual languid ease, though his sharp blue gaze belied his carefree demeanor.
“Well, well,” Suguru greeted, his tone light but edged with something sharp. “You’re out here. Don’t tell me you’ve finally tired of the fawning crowds?”
Gojo came to a stop a few paces away, crossing his arms as he leaned against one of the marble columns. “Needed some air. The room’s packed with too many people pretending to like each other.” His gaze flicked to Suguru, scrutinizing. “And you? Slipping out to avoid trouble, or cause it?”
Suguru chuckled, swirling the wine in his glass before taking a slow sip. “Oh, you wound me, Satoru. Can’t a man enjoy a moment of peace without being accused of scheming?”
“You?” Gojo raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Not a chance. So, what’s your angle this time?”
Suguru let the question hang, savoring the quiet tension between them. He set his glass down on the fountain’s edge, turning to fully face Gojo. His smirk widened as he finally spoke. “No angle. Just admiring the company tonight. Speaking of which…” He paused for dramatic effect, brushing an imaginary speck of dust from his sleeve. “Miss Itadori made quite the entrance.”
Gojo’s expression didn’t change immediately, but Suguru saw the faint flicker of something—irritation, maybe, or something more carefully hidden. Gojo’s mouth twitched into a scoff, though the sound was faint, almost perfunctory.
“What about her?” Gojo asked, his tone deliberately disinterested, but Suguru noted how his fingers flexed briefly before he shoved his hands into his pockets.
Suguru hummed thoughtfully, his gaze drifting toward the sky as if considering his next words carefully. “She looked… radiant tonight. Stunning, really. I can’t imagine half the room wasn’t staring. Though, I must say, some seemed more surprised than others.” His eyes darted back to Gojo, watching for a reaction.
Gojo rolled his eyes, though there was a tightness in his jaw that Suguru didn’t miss. “She’s just another debutante. Why would I care what she’s wearing?”
“Why indeed?” Suguru replied, his voice deceptively mild. He stepped closer, leaning against the fountain with an easy grace. “But it does make one wonder—what kind of man would care? Surely someone with a sharp eye for detail. Someone with… let’s say, a bustful interest.”
Gojo stiffened slightly, a flicker of irritation crossing his face. “You’re imagining things.”
“Am I?” Suguru tilted his head, studying Gojo with an intensity that bordered on playful. “Because I could swear you seemed a little distracted back there. And not by the Queen, mind you. Why did you leave as soon as the Itadoris were announced?”
“Drop it, Geto.” Gojo’s voice was sharper now, but there was an edge of unease beneath the command.
Suguru’s smirk deepened as he tried to fight the urge to snicker at his friend, but he let the moment linger, letting Gojo stew in his discomfort. He picked up his wine glass again, swirling the liquid idly before taking another slow sip. Finally, he straightened, his tone turning lighter, though no less pointed.
“Well, whatever it is—or isn’t—you’d better sort it out soon.” He started to walk past Gojo, his footsteps deliberately slow. Just as he passed, he paused, his voice dropping to a low murmur. “Because if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re in danger of losing your famously cool head.”
Gojo didn’t respond immediately, but Suguru didn’t need him to. The slight narrowing of his eyes, the subtle clench of his jaw—those were all the confirmation he needed for his plan.
Suguru chuckled softly, a sound more amused than mocking, and continued on his way, his voice drifting back over his shoulder. “Enjoy the rest of the night, Satoru. Something tells me it’s going to be… illuminating.”
Left alone, Gojo exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair as he glared at the retreating figure. “Bastard,” he muttered under his breath, though his voice lacked fervor. Still, Suguru’s words lingered, circling his mind like an itch he couldn’t quite scratch. He turned his gaze back toward the ballroom, his thoughts uncomfortably crowded with images of a certain young lady and the maddening smirk of a man who always seemed to know too much.
It appears that you and Duke Nanami have much in common, for you are able to hold a most pleasant conversation with him.
The din of the ballroom fades to a dull murmur as you stand near the refreshment table, your gaze politely fixed on the Duke. His presence is commanding yet unassuming—a rare quality that draws you in. Dressed in a deep navy coat that matches the intensity of his solemn eyes, he inclines his head slightly as he speaks, the weight of his words tempered by the gentleness in his tone.
The arrangement is perfect. You have successfully caught your target, much to the chagrin of ladies. After all, it was not all days that Duke Nanami took interest in a lady. You would have to credit Choso; he had researched that HIs Grace did not like overbearing mamas accompanying their girls—a most rational opinion. Posing fiery opinions without the presence of anyone except yourself, it seemed that you had hit the mark.
“I find, Miss Itadori,” he says, his voice smooth yet deliberate, “that many in our circles underestimate the joy of simple pursuits. They mistake extravagance for fulfillment.” He takes a measured sip from his glass, his gloved fingers resting lightly on its stem.
You nod, a genuine smile forming on your lips. “I could not agree more, Your Grace. There is a certain comfort in the unadorned pleasures of life. A good book, a quiet morning—these seem to me the most worthwhile indulgences.”
The corner of his mouth quirks up in what might pass as a rare smile. “Indeed. Though I daresay, quiet mornings are hard to come by when the season is in full swing.”
You let out a soft laugh, the sound almost swallowed by the music that swells across the room. “Quite so. I suppose we are all too busy chasing the next waltz or whispering about the latest Whistledown missive.”
At the mention of Whistledown, the Duke raises a brow, his expression a mixture of amusement and intrigue. “Ah, yes. Our ever-watchful chronicler. One wonders if she, too, finds time for quiet mornings.”
“I imagine she must,” you reply. “After all, how else would she craft such keen observations? A mind as sharp as hers surely requires moments of reflection.”
“Reflection, yes,” he murmurs, his gaze drifting briefly to the chandelier above, as if lost in thought. Then, returning his attention to you, he asks, “And what of you, Miss Itadori? Amidst the bustle, do you find moments to reflect?”
The question catches you off guard—not because it is intrusive, but because it is sincere. Few have ever asked you such things. You hesitate, then answer truthfully. “I try, Your Grace. Though I must admit, the season has left little room for it. It seems my every step is watched, my every word weighed. I sometimes wonder if I have forgotten how to simply be.”
His expression softens, and for a moment, you feel as though he truly sees you—not as the diamond of the season, not as the subject of idle gossip, but as a person. “That is a heavy burden to bear,” he says quietly. “Perhaps it is time you allowed yourself a reprieve. Even diamonds require care, lest they lose their brilliance.”
The words settle over you like a balm, and you find yourself holding his gaze longer than propriety might dictate. There is no judgment in his eyes, only understanding. It is both comforting and disarming. Before you can respond, a burst of laughter from a nearby group breaks the spell. You glance away, suddenly aware of your surroundings once more. “You are kind to say so, Your Grace,” you murmur, your voice steadier than you feel.
“I merely speak the truth, Miss Itadori,” he replies, bowing his head slightly.
A pause lingers between you, not uncomfortable but weighty with unspoken thoughts. Finally, he clears his throat, his tone lighter as he says, “Would you care to take a turn about the room? I find the air here grows rather stifling.”
You smile, grateful for the excuse to move. “I would like that very much.”
As he offers his arm, you place your hand lightly upon it, allowing him to guide you into the throng. The music swells once more, and though the room is as noisy and crowded as ever, the world feels a little quieter with Duke Nanami by your side. You can see it—early mornings with Nanami, enjoying gentle banter as he returned your thoughts without any ire, without snark or judgment. Quiet respect and gentle affection filling your days. A life free of chaos, where your worries dissipate into the steady calm of his demeanor. Perhaps this could be happiness. A steady, uncomplicated happiness.
But then you see him.
You abhor your traitorous heart for lurching ever so slightly at the sight of Gojo. He is standing near the edge of the ballroom, the golden light catching on his shock of silver hair as though it had been crafted to draw attention. His smile—always so bright, so effortless—makes the lady beside him laugh. She looks at him with a sultry, yet detached and amused expression, her fan flicking lazily as if to dismiss her own growing interest.
Your chest tightens. You know this scene well. It is one you have observed too many times, and yet you have never been able to steel yourself against the sting it brings. The way he leans ever so slightly toward the lady, as though she were the only person in the room. The way his laughter echoes, a sound full of mirth and mischief, as if he had no weight upon his shoulders.
You tell yourself it doesn’t matter. You tell yourself he doesn’t matter.
But then, as though he feels the weight of your gaze, Gojo turns his head. Your pulse quickens as his eyes widen, the usual lazy charm momentarily replaced by something sharper, something you can’t quite place.
First, his gaze lands on your face, his eyes sweeping over it with a quickness that feels like a jolt to your chest. Then, they drop lower, and you feel the heat of his scrutiny settle uncomfortably on your chest. A flicker of something crosses his expression—shock, perhaps, or something else entirely—but before you can decipher it, his gaze moves again, lower still, to where your hand rests upon the Duke’s arm.
It is subtle, the way his jaw tightens. The way his smile falters, only to return a moment later, forced and brittle. He shifts his weight, turning back toward the lady at his side, but not before you catch the way his fingers twitch at his side.
You force yourself to look away, to focus instead on Duke Nanami’s steady presence beside you. He has not noticed the exchange—or if he has, he is far too polite to show it.
And yet, the moment lingers. Gojo’s image burns in your mind like the fading glow of a candle, stubbornly refusing to extinguish. You loathe the way your heart betrays you, its treacherous rhythm quickened not by the Duke’s calm assurance, but by the mere sight of a man who has always been more trouble than he’s worth.
Nanami’s voice cuts through your tumultuous thoughts, soft and grounding. “You seem distracted, Miss Itadori,” he remarks, his gaze kind but curious.
You manage a small smile, tightening your grip on his arm as though it might anchor you. “Not at all, Your Grace. Perhaps just…overwhelmed by the crowd.”
He nods, accepting your answer without pressing further. “Understandable. These gatherings can be rather tiresome.”
“Yes,” you murmur, casting one last glance in Gojo’s direction before forcing your focus back to the Duke. “Tiresome indeed.”
But even as you walk beside Nanami, his presence a welcome reprieve from the chaos of the evening, you cannot help but feel the weight of Gojo’s lingering gaze, the memory of his startled expression etched into your thoughts like a brand. You cannot help but observe the situation. Tonight, you would be ending the night on Duke Nanami’s arm, and Gojo with another woman.
Is this not what you both wanted?
Today, it seems that the usual trio at White’s is only a duo. The blonde and raven head swirl their alcohol in their shimmering glasses while sharing a comfortable silence. That is, until one interrupts.
“How do we know we’re not simply toying with her?” The blonde man’s voice is steady but tinged with unease, his lips pressed into a thin line as he glances toward his companion. “It would not be honorable of me to pursue Miss Itadori under the pretense of riling Gojo, as you seem intent on doing—”
“Kento!” The raven-haired man—Lord Geto—throws his head back in laughter, the sound rich and unapologetically amused. He leans forward slightly, propping his elbow on the armrest, as his grin widens. “So confident in your lady-pleasing and romancing abilities, aren’t you?” Nanami’s frown deepens, but Geto merely waves him off, his laughter subsiding to a mischievous chuckle. “No, no—don’t worry. You misunderstand me. This isn’t about Miss Itadori falling for you, though,” he smirks, “I’m sure you’d manage well enough.” His tone is teasing, but his words lack any true malice.
“Then what is it about?” Nanami’s voice carries a note of exasperation, though he remains as composed as ever, swirling his drink in quiet contemplation.
Geto straightens, a glint of something sharper flashing in his dark eyes. “It’s about them. They’re idiots, Kento—idiots in love, the both of them. And it is our duty, as Satoru’s friends,” he pauses, meeting Nanami’s gaze with deliberate emphasis, “to help him realize what he truly desires.”
Nanami snorts, setting his glass down with a muted clink. “You just want to toy with them, to orchestrate the ton and its leading source of gossip.”
The corner of Geto’s mouth quirks upward in a sly smile, one that practically oozes self-satisfaction. “That, my dear friend,” he says, his voice low and conspiratorial, “I cannot deny.”
They lapse into silence once more, the kind that only years of friendship can create, as the firelight flickers and dances on the walls around them. Nanami tips his glass back, savoring the warmth of the whiskey as he contemplates Geto’s words—and the inevitable chaos that would follow in their wake.
prev. the house party | next. soon!
general masterlist | series masterlist
a/n HEYYY POOKIES IT'S HERE IT'S HERE WHAT DID WE THINK. also here is the bridgerton!gojo playlist if anyone is interested!!! i apologize it is 99% taylor swift but i will be adding more diverse songs
despite the miss itadori hate in recent times our girl is BOUNCING BACKK #mogged i cant wait for her to become even more of a diva in the next few chapterssss!!!! (not rn shes going through her sad girl era or wtvr)
suguru (left) and nanami (right) at this whole drama
also i hope none of you WHORESSSS simped for geto when we made eye contact with him (im looking at zaynesbathrobe anon and all those anons that are obsessed with bridgerton!geto). stay FOCUSED girls gays and theys
thank you for readinggggg. a hot new bombshell will be entering the villa in the next few chapters can we guess who he is??? hint he has huge tits and smelly balls
a/n: nsfw, cheating (on both parts), fem reader, just thinking about him rn, 18+ mdni!!!
kento “oh he’s just my work husband!!” nanami, who can’t express how much he hates your actual husband. god, he could treat you so much better, and you settled for that lowlife who obviously cheats on you every chance he gets.
nanami loathes to hear about how your weekend was spent alone because your husband was “working late”—an excuse he’d heard every monday since you started working at the same firm as him.
but it’s okay, kento can show you how a real man is supposed to treat you.
it starts off slow—a cup of coffee here and there and the occasional “you look nice today” compliments. then escalates into a cup of coffee every day, “did you do something new with your hair?” kind of compliments, and even going out of his way to buy you lunch on your lunch break (only if you go out to eat with him, of course).
which, somehow, turned into you spending your nights “working late” in kento’s apartment, and soon his bed, getting ravished by the blond man just as he wished.
how did it turn into this, really? you don’t know, and honestly, you don’t care with the way he makes you feel. it was a pleasure you’d never had the opportunity to experience before—your husband was quite lackluster in the sack—and you’d be lying if you said you felt guilty about any of it.
if there was one thing kento appreciated about your husband, it was the fact he never pleasured you, so he got to have it all to himself. the screams you couldn’t stop, the wetness your cunt produced from just a little bit of kissing, your trembling legs along with the small “thank you” he got after you were done—it was all his.
and the next night at the annual company party, when your work husband and real husband meet one another, kento shakes your husband’s hand, secretly thanking him for being so terrible so he could have you all to himself.
◟ꪆ୧ nsfw (afab!reader, fingering, teaching a lesson through sex, ditzy reader) - also on ao3!
nanami kento, who wears his wedding ring everywhere.
he never takes it off, he doesn't dare to. why would he?
it symbolises the promise you two made to each other, the love you have and continue to share— of course he wants to show it off to the whole world.
you’ll never find him without it, golden band always snug around his ring finger when he showers, when he cooks, when he cleans, when he works...
which is why he's so disappointed to find yours teetering on the edge of the bathroom sink.
steam sticks to the mirror, blurrily framing the disappointment on his face as he picks up your ring, turning his head to look at you, watching you ransack your shared wardrobe for clothes to wear tonight.
"darling, are you forgetting something?"
he watches you snap your head around, drops of water still dripping from your recently showered body, mouth forming an 'o' out of shock as you realise what he's holding.
"oh!" you rush towards him, outstretching your left hand once you reach him so he can slip the ring back onto where it belongs, smiling bashfully up at him. "sorry, it must've slipped my mind."
you don't miss the frown that deepens on kento’s face at your careless gesture, placing your hands on his cheeks and pulling him down for a sweet kiss, your way of apologising for the mistake. "don't be upset, ken. it won't happen again."
oh but it does, and even though kento knows deep down that these are simple mistakes, he can't stop the pit that forms in his stomach whenever he finds your ring abandoned at your work desk, or the kitchen counter, or even slipped forgetfully into your bag.
he tries his best not to let it irk him, instead resorting to reminding you each time he finds your ring somewhere other than on your finger, making sure to slip it back where it's meant to be with as much love and care as the day you first exchanged rings and vows.
his resolve crumbles the moment gojo opens up his stupid mouth.
“woah, trouble in paradise?”
kento’s shoulders stiffen at the light-hearted way your coworker comments on your lack of ring, standing at your doorway holding lunch for the both of you as he watches you laugh it off with a wave of your ring-less hand, explaining your forgetfulness and immediately starting to look for the tiny trinket.
“darling,” kento speaks slowly from the other side of the room, announcing his arrival at the same time he flashes you with the item you were looking for.
you don't seem to notice his clenched teeth and narrowed gaze as you happily walk over to him, allowing him to slip your ring back on before placing a kiss to his cheek in thanks, the maximum amount of affection you dare to show in your workplace.
it hadn't dawned on him until then that he wasn't the only one that would notice your missing ring, wondering nervously as he finished up that day’s work just how many of your friends had noticed, whether the girls you normally went out and drank with assumed that he was a terrible husband, that there was indeed some trouble in paradise, that you were stuck in a loveless marriage instead of the obvious: that you were just forgetful.
he tries not to show his upset later that night when he finally arrives home, but as the dutiful and perfect wife you are, you notice immediately. you ask him what's wrong, offer to cook him his favourite dish, hold him in bed like you usually do whenever he feels down, tell him you’re there for whatever he might need and want…
“but… what I need… is to remind you how important this is to me,”
you watch as he catches your left hand in his, bringing it up to his face and pressing a chaste kiss to the warm metal, amber eyes staring deep into yours during his action.
you smile, moving said hand to cup the side of his face, running your thumb over his sharp cheekbones. “I know how important it is, ken…”
despite your sweet coo and love-filled gaze, kento knows, deep down, that you need a reminder.
“of course you do, angel,” he sighs, leaning closer into your space as his eyes trace your unforgettable features, drinking in your lovestruck expression. “but I feel that lately, it’s been slipping your mind. don’t you think that, as your husband, it’s my duty to make sure you never forget?”
your husband's ring feels cold against your flushed skin, a sharp contrast to the warmth his fingers are radiating as they slip through your sopping folds, collecting your dripping essence like a prize as his chapped lips press sloppy kisses all over your neck.
you can't stop the noises that leave you at the teasing, fleeting touches, eyelids drooping closed in pleasure as his other hand plays around with your chest, nimble fingers grabbing and tugging at your nipples in tandem with his other hand’s movements, sending rushes of overstimulating pleasure throughout your tired body.
you're unaware of how many times he’s made you cum so far, the towel he’d oh so graciously placed beneath you thoroughly soaked thanks to his continuing ministrations, yet all you can focus on is the strange but welcome feeling of his ring pressing against your most intimate parts, bumping against your clit with every movement from his nimble hand and sending jolts of pleasure through your spent self, though you assume that this was your husband’s desired effect all along.
“you’re doing so, so good, angel,” his voice rasped against your ear, harmonising with the squishing sounds your poor cunt was making, every touch to your clit making your body lurch and quiver, the feeling overwhelming. “c’mon, one more, alright? or have you already learned your lesson?”
lesson? you think as you feel his ring finger slip into you along with his middle and index, cunt loose enough to accommodate all three and hopefully his cock after this “lesson”.
“w- won't take it off again, ken, pr-promise,” you gasp out, arching your back against his chest and pressing your rump against his very hard erection, which he'd been neglecting in order to get you to this point.
you feel his fingers curl, hitting your g-spot perfectly like they had times before, but he didn't relent like you'd expected him to.
“k-ken?”
“that's not all.”
you whine out in confusion, hips moving along with his fingers despite the need to give your body a break, chasing the high that your mind oh so wanted but body couldn't exactly reach.
“b-but-”
“it's not just about wearing the ring, darling,” kento started to explain, showing off his amazing dexterity by continuing to play with your tits with one hand while still fingering your pussy with his left, pressing a sweet kiss against your tear stained cheek. “no, if it was about that, this would've been over way more quickly.”
you can feel a different sort of pressure start to build up in the lower parts of your tummy as he paused, legs shaking from the disturbance and in warning of what was to come if kento keeps doing his thing, though by the looks of it, he was nowhere close to stopping.
he stays silent, allowing you to realise that he was really waiting for you to answer, as if you were both immersed in a casual conversation and he hadn't just melted your brain with just his fingers, and you force yourself to speak despite the mind numbing pleasure.
“wh- oh god! what's it a-about, ken…?” you mewl, hips raising each time he pumps his fingers inside, almost like you were trying to ride him since his cock was still tucked away inside his slacks, his palm rutting deliciously against your clit with every movement.
you hear him stifle a groan as your hips start to move, torturing himself as well as you by not bothering to help himself, too focused on your pleasure to act on his own, pressing his lips to the spot under your ear in an attempt to muffle the whimpers that were threatening to escape him.
“k-ken?” you half-questione, half-moan, letting your head fall back onto his shoulder and focusing your blurry gaze on your husband's flushed face, drinking in the gorgeous expression he was sporting.
“darling,” he lets out breathlessly, brown eyes darting down to meet your own, hands still not relenting in their attack despite his pause in speech, trying to compose himself before speaking once more. “it's- fuck, I… I want you to remember why you wear it, honey. who put it on your finger, who you belong to...”
he shudderd as one of your moans rings out throughout the dark room, not helping him in the slightest as he tries his best to fight against the urge to flip you over and fuck you like the both of you deserved.
“who I belong to,” the strokes of his fingers grow deeper and more attentive, attacking your g-spot relentlessly as you writhe in his arms, his loving yet possessive words sending tremors throughout your body.
“oh, kento…”
he exhales shakily at the moan of his name, letting his head fall forwards to rest on your shoulder in an attempt to ground himself, sinking his teeth into your shoulder with a shudder.
“you're not going to- fuck, let this go, a-are you?” you manage to whisper out cheekily, hips and body still moving subconsciously on his fingers.
“not a chance, my love,”
kento moves slightly, adjusting your body so you're pressed even more impossibly closer to him, ass still perched against his hardened cock, member twitching and spitting out pre against his dampening slacks with each movement from your almost drunk body, high of pleasure and doing whatever it can to reach that high kento had seemed to have promised before.
“I'll make sure you never want to take this off again—” he starts, and you gasp out in horror as his fingers slide out of you, lifting his soaked hand up to your chest, giving you a few seconds to panic before quickly replacing it with his other hand, nipples softening at the sudden lack of stimulation.
to accentuate his point, his left hand, the one where he proudly displays his ring, the one that's covered in your juices and almost pruny due to the amount of time spent playing with your wetness, finds your own, carefully intertwining your fingers together and showing off both of your rings.
“—not because you're afraid of forgetting, no…”
you shudder as his other hand resumes the work his other had been doing, immediately feeling that intense need of release come back, biting your lip to muffle your sounds in order to listen to your husband better, not wanting to interrupt him, especially when he was like this— disheveled, flushed, with tiny whines escaping his chapped lips with every press of your ass against his crotch.
“but, because every time you look at it—”
you can feel it building up, your release at the tip of your fingers, but not exactly like all the other times before, so you know what's coming.
it's not the first time kento's gotten you to this point. he's exceptionally proud of it, obviously. no one before him had ever gotten you to squirt before, and evidenced by the rings that were currently getting dirty in your juices, no one but him ever would.
his fingers quicken their pace inside you, attacking your g-spot with force before suddenly moving up to give your clit the same treatment, pinching and rubbing the tiny bundle of nerves in an expert manner, knowing exactly what to do to get you to that oh so delicious release.
you raise your hips in preparation for it, pressure building up in your most intimate parts as you moan and cry out your husband's name, his mind crumbling with every sound you make, trying to stay on track.
his mouth opens in awe as you grab onto his hand tighter, vision going white as you finally reach your climax, voice getting caught in his throat at the beautiful sigh of you coming undone on his fingers, love-filled eyes drinking in every single inch of your trembling bare body, release-soaked fingers still rubbing at your cunt rapidly.
he chuckles as you try to move away from his touch once it becomes too much, apologising silently for the overstimulation with a kiss to your sweaty temple, before finally finishing his speech.
synopsis. for months, luffy has been planning on asking out a worker at a restaurant he frequents. this would have worked, if only he didn't get distracted by the food every time he shows up and on the day his friend goes with him to make sure it happens— the server has quit?
tag(s)&warning(s). gn! reader, modern au, swearing, suicide threat, crack, waterboarding gets mentioned too many times
from vyon. ignore some of the dates for the tweets, fprgor to change em :3
prisoner!geto who can’t stop thinking about late at night, getting so worked up and horny, the most horny he’s been in a while. He’s pulling his pants down, closing his eyes while he pictures the way your scrubs clung to your body and showed off your ass. He thanks god he doesn’t have a bunkie or else he’d be in a real awkward position. He purposely gets into another fight a week later, the wound on his lip opening back up. He’s smiling to himself as he gets walked to the infirmary knowing he’ll see you there.
“Not you again,” you sigh.
“Told you I’d see you soon, doctor.” He sits on the small bed, watching as you put on gloves and examine his busted lip. He can tell you’re avoiding eye contact with him, trying your hardest to ignore his stares and slight touches. “Have you thought about my offer yet?” He asks.
You gulp, blinking as you rub the ointment over his wound. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.” You play stupid, but you remember your last conversation so clearly. It makes you nervous. All he does is laugh.
“Come on. I’ll even beg.” He grabs your wrist, slowing pulling it down, a smug smirk on his handsome face. “You telling me you haven’t thought about it once since we last seen each other?” He whispers. He parts his legs, pulling you in between them. And god, you smell so good. So sweet. He could just eat you up right here.
You stand there, unable to form words because as much as you want to say no, you want to say yes. He makes your heart race and your pussy wet. What a sly bastard. With his stupid tattoos, muscles, hair and chiseled face. You hate how much effect he has on you.
“Listen,” he rubs a hand down your waist, “meet me in the supply closet by the showers during lunchtime if you’re really down.” He flashed a smile before standing to his feet and walking out the infirmary. “Bye, bye, doctor.”
Come lunchtime, you walked through the halls of the prison, mentally cursing at yourself. It’s just one time, one time. You bet he won’t even be there, that he’s just playing a stupid joke cause he’s bored with himself. And as you reach out to open the supply door, your heart beats against your ribcage, looking around to find the halls empty. You step in, seeing him leaning against the wall, the faint rays of light allowing you to make out some of his features. “Well, look who it is,” he chuckles. “Came here to help me out, doc?” He walks over to you, trapping you between him and the door.
“Shut up already and let’s get it over with.” You smash your lips on his, kissing him with such urgency and fervor. His large hands grab at your ass, squeezing and groping it as he pushes you against the wall, knocking a few things over. You both pull away, breathing heavily, lips swollen. “We gotta be quick,” you whisper, undoing his jumpsuit while he pulls down your pants.
“More eager than I am, huh?” He teases, earning an eye roll from you. “Come here.” He bends you over the small wooden table, snatching your panties off and getting a good feel of your ass. His dick jumps, pre cum already leaking from the swollen tip. He’s already so worked up, so ready to feel your wet and tight cunt. “Fuck,” he grunts, running his head over your sopping slit, nudging your clit slightly. “Already so fucking wet.”
He pushes his throbbing tip past your folds, a small gasp leaving your lips when you feel how thick he is. Inch by inch you feel the stretch, you mouth agape as you try and grow accustomed to his size. Geto’s entire body shivers, his fingers pressing into your skin so hard you’re sure he’d leave marks. “Ohhh shit,” he lets out a shaky breath. God, it’s been so fucking long since he’s had some good pussy and he can already tell he won’t last long. He finally bottoms out, feeling your walls clench around his length, sucking him in. “My god,” he laughs in your ear. “Lemme just enjoy this feeling—fuckkk—for a moment,” he moans, eyes fluttering shut.
He finally starts moving his hips, feeling his tip press against your cervix with each thrust. With each passing second, he gets faster, fucking your harder and rougher, your pussy has got him in a trance. “Pussy feels so fucking good,” he grips your hips, pulling you back towards him so you can meet his thrusts. One of his hands reach around your throat, gripping it just enough as he pulls you back against his broad chest. “Do you fuck all of your patients or am I just special?” He jokes.
“Mmmm…shut—ah—up!” You cry out, whimpering when he presses up against you, finding a new angle that makes your eyes roll back. “Just keep fucking me,”you say with a raspy breath.
“Doctors orders.” He can feel the way your pussy leaks, your juices dripping down his shaft and make his cock ache like never before. It almost hurts. He hold you tighter against him, the sound of skin on skin filling the small room. “You take it so well,” he breathes against your skin, pressing wet kisses to your neck. “So fucking well.” His thrusts grow sloppier, chasing his own orgasm. But in the distance, he hears the guards walking down the hall. “Shh, shh, shh.” His hand covers your mouth, his thrusts becoming slow and deep, letting you feel every inch of his cock, every vein, every pulse before hitting that sweet spot deep inside of you.
Your eyes squeeze shut, trying your hardest to keep quiet, the guard getting closer and closer. Their keys jingle with each step and their voices grow louder. “Atta girl. You feel how fucking deep I am…shiittt. Keep fucking squeezing me like that—yeah, yeah you’re gonna make me fucking cum.” His brows furrow as he bites down as his bottom lip in attempts to contain his moans, but his abs tense up and his entire body shakes before he’s filling you up, stuffing you with his sticky, hot cum. “No, no, don’t you dare move. Just like thattt, oh yes!” His eyes roll back, still cumming. His pushes his cum deeper inside of you, feeling it leak back out before he finally pulls out.
Geto truly wishes he could’ve had more time with you. His mouth drooling over the mere thought of how you taste, wanting to make you cum on his tongue, but for now he’ll have to settle for this. “You came inside me, asshole!” You pull your pants back up, turning to face him.
“Couldn’t let it go to waste.” He reaches out and stroke your cheek. “Right?”
“Whatever.” You swat his hand away. “Where are my underwear?” You look around the dimly lit room before realizing he was holding them.
“I’ll be keeping these for later,” he swung them in your face before stuffing them in his pocket.
“You’re such a pervert.” You narrowed your eyes at him.
“You have my cum running down your leg right now.” He places a finger under your chin, tilting it towards him as he leans down and kisses you slowly, his tongue sliding over yours before catching your bottom lip. “Mmm, thank you, doctor.” He smiles before kissing you once more.
You push him off of you, trying to process everything you just did right now. It was so wrong but it felt so right, so good, so intoxicating. “If it makes you feel any better, I get out in six months.”
“No. This was a one time thing.” You place a hand on his chest, shaking your head.
“Was it? Cause I don’t think it was. Not with the way your pussy was squeezing around me. It was almost like she was made for me.” He cups your face, forcing you to look at him. His eyes searches yours, a smile forming at the corner of his lips. “Yeah…it definitely isn’t the last time.”
๑ sum. ceo of the HPE ( hairy pussy eaters ) club: TOJI FUSHIGURO
content ∿ warnings◞ fem. reader, established relationship, explicit content, foul language, feminine pet names, cunnilingus, reader’s got a bush ( duh ), dirty talk, one pussy spank, mating press, whore used once
wc. 1k
lola’s ☆ note. …..this was supposed to be a drabble 🌚
“no.”
your denial falls on deaf ears, toji’s stout fingers latching onto your hips, dragging you closer to the edge of the couch. “babe!” your pitch heightens as you snap your hardcover book shut, swatting his hand with it. toji flinches, letting go of your hips like they were on fire. “the hell?” he shakes his hand dramatically as if trying to propel the pangs right from his bones.
“hmph, serves you right,” you huff, snootiness lacing your tone, tilting your chin high, determined to maintain some semblance of composure. toji exhales a long-suffering huff, resting his cheek against your outstretched inner thigh, indigo irises squinting up at you. “what’s goin’ on, doll?” he murmurs, his voice low, brimming with curiosity. he knows something’s up. you’re never one to turn down the holy trinity— slurps, suckles, and laps —from the man before you. unless, of course, aunt flo makes her rude appearance. but judging by the lack of deserted dove dark chocolate wrappers and your atypical pout, he’s certain your rejection is rooted entirely in something else.
“nothing’s ‘goin’ on’,” you mimic, deflecting with a biting tone. toji’s scarred lips curl into a smirk, his amusement thinly veiled. “yeah? then why am i still talking to you and not your pussy?” seduction drips from his tongue, his hands mapping out the curve of your waist, settling on the plush swell of your hips. You ignore the shiver whizzing up your spine, swallowing back his effect on you. instead, you spit, “keep trying me, and you won’t talk to my pussy again.” a low chuckle rumbles in his chest, deep and unshaken, as if your feeble attempt at a threat only further serves as entertainment for him.
“oh girl, you wouldn’t last a day without my tongue fucking this perfect pussy,” toji emphasized his assertion with a harsh flick to your clothed bundle of nerves, relishing in your startled gasp. cute. as your eyes begin to settle into a sharp glare, it diminishes as toji inflicts another flick to your steadily erecting pearl. “ah!” you cry, savoring the delicious pain his rough touch imposed on your covered sensitivity. toji’s smirk turns cheshire, gazing upon the desire coating your pupils, turning them glossy.
“now hush, and lemme eat,” toji, with the quickness of flash, rips your lacy thong at the seam, flinging the shredded fabric to the side, exposing your hairy cunt to his starving orbs. wait… hair? his raven brow raises, finger pads tenderly spreading your legs, which have snapped shut like a clam. toji’s blown stare zeros in on your bush, the hairs soaked in your tacky essence, curling slightly.
an inferno spreads across your cheeks as the silence stretches on. and right there, barren to the cool air circulating in the shared living room, is why you turned down toji’s unrelenting advances. any titillating verbiage withers on his tongue, the muscle feeling overgrown, overcoming with the feral need to taste you.
“i… i didn’t get a wax this month,” you confess, embarrassment latching onto your tongue, licking each syllable you utter. “so, i get if you—” a thunderous smack! echoes through the room, your body jolting at the sudden, painful sensation descended upon your throbbing nub. as toji pulls his hand back from your pussy, sticky arousal strings create a lewd connection, locking you together.
“don’t talk, woman,” the heel of toji’s palm grounded deeply into your clit, circular motions urging your pedicured toes to curl in the air. “the only girl that should be talkin’ to me, is this whore of a pussy you got here,” toji lowers his handsome face, eye level to the ‘girl’ in question, “spread her f’me,” his sizable hands cup the bends of your knees, pressing the caps into the perky flesh of your tits, ably folding you like clean sheets.
slicing your digit through the crevice of your pussy, parting your unruly pubes, toji’s warm, moistened tongue darts from between his lips, lapping at the slick woven into your short and curlies. as your honeyed nectar tangos with his taste buds, toji curses under his breath, “fuck,” causing erotic butterflies to flutter in your tummy. “toj, ‘s nasty,” you whine, your hips bucking, clinging onto the subtle tickling of your strands brushing your labia. oh, how you’re an inherent contradiction.
“jus’ how i like your pussy,” toji winks, his tongue slithering from your now clean pubes to your stiff button, circling the bud before engulfing the rigid pearl into his hot cavern. toji’s lips encapsulate your clit, sucking fiercely, as his head moves back and forth, back and forth, back and— “fuck! ngh, hah,” you mewled, your manicured phalanges threading into his dark tresses, shifting his hair away from his forehead.
the sheer intensity of his movements floods you, sending your back arching against the couch cushions. a relentless focus burns brightly in his dilated pupils, leaving not a shred of uncertainty— he is by no means finished with you. toji’s thumbs usurp yours, pulling back the skin of your clit, snapping his tongue against the bundle of nerves in quick succession.
“such a g-good fucking t-tongue, shiiit,” you stutter, your voice trembling with insatiable hunger. toji beams at your praise, driving him to devour you with unabashed urgency. from hasty figure eights being precisely drawn, to eager, desire-filled kisses, no part of your sopping heat is left bare by his unabated lust.
it’s too much— he’s too much. your palm presses upon his damp forehead, a faint, desperate effort to push him away as the blissful coil of your climax tightens in your loins. “haah~ wait… tojiii! don’t—” too late. your needy cries fall into an abyss, toji being too far gone to recognize the way your body convulses, your climax hitting you like a freight train. between your melodic chorus of pornographic music and the soft caress of your pubes on his shaven face, there was no way he was going to stop.
as your pussy flutters, akin to wings on a butterfly, toji swiftly inserts two digits into your rapidly pulsating cunt, reveling in the effect he has on your body. separating his lips from your pearl with a wet pop! toji’s perma-smirk is already etched onto his expression. “keep this pussy hairy for me, doll. it tastes better this way.”
A groggy, sleepy Sanji coming up from behind and wrapping his arms around you. He presses his nose into your hair, inhaling deeply, and smells his way down to the crook of your neck. His hands wander the same way, feeling their way to between your thighs. He murmurs, “I just wanna touch,” as he slips his fingers under your shorts, your underwear, and kneads your inner thigh with his other hand. You feel how hard his body shivers once he feels your folds, and his hardness as he slowly starts to hump you. He begins to pant, his breath hot on your skin, as more and more of your slick covers his fingers and his hips start to rut faster. Poor, silly boy just likes to touch so much.
okay i caved here's an extract of my toji x babysitter!reader fic I started but never finished... i'm still not sure about continuing it or not so lmk if I should! ( ꈍᴗꈍ)
the jarring sound of the doorbell cut through the strangely calm atmosphere, forcing toji to get up and face the dreaded “interview” shiu had put in place for him. behind him, megumi pulled himself up to a seating position, chubby hands wrapping around the plastic bars of his confine, lower lip trembling from the combination of the loud sound and his father walking towards the door, thinking it was time to be once-again left with toji’s tobacco-stinking friend.
“don't be too mean,” toji remembered shiu’s words as the handler forwarded your contact to him. “she’s a sweet girl. not the smartest tool but definitely one of the kindest.”
his stupid analogy didn't even make sense.
before he even started to open the door, toji angled his head to peer through the peephole, being greeted with a skittish expression pulling at a pretty face.
he felt his mouth go dry the moment he laid eyes upon you, the tiny, blurry picture he’d seen on shiu’s phone doing you no justice whatsoever. despite the fisheye lens he was staring through, he could still tell you were absolutely gorgeous.
too gorgeous to be working for him.
he hoped you’d come to the same realisation once you saw him, the bratty infant or the neglected flat, that you’d take one look at them and turn right back around, as toji didn't know how the hell he’d be expected to behave with someone as tempting as you around.
maybe it was the loneliness speaking, or maybe you were just that attractive that you were causing toji’s brain to short-circuit with a single, not-even-proper glance at you, but toji didn't care to elaborate, not when you were waiting so patiently for him to greet you.
you were taking deep breaths, clearly trying to shake away the nerves written on your face, bringing up your manicured hands (had you really gotten a manicure for this?) to your artificially blushed cheeks, makeup shining beneath the fluorescent lights of the corridor.
unbeknownst to him, you were actually silently debating whether to stay or turn on your heel and run right back down the funky-smelling corridor you'd initially hesitated to walk through, especially in the new heels you'd impulsively bought the moment shiu had told you of his friend's offer.
now, you were truly thankful for this opportunity, excited at the prospect of finally getting to do something with your life except mope around shiu’s apartment thinking about your stupid ex-boyfriend, but that feeling of hope didn't cancel out the borderline fright that filled you at the idea.
despite this not being an official job interview, you had spent the last few days straight up stressed at the notion of meeting toji.
you didn’t know him. yes, you’d heard his name mentioned by shiu, but you'd never formally met him.
which, of course, only added to your already frazzled nerves.
you didn't know what to expect when you rang the doorbell, giving your cheeks a few slaps as a way to get yourself focused, blush and highlighter sticking to your palm due to the sweat your body was creating in response to your anxiety.
you cursed out loud, attempting to wipe your hands down on your skirt, but were interrupted as the sound of the door unlocking reverberated around the hallway. when nothing happened after the few clicks, you subconsciously leaned into the wooden door to get a better hearing of whatever might be going on inside, wondering whether you'd imagined the sound or it was actually someone locking the door, and you'd gotten the wrong apartment.
you straightened up with a jump as the door pulled back open into the flat, an action that sent you reeling backwards, heels clacking against the faux-marble floor as you skittered back into a wall, lifting your embarrassed gaze towards the man who'd pulled it open.
what you certainly hadn't expected, was for toji to be absolutely stunning.
you noted the shaggy bangs messily cut above his crinkling green eyes, the sharp jaw that framed the lips that were twitching up into an amused smile, a tiny scar at the corner of his mouth that only added to the raw attractiveness he radiated.
although… as you looked him up and down, taking in the outfit he was sporting, you noticed he clearly hadn't put in as much effort as you had in dressing up nice for this “interview”. you felt your palms grow sweaty in embarrassment, looking down at your own clothes in comparison, mortified that you’d dressed up this cute and presentable only for your possible employer to show up to the door… like this.
you let the slippers, the joggers, the eyebag that framed his eyes, the dishevelled state his hair was in soak in before fully committing to an idea of him in your head…
normally, a man wearing such an outfit would make your face scrunch up in disgust, but toji… somehow made it work.
he said your name, clicking his fingers a few times and forcing you to stop gawking, staring down at you with an unreadable expression on his worn-down face.
thinking about the dad!toji x babysitter!reader fic I started weeks ago.... might actually finish and publish it instead of letting it collect dust in my drafts...
I sent a request about Zoro I hope it went through no pressure ofc💕
i received it don't you worry! (≧▽≦)/ I'm in the brainstorming phase for the idea, but I'll make sure to get to writing once that's done!! I'll answer your initial ask once it's finished!! <3
