Fratjo breaks up with you and instantly regrets it
The first time Satoru Gojo realizes he made a mistake is when he can’t find you on campus.
At first he thinks it’s funny.
You’ve always been easy to find. The west library corner seat by the window. The campus café at 10:30 with a vanilla latte and that same notebook you pretend isn’t a diary.
But after the breakup?
You vanish.
Not metaphorically.
Literally.
Your Instagram, phone number, Snapchat — blocked.
He stares at his phone in the Alpha Tau living room while music blasts around him and someone hands him another drink.
Blocked.
“Damn,” one of the guys laughs. “She actually did it.”
Gojo scoffs like it doesn’t matter. “I’ll get her back,” he says cockily.
Like he’s not the one who said it. I need to focus on football.
The lie sounded convincing at the time. The scouts were watching. His coach kept yelling about discipline. Everyone said relationships were a distraction.
So he broke up with you.
Clean and quick.
Two weeks later, he’s drunk at three different frat parties, shamefully sneaking out of sorority house hookups before the sun even rises.
And somehow that’s when he realizes something feels wrong.
———-
The First Attempt
He tries texting.
It doesn’t go through. Still blocked.
He laughs to himself. “Dramatic much.”
But that night he still walks across campus toward the all-girl dorms.
Except the front desk girl just shrugs. “She’s not here.”
Gojo frowns, “What do you mean she’s not here?”
“Means she’s not here.”
He stands outside the dorm building for ten minutes before leaving.
The next day he tries again. Still no sight of you.
Flowers
A week later a bouquet arrives at your dorm. White lilies and baby’s breath.
Attached card: —SG <3
He doesn’t even know if you like lilies. You used to talk about flowers sometimes, but he never listened carefully enough to remember, and now he regrets it.
The desk girl tells him later you picked them up without saying a word.
Still no message back.
The Letters
Then the letters start. The handwritten notes made him feel romantic, he was sure this would get a response out of you.
The first one is simple.
I know you blocked me. I deserve it.
Let me know if you wanna talk
-Satoru <3
No response.
The second one is longer.
I didn’t break up with you because I stopped loving you. I thought I was doing the responsible thing.
Please unblock me xoxo
The third one is messy.
He writes it at 2 AM after a party he left early because some girl laughed too loud in a way that sounded a little too much like you.
I keep looking for you around campus.
You used to sit by the west library window. I checked yesterday. You weren’t there. Are you avoiding me?
- Toru
Your Favorite Snacks
The dorm desk starts receiving packages. Your favorite chocolate. Spicy chips.
Strawberry gummies you always bought from the vending machine during late-night study sessions.
Deliveries of your favourite bubble tea.
The desk girl starts recognizing his name. “Another one from the football guy. I told him you weren’t here again like you asked.”
Meanwhile
Gojo’s reputation doesn’t change. He’s still the star player. Still the loud one at parties. Still the guy everyone thinks has everything.
But lately he keeps checking doorways. Scanning crowds at football games. Looking for someone who isn’t there.
The First Time He Sees You Again
It’s raining. He’s leaving practice when he spots you across the quad under a blue umbrella.
For a second he thinks he imagined it.
But then you look up. And your eyes meet his.
The look on your face isn’t anger. It’s worse.
It’s indifference.
You turn and keep walking. Gojo’s heart drops straight into his stomach. He can’t let you escape after all this time of chasing you.
“Hey—!”
You stop slowly. You look over your shoulder. “…What?” Your voice is calm.
Gojo suddenly forgets every speech he rehearsed. “I—did you get the letters?”
“Yes.”
“…And?…will you please talk to me?”
You stare at him for a long moment “Goodnight, Gojo.”
Then you turn and walk away, leaving him standing alone in the rain, watching you disappear.
You'd always heard horror stories of friends staying the night at each other's houses and not knowing how to work their showers. You'd also considered yourself smarter than the average cookie because that has never happened to you. Most showers seem self explanatory.
And then, you stay the night at your boyfriend's for the first time and take a look at his stupidly expensive shower.
You eye the four knobs that control temperature and the dozen jets, two waterfalls (one higher, one lower (what is the lower one for?)), the removable showerhead and what you're assuming is the rainfall head. The symbols on the knobs may as well be hieroglyphics, giving next to no insight on how to turn this mother fucker on without being soaked immediately by the jets.
You don't even try. You wrap yourself in a towel and walk back into the adjoining bedroom, shaking your head with your eyebrows raised.
"Satoru, what the fuck is that?" you ask, motioning behind you to the bathroom.
"A shower..?" he says, looking up from his phone. His eyebrows furrow in his own confusion.
"Yes," you reply through grit teeth. "How do I turn it on?"
"Oh!" He jumps up from his bed and crosses the room to you, placing a hand on your hip and a kiss to your lips as he leads you back into the bathroom. "Why didn't you just say that, love? I'm more than willing to show you."
Satoru opens the glass door and steps in the shower, dragging you along with him. He points at the individual knobs and explains each of the symbols, explaining which is best for which occasion - the misters for when you're hot, rainfall for normal showers, waterfall for when you want to feel like you're lost in the jungle and it's been a week and you're losing hope of being found, etc.
You're giggling by the time he finishes his spiel and he's got his own 1000 kilowatt smile plastered on his face and turned on you.
"So what'll it be tonight?" he asks, clapping his hands together. "The waterfall is a personal favorite."
"A normal shower, please."
"Can do, baby." He kisses your cheek and sets the shower to your preferred setting. "The temperature control turns the water on," he says, stepping out of the shower.
Your towel drops to the floor just as he's exiting, the sound making his head crane back around to catch a glimpse of your ass before you step into the fog of the shower.
"You know, on second thought," he says, grabbing your attention as his shirt joins your towel. "Maybe we should shower together. Just in case you have questions."
Your family sets you up with potential husbands….. rich, influential JJK men… for a business marriage. You try to scare them off by acting weird but it backfires… and now you have 4 men obsessed with you.
Pairings: Yandere JJK men x Reader
Ft. Gojo, Sukuna, Toji, Nanami
TW : MDNI, some 18+ jokes, fanfic
part 1 - Part 2 - part 3 - Last part
In Which You Learn That Rich Men Are Like Glitter (Impossible To Get Rid Of Once They’re On You)
“You’re fucked.”
Shoko’s voice… through your phone speaker had that particular tone of someone delivering bad news while also finding it hilarious, like a doctor telling you that you have a weird rash but also it’s shaped like a dinosaur.
“I’m aware,” you said, lying on your floor…. your cat was sitting on your chest. “That’s why I’m calling you at…” you checked your phone “…. fuck, is it really 3 AM?”
“What the fuck is wrong with these men?" You stared at your ceiling, which had a water stain that looked like either Jesus or a mushroom. You’d been meaning to get that fixed since you moved in. That was two years ago.
Silence.
Then Shoko started cackling like she’d just witnessed someone slip on a banana peel in real life. “Maybe they’re into weird girls?”
“It’s not FUNNY… ”
“It’s SO funny,” she wheezed.
You groaned. Your cat adjusted herself, digging her claws into your chest.
“Okay but here’s the thing,” Shoko said, and you could hear her typing, which meant she was already stalking, which meant this was about to get worse. “I did some digging”
“And?…”
“And babe.” More typing. “These guys don’t DO second dates.”
“What do you mean”
“I mean… Sukuna’s last 3 arrangements all withdrew. One of em moved to Sweden” More clicking “Gojo fucks his first dates and then ghosts them. Dick and dip”
“SHOKO!!”
“Oh and Toji’s dates end up becoming his sugar mommies.”
You sat up, dislodging your cat, who gave you a look of pure betrayal before walking off to knock something off your counter.
“So what you’re saying is…..”
“What I’m saying is you somehow did the impossible.” She sounds gleeful. “How does that feel?”
“Like I need to fake my own death and join the Swedish meatball girl”
You spend the next hour on the phone, going through theories. Maybe you weren’t weird enough. Maybe you were too weird. Maybe they’re all in a cult and you’re the sacrifice. Maybe this is an elaborate prank show and Ashton Kutcher is going to jump out of your closet.
“Or,” Shoko offers, “maybe you’re just hot and they’re willing to overlook the crazy.”
“I spilled water on Toji’s DICK.”
“Some guys are into that….”
You hung up and stared at your phone. At the four messages still sitting there. Haunting you.
Outside your window, a pigeon was trying to fuck another pigeon on your fire escape, which felt oddly appropriate for this situation.
You can do this.
You are GOING to do this.
(You can not, in fact, do this, and what happens next will haunt you for the rest of your natural life.)
Sukuna Ryomen - After the first date
Sukuna sat in his office, looking out at Tokyo’s skyline, and tried to remember the last time someone had annoyed him this much without ending up in a hospital.
The audacity. The fucking AUDACITY of sitting across from him and dropping designer labels like they were supposed to impress him.
A shameless gold digger. The kind of woman he'd normally have escorted out before the appetizers arrived.
Except.
Except something was off.
He couldn't place it at first. He'd seen gold diggers before. Hell, he'd dated a few. They had a certain ease to them, a comfort in luxury that came from either experience or genuine desire.
You had neither. You looked like someone playing dress up.
"Get me everything on her," he tells Uraume the next morning.
The report landed on his desk five days later. Sukuna opens it expecting a lifestyle propped up by daddy's money.
What he finds instead makes him laugh out loud.
Forty seven pages of utterly ordinary information. No luxury purchases. No country club memberships or spa packages or any of the shit gold diggers usually had.
Groceries from 7 Eleven.
Bank account balance: Depressing
Sukuna leaned back in his chair, staring at your photo attached to the report. You were smiling in it…. holding a cup of what was definitely not champagne while standing in what appeared to be your kitchen.
You looked... soft.
He picks up his phone… a small smile on his face.
Name your terms. I'm interested.
Send (why tf did he phrase it like a challenge?)
Date 2 Sukuna Ryomen
Location : Shopping district
Threat level : High (probable yakuza connections, definitely judging you)
Sukuna picks you up in a black car. The driver opens the door for you without making eye contact, which feels ominous. Sukuna is already inside, taking up most of the backseat.
“Hi!!” you beam at him "I'm so excited for today. I've been thinking about it all week.”
“Have you” He looks amused. That's... new.
Your soul leaves your body for a second, then reluctantly returns when you realize he’s still watching.
“Of course.” you laugh “I love shopping”
Twenty minutes later, you're standing in a store that doesn't have prices on anything. Which means you don’t know what to buy because you have no idea what anything costs.
A sales associate instantly recognises Sukuna "Mr Ryomen. A pleasure. How can we assist you today?"
"The lady wants to shop." His eyes slide to you. "Give her whatever she wants."
This is a trap. This is DEFINITELY a trap.
You approach the nearest display… a rack of coats and pull one off with zero delicacy.
"Ooh, this is cute!!!!" You hold it up, checking the label. Your eyes don't recognise the brand name at all. It's something German, maybe? Or Italian? Fuck. "Is this..." You squint. "Valentino?"
The sales associate's eye twitches. "That's Brunello Cucinelli, ma'am."
"Right, right. Bruno something." You wave your hand dismissively. "Same thing."
Behind you, Sukuna makes a sound. It might be a cough. It might be a suppressed laugh.
"This one….”
"That's a child's backpack."
You stare at the tiny pink monstrosity in your hands. It does, in fact, have a cartoon character on it.
"I knew that," you say weakly. ( Error 404 : Brain not found )
The corner of his mouth twitches. Is that a smile? Is he making fun of you? You can't tell and it's driving you insane.
"Perhaps," he says, stepping closer, "I should help you."
What follows is the most humiliating hour of your life.
Sukuna guides you through the store like a disappointed tour guide at a museum for idiots. He corrects your pronunciation of Louis Vuitton…. twice.
"You don't shop here often," he observes, handing you a dress"Try this."
"I… what?"
"Try it on." He gestures toward the fitting rooms. "I want to see how it looks."
You stumble toward the changing room… (THERE’S A CHANDELIER IN THE CHANGING ROOM) … clutching the dress. The fabric is soft… softer than anything you've ever owned… and when you put it on, you barely recognize yourself in the mirror.
You look... expensive. Like someone who actually belongs in a place like this.
"Well?" Sukuna's voice comes from outside the curtain. "Are you hiding?"
"No." Yes. "I'm just... adjusting."
"Come out."
You step out, feeling exposed in a way that has nothing to do with the amount of skin showing.
His eyes move slowly… face, shoulders, waist, back up. The way he looks at you makes every inch of skin feel suddenly, stupidly alive.
"Better," he says finally. "We'll take it."
"We'll… what? No, it's too much, I couldn't…. "
"I thought you wanted expensive things." He raises an eyebrow
Shit. Shit
"I do" you say, too bright. "This is great. Let's buy all of it.”
You gesture wildly at the nearest rack. Sukuna follows your hand to a display of men's accessories.
"You want me to buy you cufflinks?"
Your stomach drops into your fucking shoes “I… no. Those. Over there. The... things."
"The hats?"
"Yes!!! Hats. I love hats!"
You don't wear hats. You've never worn hats. The last time you tried to wear a hat, Shoko laughed so hard she choked on her drink.
But Sukuna is still watching you with that expression… amused, knowing, waiting (smug asshole)… and you can't back down now.
"Pick one," he says. "Whichever you want."
He pays for it, along with the dress you didn't ask for, and several other items you don't remember selecting.
After your date, you know three things.
One: couture is terrifying.
Two: rich people are stupid.
Three: Sukuna knows
Nanami Kento - After the first date
Nanami Kento was having a problem.
The problem was not work related, though his colleagues would probably disagree given that he’d missed two meetings and had to redo a contract because he’d been too distracted to catch a critical error.
The problem was not health related, though his doctor would probably be concerned about his blood pressure given how many cold showers he’d taken this week.
The problem was that he could not stop thinking about you. About your mouth on that wine glass. About the sound you had made and how he had to grip his fork so hard he’d nearly bent it.
About what you would look like on your knees….
He was in the middle of a client call when his mind wandered to what you would sound like if he…
“Nanami san? Are you still there?”
“Yes. Apologies. Please continue.”
This was unacceptable. He’d built his entire career on discipline and self control. He didn’t get distracted. He didn’t let his personal life interfere with his work. And he certainly didn’t spend five days straight having increasingly inappropriate thoughts about a woman he’d met once.
But here he was. Day five. Still thinking about you.
He tried to rationalize it. Tried to tell himself this was just physical attraction. That he needed to see you again to confirm there was no actual compatibility. That a second date would cure him of whatever this was.
(This was a lie. He knew it was a lie.)
On day seven, he broke.
I would like to continue our discussion. Are you free Thursday evening at 7:00 PM?
He hit send. What the fuck was happening to him?
Date 2 Nanami Kento
LOCATION: French Restaurant, Different This Time
THREAT LEVEL: Low (too polite to murder you, probably)
You arrive five minutes early.
Nanami is already there. Of course. The man probably arrived at the restaurant's founding and has been waiting ever since. His suit is different from last time…. but somehow just as pristine. Just as distracting.
Stop noticing his suits, you tell yourself. You're supposed to be making him uncomfortable, not yourself
"Mr. Nanami." You slide into your seat with what you hope is a seductive smile.
"Please." He stands as you sit…. gentleman, goddamn him…. before settling back down. "Nanami is fine."
"Nanami." You lean forward… smelling his cologne. It’s a nice cologne. Stop smelling him "I have to admit… I was surprised you wanted to meet again. You don't seem like the type to call women for second dates."
"I'm not."
"So what's different about me?"
There's an intensity to his gaze that wasn't there before… or maybe it was, and you just didn't notice. "I haven't determined that yet."
Okay. That's either flattering or terrifying.
You push forward with your strategy and order the messiest thing on the menu… pasta with red sauce, specifically chosen because there's no elegant way to eat it. You twirl your fork, let sauce drip onto your chin.
"Sorry," you say, dabbing at your mouth with a napkin. "I'm such a messy eater. But it's so good. Don't you think food just tastes better when you're not worried about being neat?"
"I... wouldn't know."
"You should try it sometime." You tilt your head. "Don't you ever just want to... let go?"
His eyes turn dark and hungry in an instant, sending your belly into free fall.
Oh
"I assure you," he says, voice low, "I am perfectly capable of letting go. When the situation calls for it."
Your heart rate spikes. “I need the bathroom….. ”
You practically RUN.
When you come back, he’s still there, perfectly composed, looking at you like you’re dessert and he’s planning how to eat you.
“Shall we order dessert?” he asks
“I’m good…..”
“Pity. I was hoping to watch you enjoy something sweet.”
Abort. Abort mission. This is not going according to plan.
Toji Fushiguro - After the first date
Toji wasn’t a stalker. He wouldd like to make that clear.
He followed you out on instinct, hands in pockets, expression bored, telling himself he was just making sure you got into a car and didn’t kill yourself crossing traffic.
You were different from the other rich bitches his family throws at him.
He had seen women play dumb before. Usually it's an act… a way to seem unthreatening, to make men feel smarter, to manipulate without being obvious.
This one couldn’t even walk straight… in heels you clearly couldn't handle, and….
You tripped.
Right there on the sidewalk. Over literally nothing. Your bag went flying, contents scattering across concrete.
"Fuck my life," you muttered, loud enough for him to hear from ten feet away. "Fuck it right in its stupid face."
Toji snorted.
He followed you all the way to your apartment building, watched you struggle with your keys for a full two minutes before getting the door open, and then stood on the street below your window like the world's most pathetic stalker.
Your light turned on. Then off. Then on again. You’d probably forgotten something in the dark.
Cute.
The word popped into his head uninvited. He immediately wanted to punch himself for thinking it.
Toji was fucking gone.
Hey, he typed on day seven. You're weird. I'm in.
His family's going to lose their shit when they find out he actually wants a second date for once.
Date 2 - Toji Fushiguro
LOCATION: Some random address in Shibuya
THREAT LEVEL: Unknown (not much details, which is concerning)
The address turns out to be an arcade.
An arcade???
You stand outside, staring at the neon lights and the sounds of digital explosions leaking through the doors, and wonder if you've been pranked.
"You came."
You spin. Toji is leaning against the wall beside the entrance, looking like he wandered in from a motorcycle gang's photo shoot. Leather jacket. Jeans. That scar on his lip curving with his smirk.
You follow him inside, immediately assaulted by flashing lights and the cacophony of a hundred games happening simultaneously.
"What are we doing here?" you ask, dodging a kid running past with a stuffed prize twice his size.
"Having fun." He looks back at you with an expression that's almost... soft? "You do know how to have fun, right?"
You tried your bimbo act. “I…. yes, of course I know how to have fun, I'm very fun, I'm the funnest…”
"That's not a word."
“Oh”
You lose spectacularly at every game you try.
"You're terrible at this," he says, leaning against the machine while you die for the fifteenth time.
You huff, pushing away from the machine. "Whatever…. the game is broken…”
Toji laughs, full and genuine, and something in your chest does a weird flutter thing.
No. Absolutely not. Focus.
"Let me try something," he says, and steps up to a basketball shooting game. He feeds in coins, picks up a ball, and proceeds to sink fifteen shots in a row without missing once.
Tickets pour out of the machine like a waterfall.
He hands you the tickets. "Pick a prize."
"What?"
"You've been looking at that giant cat thing since we walked in. Go get it."
He noticed that?
"I don't need you to win me prizes," you say, trying to recover your strategy "I can win my own prizes…..”
He's already walking toward the prize counter, your tickets in hand. You trail after him, protests dying on your lips.
The giant cat is even fluffier up close. The employee hands it to Toji, who hands it to you
"There," he says. "Now you have something to show for today."
You clutch the ridiculous stuffed animal to your chest and feel something dangerous building in your ribcage.
Don't, you tell yourself. Don't you fkn dare.
But when he drives you home on his motorcycle (motorcycle???)… you clutching the cat with one arm and his waist with the other….you can't help thinking that this was the most fun you've had in months.
Gojo Satoru - After the first date
Gojo knows you're lying before you even sit down.
It's the eyes. The too bright smile. The way your voice goes slightly higher when you're saying something you don't mean.
He's spent his entire adult life surrounded by liars. Business partners who smile while plotting. Models who swear they're "not like other girls" while being exactly like every other girl. Family members who claim to love him while treating him like a prize show pony.
He's learned to spot deception… instantly, instinctively, with a vague sense of disgust.
You're not as good at it as you think.
The church talk? He almost laughed. Your lockscreen might’ve had a church on it, but your nails had remnants of black polish, and there was a tiny tattoo peeking out from your collarbone that you had tried to cover with concealer.
The purity workshop thing? Just to avoid temptation.
Oh, sweetheart.
You wanted him to be tempted…. he thought…. That was the whole point, right? You had dressed like a nun specifically to make him think about undressing you.
Reverse psychology. Classic move. Bold as hell, though…. he'll give you that.
Most women try to impress him. They wear tight dresses and push up bras, laugh at his jokes, agree with everything he says.
You showed up looking like you were about to lead a prayer circle and told him he needed Jesus.
Gojo is delighted.
He pulls out his laptop, cracks his knuckles, and gets to work.
Social media: Private Instagram…. which yes, he has access to…. with party photos going back to college. Twitter that was mostly complaints about your job and retweets of cat videos.
Dating history: College boyfriend for two years, ended badly. Three short term relationships after that, all ending with you ghosting them when you got bored.
Employment: Work in management, hates your boss, online shops during meetings.
“Miss Virgin Mary,” he grins, scrolling through a photo of you doing a keg stand in 2019. “You absolute fraud”
Round two, sweetheart? My place, Friday. Don't worry, I'll be on my best behavior. He hits send
He can practically hear you screaming when you read it.
Perfect.
Date 2 - Gojo Satoru
LOCATION: His Place (concerning)
THREAT LEVEL: Maximum (the man is a predator)
Strategy: Bring actual chaperone.
You arrive with Shoko in tow. She's agreed to play the part of your "church friend" aka chaperone… for the evening, which basically means she's going to sit in the corner, drink his expensive alcohol, and watch you make a fool of yourself.
"You brought a chaperone," Gojo says when he opens the door. He doesn't look surprised. He looks delighted.
"I told you I would." You fold your hands primly. "This is my friend Shoko. She's from my congregation."
Shoko waves. "Praise Jesus."
Gojo's eyes sparkle. "Please, come in."
His apartment is obscene. Floor to ceiling windows with a city view.
Furniture that costs more than your entire existence. A kitchen that's clearly never been used for actual cooking.
You sit on the couch… knees pressed together, hands in your lap, the picture of modesty.
“So," Gojo says, settling across from you. "How's God?"
"Huh? Oh… He's... good. Great, actually. Very blessed."
"Mmm." He leans forward. "And what does God think about us? Did he give you any revelations this week?"
"Actually, yes." You clasp your hands together. "I've been praying a lot, and I really feel like the Lord is telling me to take things slow. Very slow. Probably years of courtship before any... physical contact."
"Years?" he asks
"At least."
"How many years?"
"Um." You hadn't thought this far ahead. "Seven?"
Shoko chokes on her wine.
Gojo's smile doesn't waver. "Seven years. Of no physical contact."
"Exactly."
"No kissing?"
"No." You smile brightly
"No hand holding?" he pouts
"Probably not."
"What about eye contact?" Those blue eyes fix on yours
"I…. what?"
"Eye contact can be very intimate." He's leaning closer now, voice dropping. "Some people find it even more intimate than touching."
You swallow. "I suppose... brief eye contact would be acceptable."
"How brief?"
"A...a few seconds?" you stutter
"Three seconds?" he asks
"Sure?"
"Like this?" And then he just... looks at you.
Three seconds stretch into five. Five into ten. His eyes are impossibly blue, impossibly bright, impossibly knowing. You feel stripped bare. Exposed. Like he can see right through your modest dress and your fake cross necklace and your bullshit act straight to the core of you.
Your face burns.
"Stop that," you manage.
"Stop what?" His smile is innocent. His eyes are anything but….. "I thought eye contact was acceptable."
"Not like that."
He laughs, low and warm, and you feel it in places you definitely shouldn't.
The rest of the evening is a torture. He finds ways to make everything sound suggestive. Offers you water and comments on how good you are at swallowing.
By the time you leave, Shoko is crying with suppressed laughter and you're seriously considering actual prayer for the first time in your life.
"This was fun," Gojo says at the door. "We should do it again."
"I don't think…. "
He cuts you off "Without the chaperone next time."
"There won't be a next time."
"Mmm." His hand reaches out, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. The touch is feather light. Devastating. "We'll see."
Fuck Fuck Fuck
AFTERMATH - The great ghosting
You decide to disappear.
No texts. No calls. No responses. Complete radio silence. Maybe if you ignore the problem hard enough, it'll go away on its own.
(This has never worked for any problem in the history of problems, but hope springs eternal.)
Day 1: Peace.
Day 2: Your mother called 47 times.
Day 3: Your father sent an email in all caps.
Day 4: Silence.
Day 5: Maybe they gave up….
DAY 6:
A cheese platter arrived at your office.
Expensive cheese in a wooden box with a card: “Since you can clearly tell the difference. - Sukuna”
Your coworkers descend on it like vultures. You barely get a piece.
When you get home: you can't open your front door. Because there's a bouquet blocking it.
Not a bouquet. A monument. Red roses…. hundreds of them…. piled so high you can't see over the top. It takes thirty minutes to drag the whole thing inside.
Card: “Red suits you better. - Gojo”
Three missed calls from Nanami.
Shoko sends you a screenshot of Toji lingering outside your building. “Should I be concerned?" She texts
Day 7
"There's four guys at reception," your coworker, Mei says, poking her head into your office. "They're asking for you.”
Your blood leaves your body “Four?”
"They're kind of... arguing? With each other? Security is considering calling the police."
You walk to reception like you're walking to your own execution. And there they are.
Gojo, arms crossed, glaring at Sukuna. "What the fuck are you doing here?"
Sukuna, looking murderous. "I could ask you the same thing. How do you know [name]?"
Toji, leaning against the wall. "Keep her name out of your mouth."
Nanami, trying to be the voice of reason. "Perhaps we should discuss this calmly….”
"Fuck calm," Sukuna snaps.
Mei appears at your elbow. "Are those guys here for you?"
"Please kill me."
"Do you owe them money?"
"I wish." you whisper
You take a breath. Then another. Then you walk into the chaos.
"Excuse me," you say.
They don't hear you. "Excuse me."
Still nothing.
"HEY!!!” you shout
Four heads turn. Four pairs of eyes land on you. Four expressions shift from hostile to... something else entirely.
Nanami opens his mouth, probably to say something reasonable, but you cut him off.
"Do you all…. know each other?" you ask weakly.
Silence.
“Unfortunately." Toji mutters
Gojo just grins. "Small world, isn't it, sweetheart?"
Your coworkers are watching this like it's the season finale of Love Island.
You are so fucked.
A/n : Your Reblogs and comments are appreciated 🫶💕
When the topic of “the most embarrassing thing your ex ever said in bed” came up. You laughed, told him about the one guy who kept asking if you were “close yet” like he was checking a fucking timer. Toji snorted laughing, “Bet none of ‘em ever made you squirt, huh?”
You blinked at the dumb shit that he’d just said. “Made me…what?”
He stared at you for a second, then barked out a laugh. “You’re shittin’ me. You really don’t know?”
You shrugged, cheeks burning. “I mean, I’ve come before. It feels good. But squirting? That’s…porn bullshit, not real life.” you laughed, kicking your legs up onto his lap. “Girls fake that shit for views.”
He sat up, elbows on his knees, looking at you like you were fucking crazy, “You serious right now?” You rolled your eyes, trying to play it cool, “Yeah, okay, Mr. Expert. You’ve made every girl you’ve fucked squirt then?”
He caught your ankle again when you tried to playfully kick his face, this time yanking you forward so fast you yelped, sliding you halfway onto his lap. “Hell yeah, everyone single one and the fact that none of those pathetic exes of yours ever got you there…kinda pisses me off.”
You opened your mouth to deny it, “Whatever. It’s not a big deal. I’m not missing out on anything.” Toji’s hand landed heavy on your thigh, slapping it, “You are. And I’m not letting my best friend walk around thinking she can’t squirt when I know damn well she can…Bet I could make you.”
Now your best friend had you pinned on his bed, shirt shoved up over your tits, shorts and panties dangling off one ankle. His palm strokes slow circles over your stomach, the other hand resting heavy on your inner thigh. “Relax, baby,” he murmurs against your ear, “You trust me, right?”
You nod, this was Toji. Your best friend. The guy who’s seen you ugly-cry over breakups and insults you about it. And now his fingers are sliding through your already slick folds like he’s done this a hundred times in his head. “Fuck, you’re so wet already,” he laughed at you. “Just from talking about it?”
You tried to glare at him, but it came out as a shaky breath when his calloused thumb found your clit and rubbed lazy circles. Your back arched off the bed, tits bouncing slightly with the movement since your shirt was bunched uselessly above them. “Shut up,” you moaned, as he pushed two thick fingers inside you. He leaned down, biting the side of your breast before sucking your nipple into his hot mouth.
“I—I don’t—” You gasped as he added a third finger, “It’s not gonna happen, Ji. I already t-told you—it doesn’t happen to me-e.” You’re soaked, embarrassingly so, as you bit your lip hard, trying not to moan too loudly.
“‘Cause you didn’t know what the fuck you were doing,” Toji growled, releasing your nipple with a wet pop and shifting so he could watch his fingers disappear into you. “Toji—wait, it feels…weird—” you whimpered, trying to close your legs. It was too intense, like you had to pee but a hundred times stronger.
He spits on your clit, then drags his tongue through your folds in one long lick before sucking your clit into his mouth. “That’s your body telling you you’re about to squirt all over my fucking hand like a good girl.” He spits on your clit again, three thick fingers stretching you open as he fucks you faster.
The slick sounds were louder now, as you tried to close your legs, but Toji’s broad shoulders keep you spread wide, his free hand pinning your thigh down, the other curling perfectly while his palm slapped wetly against your clit with every stroke so you couldn’t escape the overwhelming sensation. “Squirt for me like a good fucking girl.”
You begin to whimper desperately, “Toji—Toji I—oh my god—!” You shake your head, panting, “Ji, seriously—stop, it feels like I’m gonna—” Your back arches hard, tits heaving, nipples stiff and aching from his earlier attention.
Your whole body is trembling, thighs trying uselessly to snap shut around his huge fuckass shoulders while gushing squirts soak Toji’s wrist, his forearm, the sheets beneath your ass in a clear, messy spray. You whimper louder as your squirt splashes messily against his chest and stomach, “Fuuuck, there it is,” Toji groaned, watching with satisfaction as you made a mess. “Look at that. Keep going, good girl, that’s it.”
When he finally slowed his fingers and pulled them out, you were a shaking whimpering mess. He lifted his soaked hand to his mouth and licked off his fingers groaning. “Fuckin’ told you,” he said, voice rough with arousal.
Your pussy clenched and fluttered around his fingers as the last weak spurts trickled out. You lay there panting, trembling, thighs soaked and staring up at him in stunned, blissed-out disbelief. “Told you it was real,” he rasped, “It’s a good thing I love provin’ you wrong.”
Gojo makes your pretty belly bulge for all his viewers ♡
୨୧ — The chat explodes when Gojo hooks his fingers into the waistband of your panties and drags them aside.
He doesn't take them off- just stretches the soaked fabric to one side and holds it there, pinning it against your inner thigh so nothing obstructs the camera's view. His other hand slides between your legs, two fingers pressing against your slit, and then he spreads you open.
Slow. Deliberate. Like he's unwrapping something precious.
"There she is," he murmurs. The ring light catches everything- the dewy, flushed stretch of your cunt, the slick strands of arousal that glint and snap as he parts your folds wider, webbing between his fingers like honey. Your hole clenches on nothing, gummy and pathetically empty.
Heh, look at that. She's dripping already and I've barely touched her.
"See how wet she gets?" His voice is like silk, pitched for the microphone. Donations ping in a frenzy. "All these people watching and your little pussy's just weeping for it."
He keeps you spread with one hand and uses the other to guide his cock to your entrance- just the tip, fat and flushed and shiny with precum. The camera catches the exact moment he nudges in... the way your gummy walls stretch and clench around the head, resisting and yielding in the same breath, that first inch sinking into wet, sucking heat.
"Nnnh-"
"Shh, I got you." He rocks forward -just barely- letting the stream see how your pussy swallows him centimeter by centimeter, that tight ring of muscle gripping his girth like it's trying to milk him already, "watch this."
He snaps his hips.
Your scream breaks apart into static. One brutal thrust buries him to the hilt, his cock punching so deep you feel it in your fucking chest- and when you look down, when the camera tilts to follow his gaze, you can see it.
The bulge.
His cock outlined against your lower belly, a thick ridge pressing up beneath your skin with every thrust. He presses his palm flat against it, feels himself moving inside you.
"Right there," he groans, grinding up into that deep spot "feel that? That's your cervix, baby. That's where I'm gonna -fuck- where I'm gonna ruin you."
And then he batters it.
His pace turns savage- hips snapping with brutal precision, that fat cock ramming your cervix over and over until your insides feel like mush. Each thrust punches a whimper out of you, your walls going soft and sloppy around him, unable to do anything but take it. The bulge in your tummy jumps with every stroke, obscene and undeniable.
"Oh god- oh god- 'Toru- c-can't -hnngh-"
"yeah you can." His voice is wrecked, strained, "and you're gonna cum while they watch."
She's getting so tight- squeezing me like she's trying to break my cock off-
The wet sounds are obscene. Your pussy squelches with each pump, arousal churning into something thicker, frothier- a white, creamy mess that clings to his shaft and oozes out around the stretched rim of your hole. It smears against his pelvis, his balls, drools in sticky rivulets down to the sheets.
"There it is," he breathes, thumb finding your clit, "there's my messy girl. You hear that? Hear how sloppy you're getting?"
Schhllk
He grinds against your battered cervix, holds there, and your orgasm crashes through you like a wave- walls clamping, legs seizing, voice cracking on a sob as your cunt creams around him in thick, milky spurts. He doesn't stop. He can't stop. Just fucks you through it, churning your release into a frothy ring at the base of his cock, the camera catching every filthy detail.
The view count ticks past thirty thousand.
His cock throbs inside your spasming cunt, and Gojo just laughs- breathless, wrecked, mean.
Ryomen Sukuna was having the kind of day that made him want to commit a felony.
Work had been an absolute, unmitigated disaster. His clients were being brain-dead idiots, his emails had been piling up since 6:00 AM, and his boss had the audacity to drop a massive, last-minute project on his desk right as he was packing up to leave. By the time he finally unlocked the front door to your shared apartment, his jaw was clenched so tight his teeth ached. He was exhausted, he was pissed off, and he was fully prepared to pour himself a massive glass of whiskey and not speak to a single soul for the rest of the night.
He pushed the door open, dropping his keys into the bowl by the entrance with a loud, aggressive clatter. He shrugged off his suit jacket, loosening his tie with a harsh yank.
“I’m home,” he called out, his voice a low, gravelly grumble.
He expected you to be in the kitchen, or maybe curled up on the couch watching some trashy reality TV show. He expected you to ask him how his day was, which would inevitably lead to him ranting for twenty minutes straight.
Instead, there was silence.
Sukuna frowned, his bad mood spiking just a fraction. He walked down the hallway and stepped into the living room.
He stopped dead in his tracks.
You were sitting cross-legged on the floor, hunched over the coffee table. The entire surface was completely covered in hundreds of microscopic, brightly colored plastic bricks. You were wearing one of his oversized t-shirts, your hair tied up in a messy bun that was slowly falling apart.
But the best part? The absolute most ridiculous, endearing part?
You were squinting so hard your nose was scrunched up, and the very tip of your tongue was poking out of the corner of your mouth in pure, unadulterated concentration. Your fingers, which were currently trying to snap a tiny, translucent green piece onto a microscopic brown cylinder, were trembling slightly from the effort.
You hadn’t even heard him come in. You were entirely, completely consumed by your task.
Sukuna stood there in the doorway, his suit jacket dangling from his fingers. He didn’t say a word. He just watched you.
You were a serial hobbyist. Every month, it was something new. Knitting, painting by numbers, making weird little clay frogs that currently haunted his nightstand. He usually just rolled his eyes, funded your little hyper-fixations, and let you do your thing.
But this? This tiny, intricate Lego flower shop you had apparently bought today? It had you in a chokehold.
Snap.
The tiny green piece finally clicked into place.
You let out a massive, dramatic gasp of victory, throwing your hands up in the air like you had just won the Super Bowl. “Yes! Take that, you stupid little plastic bitch!”
Sukuna let out a sudden, loud snort.
You jumped, spinning around so fast you nearly knocked over a pile of pink bricks. When you saw him standing there, your eyes lit up like a Christmas tree. The sheer, radiant joy on your face was blinding.
“Babe!” you squealed, scrambling up onto your knees. You carefully scooped up the tiny, completed structure in your hands and held it out toward him like it was the Holy Grail. “Baby, look! Look what I did!”
Sukuna slowly walked over, dropping his jacket onto the sofa. He looked down at your hands.
It was a tiny, incredibly detailed Lego flower shop. And sitting right in front of it was a single, slightly lopsided plastic rose that you had clearly customized.
“I made you this one,” you beamed, your chest puffing out with pride. You were practically vibrating with excitement. “It’s for your desk at work! Because you said your office is depressing! Do you like it?!”
Sukuna stared at the tiny plastic flower. Then, he looked at you.
You had a faint smudge of left over dinner on your cheek. Your oversized shirt was slipping off one shoulder. You were looking up at him with such pure, unfiltered adoration and excitement over a piece of plastic that it actually knocked the breath out of his lungs.
And just like that, it happened.
The stress of the last fourteen hours? Gone. The anger at his clients? Evaporated. The tension in his shoulders, the pounding headache behind his eyes, the overwhelming urge to burn his office building to the ground? It all just melted away, completely washed out by the sheer force of your ridiculous, beaming smile.
He didn’t just love you. That wasn’t a strong enough word anymore.
He looked at you, sitting on the floor surrounded by plastic bricks, offering him a fake flower to make his bad day better, and a single, crystal-clear thought rang through his head like a bell.
I need to marry this girl.
Not ‘I want to.’ Not ‘someday.’ Need. He needed to marry your crazy ass. He needed to lock this down permanently, because if he had to go through the rest of his miserable, stressful life without coming home to you poking your tongue out over a Lego set, he was going to lose his fucking mind.
“Sukuna?” you blinked, your smile faltering just a little when he didn’t immediately respond. You lowered your hands slightly. “Do you… not like it? I know it’s kind of dumb, but—”
“Shut up,” he breathed, his voice thick.
Before you could even process the command, he dropped to his knees right in front of you, completely ignoring the fact that he was crushing at least ten Lego pieces under his expensive suit pants.
He reached out, his large hands gently cupping your face. He didn’t even look at the flower shop. His red eyes were locked entirely on yours, burning with an intensity that made your heart stutter in your chest.
“Babe?” you whispered, suddenly hyper-aware of how close he was. “Are you okay? Was work bad?”
“Work was a fucking nightmare,” he murmured, his thumbs brushing over your cheekbones. “But I don’t care anymore.”
“You don’t?”
“No.” He leaned in, pressing his forehead against yours. He let out a long, shaky exhale, the last of his stress leaving his body. “I love it, baby. It’s perfect. I’m putting it right in the middle of my desk.”
Your smile instantly returned, brighter than before. “Really?!”
“Really,” he chuckled, the sound deep and vibrating against your skin. He tilted your chin up, capturing your lips in a slow, desperate kiss. It wasn’t heated or rough; it was incredibly soft, filled with a kind of overwhelming reverence that made your toes curl.
When he finally pulled back, he kept his face inches from yours. He looked down at your lips, then back up to your eyes.
“I’m gonna marry you,” he said.
It wasn’t a proposal. It wasn’t a question. It was a statement of absolute, undeniable fact. He said it casually, like he was commenting on the weather, but the weight behind his words was heavy enough to anchor a ship.
Your brain short-circuited. You sat there, frozen, the tiny Lego flower shop still clutched in your hands. “What?”
“You heard me,” he smirked, his usual arrogant confidence bleeding back into his tone. He leaned in and pressed a loud, wet kiss to your cheek, then your jaw, then the sensitive skin just below your ear. “I’m gonna marry your crazy ass. Put a ring on your finger so big you won’t be able to lift your hand to build these stupid little toys.”
“They’re not stupid!” you squawked, your face flushing bright red as his words finally registered. “And you can’t just drop that on me while I’m holding a Lego!”
“I just did,” he laughed, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you flush against his chest, completely ruining your posture. He buried his face in your neck.
You let out a breathless, watery laugh, carefully setting the flower shop down on the table before wrapping your arms around his broad shoulders. You ran your fingers through his pink hair, feeling the last of the tension bleed out of his muscles.
“Okay,” you whispered, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. “Okay, Ryomen.”
“Good,” he mumbled against your skin. He shifted slightly, his knee crunching against a pile of plastic. He winced. “Now, help me up. I think a fucking Lego is embedded in my kneecap.”
18+ riding your nerdy bf till his glasses fall off ˚₊·͟͟͞͞♡
There’s something incredibly hot about riding your nerdy boyfriend until his glasses slide down his nose. He’s usually so composed, always in button-ups, always with those cute wire-rimmed glasses perched on his face, always muttering about formulas or code or whatever he’s nerding out about that day. But right now? He’s a complete mess.
You’re straddling his hips, knees planted firmly on the mattress, riding him to the hilt. Every roll of your hips makes his thick length slide perfectly inside you, hitting that spot that makes you moan softly. His hands are gripping your thighs, fingers digging in like he needs something to hold onto.
“Baby—” he stammers, voice cracking. His glasses are already slipping, sliding down the bridge of his nose as his head tips back against the pillow. His cheeks are flushed, hair messy, lips parted as he tries (and fails) to keep his breathing steady. You smile down at him, grinding your hips in a slow circle, watching the way his eyes flutter behind the fogging lenses.
“You look so cute like this,” you murmur, leaning down to kiss him. His glasses bump against your nose, but you don’t care. You just keep riding him, faster now, taking him deeper. He moans into your mouth, hips jerking up to meet yours. One of his hands slides up your back, the other stays on your hip, guiding you as you bounce up and down on him.
“God, you feel so good,” he breathes, voice shaky. “I can’t- I’m gonna—” His glasses finally slip off completely, landing somewhere on the pillow beside his head. His eyes, those pretty, unfocused eyes, lock onto yours, wide and desperate.
You ride him harder, chasing your own pleasure while watching him fall apart underneath you. When you come, clenching tight around him, he follows right after with a broken groan, hips stuttering as he spills deep inside you.
Afterward, he lies there panting, glasses askew on the pillow, looking completely wrecked and blissed out. You lean down and kiss him softly, brushing his messy hair back from his forehead. He laughs breathlessly, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you down to his chest.
CONTENT: a story in which the bond you share with your boss is as exciting as it is confusing. [tw: MDNI, explicit smùt, mild crack, rom-com vibes with a smidge of angst, satoru being a little shit, office șex, breedıng kınk, piv şex, squırting, creampıe, backșhots] word count: 6.2k
notes: little comm for ms. @madamechrissy 🤭 i hope u enjoyed it bby
When you’re as rich and attractive as Satoru Gojo, the world is basically your playground. It was clear on your first day of working as his personal assistant that the man did whatever the hell he wanted and gave no fucks while doing so.
“. . . So with all that being said, I’m sure you can understand why I need you to start dressing in a way that’s more. . . fitting for your stature.”
“Yeah,” you nodded and lightly smiled, feeling a sense of warmth start to creep up your neck. “I understand, Mr. Gojo.”
The thing about Mr. Gojo? He had to be one of the most charming individuals you’ve ever come across. He knows how to make you feel special, even when he’s calling you an outfit repeater with no sense of style at the moment.
He’ll soften his gaze, speak with words coated in a thick layer of honey, flash that million dollar smile of his— every demand that came from him sounded so sweet, it was sickening.
He let out a pleased hum. “I knew you would.”
“It’s just– I don’t,” you cut yourself off with a nervous laugh, the sense of warmth you originally felt quickly morphed into embarrassment, “I don’t have anything else to wear.”
“No?”
For a split second, his voice drops. Even if it’s just for a moment, it doesn't fail to leave you a bit unsettled given his history of losing his mind whenever things didn’t go his way.
“N-no, Sir,” you shrink in your seat, “I’ll have to wait until my next payday to go shopping.”
“I see.” His lips curl back into a smile after realizing he’s going to scare you off, as that wasn’t his intention here. He looks at the door real quick, then back at you. “How about this, then— you remember that department store I had you pick up a suit from once, Damian’s?”
Your eyes widen once you realize where he’s going with this. “Oh! I don’t think that’s n—”
He plants his elbows on top of the desk, leaning forward and cutting you off with the simple, yet powerful act of clearing his throat.
“Why don’t you give them a visit this weekend, yeah?” He pauses for a moment, as if he were daring you to interrupt him again. You don’t. He laughs. “Yeah— why don’t you give them a visit. I’ll reach out before the day ends so they know to expect you. Better yet, I’ll tell them exactly what I’m looking for and have them pull whatever pieces fit the idea I have in mind, that way you won’t have to think too much into it.”
“But Mr. Gojo, I can’t afford that,” your voice nearly breaks telling him that.
Satoru doesn’t even know why you bothered telling him— he already knows. If you haven’t already forgotten, he’s the one that pays you. How hard is it to get you to stop dressing like a fucking nun? He’s had it with the god damn turtlenecks.
He lets out a sigh, fighting to keep his cool demeanor despite his dwindling patience. “Which is why I’m sending you to Damian’s, they have my card ready to go on file.”
The wheels in your head continue to turn, wondering why he’d even offer you this much. Wondering if this is even appropriate. It’s been over three months since you started working for him and not once have you heard of an allowance meant for office attire. Now he’s sending you to some high-end department store to pick out new clothes, on his dime, since your clothes don’t ‘fit your stature’. Whatever the hell that means.
“I don’t think I can accept this…” you look down at your feet and murmur, and Satoru nearly rolls his eyes.
You can and you will.
Satoru watches you freeze and realizes he just said that outloud, making him let out a laugh in an attempt to make himself sound less crazy.
“Ahem— sorry, what I meant was…” he stalls, leg lightly bouncing as he thinks of what to say, then decides to make this a company thing, rather than a him thing, “if the company’s requiring it, then the company should pay for it, right?”
His words disarm you enough to nod. “...Right.”
“Perfect,” he chirps out. “That’ll be your assignment for the weekend then.” He leans back in his seat, looking quite pleased with himself. Looking at the clock, he notices it’s a quarter to five, and takes the opportunity to kick you out of his office before the air between you grows awkward again. “Well, now that it’s settled, why don’t you wrap up for the day?”
You glance at the clock. “Uhhh… yeah, sure! Was there anything else you needed before I clock out?”
There was a lot that Satoru needed, like for you to stop sounding so eager when asking if he needed anything else from you. You have no idea how painfully hard that makes him.
“No, thanks,” he responds in a strained tone. “Enjoy your weekend.”
“Thanks! You as well, Mr. Gojo.”
You give him one last smile as you rise from your seat and begin to walk back to your desk that’s just outside his office. It’s not until your hands on the doorknob, ready to turn it, when he stops you one last time.
You brace yourself the moment you meet an unfamiliar pair of eyes, just glimmering with amusement. Satoru then proceeds to throw you off in a way that almost feels ceremonious with how he never quite gave you the chance to get back up.
“I know it’s just a little favor, but you know how people can be sometimes. So for both of our sakes, let’s just keep this between us to avoid any confusion, yeah? It can be our little secret.”
Something in that low, velvety voice of his told you it was just the beginning of many secrets you’d be sharing, but it still managed to lure you in.
And so, you said yes— marking the very beginning of something that was just as confusing as it was thrilling.
. . . . . .
Being a man of his stature, Satoru has to really watch himself in public— watch what he says, who he says it to, what he does, and where he does it. Which is why he frequents places the public didn’t have knowledge of, let alone have access too. Places that allowed him to let loose.
Though, in your honest opinion, just because someone can let loose, doesn’t mean they should. Especially someone like Satoru, who does a shit ton of coke and treats it like a fucking free for all.
His idea of a good time is often a violent one. You wish you were kidding, there’s nothing that gets him going more than being in the middle of an all out brawl— just grinning from ear to ear while drinks and punches get thrown in every which direction as music continues to blast in the background.
The first to call you is his driver Ijichi, who’s aware that your job consists of tasks that went way beyond the professional scope.
The next is the county jail, because you are Satoru’s emergency contact.
An hour later, you’re patching your boss up in the middle of his penthouse at 3:00 A.M, when you should be asleep like most people are on this side of the world.
“Sorry you got ripped out of your sleep for this,” he boyishly mutters as you dab the corner of his mouth with antiseptic. Lucky for him, the cut’s small, and should be gone by Monday morning. It’s his knuckles that are all scraped up. But then again, he doesn’t interact with many people at the office to begin with, and the ones that do get paid enough not to ask.
“Are you actually sorry, or are you just saying that?” you murmur back.
“Let’s just say I’m grateful that it's you that’s cleaning me up right now.”
“As opposed to who?”
“I dunno,” he chuckles, looking at you through heavy lidded eyes that you refuse to meet. “Don’t even wanna think about anybody else’s fingers on me.”
“How sweet,” you boredly say, dabbing a bit of ointment on the small cut. “Maybe you can extend that kindness to everyone else for the rest of this weekend? So I don’t have to, you know— pick you up from jail… again.”
“What if I only like being sweet to you?” he murmurs.
He doesn’t make you feel special anymore.
For how close of a proximity you have to the man’s personal life, you already are special, and it’s something he constantly reminds you of, even during times it’s not necessary. In the midst of all the confusion it leaves you with, you’re reminded of a line that’s been completely blurred, and you’re not quite sure who’s at fault here.
Satoru may be pervasive by nature, but you’re still here. Somehow there’s still a part of you that wants to please him despite all your irritation.
“Well then everyone’s out of luck and I’m out of sleep.” You sigh as you close the first-aid kit.
He watches as you get up from the couch to put it back in the cabinet, eyes tracing over your body throughout the entirety of it. You may not be in the tight skirts and high heels he has you in during the day, but he found himself enjoying off-duty sweats and slippers just as much. Shamelessly, he doesn’t take his eyes off you when you start walking back towards him, but you’re used to it at this point.
“Y’know you can spend the night here if you’re so tired, right?” he teasingly asks, but you know there’s a part of him that’s more than serious about it.
“No thank you.” You throw your purse over your shoulder, typing away at your phone as you try to book an uber. “I’m sure your silk sheets are great, but they’re no match for mine.”
To no one's surprise, you got out of his penthouse fast. You’ve gotten pretty good at dodging him in situations that could easily end with you on your back, splayed out right underneath him.
Believe it or not, he actually respects that— the self control and all. Especially with the way you’ve almost given in to him a couple times. It didn’t need to be said for him to know. He’s seen the needy, defeated look in your eyes during the times he’s gotten too close. It’s a look that screams ‘get away from me before I do something stupid, please’. A sweet girl you are, really.
But what would happen if he kept going and finally closed that distance?
Sometimes, he thinks he’d be nice to you. Be all soft, put you on his lap, whisper sweet things in your ear while his hand slowly slid down your stomach. You’d begin to hold your breath the moment he went past your waist and it’d finally catch once his fingers found themselves in between your thighs, slipping right in between your folds.
He’d kiss on your neck, pull moans from you as he drew little circles over your clit, making your legs tremble once he finally slipped inside and started curling in.
Then there’s times he thinks he’d be rough with you. Make you start crying from how fast and hard he made you cum from just his fingers alone. Bend you over the nearest surface and tease you with the thick head of his cock, rubbing it over your slick folds until you beg him to put it in.
He’d pull your hair back, make you look him in the eyes while he fucked you senseless, pump you full of so much cum that it’d continued to leak out of your poor pussy the very next day.
Bonus points if you two had to work together that day.
But for now, a man could only dream, or rather imagine, as he starts to fist his cock to the thought of you for who knows how many times now.
. . . . . .
There’s something mildly embarrassing about going to Damian’s with Satoru after being sent here all those months back to pick out new work clothes. Only because he specifically told the stylist to only pull items that were tight fitting and showed a decent amount of cleavage.
You’re sure if that asshole hadn't done that, you would’ve walked into the department store without a second thought. As if it couldn't have gotten any worse, that same stylist is here, and she’s looking at you with the same amount of concern you’d give to someone who’s being put through the ringer from extreme work conditions.
You technically are, given all the extra shit he has you do, like picking him up from jail at 2:00 A.M. You’re not exactly planning on leaving anytime soon, though. Don’t ask why. You’re not so sure of it yourself, either.
Satoru was here to try on a few different suits that just came in. And you’re here because unless you’re working on anything that’s considered incredibly important, you go wherever he goes.
Just as he was able to go off to the fitting room, the poor stylist asked a question she really shouldn’t have asked. She had good intentions when asking if you wanted to see some of the new pieces they had for Spring, and then Satoru made some comment about grabbing whatever you wanted and putting it on his card.
And then this poor girl looks at him with all the confidence in the world and asks, “If you’d like, I can pull a few different pieces from the racks like last time— tight fitting, low cuts, and neutrals, right?”
You didn’t have much of a reaction upon hearing that, it was already clear he had requested those things the last time you came here.
Satoru, however, just stood there and stared at this girl as if she had just ruined his fucking life.
It is not often he's left so appalled that it’s rendered him speechless, but there he was just staring at her with nothing but anger and betrayal in his eyes. She looked like she wanted to cry, and rightfully so. You were honestly scared for her.
“I think that’d be great,” you cut in, trying to break the tension, only to feel Satoru’s nasty glare get directed towards you instead once he realized you were trying to save her. “We’re here for less than an hour, though, so maybe just pull some skirts since the weather's starting to warm up.”
“Y-yeah! Of course.”
You watched as she quickly scurried away, then turned to find your boss just now deciding to follow the tailor, still looking absolutely fucking pissed that she just outed him like that.
Maybe you should tell her to hide once she comes back with those skirts.
. . .
Satoru might not be one to talk right now given how his goal a few months back was to get you to start dressing just a tad bit sluttier while still looking appropriate enough for work, but he didn’t give a shit. That woman had no tact whatsoever.
Who says something like that? You’re clearly his fucking assistant, there was no need to out his preferences like that.
It fucked up his entire mood for the hour… not that it stopped him from going ahead and having all the suits he tried on sent to his house. But just as he was getting ready to let it go, he saw something else that managed to make him do a double take.
It’s exactly what you think it is. Which is why he’s walking straight towards you and whoever the hell you’re talking to.
You didn’t know Rei existed up until two minutes ago, and tried to do him the favor of wrapping up the small conversation he tried sparking up with you once you caught a glimpse of a certain someone walking your way.
It didn’t work and now Satoru’s standing in front of you two, making you brace yourself for whatever sequence of words is going to come out of his mouth since he’s already in a shitty mood from the stylist snitching on him for being a pervert.
“You can leave now. Bye,” he simply says to the man, nodding towards the exit.
There’s a moment of silence. His reaction wasn’t as bad as you thought it would be, but it still adds weight to the air around you. Rei was understandably left scrambling, not that Satoru noticed, he was too busy looking at you like he was tired of you disappointing him.
And your eyes widened, as if you were asking him, what the fuck did I do?
“Excuse me?” Rei finally managed to ask.
The displeased look on Satoru’s face stays as he briefly turns his attention to Rei. “You’re excused. Goodbye,” he says, casually dismissing him again.
“I’m sorry,” the man laughs from pure disbelief, “are you her boyfriend or something? Because you could’ve just said—”
“I’m not,” Satoru cuts him off with a tone that’s still surprisingly calm.
He wouldn’t say he’s calm— disassociated is more like it. All the words Rei throws at him just swarm around his head like a bunch of little gnats, and he steadily loses his patience since he’s already told the guy to fucking leave. Eventually, he closes his eyes and lets out a long, deep sigh.
“You know what?” Satoru suddenly cuts him off and proceeds to make him an offer— one that makes your jaw drop. “If you want her number so fuckin’ bad, then fine. You can fight me for it.”
“Satoru?!” you immediately scold the man.
“What the hell is your problem, man?!” Rei says at the same time as you.
“Oh, wow.” Satoru looks at you, then points a finger at Rei. “He doesn’t even want to fight for you.”
At that point, the man storms off, muttering some stuff under his breath about people and wondering what the fuck was wrong with them, leaving you to deal with whatever sudden mood swing your boss was having today.
It didn’t just start within the last hour. This has been going on all day and started when he almost snapped at one of the interns for running into him this morning when turning a corner too fast. You don’t have much patience for him, though.
“Ijichi’s already waiting outside for us,” you casually inform him and turn your heel, taking a step forward to walk away.
“That’s it?” The lack of acknowledgment makes Satoru snap. “That’s all you have to say?”
You stop and turn again, taking a good look at Satoru as you try to come up with more to say, which is hard given how you just watched him agree to let someone have your number if they fought him.
Yet all that comes to mind are the lines that you’ve blurred with the man.
“Do you want me to walk on eggshells around you, too, just like everybody else has today?”
“...No.” It’s not much of an answer with the way he mumbled it, but at least you were able to reroute the guy.
You softly sigh. “Alright, then… let’s go.”
. . . . .
The air’s been stale between you since that day.
You have no idea what’s gotten into him, neither do you want to ask. And it’s not that you don’t care— of course you do. It should've already been made clear by now that you care about Satoru more than you should.
At first, you wonder if it’s some sort of rough patch. Then you realize that isn't normal in professional relationships, leaving you with more questions than answers because nothing about your relationship is professional.
You run around all over the place for him, picking up his suits and sometimes even him at 3:00 A.M when he’s too drunk or high to drive home. As if that didn’t cross the line enough, he treats you like his friend. A really jealous friend, at that. He’ll do things like cockblock you if a man tries to talk to you when he’s around, sometimes even threatening to fight them.
It’s been three weeks of silence.
He didn’t even bother saying goodbye to you when you clocked out for the weekend yesterday. It wouldn’t have been a bad thing at all with your last boss, but something about getting just a simple hum from Satoru left you feeling stupid.
So what did change with him? It might be better if he listed all the things that didn’t.
He still jacked off with you in mind— that probably won’t ever change, at least not for a while. He still keeps an eye on you.
It sounds bad, but it’s really not.
He just has surveillance over your apartment building, not your actual apartment. He also has the security team keep an eye out whenever you walk to and from your car, before and after work. Just basic safety stuff. He might have a tracker on your car, but never looks at it.
Unless he’s drunk, but that doesn’t count in his head.
So then what changed?
Probably the new sense of shame that only seems to unveil itself when you’re around. He’d rather you not have a front row seat when it comes to all of his less… desirable qualities anymore. He is far from perfect— very fucking far from it.
Was it too late for that?
Probably.
It still made him feel just a little bit better about himself, even though he’s been rotting away on the inside from keeping his distance.
. . . . . .
Staying late at the office is a rare but unavoidable occurrence.
It happens. Some work gets prioritized over others, leaving small tasks to multiply and pile up. Today is one of those days Satoru is forced to push a main project aside and tackle all the little ones.
He considered taking on all of it by himself, but was reminded why he avoided the work in the first place just an hour into his day. It was all so boring and tedious. It would’ve driven him up the wall had he not handed off a portion of it to you.
But even then, there were a couple moments he spent wallowing in self-pity, looking out the window with thoughts of throwing himself off the top floor of the high rise. He fucking hates this and hates how he has no one but himself to blame for all the procrastination he’s done.
The office feels like a different world once everyone’s gone. It may feel comfortable for your boss since he has his own office, but your desk right outside of it gives you a front row seat to a corporate wasteland. Muffled chatter gets replaced with the sounds of the fluorescent lights buzzing above you. Air vents thrumming as they recirculate the cold, stale air.
The clock says 8:48 p.m once you finally finish your last task of the day. As happy as you are to finally leave this place, you grow nervous at the thought of entering your boss’s office to let him know you’re finished and heading home. Whatever camaraderie you had with him is non-existent at this point. Everything with him just feels awkward now and you’d be lying to yourself if you said you haven’t already started looking for new positions.
You lightly knock on the door leading to his office and don’t enter until you hear a tired hum on the other side of it.
Aside from the lamps next to his desk and next to the sofa you see when you first walk in, every other light is off, allowing the moonlight to peek through the dim space. It’s actually quite peaceful with his view of the city’s lit up skyline.
Satoru's eyes must hurt. He has his reading glasses on, framing the tired lines and dark circles under them.
“I’m all done for the day,” you say, carrying a stack of papers as you walk up to him and setting them down on the oak wood desk he’s half leaning on.
He doesn’t look at you.
“Thanks,” he murmurs, sounding just as drained as he looks.
You stand there, waiting for him to say anything else before coming to the conclusion that maybe it was time to move on to a new company, because you are too far gone.
Stupid.
The long day you two have had wasn’t a reason to think he’d give you more than he has lately, let alone something to get your hopes up over.
Just standing in front of him makes you feel pathetic— you shouldn’t feel like that.
You open your mouth to say goodbye for the night, since he won’t, but instead say something entirely different that leaves even you shocked.
“I’m putting in my two weeks.”
You haven’t even sent out any applications.
Satoru’s eyes darted up at you while staying in place. “What?”
Despite not having the right, he did not fucking like that. The cold tone of his voice made you want to cower down and take your words back, but there was no turning back.
You push through the nerves as you repeat yourself in a professional manner. “After some consideration, I’ve decided I want to take my career in a different direction and that would require me to step down from my position.”
The overly corporate tone does nothing but put a glare on Satoru’s face, one that deepens as you continue to spew, what he considers, a bunch of bullshit from your mouth.
“I’d like to thank you for the opportunities the company has given me, of course. I’d be more than happy to train my replacement.”
“You’re not training anybody,” he scoffs, standing from his seat as he starts to go through literally every stage of grief. “What the fuck? No? No. You’re not fucking leaving— absolutely not. Fuck that.”
Your eyes widen in disbelief over how entitled he is. He’s been treating you like a second class citizen for weeks and now he’s not letting you leave? “That’s not your choice to make.”
“I don’t care,” he says delusionally. “You’re not fucking leaving.”
“Yes I am.” You raise your tone. “You can’t just fucking keep me here—“
“Where are you going then, huh? Since you seem to have found a place so much better,” his immaturity inevitably shines through as he cuts you off.
“That’s none of your business!”
“It’s not, but you owe me that much,” he begins to argue.
Your face twists in disgust. “I don’t owe you anything. I— how can someone be this selfish?! You’ve been giving me the cold-shoulder for weeks—“
He cuts you off again. “So that’s what this is about?!”
For someone that’s been ignoring you for weeks, he’s very expressive, especially when he argues. His pupils will be blown out, he’ll look at you in disgust, talk with his hands, pace around the room, then get in your face. This time is no different.
“You’re leaving ‘cause I won’t give you attention? I thought you didn’t fucking want that!” He throws his arms out, voice resounding through the room.
You pause, mouthing a ‘what?’ to yourself in complete disbelief. Leaving someone angry and confused is one impressive skill— Satoru has clearly mastered it.
“When have I ever said that?!”
“It was written all over your face!” He shouts back, almost as if it was something that hurt him. “I figured you were getting tired of me so I backed off!”
“Seriously? That’s your definition of backing off?” You have to stop yourself from laughing at how ridiculous it sounds. “Backing off is stopping the 1:00 am calls on the weekend— not completely disregarding me.”
“I went back to being your boss—“
“Yeah, a really shitty one.”
“I was always a shitty one.” He barks out a laugh. “The only reason why you’re mad now is because you’re not getting anything out of it anymore.”
Satoru doesn’t mean that.
Not that you’d know.
He tends to reject anything that brings him even just the slightest bit of discomfort, all while hating rejection himself. Watching you try to quit has made it one hell of a combo for him.
If he was just someone you simply had to tolerate, then whatever you gained from it was not worth your time. But he spoke with enough conviction to render whatever response you had useless.
“How the hell do you expect me to stay after saying that?” you genuinely ask. “I’m tired of not being treated like real person and now you’re being a fucking asshole.”
“Fuck. I’m sorry. I—“
“No. Save it,” you say in defeat as you start to walk away.
“Where are you going?” he asks, still having the audacity to sound irritated.
“Leaving— have fun finding a new replacement. I’m not staying for another two weeks.”
He lets out a bitter laugh. “Well if you’re not coming back would you at least finally admit you felt something between us?”
You stop and let out a sigh. “What are you talking about?”
“You know what I’m talking about,” he says, taking a couple steps towards you.
“No, there wasn’t.”
“Alright,” he huffs out a laugh. “I get that you’re mad at me and everything, but there’s no point lying about now.”
“I’m not lying about anything.”
“I don’t believe you,” he blandly says. “You wouldn’t have stayed as long as you did if there was never anything there. Be honest with yourself for once.”
Just as you’re about to deny it for the third time, you hesitate. “Just forget it already.”
The sight of you walking away for the second time feels entirely different from the first time for Satoru. No more confusion or panic, all that’s left is certainty. Perhaps a little amusement, as well. “No. I don’t think I will, actually.”
It happens fast.
You hardly process being spun back around, then you’re stunned again by a pair of lips crashing into yours. It’s messy from the start and he’s breathlessly apologizing against you with each rough kiss.
I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that. You know I didn’t mean that. Please.
And you forgive him, because there’s really no point in lying anymore. Not when you’re kissing him back. Desperately, at that— filled with just as much need. His hands start to roam, clothes start to scatter, leaving a trail that leads in the direction he took you in.
He always thought he’d put you on the desk.
The couch shifts erratically, moans pour into the room with each thrust. Satoru’s pressing down on your back and deepening the arch he put you in, bottoming out over and over again.
“Good job, baby,” he drones, mesmerized at the sight of you helplessly stretched around his thick cock, covering it in a thick coat of your slick.
It took some working up to. The moment he sat you down on the couch, he buried his head in between your thighs and tongued your clit— dragging it over that sensitive little bundle of nerves until you couldn’t see straight. Then it was his fingers. Working not one, but two of his long digits into your cunt, curling them into a little spot that had you gushing all over him.
Now he’s fucking that same little spot to no mercy, making your toes curl as the thick head of his cock catches it. “Oh my g-god— Satoru– fuuck!”
“Mmm I know,” he grabs your hair and pulls you back up against his chest, not letting up as he gets right in your ear. “Say my name again.”
His balls slap against your clit with each thrust, leaving you a gasping mess. “S-Satoru.”
“Again.”
“Satoru!” you cry out.
“Sounds so fuckin’ pretty coming from you,” he hums, licking a stripe up your neck, sending a shiver down your spine. “You like getting ruined on the couch like this?”
Shamelessly, you nod. “Mhm.”
“Yeah? You’ve thought about this before, haven’t you?”
“I have,” you admit. “A lot.”
“So honest tonight,” he grins, “so have I— thought about kissing you, fucking you, putting a baby in you.” A hand snakes down your belly until his fingers reach your clit, drawing little circles. “You really wouldn’t be able to get away from me then, huh?”
“That’s fucking insane,” your attempt to complain dies out into another pathetic moan.
“I fucking know,” he laughs, pulling your hair back even more so you can look him right in the eye while he fucks himself even deeper into you. “I think you might like that though since you’re squeezing around me like crazy.”
And you have no idea how to respond to that, you’re so fucking close. It’s taking everything in you to hold yourself together while he just tears you apart with each snap of his hips, rubbing fast circles over your clit.
“How bad do you wanna cum again?”
It’s been three times already, each time harder than the last. Your own body betrays yourself when you answer his question. “So bad.”
He hums sympathetically, though the look in his eyes seems to be the complete opposite of that. He keeps the same dizzying pace, pushing you further and further to edge until you’re finally gushing around him, again. He watches as tears of pure pleasure start rolling down your cheeks, trembling and letting out choked moans as he continues fucking you into overstimulation.
“I know, baby, I know,” he coos, letting go of your hair and wrapping his arms around your waist, keeping your back flush against his chest while he starts chasing against his own release. “M’so fuckin’ close. You’re gonna take it all, right?”
“Yeah,” you weakly nod, nails digging into his forearms, steadying yourself as best as you can.
“Shit— good girl,” he exhales, snapping his hips against your ass even harder, thrusts growing sloppier. “Here we go.”
The groans that spill out of Satoru are just downright sinful. There’s nothing but desperation in his tone as he holds on tight and starts pumping you full of his cum, shuddering as you milk his cock for all that he has.
You’re spent by the time you come back to your senses, with his arms being the only thing keeping you up. And yet, as you lay limp in his hold, he says something that, at the time, sounded like a threat with how entranced he seemed.
“Don’t think I’m done with you yet, princess.”
—
It’d been months since the night he finally broke his silence with you.
No, you don’t work for him anymore. You quickly found a new job just three weeks later. One with better pay and normal hours. Easier, too.
Looking back, he truly was a shitty boss. A conniving one that always took up your time. You guess you just never saw it because a part of you always liked it— better yet, liked him.
Good thing he’s a better boyfriend than he is a boss.
You were reluctant to start a relationship with him at first, the thought of him taking up even more space into your life lingering in the back of your mind and threatening whatever little peace you had left. But surprisingly, he went from being a conspiring little bastard to…
“I just have one request tonight.”
You’re in the middle of doing your makeup when his sudden presence pulls your attention away from it. You look at a slightly reluctant Satoru through the vanity mirror, raising a brow and waiting to hear what exactly that request is for tonight.
“Can you wear something that shows your tits more?” Immediately you scoff, and he’s quick to defend himself. “What?! It’s our anniversary!”
You’ve been with him for an entire year now, and he just seems to grow more and more pathetic as the time passes. He’s in nothing but boxers, begging you to show off some cleavage, for fucks sake.
“You see my tits every night,” you scold him.
“And I want to see them some more tonight, too.”
You scoff. “Sato—“
“Please,” he cuts you off with a beg. There’s a bit of a stare off shortly after, with him looking at you like some lost puppy and you inevitably give in, like you always do. He’s hard to say no to when he gets like this.
“Fine.”
He smiles and walks up to you, leaning down to give you a quick kiss, careful not to mess with your lip liner. “Love you.”
“I love you, too,” you softly say, before barely scolding him again. “Now go put your suit on, you’re the one that said the driver was gonna be here soon.”
“Yeah, whatever— he can wait,” he waves a hand, lazily walking up to the sea of suits he has in your shared closet.
“Hey, Satoru?”
“Hm?”
“If we’re even one minute late, I’m putting on a fucking turtleneck.”
FIXER-UPPER ❤︎ ׅ ۫ helping uni best-friend satoru destress after accidentally finding his hentai collection . . .
୨୧ ៸៸ ݁⠀⊹ ׅ ۫ 𝒻 reader dry humping handjob subby toru sexual frustration dacryphilia cümshot cuteiful ending ⎯⎯ 𓊆ྀི ❤︎ ⊹ word count 3.3k 𓊇ྀི ࣪ ˖
“satoruuu!” you purred, looking for any signs of life in his dorm. but you were only met with silence, his aura—more miserable than usual—radiating from within.
it was exam season, which meant satoru had likely entered one of his infamous overstudy spirals. the kind where he traded sleep for caffeine & liquid sugar... unfortunately for you, your best friend could be insanely stubborn when he wanted to.
“satoru?” you tried again, softer this time.
a faint clattering came from his bedroom. when you walked in you found him slumped at his desk. his head was down, but one arm remained suspended that you assume was holding the pen that had rolled to your feet. frozen in place like his body hadn’t gotten the memo that he’d probably already passed out a few hours ago..
books and papers were everywhere. empty plastic cups littered the desk, his glasses pushed up and forgotten on top of his head.
you rolled your eyes before letting out a soft chuckle, gently lowering his arm back onto the desk.
“satoru..”
nothing.
you leaned down nibbling on the shell of his ear before purring.
“satoruuu~~”
a groan.
“welcome back to the land of the living, this a new study method??” you teased, resting your hand on his shoulder, warmth seeping through his worn out clothes.
“shut up…” he mumbled into the textbook. “fivemoreminutes.”
you let out a soft laugh, more out of pity than anything. “no can do. you’ve been saying that since yesterday.”
his hand absentmindedly clutched the hardcover of his 9-pound textbook on particle physics, his body tensing slightly as he squished his cheek against the wood pulp pages.
satoru turned slightly so that he could catch a glimpse of you through his peripheral, putting on his best puppy doll face for you. the same one he knew you could never resist.
“…ten? pleaseee??”
you rolled your eyes before removing your hand from his shoulder and snapping on a dim lamp & heading off to open his windows - a cool breeze entering the deepest depths of his room making him hiss, as if he were some 19th century vampire.
“seriously…?” , he muttered, stirring awake rubbing his tired eyes.
“yes, very serious. this stuff is not good for you,” you chided, small frown on your face. as much as you loved him, the man did not know how to prioritize his well being. and as much as it frustrated you.. you could never resist the urge to take care of him when he really needed it. after all, that's what best friends are for..
you moved around the room, tidying up after him, muttering under your breath as you nudged stray papers and empty mugs into neat stacks, threatening to spill over in your arms.
“honestly, satoru. how do you even live like this?” you huffed, lightly slapping the back of nape as you walked past him to dump all the bygone papers into the trash. he let out a small pout, fingers threading through his white hair as he leaned back against his roller chair.
he huffed, “gimme a break already.. m’just stressed. you know i'm hygienic..” spinning around in the chair at his desk, eyes lazily following your movements whilst pouting. as if that was going to stop the earful you were about to give him.
“yeah well… good thing you’ve got me.” you mumbled, soft voice barely audible before your eyes caught a haphazard pile of books and open pages near the edge of his bed.
kneeling down, you gathered them into your arms.
“god toru, physics physics physics. and what normal person needs this many—”
oh.
your face screwed up in surprise, jaw going slack and words dying in your throat. tucked among the piles of textbooks was a stack of colorful hentai magazines that were quite frankly, impossible to ignore.
the one on top being a girl’s literal pussy on full display, her folds swollen and puffy. pink laced panties utterly soaked and hanging 'round her ankle, slick dripping down her thighs. another one with popping pinks and yellows all around, tits oiled up and nippled perked out with such a sinful expression. worst of all they were clearly just read: some left open and unfinished.
“uh toru.. is this fucking porn??”
unfortunately for you, you were better than no man. you felt yourself clench around nothing at the sight of something so crude. i mean... you weren't a saint persay... one time satoru accidentally found your twitter favorites—choking, biting, orgasm denial, the list goes on—and to this day didn't let you live it down.
“no it's my shoujo collection.” he countered. but.. it wasn't like his normal snappiness, you could tell he was embarrassed and overly exasperated..
and then, something clicked.
from behind you satoru’s eyes sharpened, pupils dilating slightly, and the soft, just woken haze vanished in an instant.
you barely had time to process the warmth crawling up your neck before he was suddenly right there crouched next to you by his bedside.
large hands wrapped around your wrists, firm. but not enough to hurt you, just enough to make you drop the lewd comics you didn’t even realize you were oogling at, dropping them with a small thud as they fell on their spine.
the silence between you was thick, almost suffocating. his head was bent, hand still gripping your wrists, holding you in place without a word.
you couldn’t see his eyes, his fluffy white hair fell forward, masking his face. his stupidly thick frames dancing on the tip of his nose, teasing your vision just enough to make your heat spread in your tummy.
every second stretched, your heart picking up pace, which he could presumably feel at your pulse point as he continued to hold you. the weight of his presence pressed close, sharp and undeniable, and yet he didn’t speak. didn’t move — just held you there.
“don't act like you haven't seen that shit before, it's just...nothing’s helping.” he muttered, voice tight with frustration. you’ve never seen him so upset before, you almost felt bad.
you felt heat creep across your cheeks, your brows knitting as your voice fell quiet. “soo... you go ahead and whip out your entire collection of porn? have you ever heard of twitter?” you chided, not even trying to fight his grip on your wrist.
“shut up already.” he frowned, narrowing his eyes at you. which would have been more intimidating if, and only if, his cock wasn't straining against his sweats and if his glasses were on right rather than crooked . . . “and besides.. you know i like physical media better.”
of course.
“uh huh..” you muttered absentmindedly, your gaze drifting back to the stack of stem books mixed in with his adult comics, a familiar flutter returning to your tummy whenever you and him found yourselves like this — too close. too intimate for people were “just friends”.
he let out a small, almost desperate whine, tugging your wrists to get your focus back on him.
“please…”
you simply blinked at him.
“eh?”
“don’t care which… either help me out or forget about it.” he practically grumbled, voice a touch rougher than usual.
he met your eyes at last, full of frustration and need. you could tell he was trying to be serious, but the fact he looked so cute when he got whiney wasn't helping his case in the slightest.
he swallowed, cheeks pink, fingers flexing around yours. “j-just… touch me. please.” you couldn't help but notice the way his cock twitched against his sweatpants, a small wet patch forming in the center.
was he seriously that turned on from you just finding his porn stash??
satoru eased back against the bed, slouching lazily. before you could react, he tugged you onto his lap. your stomach pooled with warmth as he held you close, hands resting lightly on your hips, every breath and shiver radiating tension between you.
“...please..?”
you knew satoru was the type to take whatever he wanted. but this was a new form of desperation all on its own. to be so stressed you can't even cum on your own? you'd rather die. so, without a second thought your lips pressed against his own. attempting to steady yourself by gripping onto his shoulders as you wobbled in his lap.
satoru wasted not a single second before delving his tongue into the wet cave of your mouth. the taste of overly sweetened coffee dancing between your tongues as you straddled him.
as you moaned into his mouth, the vibrations sent a tingle down his spine, dragging you along his boner, soft moans escaping his lips as his hips rolled up in a desperate manner — the outline of his tip brushing against your clit through your thin bottoms, making you squirm against him.
his hands were large and heavy, kneading the flesh of your hip as he rocked you back and forth along his clothed cock, his head tossed back in pure ecstasy.
your jaw went slack as he angled himself upwards, brushing further along your folds. slow and calculated as sat up to buried his face in the crook of your neck, making your hands fly to the fabric of his hoodie. your small whimpers escaping you and going straight to his dick.
“toru… seriously, what’s your deal?”, you stuttered, as if you werent playing along.
you ground your hips down on him, rocking back and forth, earning more gasps from him.
“ngh—h-hold on..” he stilled your movements on his lap, lifting you up slightly relieving the pressure on his cock. “don't wanna cum like this..
“need you to touch me.. please..”
well..
sure you and him had made out before, but that was purely for "practice". and best friends help each other… right? i mean he’d do the same for you, if you asked nicely enough of course. so really. there should be nothing wrong with helping your beloved best friend get an orgasm stress relief while he was buried in exam prep.
after all, it was the right thing to do . . .
before you knew it you were besides him on the floor, knees folded underneath your weight, one hand pumping at his veiny cock, your other arm wrapped around his body pressing him flush against you.
“fuhh—fuck,” satoru whimpered, his hips rolling up to meet the base of you hand as you languidly stroked his angry cock. his precum dripping all over his shaft and trailing down your knuckles, pumping slowly; letting him savor every moment. more for him than you really.
the way he writhed as you pressed open mouth kisses against his nape, coming off with a small pop before nibbling at his lobe.. whining oh so pathetically everytime you whispered sweet nothings into his ear “y'so good for me ... you worked so hard toru.”
and quite frankly.. satoru gojo was a mess.
“this good enough toru?”
“y-yes! nghh— s'perfect, fuck–” he hiccuped, his eyes glued to his cock, noting how good it looked as he thrusting himself in an’ out between your closed fist. his abdomen clenched and unclenched with every thrust, practically drooling over the fact you couldn’t even fully wrap your hand around his veiny girth.
you were certain he wasn’t even aware of how loud he was being; his pathetic moans bouncing off the walls of his room, the way he kept writhing against you, cock angrily twitching in your palm. it was all too fucking good.
his hoodie had rolled up as he slumped down further to the floor, using your tits as a pillow as he lazily jerked up into your hand, chasing further friction, his toned abdomen and perky nipples on full display.
your arm hand wrapped around his waist as he leaned into you, trailing up his torso pinching and rolling the pink bud in between your fingers, making him cry out in pleasure, involuntary rolling his hips into your palm.
"p-please, s'too much—", it was all so overwhelming, the way your thumb rolled over the slit of his tip, blushing the prettiest shade of crimson and leaking every time you praised him. the lewd squelch every time you reached the base of his cock, the way your body pressed against his, your sweet smell assaulting his senses. it was all too much.
all satoru wanted was to be perfect for you, to get a taste of that small, sweet satisfaction that would come with his long awaited release.
he couldn’t think of anything else. all he could think of was how your pussy would feel around his cock instead. how your juices would drip down his shaft and all the way to his sack once he got to return the favor. the imagery itself was enough to make him cum right there.
“…wanna see you, n'taste you,” he pleaded. “please??”
and how could you say no? he was just so fucking sweet.
you let out a small huff of laughter, “sure you can..”
without hesitation, he lifted up your top, revealing your plush tits in a whim. his favorite cushions.
he laughed.
“no bra? that’s how you came to see me? so naughty..” he hummed, his normal cockiness returning for just a second, barely masking the heat in his cheeks.
“well! you weren't wearing any boxers..” you sputtered. he leaned in, the soft glide of his tongue over your nipple making you gasp before enveloping them completely in the warmth of his mouth. his other hand reaching up to massage the other, rolling your cute little bud between his slender fingers, all while squeezing the flesh of your tit.
whatever traces of cockiness he had left fully evaporated as your free hand brushed past his hardened nipple while your other hand picked up your strokes. his thick cock pulsing, his body further melting into you with each thwack: his groans getting louder and needier as his hips rolled up, like an animal in heat, desperate for release.
satoru swiped tongue his all around once more, his cute eyelids fluttering shut as he turned slightly on his hip to burry his face between your tits. a sorry attempt to escape the overwhelming pleasure.
...
“satoru? are you crying?”
you felt wetness dance along your cleavage, right where he had his pretty face nuzzled between your tits. you paused your strokes, about to remove your hand, afraid you may have done something wrong. but he immediately shot up, squeezing your hand around his thick cock.
“no! d-don’t stop, m’just close s’all…”
he looked up at you teary eyed, his large hand covered yours and his thick cock completely. warm and firm, pressing you gently but insistently.
so he cries when he cums. noted.
you felt yourself clench around nothing, warmth pooling low in your stomach, a dizzying heat that left your pussy throbbing. saliva gathered at the corners of your mouth, your breath catching in shallow distracted gasps.
he looked so pretty like this. lips swollen from how kept biting down on them, tears dancing along his waterline, his white lashes fluttering up at you.
it was so fucking pathetic.
with a shallow whine, he began to stroke his dick with your hand like a fleshlight, his hand filling the area of his cock that you couldn’t reach.
“i… m’gonna cum,” he admitted, voice small and shaky, face burning, unable to stop himself. “pleaseplease—hah—.”
"m’gonna make you feel so good. y'can take it right, toru?" you whispered against his neck making him whine shamelessly as he followed your rhythm as you jerked him off, his large thumb rubbing sloppy little circles over his slit.
you picked up the pace of your strokes, whatever fluids that leaked out of his blushing tip when you first started, now dripping down tenfold. his own knuckles were covered in his own fluids, leaking down to his sack and onto the carpet. thick thighs splayed out, muscles contracting as he panted. he continued to writhe against you, your free hand pinning down his hips, or trying to.. his bright baby blues eyes squeezing shut.
“shit shit shit—”, with a few final pumps his body went taut, hips snapping up involuntarily, thick cock pulsing between your hand and his. how romantic.
a concerning—albeit sexy—amount of thick white rivulets spurting from his over sensitive tip, trailing down your knuckles and occasionally splattering against his clenched abdomen.
satoru panted softly, face flushed, lips parted as he tried to steady his breathing. damp strands of white hair clung to his forehead, his composure slipping in a way that felt almost unreal. his chest rose and fell unevenly, eyes glassy yet focused—trying to pull himself back together, but couldn’t quite manage it.
“so.. my hand or yours?” you chime, as if your hand still wasn’t wrapped around his cock, lazily stroking him, easing out his orgasm.
he let out a low him before scratching his head, as if he was actually thinking about it. but the two of you knew the real answer. he’d take any part of you over him anyday.
“my own. your strokes are too weak–”
with a roll of your eyes, you tightened your grip around his pulsing dick, swiping your thumb over his sensitive slit. “ungrateful.”
“haah— hah! alright, alright!” he whined, tugging your hand off before turning over, shielding his dick from you, still coming down from the high of his first orgasm in weeks.
“um, satoru? you do know your ass is out right.”
...
he snatched his pants back up above his waist with a huff, wincing as the fabric brushed against his blushing tip in the process.
he let out a breathy laugh, throwing his arm lazily over his face, “fuck you’re annoying…” though he didn’t mean it by any means..
୨୧ ៸៸ ݁⠀⊹
once he came down from his high, he helped clean up your hand. but he couldn’t help noticing the way you kept avoiding his gaze, your face still warm even as you continued to banter with him.
he huffed, pausing as he pressed the warm cloth against your skin. “i’m sorry…”
you blinked at him, then let out a small giggle. “for what, toru…? i was only helping—”
“nono.” he cut you off firmly, turning off the running water in the sink. a heavy silence lingering between the two of you as his eyes bored into yours.
“i…” he started, only for the words to catch in his throat. “fuck…” he rolled his eyes, then looked straight at you, this time with intent. “would’ve been nice to help you out, even a little.”
translation: satoru didn’t feel good about you walking away orgasm-free.
which was on par for someone with his reputation.
you felt the heat crawl back into your face as you realized what he was saying, hoping it didn’t show in your stare or the way your fingers trembled against his was faint trickles of warm water spilled over your hand as he pressed the wash cloth further into your skin without much thought.
“just let me know when you want me to return the favor. okay?”
you finally pressed your lips together, not even realizing they’d been parted the whole time. “o-okay toru.” internally facepalming at how quickly all your bravado seemed to disappear.
he let out a huff of breath he hadn’t meant to hold in. “good...” he yanked you closer by your hand, a small frown tugging at his mouth as a faint pout settled in, a poor attempt to come across as serious. “i mean it.”
you only nodded as he wiped your hand dry before wringing out the washcloth and hanging it over the sink.
his eyes lit up as he saw your confirmation, crinkling shut while his dimples poked through. “now. shoo shoo. i have to finish studying.”
what a dick.
and yet your chest still felt a too heavy... the idea of “returning the favor” left lingering in your head.
definitely closer than you’d like.
#⠀REPOST w a few ( many ) edits ׅ ۫ ୨꣒
pt 2 pt 2 pt 2 👀
sukuna was scary — many people on campus made sure to try not to cross paths with him. the face tattoos, the rough,deep voice and his pure hight and muscles attracted many girls while still scaring away half.
there was really no inbetween being inlove with him or hating him. not that he cared about that anyway. because since he laid his eyes on you for the first time something clicked in his brain — he wanted, no, needed you to be his.
to his surprise,you, the sweet, shy girl, weren't scard of him — the opposite, you always looked at him with this loving expression it made him feel strangely warm.
to many people it didn't make any sense how he got with a sweet girl like you. everytime someone asked you why in the hell you would choose someone like sukuna your eyebrows furrowed in confusion becuase, what's wrong with sukuna?
well, they probably wouldn't expect the king of fratboys to spend his day tasting the sweets you baked, or watching a badly written romance movie under a baby pink blanket.
" you made this for me?"
he was sound asleep when you decided to knock on his door an a saturday morning, still hungover from the night before. he was ready to lash out on the person who decided to wake him at this hour, quickly desregarding any anger he felt the moment he openend the door — seeing you stand there in a cute outfit, hair styled and a fresh batch of cookies in your hands.
you're looking up at him smiling, letting yourself in when he stands at the side to make space for you to come in. "yeah, i know you're always hungry after partying all night so i wanted you to have somethning fresh to eat!"
and bless your heart, you don't realise what you're doing to your boyfriend, his chest warming as he trails behind you back to his room, where you put the cookies down.
"do you have a headache? i can get you some painkillers if you need some." the way you'Re worrying makes him almost smile if he weren't so tired. he unexpectedly pulls you into a hug, burrying your head into his chest, his head ontop of yours inhaling the strawberry vanilla shampoo scent.
you let out a quiet surprised squeal, quickly adapting and trying, keyword trying, to wrap your arms around him. "are you alright babe?" voice muffled against his chest.
he lets out a huff, thightening his embrace before pulling back just enough to tilt your chin up to make you look at him with those adorable eyes he loves. "what did i do to deserve such a sweet girl like you hm?" his voice is sleepy, but full of honestly, like he seriously can't wrap his head around how he got you.
you blush, shying away from the eye contact. "i just made you something to eat it's nothing special." you mumble but he still hears you cleary.
"f'course it is." he doesn't explain further, dragging you back to bed with him, laying ontop of you. "let me sleep with you and after i'll eat your cookies." it's not a question, his arms trapping you under him, making it impossible to escape, and he's already snoozing off.
so yeah, you're confused when someone says sukuna couldn't possibly be nice enough for you because he's not just nice he's actually caring.
nerdjo’s glasses slip down his nose as he stares at you between his knees, mouth already running even while you’re bobbing on his cock.
“fuckkk, that’s so good—shit, wait, did you know that like… most guys only last like five minutes with head? which is, y’know, kind of embarrassing considering the male refractory period—”
his words stutter when you swallow around his sensitive tip, spit dripping down your chin. “ohhh god, okay, yeah, that’s—fuck—that’s definitely less than five minutes for me.”
your tongue presses under his tip and he whines, still running his mouth.
“ahhh—shit, baby, did you also know semen actually has, like, fructose in it? it’s literally nature’s energy drink—ohhh fuck, your tongue—wait, wait, don’t stop—” his whimpers comes out shaky, hand twitching like he wants to push your head down but can’t decide if it’s rude.
you take him deeper, throat tightening, and he slaps a shaky hand over his mouth, eyes rolling back behind his lenses. he tries to muffle a moan but it comes out anyway, high and desperate.
“o-okay, okay, uh—s-science says sucking dick releases oxytocin—hahh, f-fuck—bonding hormone, y’know? so technically, we’re like… getting closer right now.”
you hum around him in agreement and he gasps, words spilling faster. “shitshitshit, baby, you’re—fuck, your throat’s so warm, you’re making me cum—ahhh, oh god, wait, I’m serious, I’m—”
he breaks off with a choked moan, cock twitching as he shoots thick cum across your tongue, still babbling about “increased intimacy” while you swallow every drop.
only talking to sukuna's stomach mouth when he pisses you off
Sukuna’s developed an irritating habit. Whenever he’s fed up with you, or whenever he doesn’t want to entertain one of your questions, he’ll simply stay quiet and gesture towards his stomach. It’s kind of like saying ‘talk to the hand’. But in his case, it’s ‘talk to the stomach mouth’.
Then his stomach mouth will shoot you this wide, smug grin, like it’s more than happy to converse with you. And you’ll just toss up your hands and groan, annoyed that your husband won’t even bother to speak with you face to face.
But recently you've taken Sukuna up on his offer, turning the tables to give him the silent treatment while still chatting away with his stomach. Because Sukuna underestimated just how much that mouth of his likes to rile someone up. Even if it’s the rest of his body.
Now, Sukuna’s lounging on the bed, limbs draped carelessly along the mattress. He’s trying to feign indifference. Trying to pretend he’s unphased by the fact that you haven’t spoken to him in four whole days.
But you know better. You see the slight clench in his jaw, the scowl that deepens on his face each time he steals a look your way. He watches as you sit by the window, gazing at the scenery outside.
When the silence stretches on longer than he can bear, Sukuna sets his pride aside to clear his throat and ask, “Are you still doing this?”
You don’t even spare him a glance, continuing to look out the window. “Middle Mouth,” you say, “will you please inform the rest of Sukuna that I have no idea what he’s talking about?”
Sukuna scoffs in disbelief, but that mouth of his flashes its teeth and singsongs, “Sukunaaaa. She doesn’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I heard you,” Sukuna huffs, speaking to you instead of his stomach.
He hates this whole situation. Hates that you're not speaking with him. Hates that you’ve given his stomach mouth a nickname. And he hates that the mouth is entertaining it at all.
His jaw clenches once more, and he sighs before saying, “You’re ignoring me.”
He’s not wrong. For almost a week, you’ve been avoiding your husband, refusing to interact or even look at any part of him other than his stomach maw. But despite all of his sulking and sour moods, you act as if nothing is amiss.
“Middle Mouth, will you please inform the rest of Sukuna that I am not ignoring him. You and I just had a lovely conversation, didn’t we?”
“Sukunaaaa,” the mouth singsongs again. “She isn’t ignoring you…well, me.” That grin returns, and you can’t help but let out a quiet laugh. Why didn’t you start speaking with your husband’s stomach mouth sooner? He really is entertaining.
“Stop that. Don’t humor her,” Sukuna scolds.
“Middle Mouth, you can converse with me as you please.”
“I intend to,” his maw replies.
Sukuna’s eyes narrow, but he’s not sure whether to direct his glare at you or his abdomen. “How long do you intend to keep up these antics?”
You brush an imaginary piece of lint from your clothes and say, "Middle Mouth, please inform the rest of Sukuna that I’m still waiting on a proper apology from him."
“I’m warning you, do not–”
“Sukunaaaa. She is waiting for a proper apology from you.”
Sukuna stares murderously down at his lower half. He’s finally met his match. The only ‘enemy’ that he can’t silence by force. Himself.
And secretly, you think that he slightly enjoys that you’re speaking with his stomach mouth. It shows him that despite this silent treatment, you still desire some form of communication with him.
So he’ll put up with the teasing, the inside jokes, and the fact that his wife is being stolen by his own body.
You decide to press your luck a little bit further, and say something you know will send your husband over the edge. “Middle Mouth–”
“Not again,” Sukuna groans, tossing his head back.
“Do you remember what I told you? What we talked about last night?”
“What?!?" Sukuna demands, sitting up abruptly and sending the covers around him flying.
“Oh, I remember,” his maw says, immediately grinning and playing into it.
“Well, I was thinking about it and–”
“Why are you speaking with my wife at night?”
“Our wife. And what we discuss during late hours does not concern you.”
“Anyways, as I was telling you, Middle Mouth, before I was rudely interrupted–”
“No. This ends now."
In seconds, Sukuna’s beside you, all 7 feet of him towering over you intimidatingly. He rubs a hand across his jaw, like he has to physically force the words out of his mouth. “I.. apologize for not answering when you asked me which of my cocks I urinate from.”
“…”
“The answer is both of them.”
Immediately, your mood lifts. You turn away from the window, smiling and facing your husband like nothing was ever wrong. “Apology accepted.” And then to his stomach mouth, “We’ll continue our conversation later.”
a/n: idk why the mouth is referring to him in third person...js to be annoying ig lol
Satoru Gojo is the top masseuse at this fine establishment - he's the best at giving his clients the happiest endings. Yet you are by far the most tense damn girl he's ever touched.
"Shit, you're all locked up," he mumbles, those long fingers gliding across your muscles, pressing into your skin with that jasmine scented oil. "You good, sweetheart?"
"Mmm, not really," you mumble, sucking in a breath when he starts pressing harder on your sore, aching muscles. "Ah! You're so rough!"
"Well normally I just finger girls, you actually need a damn massage," you snort and he chuckles a bit, pausing when you turn your head to look at him, pretty eyes all dilated.
You're so fucking pretty.
This elegant pretty that comes from being in your late twenties that is his weakness - Satoru is twenty three but he loves a thirty year old milf. He just can't help his tastes, really, especially when they blush all sweet like you.
He's no poor college student trying to make it, no - he's rich enough to buy this entire spa twenty times over. Satoru is here for the joy of it, carpal tunnel and all can't stop him from making sure he got these clients off. Nothing really is as fulfilling as watching a woman come apart under his long fingers.
Making them squirt is truly a fucking art form.
But he never has felt this much tension, he's having to put his actual skills to use for once - and honestly? Satoru was better at fingering than rubbing backs.
He tugs that tiny towel down, till it's barely covering your ass, thumbs gliding in on those cute dimples. He vividly pictures how pretty your hips would be in his big ass hands - breedable hips that are wreaking havoc on his brain.
He's usually pretty unaffected, used to this, but the way you arch and whine out fucks him up.
Satoru kneads those thumbs into your hips now, a couple stretch marks right on them making him throb - he's not kidding when he says he loves a milf. You're gasping out, little filthy sound ruining him, he can't help but raise a brow.
"Hmm, husband not doing it for you?"
"I'm separated now..." You mumble, peeking at that spot your wedding band left a line.
You're still technically 'married' to your shitty husband Naoya, who had always been terrible, but recently fucked someone right in your bed, and had the utter audacity to act offended when you left. So what better to cheer you up, then to have someone work all that frustration out?
"Bad split?"
"You could say that..." you can't stop arching up a more, he takes the hint and slides his hands up your ribcage, eliciting a soft little moan.
Fingers glide down the sides of your breasts, your cunt is dripping wet then - the very recent memory of your cheating husband washed away with every glide of long fingers on your skin.
"You like me touching right here, sweetheart?" He asks softly. you moan, nodding. "Then turn around for me."
You obey easily, blushing a bit, his hands brushing oil on your tits, making your lashes flutter shut, covering up just a bit.
"Don't, you're sexy.."
You blush even more if that were possible, breasts rising and falling as his huge hands knead that flesh, plucking at your nipples. Satoru moves to stand right over your head, the view of his cock tenting his pants fucking you up.
"You're getting the highest tip," he snorts at that.
"Oh?" He's gliding more oil across your tummy, leaning over to part your thighs and eye your slick pussy, hesitating just a bit - this is where he likes to let the clients guide him. "Put my hand where you want."
"Oh..." your heart hammers in your chest as you slip it down further, he lets out a soft little moan when his fingertips are right between your slit. "Mnh!"
"You don't need any oil there," he muses softly, teasing fingers slipping up your slit, making you jolt as they toy with your twitchy clit. Your hips arch as he teases your entrance, slick pouring from your little hole down his fingers. "So wet already, we just started the massage.... your little cunt is so needy."
All you manage is your eyes rolling back in your skull - your man just never made you cum, and your own fingers didn't feel close to as good as those five inch fingers did.
You swear they're bigger than your ex's cock.
Rough fingertips dip in your slick just to the first knuckle, slutty little moans escape your throat at it.
"Feel good?" He murmurs softly, one hand holds your thigh apart, the other swirls around your messy cunt and sliding in. "You're so tight here, too, I think need to loosen you up."
"Please," this slutty masseuse with pretty blue eyes pumps your pussy full - stretching you out with these sweet nurn6, that spongy spot he presses, making you gasp out, back arching off the little bed. "Mnh, there, there!"
"Shh, not too loud," he leans fully over you to press a kiss on your inner knee - that was not protocol, not when he couldn't stop thinking of drinking your pussy and breeding you. "Your cunt is already so loud."
You huff, earning another chuckle, when suddenly you can't help but tug at his zipper, sliding so your head dangles off the bed. He pauses, blushing and looking down at you, fingers sliding out.
"What are..." You look up all pretty with hearts in your eyes for him, biting your lip, thighs shaking.
"I really want your cock in my throat, I'll pay so much more," he almost laughs.
Paying him to suck his cock!?
"You sure, sweetheart? This is for you."
"I'll love it if you would like it," you turn around, on your elbows and knees, looking right up at him as he frees his cock. "Is this special treatment?"
"It is, can't say anyone's touched me," he mumbles, suddenly nervous, when you've got your mouth wrapping his cock, his head falls back, groan slipping from his throat as that tip grazes the roof of your mouth.
You didn't look the type to suck a dick down your throat like you have no gag reflex - but here you are, swallowing him like you can't get enough. Your oiled up ass is arched, Satoru reaches a long arm over you, one hand entangled in your hair, the other finding your hole and fucking his fingers in and out.
The loud sounds of your squelching pussy and his cock choking your slutty throat are loud, the stupid ass spa music falling on deaf ears as he thinks he's in love with your mouth.
"F-fuck you're... too good at..." He's never one to be at a loss for words, but with every glide of his pretty pink tip in your throat, you're swallowing impossibly more of him. "That's it - fuck, just like..."
Satoru bites down on his lower lip as he shoves the back of your head so he's choking you with his length, curling his fingers just right so you squirt right down him. Dripping in rivulets you're making the biggest mess, squishing sounds loud when he rushes his fingers side to side to make you squirt even more.
"Mmmph," tears streak down your eyes as you swallow Satoru's cock, thighs shaking on the leather bed, nails pressing into well muscled thighs. His grip on your head tightens as he bends over, fucking your throat even faster
"Want me to use your throat, cum deep inside it, huh sweetheart? Use your mouth like a pretty toy till all my cum makes you full?" Your answer is to desperately suck, two of his hands now on your head. Hips snapping, cock fucking in and out.
For a woman who had nothing but missionary and a little spit on your cunt as lube, you've never wanted to please like this. You want him to use yojr throat - fuck you would let him use every hole he wanted, looking up at him to see his flushed cheeks through your watering eyes.
"Mnh, m"gonna..." he cups your face to hold it in place, cock bottoming out so his drool soaked balls press on your chin. He pumps so much cum his knees are weak, he damn near has to cling to the bed as you keep sucking. "That thirsty? Gonna suck me dry..."
You keep sucking even as he is sensitive, Satoru pulls back and looks at the mess he's made of you, cum having slipped down your chin. He gathers it and slips it back between your lips.
"Open for me, pretty."
You eagerly listen- you, a soccer mom having this white haired masseuse spit in your open mouth in a filthy string. You eagerly swallow him up, earning him yanking you to your knees, kissing you right when the little timer goes off for his next client.
"Oh," you flush as you realize just how much you loved that, tying your robe hastily and almost bouncing at the door before he stops you.
"Hey," he tilts your chin up, pressing you against the door. "Can I see you again? Like... dinner or..."
"You want to go on a date? With me?"
"Nervous about a date but you just let me spit in your mouth?" he grins and you cover your face now.
"Oh god..."
"Pretty please?"
He is pretty sure he is in love when you give him your number and peck a kiss on his cheek.
and when he has to cancel his next client, it may or may not be because he's jerking his cock to the way your juices are still coating his fingers 💗
♡ ྀི꒱ᩙ ࣪ ׅ ⊹ kento covers himself while eating u out !
kento is the biggest munch you've ever been with! he'll eat it for breakfast, lunch, & dinner if he could（and trust me, he absolutely tries to !）
but there's one little peculiar thing he always does . .
he always covers himself with a blanket over him while his face is buried deep in your sweet core. when he did it the first time you two ever got intimate, you just thought it was something he did out of respect for you and you wouldn't put it past him to do something like that so you let it be.
as time went on though, he continued doing this and so you couldn't help wonder why. so today you decide to find out just that.
while he's ever so sweetly lapping at your slicked folds, you very slowly lift up the blanket and peek in to see your beloved. he doesn't seem to notice at first since you're still letting out those cute whimpers of yours. but then, he soon hears a soft giggle from you and that makes his eyes shoot up to look at you.
and gosh, he looks so goddamn cute & sexy at the same time — so greedily suckling on your puffy clit and stretching you out with those thick fingers of his, it's like he's completely lost in the moment. then . . his eyes flit up to meet yours whose peaking so adorably with that pretty smile on your face.
kento stops like he'd just been caught doing something naughty（technically he had been!）and then his entire face flushes a shade of pink, smushing his cheek to your inner thigh. you'd never seen him get flustered like this & you genuinely feel your heart do flips at how cute he looks.
"honey . ." he mutters, squishing his face even more into the plush of your thighs. ". . what are you doing?"
"just looking at my lovely boyfriend." you muse, running your fingers through his hair. "because he's always hiding himself when he's eating me out."
the flush on his face gets darker as he lets out a tiny groan, embarrassed & bashful. ". . i just get shy about it, sweetheart. i don't know why but i just do."
your heart flutters at his adorable admission, and with that, you lower the blanket back down & you can hear kento hum in delight as he dives right back in to devouring you ❤︎ !
accidentally stumbling across your innocent boyfriend's search history?
18+, sub!choso, dacryphilia, established relationship
with a mug of tea in each of his hands, your sweet boyfriend, choso, walked back into the living room where you’d been studying together, only to be met by his search history illuminating across the screen. you’d seen it all.
“how to convince girlfriend to overstimulate you”
“how to ask your girlfriend to hold you down”
“is it normal to want my girlfriend to dominate me?”
“am i a masochist quiz”
he saw you looking — mugs crashing down onto the coffee table with a sharp clatter. and his face, usually so composed, went horrifyingly pale, only to then flush with a violent wave of embarrassment.
“choso,” you spoke softly.
and that gentleness only shattered him further, a muffled sob slipping past his lips before he could swallow it back. he turned aside immediately, shoulders curling inward, clearly mortified, though you still noticed the first tears gathering along his lashes.
“don’t—” he choked out, voice thick.
“please don’t— hngh, stare at me like that… ‘m so embarrassed, i’m so— hick — pathetic.”
you approached him slowly, kneeling beside him as he slid down the wall. you carefully pried his hands away from his face, only to find his eyes red and glassy, completely vulnerable beneath your gaze.
“‘s okay, baby… don’t be embarrassed, you’re not pathetic,” you whispered.
“you’re just… you, that's alright."
he was falling apart in your arms now, forehead pressed into your shoulder.
“i need you…” he sobbed, words damp and muffled into your shirt.
“i-i… shit… need you so much, it scares me— please, baby, please.”
“shhh, it’s alright, choso, you can show me.”
you murmured, fingers threading carefully through his hair. “you wanna show me now?”
you guided him to the bedroom, and he followed without resistance, trembling and pliant beneath your touch. he positioned himself at the edge of the bed, letting himself be slowly undressed by you, every so often leaning into the soft brush of your thumbs wiping away his tears.
once he’d stripped entirely, you eased him back against the mattress. he was already painfully hard, thick cock resting heated against his stomach, flushed tip glistening prettily with pre. a shaky, broken sound escaped him the second he noticed your eyes lingering over him.
you slipped your own clothes off slowly, watching his tear-blurred gaze follow every movement. and when you climbed over him, he released a trembling breath. you wrapped your hand around his pulsing cock, guiding it towards your entrance. you were already soaked, cunt slick and eager, walls fluttering around nothing as they anticipated the stretch of him.
the first touch of his tip pressing into your yielding heat tore a cry from his throat. you lowered yourself slowly, inch by inch, taking him completely until your breath hitched around the fullness. his eyes rolled back instantly, another wave of tears dampening his lashes as your gummy warmth swallowed him whole, clinging desperately to every inch of his shaft.
“ngh— oh fuck— baby!” he sobbed, hands jerking towards your hips, though the attempt to steady you was useless with how violently they trembled.
“ha! feel so good… mmph! feel too good…”
you began rocking against him slowly, rolling your hips in deep measured strokes. every time you lifted yourself, his slick cock caught the dim light beautifully, and every time you sank back down, your cunt tightened around him in a slow crushing pulse that made him whimper.
it was overwhelming for him already — head thrown back against the pillow, tears slipping into his hairline while broken sounds kept spilling from his lips.
“please…” he whimpered weakly, the word quickly dissolving into a mantra.
“please, hngh! please, please…”
“use your words, baby. please what?” you murmured softly.
leaning forward, you braced yourself beside his head, the plush weight of your chest pressing into him. the new angle forced him deeper inside you, and the sudden sensation ripped another gasp from his lungs.
“ah! ngh— i don’t know… ‘m sorry…” he cried, body arching helplessly towards you, hips twitching upward in desperate little thrusts.
“f-fuck… just so pretty— mm! so tight— can’t, hah, focus…”
you felt it too — the way your body drew him in greedily, the rhythmic flutter of your walls around his cock almost refusing to let him go. you kept your pace steady and relentless, every downward grind completely enveloping him and drawing another ruined sound from his throat.
“‘m not gonna— i can’t— fuck!” he gasped, fingers digging weakly into your thighs.
“‘m gonna cum, baby— please.”
“aww— sweetheart, not right now, m’kay?”
you whispered, slowing to a torturous grind that made his hips buck beneath you.
your cunt squeezed him relentlessly — slow intimate pulses that bordered on cruel with how sensitive he’d become. the swollen head of his cock brushed that deepest spot inside you every single time you moved, and you could see the ache of it written all over his expression
“hurts— ah! hurts s’much…” he pleaded, hips stuttering uselessly.
“feels s’good it hurts— shit! let me cum— please. i need to cum inside you, i’ll be really good, i swear, just ah— please—”
the desperation in his voice, his complete submission to you, sent heat rushing straight through your body. you started moving faster again, chasing your own pleasure now, breaths growing shallow as tension tightened low in your stomach.
the room filled with filthy sounds — wet dragging thrusts, the soft slap of skin, his choked moans and constant pleading. every movement pushed him deeper into your heat until he looked completely ruined beneath you.
“‘jus be a good boy, take it f’me, baby…” you whined, watching him unravel completely.
“my beautiful boy, need to cum s’bad, huh?”
that finally broke him.
his pleads dissolved into high, breathless whimpers, body tightening like a drawn bowstring as he desperately thrust up into you. you felt his cock throb harder inside your clenching walls, the first frantic pulses making him choke on a sob as orgasm crashed over him.
his climax poured into you alongside a wrecked moan, dragged from him by the relentless grip of your cunt milking every pulse from his overstimulated cock. his entire body shook violently, back arching off the mattress while helpless whines spilled from him nonstop.
“shit— choso— mm!”
“please cum on my cock, baby— please, need it so bad.”
you followed soon after, climax crashing through you in hot waves as your walls spasmed tightly around him, dragging out every last shudder from his body.
afterwards, he collapsed bonelessly beneath you, still trembling, still sniffling softly. you eased yourself off him carefully, both of you panting hard. immediately, he curled into you again, damp face burying itself into the crook of your neck while his breathing struggled to steady.
“never—” he whispered hoarsely.
“i’ve never felt that— never let anyone see me like that—”
“shh, s’alright, my sweet boy.”
you soothed, fingers combing through his hair while the sticky warmth of his release still dripped slowly between your thighs.
“so perfect, cho. all mine.”
“hngh— don’t say that…”
but he was all yours, completely.
a/n: first choso fic ;P i suck at writing smut >_o
Letting Choso use blood manipulation to keep his cock up
You promised your sweet Choso you would be able to handle it if he went a little bit harder on you during sex.
He was just so reluctant, deciding he would rather die than hurt you during something that should be intimate and personal. Plus, Choso liked it best when you went hard on him.
Then, you brought up him using his cursed technique to keep his cock up longer during sex. If he wasn’t sold on going harder on you, at the very least he could fuck you for even longer than usual.
Initially, Choso said no. He was worried that something might go wrong and hurt you.
The thought of it, however, stayed on his mind over the course of the next week. Having you bouncing on his dick for hours on end, pretty pussy squeezing him into his tenth orgasm? That sounded like heaven.
He just couldn’t sit around any longer without making this fantasy come true.
So as soon as you got home from work, he pounced.
Now, Choso has had his cock in you for you don't even know how long. Every position, every angle--and he hadn't gone soft once.
"F-Fuck, 'Cho!" You cried out, bouncing up and down on his rock-hard dick. Choso was a whiny mess under you, a few tears slowly rolling down his face. Using his technique hadn't made him unable to feel pleasure after a while; in fact, it only made the sensations more prominent.
His large hands gripped your waist, guiding you up and down, back and forth. The slowed to roll of your hips, then sped you up, making sure you would be able to feel every vein against your gummy walls.
A loud, high-pitched moan came from your mouth when Choso slammed you down onto his cock, tip kissing your cervix with every rough bounce.
Cunt gripping him tight, the feeling turned into one that was mixed with an undertone of soreness. After being fucked all evening, it was surprising your pussy hadn't fallen apart.
The all-too-familiar feeling rose in your lower belly again, the same one you'd experienced at least five different times earlier.
"Baby, I'm gonna... shit!" Choso grunted, cumming in you again without warning. Strings of cum pulled from his skin to your every time you rose, a sticky mess piling under you.
He couldn't just leave you without another climax. Choso thrusted his hips upwards, heavy-lidded eyes watching your tits bounce and face contort.
Your orgasm ripped through your sore cunt, milking Choso's spent cock. Coming to a slow, Choso lifted your hips, helping you off his dick.
You hissed, hole feeling stretched and empty without Choso inside of you. Completely drained, you collapsed onto the bed next to him, watching his cock go soft as he released his technique.
"We should do this more often." Choso mumbled.
Turning your head to look at him, you raised an eyebrow. "Really? You're so cautious, I assumed this would be a one-time thing."
"I enjoyed it much more than I thought I would." He blushed, looking away from you with a soft grin.
sigh, i know this can be seen as toxic sometimes, but...
sukuna always fixing your clothes when you're out.
pulling your top up with a big unapologetic hand when it dips too low, giving a generous view of your breasts.
pulling your skirt down and coming to stand behind you when you bend over carelessly, almost flashing everyone around you.
you can certainly wear whatever you want, he doesn't control you, but there are limits.
"you tryna give everyone a free show or something?"
you smile up at him, carefree, tilting your head all cute. "you'd never let that happen, baby."
"tch." he rolls his eyes playfully, trying to hide his smirk as he slides his arm around your waist, pride filling his chest as he scans the room, sure to scare anyone off that looks at you for too long.
