sukuna ryomen x f!reader, smut with plot, modern au. you run into your ex boyfriend in the pouring rain and end up spending the night as his place. reader has a vagina and is referred to as "girl".
- author's note: title is from i don't like darkness by chase atlantic
- word count: 1.5k
The rain batters hard, and even though your jacket that you have pulled over your head is taking most of the damage right now, you fear it won't last you the night. You duck into the nearest 7-11, luminescent lights reflecting against the floor beacon your savior. Flinging your jacket lightly with the tune of the sliding door, too exhausted to think, to even really look or breathe as you turn in the isle and slam your face into the chest of —
Your ex-boyfriend.
Ah, fuck. Just your luck, isn't it? You think about those TikTok posts that talk about how if you're not meant to see them again, the universe will make sure you don't. You wonder what it means now then, standing face to face with Sukuna, in a turtleneck that seems much warmer than whatever you're wearing, glasses perched a little lower on his nosebridge so he can tell it's really you.
So now you're sat at the only table inside this 7-11, where it's definitely warmer than outside but you can still feel the chill from the window, cupping your hands around an instant ramen cup that smells so salty delicious you could melt. Sukuna slurps his with an easy grace. Everything about him feels refined, so much so that it's almost cold.
But he's been warm with you, before. In the steady stream of early morning light with his body curled around yours, at the kitchen table where he cooks your favorite dish for today's lunch.
"Why are you out so late." It's more of a statement than a question from Sukuna, reminiscent of something like a scolding father.
"You're one to talk. Don't you have breakfast starting at your restaurant in about four hours?"
"I let the kids handle breakfast these days."
Giving control to the rest of his staff. That shocks you. "You—,"
"Yes. On their own."
"Wow." You blink at him. "That's new."
He exhales, weighs the words carefully on his tongue. "You often said you wished we had more time together in the mornings."
"So you thought to do it after we broke up?"
"It was in motion already."
He leans back in a chair that seems much too small for him, one arm along the windowsill, seemingly unaffected by the crisp air that meets the glass, sliding raindrops like tear tracks. His chest expands with each steady breath, the breadth of him so clear — he's a big man, with a kind of distance that sometimes feels hard to cross. He feels cold but his passion burns hot.
(Sometimes, he feels like he might burn everything around him. It's easier to cut someone off than have an honest, heavy discussion that could end in tatters. A clean break is simpler. Too much of him might feel like ignition.
You've never felt that way, though. Hand in calloused hand. You want his honesty, even if it's cruel, even if it's forged in the fire of a past best left dead. Maybe the simmering rage that sits underneath you both makes you twin flames, feelings that collect and encapsulate, that you have to find outlets for before they scorch your entire lives.)
"You look nice." He clears his throat, like the words were begging to be said or it would suffocate him. You don't know when he turned to look at you, but his gaze feels heavy.
You soften. "Yeah, you do too. You always do."
~
His car was just outside the store, something you might've noticed if you hadn't swept your jacket over your head. You try not to think about what that means — how unnecessary it was for him to sit down with you, have instant noodles that he's not even a fan of with you.
Just to spend time with you. Sukuna has always made his ambitions clear, understands sacrifice in order to take. Yet with you, he's terribly muted about it. Wanting the world, to either have it or burn it down entirely, is something he can say loud and proud. He knows he will have it, because he will do whatever it takes or die having attempted it. Having you is wrapped with a kind of uncertainty he feels uncomfortable with. Can't force it, can't decree it. All he can do is hope you choose him.
His place is exactly how you remember it — sterile, more like a showroom apartment than a place a real person lives. The kitchen counter is entirely blank, save for a few gleaming silver and black appliances, and the back-splash the marble extends to is clean of any debris.
You sweep in with remembered steps, too familiar, catching yourself after the fact only to realize — you're standing much too close to him.
You're aware of how big his hands are when they cup your face, but there's a clumsy delicateness to it, like a giant trying to hold a teacup. He dips his head down, kisses you so gently, a windswept thing. With him, you are not your failures. With you, he is not his strength. There are no defenses that need to be met. He meets you where you are, with his entire, unabashed self at the forefront, encourages you to do the same. There's something about that, that feels a little like love.
He's not made for love, every part of him hardened and calloused — his hands as they make their way down your thighs and hoist you up, the scars on his face that you trace as you kiss him over and over. But the effort is there, the hope, the showing up. The wishing and the waiting.
Whisked to the next room, the bed dips underneath you, a graceful act that has you almost wishing he would just be a little… rougher, more himself.
"You don't have to be so careful," you tell him, your lips against his, like parting even a centimeter might cause him pain. He hums in return.
"You're a gentle girl," he says, a gruff whisper against your skin, and you don't know if you would call yourself that, but next to him maybe it seems that way. Soft curves for rough hands that beg to make a home in, he touches you like he's trying to prove something. He relents, a little. His grip a little harder, his teeth starting to show as they slide down your jaw, nipping at your pulse point.
Your clothes are removed ceremoniously, like an unraveling. He undoes the buttons with consideration for the clothing, drapes them on the chair nearby. It's aching — the time, intensified by his gaze, how he cherishes each strip of skin revealed to him with kisses that pepper and mount. He makes time stretch, taffy-sweet, makes his mouth count as he laps his tongue over your nipple, pulls it into his mouth, blows hot and cold air over it until it raises goosebumps up the rest of your body.
Sukuna entertains little. He understands routine and tradition, but it all has to lead to his end goal. What's this, then — him taking his time with you, making it so all you can think about is him, him, him. Maybe that's the point, making it so you can't leave him ever again.
That's the thing about Sukuna, he relishes meals, takes his time to eat and taste. What he does to you is no different. He laps his tongue over you slowly, lets your slick coat the wet muscle, swallows down before going in again. His moan into your cunt is audible, reverberates down his chest, his breath hot, your core hotter. Your slick drips down his chin and it really isn't like him to be messy but somehow he allows it when it comes to you, maybe even relishes in it. Coming over his mouth comes in waves, a tensing before it wracks through you.
He looms over you, backlit by the cold moon, and everything about him is warm. He looks down at you with so much want that it feels tangible.
To want is dangerous. To want is to give up a piece of yourself for another person to hold, and Sukuna's not sure how much of himself he has left. He slides into you. Every part of him you could want, is already yours anyways.
~
It's the morning after when you notice it, on your way out. Your jacket from before the breakup, hanging on the coat tree in the entryway. He never moved it.
"Did you want to bring it back?" He tracks your gaze to it, his spine stiffening.
You smile softly at him. "I'll come back for it later."
credits to summer-oil for talking about restaurant owner sukuna both on their blog and with me, i love and miss them lots
"I like yaoi because it's free of heterosexual dating mechanics" ppl when the larger more masculine boy takes care of and protects the smaller feminine one.
the idea that every summer will be as hot if not hotter than this for the rest of my life is unbearable i need to (remembers suicide jokes are bad for my mental health) murder an oil executive
summary: in which you ask about the lads boys condom size.
ft. xavier, zayne, rafayel, sylus & caleb
notes: suggestive content so NSFW / MDNI, xavier’s a little vulgar, zayne is lovely, rafayel wants to kill himself again (!!!), sylus is lovely again, caleb is strange. no explicit mentions of gender (!!!), only a few comments/compliments but nothing explicitly stated. that’s it (i think)
p.s. this is based on a req SO i hope you like it (even if just a little bit) ^^
a/n: yes…that is a cocoaxia original photo…no i don’t want to talk about the implications of me going about my normal human business and stopping to take a photo of the condom aisle to subsequently use for A LADS SMAU…i do it all for the realism…don’t ever say i'm not committed to you ladsnation…ty for reading (- -)(_ _)
the mexican football team has a 17 yrs old player and one of the funniest outcomes of this is that he cannot appear in any ad for gambling or drinking so he only appears in candy and milk advertisements. his first world cup and he's not even legally allowed to drive. his nickname is "morita" (little berry). he's three apples tall.
The bass thumped through the sprawling frat house like a second heartbeat, vibrating up through the sticky floorboards and into your bones. Red Solo cups littered every surface, the air thick with the scent of cheap beer, weed, and too much cologne. You stood near the edge of the crowded living room, nursing a drink you barely sipped, feeling painfully out of place in your simple black top and jeans. Parties like this weren’t your scene. Too loud. Too chaotic. Too many eyes.
But he was here. Satoru Gojo. The undisputed king of this fraternity, with his snow-white hair that somehow looked effortlessly perfect even under the dim, flashing lights, and those piercing blue eyes that could cut through a crowd like a laser. Tall—stupidly, unfairly tall—and built like he spent just enough time at the gym to make every movement look predatory and graceful at once. He wasn’t your boyfriend. Not even close. But the way he sought you out, the endless flirting, the stolen moments… it was something. A situationship that left you dizzy and frustrated and aching in ways you didn’t want to admit.
You spotted him across the room almost immediately, like your body had a radar tuned only to him. He was lounging on a worn leather couch, surrounded by his usual crew—laughing loud, gesturing wildly as he told some story that had everyone leaning in. His long legs were stretched out, one arm draped over the back of the couch, the other holding a drink he barely touched. Even from here, his presence sucked all the oxygen out of the space.
His eyes found yours.
A slow, knowing smirk curved his lips. He didn’t break eye contact as he said something to the group that made them erupt in laughter. Then, deliberately, he glanced back at you—checking. Making sure you were watching. Making sure the joke landed with you. Your cheeks burned. You looked away first, staring down into your cup like it held the secrets of the universe.
A few minutes later, he was moving through the crowd toward you. People parted for him without thinking, like he was magnetic. He stopped right in front of you, close enough that you had to tilt your head back to meet his gaze.
“Lost, babe?” he drawled, voice low and teasing, cutting through the noise like it was made just for your ears. He bent down slightly, that stupid height forcing him to lean in so he could “hear you better,” even though you hadn’t said a word. His breath brushed your ear, warm and minty with a hint of whatever overpriced drink he’d been sipping. “You look like you’re about two seconds from bolting.”
“I’m fine,” you mumbled, hating how small your voice sounded. Shy. Always so shy around him, while he radiated confidence like it was air.
“Oh?” He straightened just enough to look down at you properly, but his hand came up, fingers gentle but firm under your chin, tilting your face up to meet his eyes. You tried to glance away again—embarrassment flooding hot through your chest—but he wouldn’t let you. “None of that. Look at me when I’m talking to you, yeah? There she is.” His thumb brushed your jaw, mocking and affectionate all at once. “Poor thing. So shy tonight. What’s got you all flustered, hm?”
You hated him. Hated how your stomach flipped at the contact, how your pulse hammered against his fingertips. He knew exactly what he was doing. He always did.
The night blurred after that—more drinks pressed into your hand (non-alcoholic ones, you noticed, because he paid attention), more teasing comments whispered just for you when no one else was looking. He’d pull you into conversations with his friends, an arm slung casually around your shoulders like it belonged there, only to squeeze you closer when you got quiet. Every time you laughed at something he said—soft, reluctant giggles—he’d seek you out with those blue eyes again, satisfaction gleaming in them like he’d won something.
Later, the party spilled out into the backyard, string lights twinkling overhead, the air cooler but still thick with energy. You were sitting on the edge of a picnic table, legs swinging, when he appeared again. This time he had his hoodie on, the black fabric stretched across his broad shoulders. He was mid-laugh with someone, but his gaze kept drifting back to you.
“Come here,” he said suddenly, crooking a finger. You hesitated, but he closed the distance himself, stepping between your knees where you sat. “You’re too far away. I don’t like it.”
“Satoru…” you started, voice barely above a whisper.
“Shh.” He tugged at the zipper of his hoodie, pulling it down in one smooth motion. Then he shrugged it off, and—god—his white t-shirt rode up with it. The movement revealed a strip of toned, pale skin at his waist, the sharp V of his hips disappearing into low-slung jeans, the faint trail of white hair leading down. Muscles flexed as he tossed the hoodie aside onto the table beside you. He didn’t fix the shirt right away. Just let you look, that smirk deepening when your eyes lingered.
“See something you like?” he murmured, bending down again so his face was level with yours. Close. Too close. His hands braced on the table on either side of your hips, caging you in without touching. “Poor thing. You’re staring again. Can’t help it, can you?”
Your face flamed. You tried to duck your head, but his hand was there instantly—fingers catching your chin, forcing your gaze back to his. “Eyes on me. I like when you look at me like that. All wide-eyed and overwhelmed. It’s cute.” His voice dropped lower, intense, the mocking edge sharpening into something darker. “Makes me want to see just how much more I can make you blush.”
He stayed like that for a long moment, breath mingling with yours, the party noise fading into background static. His thumb traced your lower lip, slow and deliberate. You could smell his cologne—clean, crisp, expensive—and feel the heat rolling off his body. Every nerve ending was on fire. He wasn’t yours, not officially, but in moments like this, it felt like the whole world narrowed to just the two of you.
“You hate it, don’t you?” he whispered, lips brushing the shell of your ear as he leaned in even closer. “How easily I get under your skin. How one little look from across the room has you pressing your thighs together. How when I do this—” He pulled back just enough to tug his shirt down properly, but not before flashing you another deliberate glimpse of that abs line, “—you forget how to breathe.”
You swallowed hard, heart pounding so loud you were sure he could hear it. “Satoru, we’re… this isn’t—”
“Not my girlfriend,” he finished for you, voice laced with dark amusement. “I know. But you keep coming back. Keep letting me pull you into dark corners and make you look at me like I’m the only thing that exists.” His hand slid to the back of your neck, fingers threading into your hair, tilting your head exactly how he wanted. “Because you are shy, baby. So fucking shy and sweet, and it drives me insane. Makes me want to ruin that composure until you’re moaning my name instead of hiding behind it.”
The intensity in his eyes was overwhelming—bright blue, almost glowing under the string lights. He didn’t kiss you. Not yet. He just held you there, bent over you, making you feel small and claimed and seen. Across the yard, someone called his name, but he ignored them, focus locked entirely on you.
“Tell me to stop,” he challenged softly, lips hovering inches from yours. “Tell me you don’t want me watching you from across every room like you’re mine to stare at. Tell me you don’t get wet when I bend down to hear your quiet little voice. Tell me, and I’ll walk away.”
You couldn’t. Your lips parted, but no words came. Just a shaky breath.
He chuckled, low and victorious. “That’s what I thought, poor thing.” His fingers tightened gently in your hair. “Now laugh at my next joke like a good girl, yeah? I want to see that pretty smile while I’m thinking about all the ways I’m going to make you fall apart later.”
He straightened up then, pulling you off the table with him like it was nothing. His hoodie was tossed over your shoulders instead—warm from his body, smelling like him—marking you without a word. Back inside, he dove right back into the group, telling another story with that effortless charisma, but every few seconds his eyes found yours. Checking. Waiting for your laugh. Making sure you felt the weight of his attention like a physical touch.
content: mdni, modern au, gojo is obsessed but sweet, instant crush, falling in love, masturbation, jealousy, Sukuna cameo, teasing, making out, back shots, doggy style, unprotected piv sex, creampie, aftercare
art by @chu-cho + divider by @bronzewasp
roommate!Gojo whose been obsessed with you before you even moved in - he just didn't know it
roommate!Gojo who didn't really need a roommate when he doesn't even pay rent for the penthouse he already owned, but after so many lonely nights with no one to talk to (and considering pets were out of the question since he can't even keep a plant alive) he was more than a little taken by the idea of having someone to come home to who was stuck with him for a twelve month lease
roommate!Gojo who plasters ads online, exchanging emails with strangers until he lands on sweet little you, asking you to meet him for brunch the next weekend, despite Suguru being convinced you had to be a catfish hoping for cheap rent
roommate!Gojo who thinks you're an angel when you slide in the seat across from him - even if you laugh in his face when he calls you one
roommate!Gojo who listens leaning halfway across the table with his chin propped up by his hand, enraptured by every word that leaves your mouth, the way you giggle at his lame jokes and roll your eyes at his lamer flirtations, only getting serious when you awkwardly admit you have an unconventional job that meant you'd be home most of the time, although something about your voice is familiar, like maybe he heard it before, bumped into you somewhere
roommate!Gojo who pulls out the lease for you to sign then and there, cheeks already heating up at the thought of you walking around his apartment in tiny shorts and thin tank tops, or even better, your figure drowned in one of his t-shirts, padding into the kitchen barefoot and bending over to grab a drink from the fridge, well, actually, he's imagining what a cute story this would make to tell your future children someday but even he could admit that was probably a little much
roommate!Gojo who figures out what your unconventional job is one week into this new living arrangement after helping you get your new room all set up, scrolling on his phone in his own bed and debating on asking you on a late night ice cream run when he hears your voice through the wall, all cute and chirpy, and yeah, he shouldn't snoop, but perhaps he just-so-happened to press his ear against the wall to listen in when all the pieces clicked together
roommate!Gojo who has never typed faster in his life than when he's searching up his favorite faceless camgirl, pulling up the stream just to confirm his suspections - and thank the fucking stars he somehow got this lucky, listening to your laugh through the wall and on his phone
roommate!Gojo who ends up fucking his fist by the end of the show, because even if you never showed above your shoulders on stream, he's picturing what pretty faces you were making now that he knew it was you, barely able to keep his moans to himself as he strokes himself in rough, harsh thrusts, bucking his hips up and wishing it was your palm wrapped around him instead, or fuck, the pretty little cunt you had on display on screen
roommate!Gojo who blushes wildly the next morning he sees you, and you just giggle, giving him a quick wink, like maybe it wasn't just his imagination your little show had been louder than usual, your gasps and whimpers meant to be heard through the wall you shared
roommate!Gojo who thinks you're the perfect girl roommate - you listen to all his ramblings and rants, curl up next to him on the couch for movie (and Digimon) marathons, ask to bake sweets together when you're bored or let him drag you around some afternoons to shop and eat, casually holding his hand in public, resting your head against him and letting him throw an arm around your shoulders, and yeah, okay, you always pay rent on time (although his generous donations probably make up half of it)
roommate!Gojo who is, of course, devastated to have to spend even just a few hours apart and leave you alone in the penthouse to attend a stupid work party with Suguru, ignoring his friend's teasing about his crush, but a cup of spiked punch later, he's wondering why he hasn't just made a move yet, asked you to be his, when he gets the notification you're live again
roommate!Gojo who almost pukes when he clicks on it and realizes you're not alone, some asshole with too many muscles and even more tattoos manhandling you into a mating press on your soft mattress, faces carefully concealed out of shot as usual while you get speared open on his obscene length
roommate!Gojo who excuses himself from the party, an emergency at home, which really meant he needed to get there and throw that fucking prick out and show you anything that guy could do, he could do better, but by the time he made it through the front door, the jerk was gone, only finding you sleepily sprawled out on the couch watching some reality show
roommate!Gojo who just blinks, swallowing the lump in his throat when you yawn and sit up as soon as you notice him, stretching your arms and letting your shirt ride up to expose a thin strip of skin, while you just tilt your head to the side as if to ask if he was going to say anything - as if you knew he knew about your guest star
roommate!Gojo who bridges the distance in a few short strides, getting down on his knees in front of the couch to cup your face and capture your lips in a starving kiss, hard enough you almost fall back onto the couch cushions, but you're giggling in-between kisses at the way his glasses keep slipping down the bridge of his nose, fingers tangling back in his hair, tugging him in closer so your canines can nip at his bottom lip
roommate!Gojo who's the one throwing you onto your bed half an hour later, his cock throbbing painfully in the too-tight confines of his boxers, aching for your warmth after barely being able to stop himself from cumming in his pants ten times just from making out, but the sight of your glistening cunt in person when he peels your blue lace panties down your thighs almost does him in again
roommate!Gojo who thinks he must've got into a car crash and died on the way home, because he must be in heaven when he finally slides the first few inches of his thick cock inside, groaning as he forces his way past the first ring of resistance, his grip on your hips nearly bruising as he grinds in deeper, overwhelmed by the pretty arch of your back and you on your hands and knees, whining and ready to take him, your soft ass squirming while your walls grip and suck him in so sinfully
roommate!Gojo who fucks you like you're still on camera, pounding into you until you're crying out his name loud enough for half the building to hear, his hips probably leaving marks on your ass and the lewd smacks of skin-on-skin and your pretty wet slick dripping down your thighs only encouraging to go faster, harder, give you more until there was nothing left of him to give
roommate!Gojo who knows what spots to hit to make you shudder, you thighs trembling as you whine and mewl, making soft, sweet promises of something he can't even fully process, too focused on making you cum harder than you ever have before, his grip on your hip the only thing holding your body up as he reaches his other hand around to play with your surely needy clit, his new favorite toy, massaging precise patterns and calculating just the right amount of pressure to have you unravelling into putty in his palm
roommate!Gojo who can't help cumming inside you when your body shivers and you break into what feels like a billion pieces for him to put back together with searing kisses scattered across your back, grunting your name and mumbling something half-incoherent about how long he waited for this, for you
roommate!Gojo who carries you to the bath afterward, still pressing kisses everywhere while he cleans you up, washing your hair and scrubbing both of you clean, leaning back against the porcelain with you on his chest when you glance up at him to fix his crooked glasses with a grin, pressing a peck to his jaw and asking if he wants to do it again - with an audience
a/n: this was based on an anon ask I accidentally deleted sorry >.<
