欲望

dumbification lova

[craveology]

cigarette & druggs

⊹ 𓈒 ੭ 파이 MOONEE ______ 𝐮𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 .

# 20 𝆹 she/her 𝆹 french 𝆹 toji's wife n gojo's sweetheart

masterlist? guidelines! carrd?

❝ below 18? DO NOT INTERACT

-> side acc @fayefavz

Ⓒ𝑪𝑹𝑨𝑽𝑬𝑶𝑳𝑶𝑮𝒀---𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟔. 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐝. 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐳𝐞, 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭, 𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞

[craveology]

hi!! i wanted to binge your masterlist but it seems like none of the links are working? :( if you changed your username, it might be because of that because tumblr doesn’t update them automatically

Omg thanks ! I’ll do an update babe mwah <3

[craveology]

is it true you're using Ai to write stories?

I saw the post on @theburnbookuser calling me out and honestly? It’s fucked up.

I posted something vulnerable : just how silence sounds different when you’re carrying heavy shit, how touch and trust and sleep feel when everything’s raw. That wasn’t AI. That was me. I write my own words, from my own chest. I don’t use AI for my stories or my feelings.

Sending writers to a hate page just because you think their prose is “corny” or doesn’t fit your vibe is genuinely toxic. It’s not critique. It’s not “keeping it real.” It’s piling on someone who’s already putting personal parts of themselves out there. If you don’t like my writing, cool : just keep scrolling. There’s zero need to drag people through callout accounts like this.

To the person who submitted it: next time say it to me directly instead of anonymously feeding a fucked up writer hate page. This kind of shit makes people want to stop sharing anything about them, even me.

Anyway. I’m still here, still writing. But literally wondering if I should continue. If you fuck with that, stay. If not, the block button exists for a reason.

Thank you

[craveology]

edging husband!gojo’s pretty dih

The bedroom was dark, lit only by the faint silver glow of moonlight filtering through the half-drawn curtains. The clock on the nightstand read well past 2 AM, the world outside silent except for the occasional distant hum of a car. You and Gojo Satoru had been married for two years now—long enough for the passion to burn hotter, not dimmer. He was sprawled beneath you on your king-sized bed, the sheets tangled around his long, powerful legs, his usual blindfold discarded on the floor. His snowy white hair was a mess, damp with sweat and sticking to his forehead. Those piercing blue eyes—Six Eyes dimmed with raw pleasure—were half-lidded, locked on you with a mixture of adoration and desperation.

Your hand was wrapped firmly around his cock, slick with lube and his own precum. He was rock-hard, throbbing violently in your grip, the thick length of him flushed deep red at the tip. You’d been stroking him for what felt like an eternity—slow, teasing pumps at first, then faster, tighter, twisting your wrist just the way he liked. His hips bucked erratically into your fist, but you kept control, pinning one of his thighs down with your free hand.

“F-fuck… baby…” Gojo’s voice cracked into a high-pitched whimper, his head tossing back against the pillows. His chest heaved, abs clenching visibly with every stroke. “You’re killing me here. I can’t—ahh—can’t take it anymore…”

You smiled down at him, leaning in to press a soft kiss to his collarbone while your hand never stopped moving. Up and down, up and down, thumb swirling over the sensitive head on every pass, spreading the leaking precum until his entire shaft glistened. He was so sensitive already, veins pulsing under your fingers, the slit at the tip weeping steadily. Overstimulated didn’t even begin to cover it—you’d edged him twice already tonight, bringing him right to the brink before slowing down, and now he was a trembling, moaning mess.

His free hand fisted the sheets, knuckles white. The other reached for you, fingers digging into your hip as if grounding himself. “Please… wife… I’m losing my mind. It’s too much—nghh!” Another broken moan tore from his throat as you squeezed tighter at the base and stroked up with a deliberate twist. His cock twitched hard in your palm, jumping like it had a mind of its own.

You could feel the heat radiating off him, his skin fever-hot under your touch. Sweat beaded along the sharp lines of his V-cut, sliding down toward where your hand worked him relentlessly. Gojo Satoru—the strongest sorcerer alive—reduced to whimpers and gasps beneath his own wife. The power dynamic made your core throb with heat.

“Look at you,” you murmured, voice low and teasing against his ear. “My big, strong husband… falling apart just from my hand. You’re so pretty when you whimper like that.”

He let out a wrecked sound—half-laugh, half-sob—as his hips jerked up again. “Y-you’re evil… so fucking evil. I love you—shit—love you so much but I’m gonna—ahh, fuck, I’m right there again—”

His thighs trembled, muscles taut and straining. You could tell he was teetering on the edge for the third time, his balls drawn up tight, cock swelling even thicker in your grip. But you didn’t stop. You stroked faster, firmer, the wet, obscene sounds of skin on skin filling the quiet room. His moans climbed higher, turning into desperate, breathy whimpers that went straight to your pussy.

“Baby—baby, please— I can’t hold it—nghh—too sensitive—fuck, it hurts so good—” Tears of overwhelming pleasure pricked at the corners of his eyes, those beautiful lashes clumping together. His whole body arched off the bed, Six Eyes flickering with cursed energy he couldn’t quite control. Infinity was down completely; he was bare and vulnerable to every sensation you gave him.

You leaned down, licking a stripe up his chest, tasting the salt of his sweat. Your hand kept pumping—twist, squeeze, glide—relentless. His cock was leaking so much now it dripped down your fingers, coating your palm, making every stroke smoother and louder.

Then, without warning, you shifted lower. Gojo’s eyes widened as he realized what you were about to do.

“Wait—wait, love, I’m already—oh god—”

You didn’t wait. You wrapped your lips around the swollen, oversensitive head of his cock and sucked.

The reaction was immediate and devastating.

Gojo’s entire body seized up. A raw, guttural moan ripped from his chest—loud enough you were glad the house was empty. “FUUUCK—!” His hips bucked involuntarily, pushing deeper into the wet heat of your mouth before he caught himself, trembling with the effort to stay still. But you took him deeper anyway, tongue swirling around the head, hollowing your cheeks as you bobbed down.

His hand flew to your hair, not pushing or pulling, just gripping like you were his lifeline. “Baby—your mouth—holy shit, it’s too much—I’m— I’m—” The words dissolved into a string of broken whimpers and curses. You could feel his cock pulsing wildly against your tongue, the veins throbbing as you worked him with long, slow drags of your mouth. Your hand continued stroking the base he couldn’t fit, twisting in rhythm with your lips.

Overstimulation hit him like a wave. Every suck, every flick of your tongue made him jolt and cry out. His abs contracted so hard they looked carved from marble. Sweat poured down his temples. Those blue eyes rolled back, lashes fluttering as pleasure bordered on pain.

“Yes—yes—fuck, just like that—your tongue—nghh—gonna cum—baby, please let me cum this time—I’ll do anything—your husband’s begging—” His voice cracked on the last word, turning into another high-pitched whine as you took him to the back of your throat and swallowed around him.

You hummed in response, the vibration shooting through his length. Gojo nearly screamed. His legs shook uncontrollably, heels digging into the mattress. One hand left your hair to clutch at his own chest, nails digging into his skin as if to anchor himself against the onslaught.

You pulled back just enough to speak, lips brushing the slick tip. “Cum for me, Satoru. Fill my mouth. I want to taste my husband losing it completely.”

Then you dove back down, sucking harder, faster, one hand pumping the base while the other gently rolled his balls. The intensity was overwhelming—for him and for you. His cock was so hard it felt like steel wrapped in velvet, twitching and jumping with every heartbeat.

Gojo’s moans became constant, incoherent. “Love—you—fuck—mouth so perfect—too good—can’t—ahh—ahh—!” His hips stuttered, chasing the heat of your throat. Tears slipped down his cheeks now, not from sadness but from the sheer overload of sensation. His body was a live wire, every nerve ending screaming with pleasure.

You felt him swell impossibly thicker. His balls tightened further in your palm. With a final, broken cry that echoed through the bedroom—“I’m cumming—baby—fuck—!”—he shattered.

Thick, hot ropes of cum flooded your mouth. Gojo came harder than you’d ever seen him, hips jerking erratically as pulse after pulse shot down your throat. You swallowed greedily, not pulling away, milking him through every wave. His whimpers turned into soft, wrecked sobs of ecstasy, body convulsing under you as the overstimulation prolonged his orgasm into something almost torturous.

Even after the main spurts faded, you kept sucking gently, drawing out every last drop, tongue cleaning him through the aftershocks. Gojo twitched and moaned softly with each pass, oversensitive and boneless, his hand weakly stroking your hair now in gratitude.

Finally, you pulled off with a soft pop, licking your lips as you looked up at him. He was a gorgeous wreck—chest rising and falling rapidly, skin flushed pink all the way down to his navel, eyes glassy and unfocused, a lazy, blissed-out smile tugging at his lips.

“Fuck… you’re gonna be the death of me, wife,” he rasped, voice hoarse from moaning. He tugged you up gently, pulling you into his arms despite how spent he was. His lips found yours in a deep, messy kiss, tasting himself on your tongue. “But what a way to go. Give me… ten minutes. Then it’s my turn to ruin you until you’re the one whimpering.”

You laughed softly against his neck, curling into his warm, sweaty body as the late-night quiet settled around you both once more. The moon kept watch outside, but inside, the heat between you was only just beginning.

Ⓒ𝑪𝑹𝑨𝑽𝑬𝑶𝑳𝑶𝑮𝒀---𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟔. 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐝. 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐳𝐞, 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭, 𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞

[craveology]

gojo is a perverted neighbour !

The city lights hummed softly against the night sky, casting a faint, ethereal glow through the high-rise windows of your apartment building. You lived on the 12th floor, in a sleek one-bedroom unit that overlooked the bustling streets below. The building next door was close enough that, on clear nights, you could almost reach out and touch the glass of the neighboring windows. That’s where Gojo Satoru lived.

He was impossible to miss—tall, lean, with that signature shock of white hair that seemed to defy gravity and those piercing blue eyes hidden behind dark sunglasses during the day. You’d seen him in the elevator a few times, exchanging polite nods and half-smiles. He was charming, cocky, always dressed in expensive casual wear that hugged his athletic frame. But you had no idea just how much of a pervert he was. Or how fixated he’d become on you.

It started innocently enough. Gojo had moved in a few months ago, and from his living room window, he had a direct, unobstructed view into yours. Your curtains were often forgotten, especially on those warm summer nights when the AC struggled and you craved the cool breeze. He noticed everything: the way you moved around your space in nothing but an oversized t-shirt and panties after a long day, the curve of your hips as you stretched, the way your hair fell messily over your shoulders when you let it down.

But it was the nights you touched yourself that truly broke him.

The first time it happened, Gojo was lounging on his couch, scrolling through his phone with the lights dimmed low. His apartment was minimalist—black leather furniture, floor-to-ceiling windows, a faint scent of expensive cologne lingering in the air. He glanced up casually, and there you were.

Your bedroom light was on, curtains wide open. You lay sprawled on your bed, legs parted slightly under the thin sheet that had slipped down to your waist. One hand trailed lazily over your stomach, dipping lower. Gojo’s breath hitched. He froze, phone forgotten in his lap.

You were beautiful like this—unaware, lost in your own world. Your fingers slipped under the waistband of your panties, and he watched as your back arched just a fraction. A soft sigh escaped your lips, audible even through the closed windows if he strained. His cock twitched in his sweatpants, hardening instantly at the sight.

“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath, his usual playful smirk twisting into something darker, hungrier. He didn’t look away. Couldn’t.

He palmed himself through the fabric, squeezing the growing bulge as he leaned forward on the couch. Your hand moved in slow circles beneath the panties, the outline visible as the thin material tented and shifted. Gojo’s hand mirrored yours, slipping inside his pants to wrap around his thick length. He was already leaking precum, the head slick and sensitive.

You moaned quietly, eyes fluttering shut as you pushed a finger inside yourself. Gojo stroked faster, his grip firm, thumb circling the tip just like he imagined your tongue would. The way your thighs trembled, the subtle rock of your hips— it was intoxicating. He imagined what you’d sound like if he were there, buried deep inside you, those pretty lips parted around his name.

He came hard that first night, thick ropes of cum spilling over his fist as your body tensed and shuddered through your own orgasm. You didn’t see him. The lights in his apartment stayed off, his figure shrouded in shadow. But he saw everything.

It became a ritual.

Gojo started timing his evenings around yours. He’d leave the lights low, position himself just right on the edge of his bed or couch—close enough to the window for the perfect view, far enough to remain invisible. He was meticulous about it. A pervert with a plan.

One particularly humid Thursday night, you came home from a frustrating day at work. The tension in your body begged for release. You kicked off your heels, peeled away your clothes until you were bare, and didn’t bother with the curtains. Why would you? The neighboring building’s windows were dark, or so you thought.

Gojo was already there, waiting. His cock was half-hard in anticipation, heavy in his hand as he stroked lazily, eyes glued to your window.

You climbed onto your bed, propping yourself up against the pillows. The city lights painted soft highlights across your skin— the swell of your breasts, the dip of your waist, the smooth expanse of your thighs. You started slow, teasing yourself. Fingers tracing your collarbone, down between your breasts, pinching a nipple until it pebbled under your touch. A soft gasp left your lips.

Gojo’s breath grew ragged. “That’s it, baby,” he whispered to the glass, his voice low and rough. “Touch those pretty tits for me.”

His strokes matched your pace. When you cupped your breasts, squeezing them together, he tightened his grip around the base of his cock, veins bulging under his fingers. He was long and thick, the kind of size that would stretch you deliciously if he ever got the chance. Precum dripped steadily now, slicking his palm as he pumped.

You spread your legs wider, knees bent, giving him a full view of your glistening pussy. Your fingers dipped down, parting your folds, circling your swollen clit. Gojo groaned, leaning closer to the window, his free hand bracing against the glass. The cool surface did nothing to temper the heat building in his core.

You slipped two fingers inside yourself, curling them just right, and your moan echoed faintly. Gojo imagined it was his name on your tongue— Satoru, please, harder. He jerked himself faster, hips bucking into his fist, the wet sounds of his hand filling his silent apartment.

Your pace quickened. Breasts heaving with each breath, thighs quivering as you chased that edge. Gojo’s balls tightened, pleasure coiling tight in his gut. He wanted to ruin you. To climb through that window, pin you down, and fuck you senseless while you screamed for him.

You came with a sharp cry, back bowing off the bed, fingers buried deep as your walls clenched around them. Juices slicked your thighs, shining in the low light.

Gojo followed seconds later, a guttural moan tearing from his throat as he spilled over his hand and onto the floor. Thick, pearly strands painted his knuckles and dripped down. He kept stroking through it, milking every last drop, eyes never leaving your spent form as you panted and relaxed against the sheets.

Nights blurred together in a haze of obsession.

Gojo learned your patterns. Tuesdays you were slower, more sensual—using a toy sometimes, that pink vibrator that buzzed against your clit while you fingered yourself. He’d match it stroke for stroke, edging himself until you finished, then letting go in explosive release.

Fridays were desperate. You’d come home late, strip frantically, and fuck yourself hard with three fingers, hips grinding against your hand like you were riding a cock. Those nights, Gojo stood right at the window, pants shoved down to his ankles, fucking his fist with brutal intensity. Sweat beaded on his forehead, white hair sticking to his skin. He’d whisper filthy promises into the darkness: “One day I’m gonna fill that tight cunt up, make you mine. You’d look so good creaming around my cock, baby.”

He took photos—discreetly, with the flash off, zooming in on your arched back, your parted lips, the way your pussy dripped when you were close. He jerked off to them during the day, in his office bathroom or the back of his car, imagining your scent, your taste.

You remained blissfully unaware. Or so he thought.

Ⓒ𝑪𝑹𝑨𝑽𝑬𝑶𝑳𝑶𝑮𝒀---𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟔. 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐝. 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐳𝐞, 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭, 𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞

[craveology]

would you ever write something with fratkuna? i just recently found you and i love your fratjo x shy!reader fics!!

yesss I took time on this one, I made Sukuna super duper bombastic attractive ;)

frat!sukuna x shy!reader…?

The bass thumped through the walls of the Sigma Chi house like a second heartbeat, vibrating up through the sticky floorboards and into your bones. You stood near the edge of the crowded living room, nursing a lukewarm cup of whatever punch someone had spiked too heavily, trying to make yourself as small as possible. Parties like this weren’t your scene. Too loud, too chaotic, too many eyes. You were the girl who preferred quiet library corners and oversized hoodies, the one who blushed at compliments and avoided the spotlight at all costs.

Yet here you were. Again.

Because of him.

Sukuna Ryomen. The walking, tattooed embodiment of every warning your friends had given you about frat guys. Pink hair cropped short on the sides and messy on top, crimson eyes that seemed to cut straight through bullshit, and a body built like a god who’d decided to slum it on campus. He was the vice president of the house, the one who threw the wildest parties and somehow kept the chaos from imploding. Everyone knew his reputation—quick temper, quicker smirk, girls throwing themselves at him like offerings. You’d sworn on your life you’d never fall for one of them. Never.

But Sukuna made breaking vows feel inevitable.

You felt him before you saw him. A shift in the air, the way the crowd parted just a little. He was making his way through the room, towering over most people, black compression shirt stretched obscenely tight across his broad chest and thick arms. The fabric clung to every ridge of muscle, the short sleeves digging into his biceps like they were fighting a losing battle. A silver chain glinted at his collarbone, disappearing beneath the shirt.

His eyes locked on you immediately. That slow, predatory scan from your sneakers up your legs, lingering on the way your simple sundress hugged your waist, before settling on your face. You felt your cheeks burn.

“Lost, babe?” His voice was low, rough, cutting through the noise like it was made just for your ears. He stopped right in front of you, close enough that you could smell the faint mix of his cologne and the beer on his breath. Not drunk—just buzzed. Controlled.

You shook your head, clutching your cup tighter. “Just… people-watching.”

Sukuna’s lips curved into that smirk that always made your stomach flip. He leaned down, lowering his head so his mouth was level with your ear, his breath warm against your skin. The height difference was criminal. “Can’t hear you over this shit. Speak up, princess.”

Your heart hammered. He always did that—ducking his head like your words were the only ones worth straining for. It made you feel seen. Important. Dangerous.

“I said I’m people-watching,” you repeated, voice barely above a whisper.

He chuckled, the sound vibrating through his chest. Straightening slightly, he scanned the room once before those crimson eyes dropped back to you. “You’re not watching people. You’re hiding.” One large hand came up, fingers brushing lightly against your elbow before sliding to your waist. Not grabbing hard—just enough pressure to guide you, to claim space. His palm was hot through the thin fabric of your dress, fingers splaying possessively over the curve of your hip. “C’mere. You’re with me tonight.”

Your breath hitched. He was so good at this. At making you melt without even trying.

He steered you toward a worn leather couch in the corner, already occupied by a couple of his frat brothers and some girls. The second Sukuna approached, the energy shifted. One of the guys—Mahito, you thought his name was—had been laughing loudly, arm slung around a girl. His eyes flicked to you, then to Sukuna’s hand on your waist, and the laugh died.

“Move,” Sukuna said simply. No bark, no snarl. Just flat command. He controlled the anger you knew simmered under his skin so effortlessly. Jaw tight for a split second, a flicker of that dangerous temper, then it smoothed out as he looked down at you. His jaw clenched visibly, the sharp line of it flexing as he held your gaze. Like he was biting back whatever instinct told him to snap, all because you were there.

The others scattered without protest. Sukuna dropped onto the couch, legs spreading wide in that shameless manspread that should’ve been illegal. Thick thighs straining against his dark jeans, one arm draped along the back of the couch. He looked like a king on a throne. He tugged you down beside him, close enough that your thigh pressed against his. His hand never left your waist.

“Relax,” he murmured, thumb stroking slow circles over your hip bone. “No one’s gonna bother you.”

You swallowed hard, hyper-aware of every point of contact. The heat of his body, the way his shirt had ridden up just slightly when he sat, exposing a tantalizing strip of toned, tattooed abdomen. Ink swirled over his skin—patterns that disappeared beneath the hem. When he stretched one arm overhead casually, yawning like the party bored him, the shirt pulled tighter. His biceps bulged, veins standing out, the fabric stretching to its limit. Another inch of his stomach revealed itself, the deep V of his hips teasing you.

Holy shit.

You tore your eyes away, but he noticed. Of course he did.

“Eyes up here, babe,” he teased, voice dripping with amusement. He guided your hand then—casual as anything—taking your smaller one in his much larger grip and placing it on his thigh. High up. “Or here. Whichever you want.”

Your face flamed. His thigh was rock-hard under your palm, muscle flexing slightly as he shifted. He didn’t let go immediately, instead tracing his fingers over the back of your hand, directing you to squeeze lightly. “Like that. Good girl.”

The praise hit you like a shot of whiskey. You were supposed to be immune to frat guys. Their charm was fake, their interest fleeting. But Sukuna wasn’t just charming—he was intense. The way he looked at you like he was memorizing every shy flutter of your lashes. The way he’d tease you relentlessly but never push too far. No kisses yet. Just this slow, torturous build that had you aching.

Across the room, another guy—some random from a different house—started heading your way, clearly eyeing you. Sukuna’s posture changed instantly. He didn’t stand or yell. Instead, he pulled you closer, arm wrapping fully around your waist now, fingers digging in with just enough pressure to anchor you against his side. His jaw clenched again as he stared the guy down, a silent warning. The intruder faltered, turned away. Sukuna’s lips brushed the top of your head for the briefest second—not a kiss, just a claim.

“Mine to look at,” he said lowly, only for you. “They know better.”

You shivered. God, you hated how much you loved it.

The night blurred into more of the same delicious torment. Sukuna kept you tucked against him, occasionally leaning down to catch your quiet comments, his breath fanning your ear, lips ghosting but never pressing. When someone bumped into you too roughly, spilling a bit of drink, Sukuna’s hand tightened on your waist, knuckles whitening for a moment. You saw the flash of anger in his eyes—the kind that could start fights—but he exhaled slowly, controlled it, and simply wiped the drop from your arm with his thumb. Gentle. Precise.

“You good?” he asked, voice rough but soft for you.

You nodded, biting your lip. He smirked, using his free hand to tilt your chin up with a single finger. “Words, princess. Use ‘em.”

“I’m good,” you whispered. “Because of you.”

His eyes darkened. That jaw flexed again as he looked down at you, towering even while seated. He guided your hand once more, this time sliding it higher on his thigh, holding it there as if daring you to explore. The muscle jumped under your touch. His shirt had ridden up further from all the shifting, exposing more ink and the trail of dark hair disappearing into his waistband. When he stretched again, slower this time, both arms overhead, the compression shirt molded perfectly to his chest and arms, every cut of muscle on display. You couldn’t help staring.

“Keep looking at me like that,” he murmured, voice a dangerous rumble, “and I might forget I’m being patient.”

Your pulse raced. You were falling. Hard. Every tease, every guiding touch, every possessive flex of his body chipped away at your resolve. You’d sworn never to fall for a frat guy. They were trouble. But Sukuna wasn’t just trouble—he was a storm you wanted to drown in.

Later, as the party thinned, he walked you out to the porch for some air. The cool night breeze did nothing to calm the heat under your skin. He leaned against the railing, pulling you between his spread legs, hands settling firmly on your waist again. Thumbs stroking the undersides of your ribs. He lowered his head once more, forehead nearly touching yours, listening as you rambled shyly about your classes, your day, anything.

Every word he absorbed like it mattered. His jaw tight with restraint, eyes half-lidded, body radiating that coiled power. When another brother called out something crude from inside, Sukuna’s grip tightened, pulling you flush against him for a second—chest to chest, your softness against his hardness. He shot the guy a look that could kill, then turned back to you with a softer expression.

“Don’t listen to them,” he said, voice low. “You’re not like the others. That’s why I can’t stay away.”

Your hands rested on his chest, feeling the steady thunder of his heart. No kiss. Not yet. But the tension was thick enough to choke on—the promise of it hanging between you like a live wire. His fingers flexed on your waist, guiding you even closer, one hand sliding up to cup the back of your neck lightly. Teasing. Always teasing.

You were ruined. Completely, utterly melting for this frat boy who controlled his demons for you, who showed the world you were his without a word, who made every casual movement feel like sin.

And you didn’t want to be saved.

The night stretched on, filled with more stolen moments—his manspread inviting you back onto the couch, his stretch revealing more skin you wanted to trace, the way he’d clench his jaw and look down at you like he was barely holding himself back. Each one chipped away at your oath until it lay shattered at his feet.

Sukuna Ryomen had you. And he knew it.

Ⓒ𝑪𝑹𝑨𝑽𝑬𝑶𝑳𝑶𝑮𝒀---𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟔. 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐝. 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐳𝐞, 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭, 𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞

[craveology]

toji’s weakness : pussy

Toji Fushiguro had never been the type to put in extra effort for anyone—least of all in bed. You knew that from the start. Your boyfriend was a selfish, arrogant bastard who took what he wanted with that signature smirk, his scarred body moving like a weapon even when he was buried inside you. He’d fuck you hard, leave bruises on your hips from his grip, growl filthy praises in your ear while chasing his own release, and then roll over with a grunt once he was done. Foreplay? Optional. Going down on you? Practically unheard of in the early days.

But something had shifted. Slowly at first, then all at once. Toji discovered he craved the taste of you. He loved reducing you to a trembling, soaking mess on his tongue more than almost anything else. It fed that massive ego of his—watching you fall apart because of his mouth alone, your thighs clamping around his head like you were trying to crush him, your voice breaking as you came again and again. He was a beast about it. No mercy, no holding back. Just raw, hungry devotion to making you squirt and scream.

Tonight was no different.

You’d barely made it through the door of your shared apartment after a long day when Toji’s large hand wrapped around your wrist and yanked you toward the bedroom. His green eyes were dark, predatory, the scar at the corner of his lip twitching with that dangerous half-smirk.

“Missed this pussy,” he muttered, voice low and rough like gravel. He didn’t even bother with pleasantries. No “how was your day,” no kisses on the mouth. He shoved you back onto the bed with one powerful push, your back hitting the mattress as he dropped to his knees at the edge like a man starved.

“Toji—wait—” you started, but the protest died in your throat when he ripped your panties down your legs in one brutal tug, not even bothering to fully undress you. Your skirt stayed bunched around your waist, shirt still on. He didn’t care. His focus was laser-sharp on the glistening folds already wet for him.

“Shut up and spread your legs,” he growled, gripping your thighs with calloused hands and forcing them wide apart. The cool air hit your exposed cunt, making you shiver. Toji’s breath ghosted over your sensitive skin as he leaned in, inhaling deeply like your scent was the only thing grounding him after whatever hellish job he’d come back from.

You knew the routine by now, but it still made your heart race every time. The man who rarely ate you out in the beginning was now addicted. His ego wouldn’t let him admit it outright, but the way his cock strained against his pants while he stared at your pussy said everything.

He started slow—just to torment you. His broad tongue dragged a long, flat stripe from your entrance up to your swollen clit, savoring the taste with a deep, guttural groan that vibrated straight through you. “Fuck… always so sweet for me,” he murmured against your folds, the vibration making your hips jerk.

Then the beast came out.

Toji buried his face between your thighs like a man possessed, his mouth latching onto your clit with obscene suction. He sucked hard, tongue flicking rapidly over the sensitive bundle of nerves while his thick fingers dug into the soft flesh of your thighs, pulling you even closer. Your hands flew to his messy dark hair, fingers threading through the strands as your back arched off the bed.

“Oh god—Toji!” you cried out, thighs instinctively trying to close around his head. He loved that. A low, pleased rumble escaped him as your legs squeezed the sides of his scarred face, the stubble on his jaw scraping deliciously against your inner thighs. He didn’t pull away. If anything, he pressed in harder, his nose grinding against your clit while his tongue speared into your dripping hole.

He ate you out like he was trying to devour you whole—messy, loud, and relentless. Wet, obscene slurping sounds filled the room as he licked and sucked, alternating between fucking you with his tongue and lavishing brutal attention on your clit. Spit and your arousal coated his chin, dripping down onto the sheets. He was making a complete mess, and he didn’t give a single fuck.

Your hips bucked wildly against his face, but his strong arms locked around your thighs, holding you in place like iron bands. He was in control. Completely. “That’s it, baby,” he snarled between long, filthy licks. “Squeeze my fucking head. Drown me in this pussy.”

You were already close—embarrassingly fast. The contrast always got you: the same man who would pound you selfishly for his own pleasure was now moaning like a whore into your cunt, eyes half-lidded in pure bliss as he worked you over. His tongue curled inside you, stroking that spongy spot that made stars burst behind your eyelids.

“Toji—fuck, I’m gonna—” Your warning cut off in a broken sob as the first orgasm crashed over you. Your thighs clamped down hard around his head, muscles trembling as you came hard on his tongue. He didn’t stop. He never stopped. He lapped up every drop of your release like it was ambrosia, growling hungrily as your walls fluttered and clenched around his invading tongue.

But he wasn’t satisfied with one.

He kept going, pushing you through the aftershocks and straight into another build-up. His grip on your thighs tightened, fingers leaving marks that you’d feel for days. He sucked your clit back into his mouth, tongue moving in fast, relentless circles while two thick fingers suddenly pushed inside you, curling viciously against your g-spot.

The stretch, the pressure, the wet sounds—it was too much. You screamed his name, back bowing off the bed as another orgasm ripped through you. This one was stronger, squirting messily against his face. Toji groaned in satisfaction, drinking it down without hesitation, his fingers pumping faster to draw it out.

“Good girl,” he rasped, voice muffled but dripping with smug pride. “Look at you, soaking my face like a slut. You love this, don’t you? Love when I eat this pretty cunt like it’s my last meal.”

You could barely form words, reduced to whimpers and moans as he continued his assault. Sweat slicked your skin. Your hands yanked at his hair, torn between pushing him away from the overwhelming sensitivity and pulling him closer. Toji chuckled darkly against your folds, the sound sending fresh sparks up your spine.

He shifted slightly, hooking your legs over his broad shoulders so your thighs pressed even tighter against his ears. The new angle let him go deeper, his tongue thrusting in and out while his nose rubbed perfectly against your clit. He was lost in it—eyes closed, brow furrowed in concentration, completely devoted to the taste and feel of you coming undone.

Minutes blurred. Orgasms stacked on top of each other until you lost count. Three. Four. Five. Each one more intense than the last. Your voice grew hoarse from screaming his name. Tears of overwhelming pleasure streaked down your cheeks. Your entire body shook uncontrollably, thighs quivering around his head as he refused to let up.

Only when you were a limp, sobbing mess—barely able to twitch—did Toji finally pull back. His face was drenched, lips swollen and shiny with your juices. That arrogant smirk was back as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, looking far too pleased with himself.

“See? Told you I take care of my girl,” he said, voice rough from use. He climbed up your body, caging you in with his massive frame. His cock was rock-hard and leaking against your thigh, but he didn’t push inside yet. Instead, he leaned down and kissed you messily, forcing you to taste yourself on his tongue.

You kissed him back weakly, still trembling. “You’re… such a liar,” you managed to whisper between gasps. “You said you don’t do this shit for me.”

Toji laughed, low and dangerous, grinding his hips against yours. “Shut up. I do what I want. And right now…” He nipped at your bottom lip, green eyes gleaming with fresh hunger. “I want to make you cum on my tongue again before I fuck you stupid.”

He was already sliding back down your body, ready to bury his face between your thighs once more.

Because for all his selfishness, Toji Fushiguro had one undeniable weakness:
Your pussy on his face, your thighs squeezing his head, and the broken, beautiful sounds you made when he ate you like a starving beast.

Ⓒ𝐅𝐀𝐘𝐄𝐋𝐄𝐑𝐎---𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟔. 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐝. 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐳𝐞, 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭, 𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞

[craveology]

ONGEGE CONGRATS BABESSS I MISSED U POSTING

THANKS ANON ❤️❤️❤️

[craveology]

HAPPY 5KKKKKKKK GIRLY WIN TWIN

THANKS ANON 🙏

[craveology]

GUYSSSS THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR 5K <3

[craveology]

fratjo sees shy/nerd reader talking to another guy (who is also a nerd) and gets jealous bc he thinks that would be more of readers type 👀

ouuu shiii yeahhh here ya go babe ;)

frat!gojo jealous of a nerdy guy ?

The bass thumped through the sprawling frat house like a second heartbeat, vibrating up through the sticky wooden floors and into your bones. Red Solo cups littered every surface, the air thick with the mingled scents of cheap beer, sweat, and too-sweet perfume. Lights flashed in erratic patterns from a makeshift DJ booth in the living room, casting everything in shifting hues of neon blue and purple. You’d never been entirely comfortable in places like this—loud, chaotic, overflowing with people who seemed to thrive on the noise—but tonight was different. Tonight, you were here because of him.

Gojo Satoru.

The undisputed king of the fraternity scene on campus. Six-foot-five of pure, infuriating charisma wrapped in a lean, athletic frame that moved like he owned every room he entered. Snow-white hair that somehow stayed perfectly tousled no matter how many hands had run through it, those piercing blue eyes that could pin you in place with a single glance, and a smirk that promised trouble and delivered it in spades. He was everything you weren’t: loud, confident, the center of every story, every party, every scandal. You were the quiet literature major who preferred oversized hoodies and the corner seat in the back of lecture halls. Opposites in every way.

Yet here you were, tangled in whatever this thing between you was. A flirtation that had stretched over weeks—stolen kisses in the shadows of campus libraries, late-night texts that turned filthy without warning, his arm slung possessively around your waist at smaller gatherings while he whispered filthy promises against your ear. Not quite dating. Definitely more than friends. A situationship that left your stomach in knots and your thighs pressed together at the mere thought of him.

You’d been glued to his side for the first hour of the party, his large hand resting low on your back, fingers occasionally dipping just beneath the hem of your short black dress to brush against bare skin. He’d laughed too loud at his brothers’ jokes, pulled you onto his lap on a worn couch, and kissed you deep enough that your head spun. But the room had grown stifling, your throat dry from the heat and the one drink you’d already finished.

“I’m gonna grab another drink,” you’d murmured against his jaw, lips brushing the sharp line there. He’d hummed, nipped at your earlobe, and let you slip away with a playful swat to your ass that made your cheeks burn.

Now, cup in hand, you lingered near the kitchen island, scanning the crowd. That’s when you spotted him—Kenji, a guy from your Intro to Classics seminar. He was standing awkwardly by the wall, nursing what looked like a warm soda, shoulders hunched in a faded graphic tee and jeans that had seen better days. Thick glasses, messy brown hair, the kind of quiet, bookish energy that felt familiar. Safe. He looked painfully out of place, just like you often felt.

You hesitated only a second before approaching. “Hey, Kenji. Didn’t expect to see you here.”

He blinked up at you, surprised, then offered a shy smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes. “Yeah, uh… my roommate dragged me. Said I needed to ‘socialize.’ I feel like I’m intruding on an alien ritual or something.” He laughed softly, self-deprecating, pushing his glasses up his nose. “These parties aren’t really my scene. I keep waiting for someone to realize I don’t belong and kick me out.”

You laughed too, the sound gentle and warm in the chaos around you. It felt easy talking to him. No pressure, no overwhelming presence trying to consume you whole. “I get that. I’m kind of the same. My… friend brought me.” You didn’t elaborate on Gojo. It felt too complicated, too raw to label here.

Kenji nodded, relaxing a fraction. “You seem to handle it better than me. At least you’re talking to people. I’ve been standing here debating whether to pretend I’m waiting for someone or just leave quietly.”

The conversation flowed naturally after that—light, comfortable. You teased him gently about his latest essay on Homer that the professor had raved about, and he lit up, gesturing animatedly with his free hand. You found yourself smiling more than you had in the loud press of bodies earlier, leaning a little closer to hear him over the music. He wasn’t trying to impress you or devour you with his eyes. He was just… nice.

You didn’t notice the shift in the air at first. The way the crowd seemed to part slightly, the subtle drop in temperature despite the heat.

Then a presence materialized behind Kenji—tall, imposing, radiating something sharp and electric.

Gojo Satoru.

His white hair caught the flashing lights like a beacon. Those brilliant blue eyes, usually sparkling with mischief, were narrowed into dangerous slits. His jaw was set, the easy smirk gone, replaced by a cold, predatory line. He wore a loose black button-up, sleeves rolled up to expose toned forearms, the top few buttons undone to reveal the sharp collarbones you’d kissed just hours ago. But there was nothing playful in his stance now. He loomed, one hand shoved into his pocket, the other flexing at his side as if restraining the urge to grab something.

Kenji faltered mid-sentence, sensing the shadow at his back. He turned slightly, eyes widening behind his glasses as he took in Gojo’s full height and the unmistakable aura of barely leashed intensity.

“The fuck is this?” Gojo’s voice cut through the noise, low and edged with venom. He didn’t even look at you at first, gaze locked on the smaller man like he was an insect that had dared crawl too close. “You lost or something, four-eyes? This ain’t the chess club meet-up.”

Kenji stiffened, mouth opening and closing. “I-I was just talking to—”

“To her?” Gojo stepped closer, crowding Kenji’s space without touching him. His height advantage was ridiculous; he towered, forcing the other guy to crane his neck. “Didn’t realize shy little bookworms were crashing frat parties now. What, you think chatting about dead poets is gonna get you somewhere?”

Your heart slammed against your ribs. Heat flooded your face—part embarrassment, part anger. “Gojo, what the fuck?” The words burst out sharper than you intended, your shy demeanor cracking under the sudden tension. You set your cup down hard enough that liquid sloshed over the rim. “He’s just a friend from class. We were talking. Why are you being such an asshole?”

Gojo’s eyes finally snapped to you. For a split second, something raw flickered there—jealousy, hot and ugly, mixed with that possessive hunger that always made your knees weak. He masked it quickly, but not before you caught it. His lips curled into a mocking smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Asshole? C’mon, princess. I’m just looking out for you. Guys like this…” He jerked his chin at Kenji, who was now pale and backing up a step. “They play the nice, awkward card. Bet he’s real good at listening to your poetry rants, huh? Real compatible type.”

Kenji swallowed hard, glancing between you two. “Look, man, I didn’t mean anything by it. She just came over—”

“Did I ask you to speak?” Gojo’s tone dropped, dangerously calm. He didn’t raise his voice; he didn’t need to. The sheer presence of him, the way his broad shoulders filled the space, the icy glare that promised consequences if pushed further—it was intimidation wrapped in velvet threat. His hand came up, not touching Kenji, but close enough that the guy flinched. “Run along, nerd. Go find your Dungeons & Dragons buddies. This conversation’s over.”

The poor guy looked mortified, mumbling a quick “Sorry” in your direction before practically fleeing toward the crowd. You watched him go, chest tight with secondhand humiliation.

You whirled on Gojo the second Kenji disappeared. “What is wrong with you?” Your voice trembled, but not from fear—from the whirlwind of emotions crashing through you. Anger, confusion, and something hotter, deeper, that always stirred when Gojo turned his full attention on you. “He was alone and awkward, just like I get sometimes. I was being nice. You didn’t have to terrorize him like that!”

Gojo’s hand shot out, long fingers wrapping around your wrist—not hard enough to hurt, but firm enough to pull you flush against his chest. The party noise faded into a dull roar around you as he backed you toward the quieter edge of the kitchen, away from prying eyes. His body was warm, solid, radiating that familiar mix of expensive cologne and pure masculine heat. Up close, you could see the faint flush on his cheeks, the way his pupils were blown wide beneath those striking eyes.

“You really don’t get it, do you?” His voice was a low growl against your ear, breath hot on your skin. One arm snaked around your waist, pinning you to him while the other tilted your chin up, forcing you to meet his gaze. “That guy? He’s exactly the type you should be with. Quiet. Smart. Won’t drag you into this bullshit frat chaos. Won’t keep you up till 3 AM because I can’t keep my hands off you. He’d be… safe. Comfortable. More like you.”

His words hit like a punch, laced with bitterness he was clearly trying to hide. Gojo Satoru—untouchable, cocky, the guy who laughed off everything—sounded almost vulnerable for a split second. Jealousy burned bright in his eyes, the kind that made his grip tighten, his body press harder against yours until you felt every ridge of muscle, the growing hardness against your stomach.

“But you’re mine,” he continued, voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. His lips brushed your temple, then your cheek, possessive and searing. “Even if we’re doing this weird dance where I pretend I’m not obsessed with you. You don’t get to laugh with some loser who looks at you like you’re the answer to his sad little fantasies. Not when I’ve had my tongue between your legs and my name on your lips.”

Your breath hitched, thighs clenching instinctively at the memory. The shy girl in you wanted to shrink away from the intensity, but the part of you that craved him—the raw, overwhelming force of Gojo—won out. You shoved at his chest half-heartedly, glaring up at him. “You’re jealous. That’s what this is. You think I’d rather be with him because he’s ‘my type’? Newsflash, Satoru—you’re the one I keep coming back to. Even when you act like a possessive asshole.”

A dark chuckle rumbled from his chest. He dipped his head, capturing your mouth in a bruising kiss that stole the air from your lungs. It wasn’t gentle; it was claiming. Teeth nipping at your lower lip, tongue sweeping in to dominate, one hand sliding down to grip your ass and pull you impossibly closer. The party raged on around you, but in this stolen corner, it was just heat and friction and the taste of beer and mint on his tongue.

When he pulled back, both of you breathing hard, his forehead rested against yours. “Yeah. I’m jealous as fuck,” he admitted, the words raw and intense, like they cost him something. “Seeing you smile at him like that… made me want to throw him through a wall. You’re too good for this scene, too good for me half the time. But I’m not letting you go. Not tonight. Not ever if I have my way.”

His hand slipped under the hem of your dress again, fingers tracing teasing patterns on your inner thigh, dangerously high. “Come upstairs with me,” he murmured, voice thick with want. “Let me remind you why you put up with my shit. Why you’re wet for me even when I’m being a dick.”

Your pulse thundered in your ears. The shy hesitation warred with the ache building low in your belly. You glanced around— no one was paying attention in the chaos—but the risk, the intensity of his stare, the way his body caged you so perfectly… it was intoxicating.

“Fine,” you whispered, fingers curling into his shirt. “But you owe that guy an apology later. And me? You’re going to make this up very thoroughly.”

Gojo’s grin returned, sharp and wicked, the familiar cocky mask sliding back into place even as jealousy still simmered beneath. “Deal, princess. I’ll start by getting on my knees.”

Ⓒ𝑪𝑹𝑨𝑽𝑬𝑶𝑳𝑶𝑮𝒀---𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟔. 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐝. 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐳𝐞, 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭, 𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞

[craveology]

I am so sorry I just binged your most recents sorry for the spam 😭😭

no worries gurl, love u <3

[craveology]

frat!gojo messing with shy!reader

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.

Ⓒ𝑪𝑹𝑨𝑽𝑬𝑶𝑳𝑶𝑮𝒀---𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟔. 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐝. 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐳𝐞, 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭, 𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞

[craveology]

can you pls do getting brat tamed by choso or just dom choso☺️☺️☺️

i love your writing btw it’s awesome💕

hiii anon, sure !

Choso brat taming his gf!

You sat across from Choso at the small dining table in your shared apartment, the takeout boxes from his favorite ramen spot still half-full between you. The TV hummed low in the background with some mindless show neither of you were really watching. Choso was in one of his rare relaxed moods—hair tied back loosely, black compression shirt hugging his broad shoulders and toned arms, sweatpants slung low on his hips. He ate quietly, chopsticks moving with that precise, almost meditative focus he always had.

You, on the other hand, had decided tonight was the night to push every single one of his buttons.

“Babe,” you said sweetly, twirling your chopsticks in your bowl, “do you love Yuji more or me?”

Choso paused mid-bite. His dark eyes flicked up to yours, calm but already carrying that faint edge of warning. He hated this question. You knew it. Yuji was his brother—blood, bond, everything—and Choso’s love for his family ran deeper than anything. He loved you just as fiercely, but comparing the two was a trap he refused to fall into.

He didn’t answer. Just went back to eating, jaw tight.

You smiled innocently and leaned forward, letting your tank top dip just enough to tease the curve of your breasts. “Come on, Cho. It’s not that hard. Me or Yuji? Who’s number one?”

Still nothing. He swallowed, set his chopsticks down, and gave you a long, measured look. The silence stretched.

You kicked it up a notch.

Later, while you were both on the couch, you stretched your legs across his lap, wiggling your toes against his thigh. “You’re being so quiet tonight. Is it because you can’t pick? That’s okay, I get it. Yuji’s your little brother. He’s all sunshine and punches. I’m just the girlfriend who makes you come harder than you ever have in your life.”

Choso’s hand settled on your calf, fingers pressing in with just enough pressure to hint at restraint. “Stop.”

But you didn’t. You scooted closer, straddling one of his thick thighs instead, grinding down once—slow and deliberate—before pulling back with a pout. “Make me.”

The night wore on like that. You “accidentally” bumped into him while he was washing dishes, pressing your ass against his front and lingering. When he reached for a towel, you snatched it first and held it behind your back, forcing him to crowd you against the counter. His body heat rolled off him in waves, that tall, muscular frame caging you in, but he still held back, breathing steady through his nose.

“You’re testing me,” he murmured, voice low and rough.

“Am I?” You batted your lashes, dropping the towel and sliding your hands up his chest. “Or are you just scared to admit I’m right? That if you had to choose—”

He grabbed your wrists, pinning them to the counter with one big hand. His eyes burned into yours, that cursed energy aura flickering faintly around him like static. But he let go after a beat, stepping back. “Go sit down. Watch your show.”

You didn’t. Instead, you followed him around the apartment like a menace—commenting on how he always prioritized his brothers’ calls over date nights (even though he didn’t), “forgetting” to wear panties under your tiny sleep shorts when you bent over to pick something up right in front of him, brushing your nipples against his arm every time you passed.

By the time you both ended up in the bedroom, the tension was thick enough to choke on. You flopped onto the bed on your stomach, kicking your feet lazily while scrolling your phone. Choso stood at the foot of the bed, arms crossed, watching you with that unreadable expression that always made your stomach flip.

You rolled onto your back, spreading your legs just enough to flash him. “Still not gonna answer? Fine. I’ll just entertain myself then.” Your hand slid down your body, dipping under the waistband of your shorts.

That was the final straw.

Choso moved faster than you could track—cursed energy or pure raw strength, you didn’t know. One second you were teasing yourself; the next, he had your wrists pinned above your head with one hand, his body weight pressing you deep into the mattress. His free hand ripped your shorts down your legs in one brutal yank, leaving you bare from the waist down.

“You want to be a brat all night?” His voice was different now—deeper, darker, vibrating with dominance you’d only ever seen hints of before. His eyes, usually soft when they looked at you, were narrowed, pupils blown wide. “You think you can push me and not deal with what comes after?”

You grinned up at him, still defiant even as your pulse hammered. “Maybe I do. What are you gonna do about it, Cho? Cry to Yuji?”

Wrong answer.

He flipped you onto your stomach so fast your breath caught. His hand cracked down on your ass—hard. The sting bloomed hot and sharp, forcing a gasp out of you. Then another smack, and another, each one precise and punishing, turning your skin a flushed, aching red.

“Count them,” he ordered, voice like gravel.

“F-fuck you—”

Smack. Harder this time. His palm rubbed over the burn afterward, almost soothing, before he delivered two more in quick succession.

“Count.”

“One… two… three—ah!”

By the time he reached ten, you were squirming, thighs slick with arousal despite the tears pricking your eyes. Choso yanked your hips up, forcing you onto your knees with your chest still pressed to the bed. He shoved your thighs apart wider, exposing you completely.

“Look at you.” His fingers traced through your soaked folds, spreading the wetness. “Soaking wet after acting like a spoiled little brat. You needed this, didn’t you?”

You tried to push back against his hand, desperate for more, but he pulled away. You whined.

Choso leaned over you, his chest to your back, lips brushing your ear. “No. You don’t get to make demands tonight.” He bit down on your shoulder—not enough to break skin, but hard enough to leave a mark. “You’re going to take what I give you.”

He freed his cock with his other hand. You felt the thick, heavy length slap against your ass—already rock-hard, leaking precum. Choso was big. Thick enough that even when you were relaxed it took work. Tonight, he wasn’t going to ease you into it.

He dragged the head through your folds, coating himself in your slick, then pushed in—inch by relentless inch. No warm-up. No gentle strokes. Just one long, punishing thrust until his hips met your ass and he was buried to the hilt.

You cried out, the stretch burning so good it made your toes curl. “Choso—fuck—too big—”

“You can take it.” He pulled out almost completely and slammed back in, setting a brutal pace. The sound of skin slapping skin filled the room, wet and obscene. Every thrust rocked your whole body forward, your breasts dragging against the sheets. “This is what you wanted, right? To see how dominant I can get?”

He grabbed a fistful of your hair, yanking your head back so he could see your face—flushed, lips parted, eyes glassy with overwhelming pleasure. His other hand reached around to pinch and roll your clit, forcing sharp, desperate moans from you.

“You’re mine,” he growled, hips snapping harder. “Not Yuji’s. Not anyone’s. Mine to fuck. Mine to tame.” Each word was punctuated by a deep, grinding thrust that hit that perfect spot inside you. “Say it.”

“I’m—ngh—yours—!”

“Louder.”

“I’m yours, Choso! Fuck—please—”

He released your hair only to wrap his hand around your throat from behind, squeezing just enough to make your head spin while he railed you. His cock throbbed inside you, veins dragging against your walls with every stroke. You were clenching around him so tightly it felt like you were trying to milk him dry.

Choso suddenly pulled out, leaving you empty and whining. He flipped you onto your back again, hooked your legs over his shoulders, and folded you in half. The new angle let him drive even deeper, his heavy balls slapping against your ass as he fucked you with punishing force.

“Look at me,” he commanded.

You did. His face was flushed, hair falling loose around his shoulders, eyes locked on yours with an intensity that made your pussy flutter harder. Sweat glistened on his chest. The muscles in his arms and abs flexed with every powerful thrust.

“You’re going to cum on my cock like the brat you are,” he said, voice rough. “And you’re not going to stop until I say.”

His fingers found your clit again, rubbing tight, fast circles while he pounded into you. The pressure built fast—overwhelming, almost too much. Your thighs shook. Your back arched.

“Choso—Choso, I’m—”

“Cum.”

You shattered. Hard. Your orgasm crashed over you like a wave, pussy gushing around his cock as you screamed his name. He didn’t slow down. If anything, he fucked you harder through it, drawing it out until you were sobbing with overstimulation.

He pulled out again, but only to flip you onto your side. He spooned behind you, lifting one of your legs and sliding back inside in one smooth thrust. This position let him wrap his arms around you completely—possessive, controlling—while still driving into you with deep, rolling strokes.

“Again,” he murmured against your neck, biting down. “Cum for me again.”

You didn’t think you could, but he proved you wrong. His hand slid down to rub your clit while his cock dragged against that sensitive front wall. The second orgasm hit even harder, leaving you shaking and gasping.

Only then did Choso let himself go. His thrusts grew erratic, hips slamming against your ass as he chased his own release. “Gonna fill you up,” he growled. “Mark you as mine.”

With a deep, guttural groan, he buried himself to the hilt and came—thick, hot ropes of cum flooding deep inside you. He kept thrusting through it, pushing his release even deeper, until it leaked out around his cock.

For a long moment, the only sounds were your ragged breathing and his low, satisfied grunts. He stayed inside you, arms locked around your body, holding you tight against his chest.

Finally, he pressed a surprisingly soft kiss to your shoulder, right over the bite mark.

“You okay?” he asked, voice gentling back toward the Choso you knew.

You nodded weakly, still trembling. “Yeah… fuck, Cho. That was…”

He hummed, nuzzling your neck. “You asked for it. Next time you want to be a brat, just say so. I’ll tame you properly.”

You smiled, exhausted and sated, pressing back against him. “Promise?”

His hand slid down to cup your cum-filled pussy possessively.

“Promise.”

Ⓒ𝑪𝑹𝑨𝑽𝑬𝑶𝑳𝑶𝑮𝒀---𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟔. 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐝. 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐳𝐞, 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭, 𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞

[craveology]

JJK MEN X LINKS

ft. toji, gojo, geto, nanami, choso, higuruma

tw : mdni. fingering, p in v, gun play (toji), oral (m! and f! receiving), breeding, size kink, belly bulge (gojo), somno,

GOJO SATORU

- your bsf!gojo promised he wouldn’t enter!

- gojo like the sight of your belly bulging

- a rough wake up from your husband

- don’t tell anyone if you don’t want me to be fired

- you swore you’d let be be at my rhythm !

- another hard on the morning

TOJI FUSHIGURO

- you were a total brat

- still struggling to take bf!toji even after a year

- toji? having mercy? hell nah

- toji loves to overstimulate you in this position

- “babe you’re soaking the bed”

- toji’s real good thrusts

- gun play

GETO SUGURU

- cult leader!geto’s fav member

- husband!geto size kink

- all that talk got back to u

- geto’s fav kind of asmr

- asking nicely just to destroy you later

- geto’s a freak (just like you)

CHOSO KAMO

- sleepy morning sex

- choso kind of drink

- making love.

- soft choso this, soft choso that…

- making you tremble literally

- messing with poor hard choso

NANAMI KENTO

- a way to release your stress

- got up needing you

- “let me relax before work…”

- begging husband!nanami to take the condom off

- getting you pregnant

- so full

HIROMI HIGURUMA

- got too silly around higuruma

- ruining you for anyone else

- no need to move bro

- tired sex

- got a bad day at work ?

- usually here to try on some suits…

Ⓒ𝑪𝑹𝑨𝑽𝑬𝑶𝑳𝑶𝑮𝒀---𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟔. 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐝. 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐳𝐞, 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭, 𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞

[craveology]

bf!toji teaching his inexperienced gf how to suck it…

“Toji… can you teach me how to suck your dick?”

A low, rumbling chuckle escaped him, the sound vibrating through his broad chest. “Heh. Bold little thing tonight, aren’t ya?” His large hand came down to cup your jaw, thumb brushing roughly over your lower lip. “Fine. But you asked for it, princess. Once I start, I ain’t holdin’ back just ‘cause you’re new at this.”

You nodded, nerves twisting in your stomach as he freed himself from his sweatpants. His cock sprang out, already half-hard and thick, the veined length intimidating even before it reached full size. The heavy head glistened faintly at the tip. You swallowed hard.

“Start slow,” he ordered, voice low and steady. “Use your hand first. Wrap those pretty fingers around the base—yeah, like that. Good girl.”

Your smaller hand barely circled his girth. The heat of him pulsed against your palm, skin velvety over steel. You leaned in, breath ghosting over the tip, and pressed a tentative kiss to the head. Toji’s fingers threaded into your hair, not pulling yet, just guiding.

“Lips first. Open up. No teeth, unless I tell you otherwise.”

You parted your lips and took the head into your mouth. It was bigger than you expected—salty, warm, filling the space immediately. Your tongue swirled experimentally around it, and Toji let out a grunt of approval.

“That’s it. Suck a little. Use your tongue on the underside… fuck, yeah. Deeper now. Don’t just sit there—move.”

You tried to take more, cheeks hollowing as you sucked. The weight of him on your tongue made your jaw ache already, but the low groans he made spurred you on. Saliva gathered quickly, coating him as you bobbed your head in short, unsure strokes.

Toji’s grip in your hair tightened. “Eyes up here, baby. Look at me while you’re learnin’.”

Your gaze lifted, watery and wide, meeting his intense stare. Something shifted in his expression—the lazy teaching tone fraying at the edges as his cock hardened fully in your mouth, swelling thicker, longer. The head nudged toward the back of your throat.

“Relax your throat. Breathe through your nose. Take more—c’mon, you can handle it.”

You pushed forward, gagging softly as the thick shaft stretched your lips wide. Tears pricked your eyes, but you didn’t pull back. His orders were getting shorter, rougher.

“Deeper. That’s right—swallow around it. Fuck…”

The gagging intensified as he guided you further. Your throat convulsed around the intrusion, producing wet, obscene sounds that echoed in the quiet room. Spit spilled from the corners of your stretched mouth, dripping down his heavy balls and onto your chin. You tried to pull back for air, but Toji’s hand held you firmly in place for a few extra seconds.

“Don’t you dare stop now,” he growled, voice dropping into that cold, commanding tone you rarely heard outside of fights. “You wanted to learn, so fuckin’ learn. Choke on it like a good girl.”

He thrust his hips up suddenly, forcing another inch past your gag reflex. Your throat bulged visibly around his cock, eyes squeezing shut as you gagged hard—loud, wet, retching noises filling the air. Tears streamed down your flushed cheeks, mixing with the mess of saliva. But the way his cock throbbed on your tongue, the way his abs flexed and his breathing grew ragged… it kept you there.

Toji’s control was slipping. His usual smirk was gone, replaced by a feral intensity. Both hands gripped your head now, using your mouth like a toy.

bro was supposed to teach you softly…

“Shit—yeah, just like that. Gag on my cock. Make it sloppy. I want your fuckin’ throat ruined tonight.”

He started fucking your face in earnest—shallow at first, then deeper, rougher thrusts that made your nose press into the dark hair at his base on every downstroke. Your lips were swollen and shiny, stretched obscenely around his girth. Thick strings of spit connected your mouth to his shaft every time he pulled back, only to slam in again. The wetness was everywhere—coating his cock until it gleamed, dripping down to soak his balls, smearing across your face, chin, and even onto your neck.

You were a total mess: mascara running, hair disheveled from his grip, drool pouring freely as he used your throat. The sounds were filthy—constant gagging, choking, wet squelching, and his low, guttural groans.

“Eyes on me,” he snapped when your gaze dropped. “Look at the man whose dick you’re gagging on.”

You forced your teary eyes open, staring up at him through the blur. Toji’s jaw was clenched, veins standing out on his neck. His usual teasing demeanor had vanished entirely, replaced by raw need.

“Faster. Suck harder—use that tongue. Fuckin’ milk me with your throat.”

He held you down longer now, cock buried deep as your throat spasmed wildly around him. Your lungs burned, vision spotting, but the intensity of it—the way he dominated you completely—sent heat pooling between your own thighs. You could feel how slippery and wet his entire cock had become, your saliva making every brutal thrust glide easier, messier.

“Gonna cum soon,” he hissed through gritted teeth, voice cold and demanding. “You’re gonna take every drop down that tight little throat. Don’t you fuckin’ spill any.”

His pace turned punishing. Short, powerful thrusts that battered the back of your throat. Your gags turned into near-constant choking, throat raw and fluttering. Spit flew with every withdrawal, coating his shaft in a shiny, sloppy layer that dripped heavily onto the sheets. His balls tightened against your chin, slick with your mess.

“Fuck—take it. Take it all, babe. This is what you asked for.”

With a deep, animalistic growl, Toji shoved your head down hard, burying himself to the hilt. Your nose smashed against his pelvis as his cock pulsed violently. Thick ropes of hot cum shot straight down your convulsing throat. You gagged violently around the flood, throat working desperately to swallow, but some still leaked from the corners of your mouth, mixing with the obscene amounts of spit.

He held you there through every spurt, hips twitching, until he was spent. Only then did he slowly pull out, his cock—still semi-hard, glistening with a thick layer of your saliva and his own cum—slapping wetly against your ruined face.

You gasped for air, coughing and drooling, strings of mixed fluids connecting your lips to his cock. Your face was a total wreck: swollen lips, tear-streaked cheeks, chin and neck shiny and dripping.

Toji stared down at you, chest heaving, that cold edge slowly melting back into a satisfied smirk. He wiped a thumb across your lower lip, smearing the mess further.

“Not bad for your first lesson,” he murmured, voice rough. “But we’re not done. Clean me up with that tongue, princess. Every inch. Then maybe I’ll show you what else that inexperienced mouth can handle tonight.”

He tugged your hair lightly, guiding your trembling lips back toward his slick, spent cock, the night far from over.

Ⓒ𝑪𝑹𝑨𝑽𝑬𝑶𝑳𝑶𝑮𝒀---𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟔. 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐝. 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐳𝐞, 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭, 𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞

[craveology]

client!gojo and sex worker!reader…?

It had been a long night already : too long. Your jaw ached from the last client, an overweight businessman in his fifties who smelled of cheap cologne and desperation, grunting like a pig while he pawed at your breasts with clammy hands. Before him, there was the balding accountant type, all sweat and nervous fumbling, and the one before that… you didn’t even want to remember. Old, ugly, fat fucks, every single one of them. The kind that paid well but left you feeling hollow, used up, and counting down the minutes until your shift ended.

You were tired. Bone-deep tired. Your throat felt raw, your makeup was smudged at the corners of your eyes from forced enthusiasm, and your body screamed for a hot shower and the oblivion of sleep. But rent was due, and the madam didn’t care about your fatigue. Another client. You forced a practiced smile as the door creaked open.

Then he walked in.

Satoru Gojo.

Even if you hadn’t recognized the name whispered in hushed, awed tones around the club, the strongest sorcerer, the untouchable prodigy with eyes like the winter sky, his presence alone would have knocked the air from your lungs. He was tall, impossibly so, with that lean, powerful build that spoke of effortless strength. Snow-white hair fell in perfect, tousled strands over his forehead, framing a face that looked carved by gods: sharp jawline, high cheekbones, and those striking blue eyes hidden behind a pair of sleek black sunglasses that he slowly slid down the bridge of his nose as he stepped inside. A cocky smirk played on his full lips, the kind that promised trouble and pleasure in equal measure. He wore a dark button-up shirt, the top few buttons undone to reveal a glimpse of pale, toned chest, and fitted pants that did nothing to hide the confident swagger in his stride.

He wasn’t like the others. Not even close. This man was hot, dangerously, unfairly hot. Your fatigue lifted just a fraction as heat pooled low in your belly despite yourself.

Gojo closed the door behind him with a soft click, his gaze raking over you slowly, appreciatively. “Well, well,” he drawled, voice smooth and teasing, laced with that signature arrogance. “They said you were good. You look like you could use a break, though. Long night?”

You swallowed, rising to your feet on slightly unsteady heels. “Something like that. But I’m here for you now. What do you want, handsome?”

He chuckled, low and rich, stepping closer until you could smell his clean, crisp scent—something expensive and masculine, like winter air and subtle spice. He towered over you, making you feel small in the best way. Without another word, he reached out, long fingers tilting your chin up so those piercing blue eyes locked onto yours. “Straight to the point? I like that. Get on your knees. I want that pretty mouth wrapped around my cock.”

Your heart stuttered. No awkward small talk, no clumsy groping. Just raw command. You sank down obediently onto the plush rug, the fabric rough against your knees, as he unzipped his pants with one hand. He freed himself, and fuck, he was big. Thick, veined, and already half-hard, curving slightly upward with a flushed, glistening tip. Bigger than anyone you’d had tonight—bigger than most you’d ever seen. Your mouth watered involuntarily.

You leaned in, lips parting as you took him in hand first, stroking the warm, heavy length. Gojo hummed in approval, one hand threading gently into your hair at first. “That’s it. Suck me, baby. Show me what that tired little mouth can do.”

You obeyed, tongue swirling around the head before sliding him between your lips. He tasted clean, slightly salty, and you hollowed your cheeks, taking him deeper with practiced ease. The wet sounds of your mouth filled the small room as you bobbed your head, working him with your tongue along the underside. Gojo groaned softly, hips twitching forward. “Mmm, good girl. Deeper.”

His grip in your hair tightened, guiding you. You relaxed your throat, taking more of him, your nose brushing against the neat white hair at his base. But he wasn’t content with that. His other hand came down, cupping the back of your head as he pushed forward deliberately.

“Look up at me,” he ordered, voice dropping to a husky growl. Those blue eyes bored into yours, intense and unblinking, the sunglasses now perched on top of his head. “Don’t look away. I want to see those pretty eyes while I fuck your throat.”

You obeyed, gazing up at him through watering lashes as he started to move. Not gentle. Not slow. He thrust deeper, the thick head of his cock breaching your throat with a wet gluck. Your eyes widened, a choked gag escaping around his girth. He was so big—stretching your lips obscenely, filling your mouth completely. Saliva spilled from the corners of your lips, dripping down your chin in messy strings as he pulled back just enough for you to gasp a breath before driving in again.

“Fuck, yeah… just like that,” Gojo praised, his smirk widening into something feral. His hips rolled with controlled power, fucking your face with deep, deliberate strokes that hit the back of your throat every time. “Choke on it, baby. Let me ruin that tired little mouth.”

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, spilling over and smearing your mascara in black streaks down your cheeks. You were a mess already—drool coating your chin, dripping onto your heaving breasts, your lipstick smeared around the stretched ring of your lips. Every thrust made your throat convulse around him, the obscene gagging sounds growing louder, wetter. Gluck-gluck-gluck. Your hands clutched at his thighs for balance, nails digging into the fabric of his pants as you struggled to breathe through your nose.

He didn’t let up. Gojo’s hand fisted tighter in your hair, holding you in place as he picked up the pace, hips snapping forward with more intensity. “Eyes on me. Don’t you dare close them.” His voice was strained now, breath coming faster, but that cocky edge remained. “You’re so fucking tight here… swallowing me like you were made for this. Better than those pathetic fucks before me, huh?”

You moaned around him, the vibration drawing a sharp hiss from his lips. Your throat burned, raw and aching from the relentless invasion, but the heat between your legs throbbed in response. He was using you—truly using you—and it felt different. Electric. His balls slapped lightly against your chin with each deep thrust, the musky scent of him overwhelming your senses.

He pulled out suddenly, strings of thick saliva connecting your gasping lips to his glistening cock. You coughed, sucking in ragged breaths, your face a wrecked, tear-streaked disaster. Gojo stroked himself lazily with one hand, the other wiping a tear from your cheek almost tenderly before smearing the drool across your swollen lips.

“Look at you,” he murmured, voice thick with lust. “Such a pretty mess. Open wide again.”

You did, tongue out instinctively. He slapped the heavy weight of his cock against your tongue a few times, teasing, before plunging back in. This time he held your head with both hands, fucking your throat in earnest—long, powerful strokes that made your neck bulge visibly with the outline of him. Your eyes stayed locked on his, wide and glassy with tears, as you gagged and sputtered. Spit poured freely now, soaking the front of your lingerie, pooling on the floor between your knees.

“Fuuuck,” Gojo groaned, head tipping back for a moment before his gaze snapped back down to you. “You’re taking me so well. Choking so beautifully on my cock. Most girls tap out by now… but not you.”

Your lungs burned, vision blurring at the edges from lack of air, but you pushed through, relaxing your throat as best you could. The intensity built, his thrusts growing erratic, deeper, more demanding. Saliva bubbled at the corners of your mouth, dripping in thick rivulets. Your jaw ached fiercely, stretched to its limit around his girth, but the way he watched you—like you were the only thing in his world right now—made it all worth it.

He pulled back again, letting you breathe in desperate gulps, his cock twitching inches from your face. “Beg for it,” he commanded softly, thumb tracing your lower lip.

“Please… fuck my throat,” you rasped, voice hoarse and broken. “Use me.”

Gojo’s eyes darkened with satisfaction. “Good girl.”

He drove back in, burying himself to the hilt in one smooth thrust. Your nose pressed flush against his pelvis, throat convulsing wildly around every inch. He held you there, grinding deep, savoring the way you gagged and squeezed him. Tears streamed down your face unchecked. You were an absolute mess—makeup ruined, hair disheveled from his grip, body trembling as drool cascaded down your chin and neck.

He started thrusting again, hard and fast, the wet, filthy sounds echoing. “Gonna cum down this tight throat,” he growled, blue eyes blazing. “Swallow every drop, understand?”

You nodded frantically around him, humming in agreement. His pace became punishing, hips snapping with sorcerer-level stamina. Your throat was raw, abused, but you took it, eyes never leaving his.

With a deep, guttural moan, Gojo finally came. Thick ropes of hot cum flooded your throat, pulsing against your tongue as he held you pinned. You swallowed desperately, choking on the sheer volume, some spilling from the corners of your lips despite your efforts. He kept thrusting through it, riding out every wave until he was spent.

Finally, he pulled out with a wet pop, leaving you gasping and coughing on your knees. His cum and your spit coated your chin, dripping onto your chest. You looked utterly destroyed—eyes red-rimmed, lips puffy and glistening, face streaked with tears and mascara.

Gojo tucked himself away, breathing steadying as that infuriatingly hot smirk returned. He crouched down, tilting your chin up once more to admire his work. “Not bad for a tired girl,” he murmured, thumb brushing your lower lip. “Might have to come back and see what else that body can handle.”

You could only nod weakly, throat too wrecked to speak, as he straightened up and left a generous tip on the table before slipping out the door.

The room felt emptier without him. But for the first time that night, you didn’t feel quite so tired.

Ⓒ𝑪𝑹𝑨𝑽𝑬𝑶𝑳𝑶𝑮𝒀---𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟔. 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐝. 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐳𝐞, 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭, 𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞