i choose you every time

19 | suna’s babydoll

[hanakozaki]

▶︎ •၊၊||၊|။|||| hanakozaki.

19 | she/her | sukuna and suna glazer | i❤︎cortis

- 165 cm of perfection, toji’s baby doll, sukuna’s co-star ⊹ ࣪ ˖

• MULTIFANDOM . ⊹ ࣪ ˖

haikyuu . persona . jjk . bleach . eva . soul eater . etc

• SOCIALS . 𝄞𝄢

letterboxd . insta . tiktok . spotify . tsumimiko

• SIDE BLOG ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

[t0jisbunny]

bully!satoru edges your poor pussy for hours ♡︎

struggling to visualise? ꒰ cw; mean!gojo, degradation, pussy slapping, edging, clit pinching, overstim, college au, unestablished relationship … ꒱

"what’s the matter, baby? can’t take it?" satoru chuckles darkly, watching you squirm helplessly on his lap as he denies you yet another orgasm.

you whine in protest, on the edge of tears, trying to close your legs. satoru pries them back open, keeping you spread apart as he finds your poor little clit again, rubbing tantalising circles with his middle finger. "satoruuu, please—can’t," you mewl, knowing your begging will fall on deaf ears.

at this point, you don’t even know why you continue to humour him — to welcome him into your dorm room like he isn’t the meanest, most selfish person you know who’s only intention is to torture you.

"poor baby," he fake pouts, making you yelp as he slaps your aching cunt. "you’re so pathetic. i almost feel bad…" he pinches your clit harshly between his thumb and pointer finger. "…almost."

your pussy is completely soaked as well as the insides of your thighs, drooling all over satoru’s palm and fingers, desperate for release. in fact, at this point, you’ll practically do anything to cum.

"hnghh—i’ll do anything, let me cum," you whine again, voice needy and high-pitched. satoru circles your clit with two fingers, touch feather light and teasing, refusing to rub you the way you need until he thinks you’re needy enough.

"aw, not even gonna say please this time?" the white-haired bully continues, slowing his movements even further. satoru uses the hand that has your hip pinned down to grab your face, squishing your cheeks together cruelly. "so cute when you pout."

he releases his grip on your face before giving your cheek a light slap. "please—hurts," you say, beginning to sob, tired of how raw and sore your cunt is. he circles your clit a little faster giving you some relief for a few seconds, grinning at your pitiful moans that instantly leave you. "so needy, it’s no wonder guys aren’t interested in you."

like satoru doesn’t scare off every guy on campus who dares to look your way. you’re surprised he hasn’t bought you a fucking collar to wear reading ‘property of satoru gojo.’

you buck your hips greedily against his hand, head thrown back in pleasure, desperate to finally cum. then he slows again. "how many times do i have to tell you to stay still? such a dumb little thing, too stupid to follow simple instructions."

"m’sorry—nghhm—please don’t stop, i’ll be good i p-promise," you respond, thighs twitching, pussy eager for more friction. satoru laughs again, low and teasing, one thick finger prodding at your sopping hole as it clenches around nothing. "aw, you’ve made such a mess. you really are a desperate slut, aren’t you?"

he slaps your cunt again, making your body jerk. “cmon, sweets. what are you?"

you pant lightly, sniffling as more tears trickle down your flushed cheeks. "i’m a desperate s-slut, i’m good for—hnggh—nothing."

satoru hums in satisfaction, bringing the slick he collected up to your clit, rubbing you perfectly — more than enough to have you cumming in less than a minute due to how worked up he has you.

"nghh—ohmygod, satoru!” you wail, trying to stay as still as humanly possible so he’ll let you cum. he begins rubbing your swollen nub from side to side, quick and efficient, watching your every reaction.

"wanna cum, yeah?" he says, painfully hard cock twitching beneath you. you nod feverishly, already close to the edge, waiting for permission. "go ahead, baby. you can pay me back with that dumb little mouth of yours right after."

following satoru’s permission, your orgasm rips through you, a broken moan tearing through you at the sensation. the hours of torture are soon forgotten, the memory replaced with sheer pleasure. "thank you, thank you—o-oh—thankyou,"you babble.

when you’re through it, satoru gives you barely any time at all to rest — yanking you up by your hair, making your face level with his. "you’re gonna thank me properly now, yeah?" you nod, feeling satoru lean in, brushing his tongue over your bottom lip before biting down on it, those mischievous blue eyes staring into yours.

"you know i don’t like waiting. get on your knees," he demands, voice a little quieter. “or i’ll have to make you."

a/n; posting this WAAYYY sooner than i thought i’d be able to i was suffering through parts of it tho so let’s all collectively ignore any mistakes ok

masterlist 𑁯ꔛ

[starmo0nlight]

for people who give the reader a name or tag 'x reader' under oc x canon just know there's a specific place for you in hell, i hate you all

[pluvial-lake]

Reader who has a real job and actual bills. Reader who prioritizes her own peace over his feelings. Reader who has hobbies that don’t revolve around a man. Reader who actually has a life outside of him. Reader who says “no” and means it. Reader who isn't easily impressed. Reader who’s petty. Reader who has trust issues. Reader who chooses her girls every single time. Reader who has a body count and isn't ashamed of it. Reader who is exhausted by male fragility. Reader who holds grudges. Reader who’s a mess. Reader who’s mentally ill. Reader who makes mistakes. Reader who’s manipulative. Reader who’s selfish. Reader who’s morally gray. Reader who’s awful. Reader who genuinely doesn’t give a fuck.

[luluyi]

FLIRT

[torupng]

CLINGY MORNINGS .ᐟ

゛★ roommates ! satoru and sukuna use you as a body pillow.

oneshot .ᐟ ⋆ modern au ⋆ cuddling ⋆ gojo grabs your boob and sukuna grabs your ass ⋆ polyamory-ish ⋆ fluff ⋆ sfw but suggestive? art by to__0fu

you woke up to warmth. a lot of it.

there was a solid weight pressed against your back, all long limbs and bony elbows, and an arm thrown across your waist that had somehow migrated upward during the night. satoru's hand was cupping your breast like it was a stress ball, his fingers slack but undeniably there, palm warm through the thin fabric of your shirt. his breath was hot against the back of your neck, each exhale of warmth making you shiver, and his knees were tucked behind yours like he was trying to fuse your bodies together.

in front of you, sukuna was a wall of heat and muscle. your face was smushed into his chest, the faint smell of his soap still clinging to his skin, and your leg was thrown over his hip in a way that would've been scandalous if you weren't half-asleep and pretty much used to it. his arm was draped across your waist, large hand splayed low on your back, fingers curving just enough to rest on the swell of your ass. he wasn’t grabbing or groping though—unlike someone. a certain white haired someone.

you blinked slowly. this was normal. this was your morning. sandwiched between two men who could not be more different if they tried, both of them treating you like the human embodiment of a pillow.

satoru's fingers twitched against your chest, squeezing slightly in his sleep, and you felt a low hum of something that was definitely not annoyance.

"satoru," you mumbled, voice rough with sleep. "your hand."

nothing. just more warm breathing against your neck.

you tried shifting, but that only made him pull you closer, his arm tightening around your waist and his nose pressing harder into the curve of your shoulder. a soft, pleased noise escaped his throat.

"five more minutes," he slurred, barely coherent.

"your hand is on my boob."

"i know. it's nice."

you sighed, but you couldn't even pretend to be mad. this was just how it was. how it had been for months, ever since the three of you had fallen into this weird, unspoken arrangement that no one had bothered to define but everyone was clearly on board with.

you turned your attention to sukuna, who was still dead to the world. his face was relaxed in sleep, which was the only time he ever looked anything close to peaceful. his jaw wasn't clenched, his brow wasn't furrowed, and the perpetual scowl he wore like armor was nowhere to be found.

his hand on your ass squeezed once, reflexive, and you felt your face heat.

"you're awake," you murmured, because there was no way that was accidental.

sukuna's eyes cracked open—just a slit, those deep crimson irises catching the pale morning light filtering through the curtains. he didn't move, didn't speak, just watched you with that flat, assessing stare that would've made anyone else squirm.

then his hand squeezed again, deliberate this time, and one corner of his mouth twitched.

"morning," he rasped, voice a low rumble that vibrated through his chest and straight into your cheek.

"you're shameless."

"you’re still here."

you opened your mouth to retort, but satoru chose that exact moment to stir behind you, his arm tightening and his hand shifting just enough to make you gasp.

"oh my god," you breathed.

satoru made a sleepy, questioning noise against your neck. "what? what's wrong?"

"your hand."

"it's still on your boob, yeah. i noticed."

"then move it."

"don't wanna."

sukuna snorted, the sound rough with sleep. "you're a pervert."

"you're one to talk," satoru shot back, voice still thick with drowsiness. "i can feel your hand on her ass from here. don't act all high and mighty."

"at least i'm not groping her like a teenager at a house party."

"it's not groping, it's comforting. they’re like stress balls. there’s a difference.”

"there really isn't.”

you felt satoru shift behind you, his chest pressing closer, and then his hand—which had been resting innocently on your shoulder—slid back down. slow. deliberate. his fingers traced the curve of your ribs before palming your breast through the thin cotton of your tank top.

"groping would be if i did this—"

his hand firmly squeezed, fingers kneading the soft flesh, and then his thumb found your nipple through the fabric. he flicked it—once, twice, a lazy, practiced motion that sent a jolt straight through you.

you gasped, sharp and involuntary, the sound punching out of you before you could stop it. it was embarrassing, needy, and it hung in the morning air like an admission.

"satoru!" you smacked his hand, your face burning, and he let out a theatrical whine like you'd just wounded him.

"okay—okay, sorry..." he grumbled, but you could hear the grin in his voice. his hand slid down to your stomach, palm flat and warm against the bare skin there, fingers splayed like he was claiming territory. "but you made that really cute sound. like a little squeak."

"i did not squeak."

"you absolutely did," sukuna said, voice low and rough with sleep. his eyes were open now, watching you with that knowing look.

“shut up, kuna.”

satoru’s thumb traced a slow circle on your stomach, just above the waistband of your shorts, and you shivered despite yourself.

sukuna's hand moved, sliding from your ass up to your hip, then around to your thigh where it rested heavy and warm. his thumb pressed into the soft skin there, stroking slow, lazy patterns that made your breath catch.

"you're blushing," sukuna observed, and his voice was almost smug. oh how that bastard loved teasing you like this.

"it's warm in here."

"the ac’s on the lowest setting."

"yeah—well, you two are suffocating me. shut it."

satoru giggled and pressed a kiss to the back of your neck. his hand on your stomach tightened slightly, pulling you closer until there was no space left between you. "you're so cute when you're flustered."

"i'm not even flustered."

"your heart's racing," sukuna said, and you hated that he was right. you could feel the thrum of it in your chest, quick and betraying. no matter how used to this you’d gotten, the two still knew exactly how to get to you.

"that's because you two are suffocating me."

"you love it," satoru sing-songed.

you didn't answer, because he was right, and they both knew it.

you groaned and tried to roll away, but both of them held firm—satoru's arm locking around your waist, sukuna's hand pressing flat against your lower back. you were trapped.

"you're both so annoying," you muttered into sukuna's chest.

"you say that a lot," satoru said, and you could hear the grin in his voice. "maybe you should get new material."

"maybe you should get a life."

"i have one. it's you. and him, unfortunately."

sukuna's eyes had slipped closed again, but you felt his chest shake with a silent laugh. "unfortunately is right."

"shut up," satoru taunted, kicking him under the covers. "you know you love me."

"i tolerate you. there's a really big difference. if you were smart you’d know that.”

“semantics. and for your information, i am smart.”

you smiled despite yourself, face still pressed against sukuna's chest. the morning light was growing brighter, painting the room in soft gold, and the warmth of both of them was starting to lull you back toward sleep.

"you're both dumbasses," you grumbled, but there was no heat in it.

"and that would make you?” satoru teased, pressing a kiss to your shoulder.

“he has a point,” sukuna grunted in agreement, his hand sliding up from your ass to rest on your hip, thumb tracing a slow circle against the skin there.

you let your eyes close, breathing in the mixed scents of them—satoru's sweet, almost floral shampoo, sukuna's sharper, spicier shampoo.

"breakfast?" you asked, voice sleepy.

"later," satoru mumbled.

"five more minutes," sukuna said, which was practically a declaration of love from him.

"fine," you sighed, practically waving a white flag. "five more minutes."

satoru's hand (which was honestly doing mean things to you) finally moved—off your chest, up to your shoulder, pulling you back against him until you were perfectly cocooned. sukuna's arm tightened around your waist, drawing you closer until there was no space left between you.

and for five beautiful, quiet minutes, there was peace.

then satoru said, "so who's getting up to make coffee?"

"you," you and sukuna said in unison.

"rude."

© torupng | all rights reserved.

[rawkuna]

୨୧ how frat!sukuna & shy reader met + started dating <3

you didn’t expect to see him there.

not in the back lot behind the lecture hall, not leaning against that beat-up corolla like he didn’t have a single care in the world, dragging on a cigarette like the day hadn’t already started five minutes ago. his hair was pushed back haphazardly, a hoodie thrown on over his tank like he hadn’t bothered with a mirror that morning. you could smell the smoke from where you stood, fumbling with your tote bag that had just snapped under the weight of your lab notebook and two too many textbooks.

pages were everywhere. some flapping under your feet, some floating into the gutter water. you stood frozen for a second, more embarrassed than anything, blinking at the mess like maybe if you stared hard enough, it would fix itself.

it didn’t.

he was the one who moved. not a word, just a quiet grunt as he crushed his cigarette under his heel and crouched down beside you. he was huge this close. inked fingers picking up the edge of your psych notes, his knuckles brushing against your knee. you tried not to flinch, not to panic, not to think about the fact that sukuna—the loudest, cockiest, most talked-about guy on campus—was kneeling in front of you holding your planner like it was made of glass.

you mumbled a thank you.

he raised a brow. “you good?”

you nodded quickly, then reached for the broken strap of your bag and immediately winced.

he clicked his tongue. “you’re not carrying all that shit across campus like that.”

“i’m okay,” you tried to insist, even as you watched him scoop up the rest of your stuff, stack it neatly, and tuck it under one arm like it weighed nothing.

he didn’t offer. he just started walking. and you—you followed him. down the path, past the side of the dorms, toward the frat house you’d only ever seen in passing.

“you can just—just hand it over. i can carry it the rest of the way,” you stammered.

he didn’t even look back. “not unless you want your shoulder fucked up by the time you hit bio lab.”

“i don’t—i don’t want to take up your time or anything.”

“what, like i was busy?” he scoffed, glancing over his shoulder. “don’t stress it, princess.”

and maybe it was the way he said it—but your stomach turned. and then the words fell out before you could stop them.

“are you… gonna expect something from me?”

he stopped. dead in his tracks. right there on the sidewalk. the breeze rustled the corner of your printout, the one he was still holding.

he turned to you, brow furrowed, face unreadable. “expect what?”

you looked down, suddenly wishing you’d kept your mouth shut. “i mean—i don’t know. people say you only help girls if you think you’re gonna get something out of it. i didn’t mean to—sorry, forget it, that was stupid—”

“sex?”

your eyes snapped up. he didn’t look angry. not even annoyed. just… confused.

“you think i’d carry your shit and walk you across campus because i expect to fuck you for it?”

you opened your mouth, then closed it again. he huffed out a laugh, but it wasn’t mean. more like disbelief. like he was realizing something for the first time.

“jesus,” he muttered, glancing away. “i’m not a fuckin’ creep.”

“i didn’t think you were,” you said quickly. “it’s just… that’s how people talk.”

he stared at you a second longer. then he handed you your books, all perfectly stacked. his fingers brushed yours.

“what’s your name?”

you told him and he nodded. “well, now i know who to look for when i need to fix my reputation.”

you blinked.

“you can tell people,” he added with a smirk. “the ryomen sukuna walked you to class and didn’t try to fuck you. crazy, right?”

you smiled. just a little. and that was enough. he saw it. and from that moment on, he always made sure you saw him.

after that first day, things changed.

not in any explosive, movie-scene way. more like soft glitches in the matrix—small, strange patterns that started popping up in your everyday life. like the way sukuna always seemed to be where you were, without ever making it seem intentional.

you’d show up to the dining hall, and he’d already be there, feet kicked up on a chair, nodding for you to sit even before you got your tray. at first you hesitated, standing awkward and clutching your drink, but he’d just pat the seat beside him and go, “you can sit, y’know. i don’t bite. unless you ask.”

you never really responded to those comments. just dropped your gaze, your cheeks warm, and quietly unwrapped your sandwich. he didn’t push. he just talked—about how shit his chem class was, how hungover he still was from friday, how satoru threatened to kick him out of the frat groupchat if he sent one more drunk gym mirror selfie.

he didn’t flirt the way people warned you he would. not really. he teased, sure. but it was light, casual. never serious enough to scare you off. just enough to make your heart kick a little harder when he looked at you.

he called you “shy girl.” like a nickname. like it was endearing.

“shy girl’s got a dark academia playlist,” he’d grin, seeing your phone light up with your study timer. “you gonna let me listen to that while i pretend to do my essay?”

you weren’t even sure when you started spending hours with him. it started in public—shared tables at the library, post-class walks, sitting together on the frat house porch during the golden hour when the boys were too loud inside and you were too overstimulated to focus anywhere else.

then it shifted.

it became nights. not overnight at first. just late. sitting in his room while he scrolled through music and showed you unreleased rap tracks from his friend who “might’ve gotten kicked out but has insane beats.” you’d stay curled on the edge of his bed, hoodie too big, knees tucked up, pretending not to be nervous while he passed you a cold bottle of yerba mate and insisted you had to try it.

you never drank the whole thing. he never let you throw it out. he always finished it with a smirk, like it meant something.

you didn’t remember when you started sleeping over.

maybe it was after midterms, when you accidentally dozed off beside him during an anime rerun, your head slipping onto his shoulder. you woke up with a blanket tucked around you and his arm slung behind you on the couch.

he didn’t mention it. just said “you snore a little,” like it was no big deal.

then it happened again. and again.

somewhere in the blur, his room started feeling like a second home. you kept a lip balm in his desk drawer. your charger was always plugged into the wall. his frat brothers started nodding at you when you walked in like you weren’t just some girl anymore. like you were his girl. even if no one said it.

and sukuna—god, sukuna was soft with you.

but sukuna was still... sukuna. loud and reckless and a little bit of a dick. he still left his empty red bulls on the counter, still got into dumb arguments with toji about which protein powder brand was superior, still acted like he owned the sidewalk when you two were walking somewhere and wouldn’t move for anyone. he still flirted shamelessly with the waitress even when you were sitting right there, not because he meant it—but because it was muscle memory. frat boy habits that died hard.

and sometimes, he’d say shit that stung. not always intentional. sometimes it was just him being careless, a throwaway comment or teasing jab that landed wrong.

but you were shy. sensitive. you’d laugh it off at first, but then you’d go quiet. your shoulders would tense. your eyes would shift down and away, and you’d nod along too much, trying to pretend it didn’t bother you.

he noticed. the second it happened—he noticed.

“wait. hey. fuck, no—i didn’t mean that like that,” he’d say, voice dropping, frown tugging at the corners of his mouth as he reached for your hand. “you know i didn’t, right?”

you’d just shrug.

sometimes he’d catch the glassy look in your eyes before you turned away and it made his stomach twist in this awful, unfamiliar way. because he’d seen girls cry before. but never because of him. not like this. not someone he gave a shit about.

and for the first time in his life, sukuna didn’t just apologize.

he adjusted.

he stopped making those comments. stopped brushing things off with humor when you got overwhelmed. stopped calling you “woman” in that joking, condescending tone when you corrected him about something. stopped turning everything into a bit just to avoid the quiet.

because the quiet wasn’t empty with you. it was sacred.

he started pulling back. not from you, but from the rest of it. the chaos. the lifestyle. the late-night parties and girls grinding on him at kickbacks and the endless cycle of beer pong and blackouts and shallow distractions. not because you asked. you never did. in fact, you never brought any of it up.

he just… didn’t want it anymore.

not when he could be with you instead. in his room. on the couch. watching you fall asleep on his shoulder while some old movie hummed in the background. he started ghosting the groupchat more, started saying “nah, i’m chilling tonight” when they invited him out. the first time he missed a themed party, toji asked if he was sick. satoru texted “who is she?” with twenty eye emojis.

sukuna left him on read.

he still teased you. still made stupid jokes and wrestled you into headlocks when you were fighting over what to watch. still took dumb shirtless mirror selfies and asked if he looked “academically hot.” he didn’t lose himself.

but he was learning how to be soft with you.

how to be patient.

how to earn the way you looked at him when you smiled, like maybe he wasn’t some campus legend or cocky asshole or party boy with a body count in the triple digits.

just a boy who liked being around you more than anything else.

and more than anything, he didn’t want to fuck it up.

they didn’t get it at first.

his frat brothers.

they saw you once—curled up in sukuna’s hoodie, hands wrapped around a matcha latte, barely making eye contact with anyone—and the whispers started.

“she doesn’t look like his type,” one muttered under her breath, eyebrow raised.

“thought he liked wild girls,” toji added, squinting toward you from across the common room.

satoru, smug as ever, just grinned. “maybe he’s tryna wife up a sweetheart for once.”

but it was naoya who really crossed the line.

you were sitting on the back porch with sukuna’s jacket draped around your shoulders, talking quietly to shoko. sukuna was only a few feet away, half-listening while pretending to be focused on his vape, when naoya sauntered up beside him.

“shy girls give the best head,” he said, elbowing sukuna like it was funny. “bet she lets you do anything you want. doesn’t even talk back, huh?”

and sukuna didn’t say anything. he just decked him.

no warning. no slow boil. just one clean punch across the jaw that dropped naoya to the grass, stunned and sputtering.

“say some shit like that again,” sukuna growled, standing over him, “and you’ll be spitting out teeth next time.”

toji laughed. satoru was hollering like it was the best show he’d seen all week.

but sukuna didn’t care about any of them.

he turned back toward the house, jaw tense, chest heaving. you were standing by the door now, eyes wide. you’d clearly seen it happen. he didn’t know how much. didn’t know if you heard what naoya said. didn’t want to explain himself with some clumsy, half-assed excuse.

so he just walked up to you, ran a hand through his hair, and muttered low, “you’re exactly my type.”

the words weren’t for you. not entirely. but the way you looked at him—like you’d just seen something real—it stuck.

after that, things shifted.

but truth is, sukuna had no fucking clue how to ask you out.

he knew how to start a fight. how to roll a blunt. how to get a girl in his bed if he wanted to—but this? this was different. he wasn’t trying to just get lucky. he wasn’t trying to play it cool. not with you.

so he did what any hopeless, tattooed, secretly-soft frat boy would do when faced with a problem.

he went on tiktok.

typed into the search bar with an annoyed sigh—“how to ask out a shy girl without scaring her”—and scrolled. and scrolled. and scrolled. most of it was bullshit. some of it was too corny, even for him. but one video made him pause: “bake her something. get her a treat. keep it simple. don’t make her overthink it. just show her you thought about her.”

cue the next scene: sukuna, standing at the front of baskin robbins, absolutely dead-eyed, arms crossed as the teenage employee nervously read back his order.

“you want the message to say… can i be your boufriend?”

“yeah,” sukuna grunted.

“you mean boyfriend?”

“no. boufriend. like, y’know. ‘boyfriend’ but wrong. cute and shit.”

the employee blinked. nodded. “...got it.”

that night, he showed up outside your dorm with the tiny ice cream cake in both hands, a sheepish little smirk tugging at his mouth, like he knew it was dumb but was trying to play it off.

“don’t laugh,” he muttered, cheeks a little red. “it’s cold. like you. so it reminded me of you.”

you blinked. stared at the cake. then stared at him. then blinked again.

“...boufriend?” you whispered, covering your mouth as you giggled.

“it was a choice,” he defended, but the sound of your laugh made it all worth it.

you didn’t answer right away.

instead, you leaned against the doorframe, all shy and flustered and pink-cheeked, then whispered: “do i get to keep the cake and the boy?”

he grinned.

“you get whatever you want, sweetheart.”

and that was it.

you kissed him on the cheek that night—just a quick press of lips—but he looked at you like it wrecked him. like you’d just broken the toughest part of him open.

and by the time he walked back to the frat house, empty cake box under his arm, phone lighting up with toji’s texts asking where the hell he was, sukuna just smiled to himself and thought:

she said yes!

[gojopied]

CAKE BY THE OCEAN

───✦ GOJO X READER

♡ summary: A real vacation, away from the stress and people. All inclusive with a private beach, beautiful skies, and even prettier guys. It was perfect!

♡ wc: 3.2k

♡ content warnings: fem! rich! reader, staff! gojo, use of alcohol, oral (f. receiving), big díck gojo, plot?what plot?, vacation, reader is down bad, ovulating, overstim, unprotected, p in v, creampíes, praise, slight exhibitionism, sex on the beach, massages.

♡ a/n: I want to go vacay again so bad ૮◞ ◟𑁬∘˙˚ (I am very happy to be able to use the p w/o p tag :D)

You paid for peace. For quiet. For a room that smelled like eucalyptus and lavender and had a personal plunge pool outside the bathroom door. For fresh fruit, you didn’t have to cut yourself. For the sun. For space.

You paid to not hear your name unless it was coming from someone who had absolutely nothing to do with your job.

And it was worth every dollar.

The beach was technically private, but it felt personal. The ocean wasn’t roaring, just humming, like background music. A warm breeze slid over your skin as you lay out, your skin dewy from the sunscreen you reapplied in slow, self-loving circles, stretched across a cushioned lounger with no meetings, no heels, no schedule. Just the sand beneath you. 

The private beach felt like your personal fantasy carved into a postcard, and the cherry on top? Beautiful skies—and even prettier guys.

Well, guy. Singular.

The white-haired one.

You hadn’t caught his name; somehow it never came up, but you clocked him the moment you stepped off the shuttle and into the airy lobby. He was tall, toned, and unfairly attractive in that model kind of way, with a lopsided smile that could probably bankrupt you if he wanted. He worked the beachside part of the resort—bartending, towel service, checking on guests. There was something playful and aloof in the way he lingered when he spoke to you, something that made your stomach dip…and not just from the endless margaritas.

You’d tried to keep it subtle—your wandering glances, your slightly suggestive thank-you’s. But the truth was, the moment your hormones got wind of the proximity of that man and this heat? Your body went rogue. Nothing wrong with a vacay fling, even if it was probably one-sided. 

Now here you were, two days into your stay, half-sprawled across a cushioned lounge chair, letting the sun toast your skin while lazily pretending to read the same page of your romance novel over and over.

You reapplied sunscreen to your arms, the bottle sticky in your hand. You could feel the heat radiating off your back, reminding you how long you’d been lying here. Just as you were debating whether to brave the awkward gymnastics of doing your own back, movement from the corner of your eye caught your attention.

There he was. Perfect timing!

“Hey!” you called out, lifting your sunglasses with one hand to get a better look at him. The sight was even more rewarding than usual. His white hair looked almost silver under the sun, and the short-sleeved white uniform he wore did absolutely nothing to hide the strength in his arms.

He turned his head and gave you a soft grin, walking over.

“Everything alright?” he asked, eyes sliding briefly to the book in your lap and then back to your face.

“I was wondering,” you said, shaking the bottle of sunscreen, “if you could help me rub the rest of this in? I can never get my back properly.”

He took the bottle from your hand without hesitation, fingers brushing yours. “Of course,” he said, the corner of his mouth twitching like he was fighting a smile. “That’s what I’m here for, right?”

Turning over on the chaise, you shifted your head to the side so you could peek at him, not so discreetly. The side cushion was more comfortable anyway, two birds with one stone. 

The first touch sent a small jolt up your spine. His hands were cool, slick with lotion, but they warmed quickly against your sun-drenched skin. He started with your shoulders, working the lotion in slow, broad strokes—palms gliding, fingers pressing just enough to make your breath hitch. You didn’t expect his touch to be so intimate. Not inappropriate, just lingering. Familiar, almost.

“Oh wait,” you murmured, reaching behind to fumble with the knot at your back. “I should untie this.” Your nails scraped together as you struggled with the slick strings. He was already moving closer.

“Let me,” he offered, voice low and steady. And with one simple tug, the knot fell loose. The straps dropped harmlessly to your sides.

“Thanks,” you said softly. 

He didn’t respond with words, just continued his careful work, hands now gliding lower. Down your shoulder blades. Across the curve of your spine. The silence between you buzzed with something more than just shared air. You closed your eyes for a moment, letting yourself lean into the sensation. His hands were strong but considerate, slightly calloused, probably from working with his hands all day. They lingered on the small of your back, thumbs grazing the top of your hips in teasing, circular motions. “Lower,” you mumbled, surprised at how hoarse your voice sounded. He hummed a little, maybe satisfied with the praise or maybe just enjoying himself. Either way, you weren’t mad.

“Right here?” he asked, as his hands moved lower, massaging the top of your glutes. His thumbs flirted with the edges of your bikini bottoms, and your legs instinctively pressed together.

Your breath hitched. “Yeah…there.”

He stayed there a beat longer than necessary. Maybe two.

You bit your lip, half-turning your head. “You always give this kind of service?” he chuckled, still focused on your glowing skin. 

“Only to my favorites.” 

“Mmm, keep going,” you smiled. “So thoughtful.” He did. Down your back, over your sides. His palms were warm now, smoothing over you like he was trying to memorize something. You arched a little, involuntarily, and you knew he caught it.

The pads of his thumbs grazed your lower back, flirting with the curve of your hips, inching close to the bottom of your swimsuit.

Your voice came out softer this time. “A little lower.”

He didn’t speak. Just adjusted his position, the heat of him is closer now. His hands slipped just low enough to make you hold your breath, sliding over the round of your ass in one slow, full stroke.

You felt the corner of his mouth tilt. “You like that?”

Your breath caught. “Don’t play.”

“Who’s playing?” His hands didn’t stop. He massaged like he meant, like he wanted to see how far you’d let him go without pulling away.

You stayed still. Mostly.

“Is this allowed?” you whispered, more to yourself.

“I won’t tell if you won’t,” he smirked, fingers trailing slowly up your side, grazing just under your ribs. You could feel your pulse between your thighs, your body aching in that low, hormonal way you hadn’t felt in ages. You hadn’t expected to want someone so bad on this trip—and definitely not someone who was supposed to be off-limits.

His hands found the strings of your bikini bottoms and untied the strings, his eyes never leaving yours. You didn’t flinch. Didn’t stop him. He kissed down your spine, the curve of your waist, your hip. Every motion unhurried, each one stretching seconds longer than the last.

Pulling you by your hips up onto your knees on the lounge, one of your legs dangling off. He peeled the bikini bottom off, dipping in between your thighs. The moment his mouth met your heated skin, a shudder ripped through you, your fingers twisting into the cushioned lounger beneath you. His tongue was relentless, lapping at your slick with a hunger that made your thighs tremble. The sound of him, wet, obscene, greedy— sent a fresh wave of arousal crashing through you, your back arching instinctively, seeking more.

"Fuck" you gasped, your voice breaking as his lips sealed around your clit, sucking hard enough to make your vision blur. His hands, those damn hands, slid under your hips, gripping hard, yanking you closer until his nose brushed against your sensitive skin, his breath hot and uneven against you.

He didn't just taste you, he devoured you. His fingers twitched with restraint. Now, nothing was holding him back. His tongue dragged slow, torturous circles around your clit before flattening against it, pressing down just enough to make you see stars.

"You taste even better than I imagined," he murmured against you, the vibrations sending a jolt straight to your core. The fact that he thought about it made you impossibly wetter. His fingers dug into your thighs, spreading you wider, his thumbs pressing into the soft flesh there, leaving little marks you'd feel later. “I could tell you wanted this since day one.” 

You couldn't deny it, not when your body was reacting like this, not when every flick of his tongue had your legs shaking, your breath coming in ragged pants. The sun beat down on your skin, but it was nothing compared to the heat pooling low in your stomach, tightening with every sinful stroke of his tongue. 

Then his fingers joined, two slipping inside you without warning, curling just right, and you whined, your hands gripping the pillow. He groaned against you, the sound muffled but unmistakable; he liked that. Liked how responsive you were, how easily you came apart for him.

"That's it," he coaxed, his voice rough, his lips brushing against your clit as he spoke. "Let me hear you. Let me feel how much you love this." 

And you did. You couldn't stop the noises spilling from your lips, the broken "yes, yes, fuck" as his fingers pumped into you, his thumb circling your clit in tight, relentless motions.

The pleasure built so fast it was dizzying, your body coiling tighter and tighter until you came with a cry. Your thighs shaking, your toes curling as the orgasm tore through you. He didn't let up, didn't give you a second to recover— just kept licking, kept fucking you with his fingers. Drawing out every last shuddering wave until you were gasping, oversensitive, your hands pushing weakly at his head.

"Too much!" you whimpered, but he only chuckled, pressing one last, filthy kiss to your inner thigh before pulling back, his lips glistening, his eyes dark with satisfaction.

"Can't get enough baby," he murmured, dragging his thumb through your slick one last time before bringing it to his mouth, sucking it clean with a smirk. "Not when you taste this good."

Your chest heaved, your skin flushed and sticky with sweat and sunscreen and him. You should've been embarrassed, should've been scrambling to cover yourself, to regain some semblance of dignity. But all you could do was stare at him. 

The moment his fingers slipped out of you, you felt the loss like a physical ache, your body clenching around nothing, desperate to be filled again. His smirk was downright sinful as he licked his lips, dragging the flat of his tongue over his bottom lip like he was savoring the last drop of you. The sight sent a fresh pulse of heat between your thighs, your skin prickling with the need to have him closer, to feel more.

"Turn over," he directed, voice rough, his hands already guiding your hips before you could process the command. Your body obeyed before your mind caught up, rolling onto your back, the lounger creaking beneath you. The sun blazed overhead, but all you could focus on was the way his gaze raked over you. Your chest rising and falling rapidly, your nipples pebbled under the fabric of your bikini top, holding it in so it wouldn't fall. The mess he'd made between your thighs glistened under the sunlight.

He tugged your bikini top down slowly, his thumbs brushing over your nipples as he bared you completely. The breeze ghosted over your exposed skin, but it was nothing compared to the heat of his mouth when he leaned down, sealing his lips around one peaked bud. You gasped, back arching off the lounger, your fingers tangling in his hair, soft, surprisingly silken. He sucked hard, his tongue flicking over the sensitive peak in torturous little circles.

"You're such a tease," you groaned, your hips lifting off the cushion, seeking friction, seeking him.

He chuckled against your skin, the vibrations making you squirm. "Impatient," he teased, his free hand sliding down your stomach, fingers dipping between your folds without hesitation. You were so wet, so swollen. His fingers slid through your slick with obscene ease, gathering it before dragging his fingertips in slow, maddening circles around your clit.

"You're dripping," he groaned, his voice thick with want. "All for me, huh?"

You rolled your eyes, your breath hitching as his fingers pressed harder. His touch is just shy of rough, just enough to make your thighs tremble. His mouth moved to your other nipple, teeth grazing the peak before sucking it deep, his fingers never stopping. 

"Please," you finally choked out, your voice wrecked. Not really one to beg, but it seems he brought out many new things about you. 

"Please what?" he grinned, pulling back just enough to watch your face as his fingers slid lower, dipping inside you just barely—just the tips, curling enough to make your hips jerk.

"I want you, don't wanna wait.” 

His grin was wolfish. "Since you asked so nicely," you hadn't noticed his shirt was unbuttoned, revealing how ripped he was under the button-up shirt. You heard the sound of his zipper, the rustle of fabric. “It's Satoru, by the way.” 

Oh god.

The blunt head of his cock nudged against your entrance, and you whimpered, pushing back against him instinctively. "Eager," he teased, his hands gripping your hips as he pressed forward, his cock stretching you open in one slow, relentless thrust.

You choked on a moan, your fingers clawing at the cushion beneath you as he bottomed out, his hips flush against your ass. He was huge, thick, pulsing inside you, filling you completely.

"Fuck," he hissed, his voice strained. "You're so tight." He didn't give you time to adjust, pulling out almost all the way before slamming back in, the force of it driving you forward, your hands pressed against the chest and the back of the chair for leverage. You cried out, the pleasure so intense, your walls fluttering around him as he set a brutal pace. His hips snapping against yours with every thrust, hitting your sweet spot deliciously as you cried his name.

"Look at you," he growled, one hand fisting in your ass, gripping just enough to make your back arch. "Taking me so fucking good. Bet you'll remember my name now."

You could only moan, your words lost in the haze of pleasure, your body moving with his, meeting every thrust with a roll of your hips. His hand gripped your thigh, his other hand sliding around to your front, fingers finding your clit and rubbing tight, fast circles.

The double stimulation was too much; your orgasm built again, faster this time, your body coiling tighter and tighter. "Come for me," he demanded, his voice rough, his thrusts growing erratic.

You shattered.

Your climax hit you like a freight train, your body clamping down on him as pleasure exploded through you, your cries muffled against the lounger. He fucked you through it, wiping the tears off your cheeks. “Where do you want it, baby?” 

“I-inside!”

He let out a low moan, his own release hitting him hard. His hips stuttering, cock pulsing inside you as he came with a groan, his fingers digging into your skin as he filled you, hot and deep. 

For a moment, the only sounds were your ragged breaths and the distant crash of waves. Then he leaned down, his lips brushing your ear as he murmured, "Still think I'm just here for towels and massages?"

You laughed, breathless and spent, your body still thrumming with pleasure. "Best. Massage. Ever."

He smirked, pressing a kiss to your shoulder before pulling out, the loss of him making you whimper. "Good," he said, his voice smug. "Because we're far from done."

━━

Being back at work after your vacation was a change. Looking out the large window, you reminisced about the villa, and especially your little fling. The entire trio, he would come and eat you out till you cried whenever he found you, be it on the window reader or by the door if he was particularly impatient. And fuck you into whatever surface was nearest. 

God, you missed him. 

It's been 8 months since your short but sweet vacation. You debated giving him your number, but by the time you were packing up and checking out, he was nowhere to be seen. Hopefully the next time you visited he would be there as well, until then you would continue life like you hadn't lost the best dick and head you've had. 

Although you spent most of your time working, you did try to make time with your friends and go out on the weekends you were free. Downtown was your hotspot, especially the clubs, the best you've ever been to; lucky you were cool enough with the bouncers to get in free.

The music was good and the drinks were better. Tending your sweet cocktail, you enjoyed the buzz you were getting. Thankfully, you weren't the one driving tonight; however, next week, you were back on duty. 

Realizing you finished your drink, you started to find your friends dancing up against the other groups of people on the floor. Over all the heads of people, your eyes caught one single head of white hair. Your heart stuttered as you walked towards them, pushing past tipsy dancers. 

It couldn't be him, but you couldn't help but check. Fixing your hair, making sure there weren't any strange pieces around your face that shouldn't be. The height alone was a dead giveaway; not many guys were over 6 feet with white hair, even with dim lighting, you had a gut feeling that it was him. 

Tapping his shoulder, ready to see a stranger's face and not the face that's been appearing in your late-night fantasies. Bracing for disappointment, you started preparing an apology. 

Your name fell from familiar lips, the way he said it sent a shiver up your spine. You stared in shock, and he gave you a tight hug, kissing you on the cheek. 

“It really is you.” you hugged back, breathing in the scent you'd dreamt of. He laughed, pulling you by the waist to his side. He started introducing you to his friends, explaining he was on vacation, even taking you to their booth. Both of you clicked like you hadn't seen each other in almost a year. 

Your leg kicker up over his, letting his hands twirl your hair in his fingers. Leaning down toward your ear, moving the hair away from it, kissing the sides. You decided to ask the question sitting in the back of your mind. “How long are you here for?”

“A week,” he smirked, looking at your face, cerulean eyes peeking from those gorgeous white lashes. You were familiar with that glint in his eye, the way they twinkled put you under a trance. 

“Are you going to leave without a goodbye this time?” 

“I’m sorry about that, baby. Can you forgive me?” he smiled against your hand, kissing it. “Might not want to leave.” 

He's lucky you're forgiving.

♡ gojopied ©2025 do not copy, edit, plagiarize, put into AI, repost, or translate any of my work.

[ma0chi77]

sukuna x you 🤍

[blushryo]

ace of hearts ❤︎

volleyballer satoru & his crush on volleyballer reader ⊹ fem!shy!reader ⋮ fluff ＼ 1.1k words → set in highschool modern au

✉️ ྀི ៸៸៸ not sure if i shld make another part with their date so lmk down in the comments + don't forget to leave a like & subscribe ♪( ´▽｀)

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀volleyballer satoru is the captain and setter of the jujutsu high's boys' volleyball team, an exemplary, well-rounded player and a formidable opponent that can sniff out a player's weakness in just one set. he hasn't earned his title of 'the strongest' for no good reason — he trains harder than anyone else on the team and never loses sight of what it is he wants to be which is the best player in japan.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀volleyballer satoru is the most popular player amongst the team — known for his charming looks and flirtatious attitude. girls and guys alike are always flocking towards him, fawning over him and cheering him on in every match he plays in. and rest assured, he relishes in all the attention he gets. even gloating to his teammates about how much he gets flirted with on the daily!

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀volleyballer satoru is taken to the girls' volleyball match one day. he hasn't ever been to one till now — not by choice but he'd always just been so busy with training or their matches would clash with the boys'. though this time around, his best friend shoko, had been incredibly insistent on coming here because she wanted to ogle at her newfound crush . . and cause she didn't want to go alone, she had dragged him along with her.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀volleyballer satoru is instantly captivated by you — the team's outside hitter who seems to have a massive fire burning deep inside you. you're incredibly aggressive, nothing like he's ever seen before（even daring to give sukuna, their libero, a run for his money!）each time you spike, the ball hits the ground with a thud that echoes across the whole court, so loud that he swears he can feel the vibrations from the impact inside his body.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀𓏲ּꪆ ࿐ throughout the rest of the match, he only has eyes for you. watching the way you smash the ball on the court with such ferocity and screaming so boisterously at every win; the way you're hyping up all your teammates with this aggressiveness that comes off as intimidating to the opponents but not to your team who are just as riled up as you are; the way your eyes are blazing with this fire that can even be felt all the way from the stands where he sits. he is so taken with you from that day forward.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀volleyballer satoru keeps sneaking peeks of you in practice. and you are just as much of a beast in practice as you are in a match. he found out that you're the captain just like he is and despite your aggressive playing style, you are an incredibly supportive leader. sure, you scold them when they make a mistake or if someone is slacking off but it's always followed up with advice and constructive feedback. he just feels himself admiring you more and more with each passing day.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀volleyballer satoru finally plucks up the courage one day to talk to you after your practice. he's been peeking for so long, he's practically got your team's routine and practice timings memorised. he waits until you walk out of the gym, waving goodbye to your friends and so he thinks this is the perfect time to approach you！

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀𓏲ּꪆ ࿐ "hiya." he greets you with that sweet smile of his. and honestly, he'd been preparing himself for you to be rather boyish or brash with him, considering your playing style on the court. but this wasn't at all what he was expecting . .

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀𓏲ּꪆ ࿐ your eyes go slightly wide as he stands in front of you, like a deer in headlights. he sees you clutching on to your bag a little bit tigher as you say in a soft voice, "hiya."

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀volleyballer satoru feels his heart flutter upon hearing your voice — so soft, so shy, and so sweet. nothing like he'd expected. a sweet girl like you that looks like she's going to massacre her opponents on the court? who spikes the ball so hard, there is a possibility it could explode from the sheer impact? yeah . . he wasn't expecting this at all but he just feels himself falling for you tenfold.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀𓏲ּꪆ ࿐ "i saw your match the other day." he leans against the pillar, trying to act all cool and sauve though it's just a rouse to hide the fact that he feels like his knees feel like jello right now. "i thought you were super cool. you're a scary player . . in a good way, of course!" he mentally face palms himself at that.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀𓏲ּꪆ ࿐ "oh, thank you." you smile at him, so cute and so kind. he prays his legs don't give out on him. "well . ." he clears his throat as he tries to find the proper words. "i think you're really cool. super pretty too," his cheeks flush when he says that, now avoiding eye contact with you. "so i was hoping if it'd be alright with you if we hung out sometime."

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀𓏲ּꪆ ࿐ you're quiet for a few moments, blinking up at him in shock. like he'd said something utterly ridiculous. oh gosh, he feels like a total idiot now — maybe you were already dating someone! i mean, how could you not be? or maybe you think he's a total creep for coming up to you like this? maybe he should have done this differently? before he lets his thoughts consume him, you reply softly, ". . like a date?"

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀𓏲ּꪆ ࿐ you're batting your lashes at him so prettily, a shy expression on your face. he clutches his shirt in an attempts to slow down his beating heart, but that's impossible when you look so cute! "if that's okay with you." he says, holding out his phone for you so that you can put your number in. and you take it, putting in your number and saving yourself in his contacts with a cute ">__<" besides your name.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀volleyballer satoru does his best to keep his composure as you walk away, waving at him shyly as you go and reunite with your friends who seem to have been watching the whole thing unfold. he hears you giggling along with them, catching one more look at him before you leave with them. he finally lets him fall to the ground, clutching his heart as his face flushes a bright pink. oh man, you were already making him feel so giddy!

© DEARTOKKI

[chososprettygirl]

⡴(frat!choso) 7 months after bagging the girl gojo struck out with ⡴ 0.7k words

“i can’t stay the whole time.” choso says to gojo (the whole room really) who’s currently going over the ‘game-plan’ and jobs for the frats fundraiser tonight. “i got a date—well not a date, but…”

gojo looks confused, eyebrows pinched together. “i’m sorry,” he near laughs, “you have a date?”

geto seems a little bit amused aswell but smacks gojo’s arm lightly and tells choso, “with who?” everybody else sitting around the living room hums in agreed question.

“it’s not a date.” he himself sounds confused as to what it is.

“what, ya got a hookup you not telling us about?” gojo quizzes. it’s amazing how fast he can lose focus completely.

“no, it’s not that.”

“you smoking with a girl?” geto asks. choso shakes his head no.

“guy?” someone quips with a laugh from the kitchen, probably toji meal prepping for the next few days. choso shakes his head again.

gojo leans back on the couch and plops into a pillow. “…kay. so what are you doing with her? and who even is she?”

“i’m meeting her parents.” he replies. somebody in the room spits out half their drink, everybody else’s eyebrows snag up their forehead. “i have to leave at 7:30.”

“wait-wait-wait,” toji steps out the kitchen as if he didn’t hear that right. “you have a girlfriend you didn’t tell us about and you’re meeting her parents ?”

choso looks embarrassed and plays with his hair a little. “i mean i told nanami.” he mumbles, looking over to him from the other side of the couch. nanami nods in agreement.

“he needed advice and a dress shirt,” he confirms while gojo’s jaw is halfway to the floor. “lord knows you guys wouldn’t help him.”

“nanamiiii,” gojo pouts, body slinging aimlessly further off the couch like a slinky toy, “you knew and didn’t tell me? i am great with advice !”

geto pokes gojo in the ribs playfully, “you’re really not.” then turns to nanami, “who is she? did he not tell us cause we don’t know her?” choosing to ask second hand like choso isn’t even there.

nanami shakes his head no, “you guys know her, gojo hit on her once.” nanami actually chuckles to himself in his hand, recalling the memory apparently everybody had forgotten. “he got rejected.”

gojo pulls himself up in an instant, “you stole my girl choso? not cool man!” in an even bigger pout from before.

choso replies, still fiddling with his hair, “she was not your girl.”

“which girl are we talking about? gojo’s got like a 30% success rate.” toji asks, now also distracted from what he was originally doing.

“fuck you, zen’in.” gojo quips.

choso ignores gojo’s comment, tells toji (everybody) your name and continues, “she rejected gojo at the start of the school year when he saw her with shoko and shoko told her he’s a douche.”

gojo yanks up his makeshift blindfold (really a dishcloth from the kitchen) like it’ll make him hear better, scrambling up in disarray, “SHOKO’S FRIEND?” he yanks back down his blindfold and returns to his half off the couch, nearly upside down state. “and you’re meeting her parents?” he crosses his arms and mumbles, “bro-code’s out the window i guess.”

“oh i remember that!” geto says, nearly laughing his ass off remembering gojo’s dissapointment. “when’d you meet her cho?”

“that night. we fucked and she asked me out the next day.” choso replies.

“oh you’re fucking kidding me.” gojo groans out.

geto’s now fully doubled over on the couch laughing, along with half the other frat members.

“lemme see a photo of her.” toji asks. choso pulls out his phone and displays to him his wallpaper, you and him sticking your blue and red tongues out after drinking too many icees at mini-golf. “cute.”

choso gets about 50 more, ‘lemme see’s before gojo leans up and looks at the screen too. apparently he’s the only one who realizes it’s a live photo and presses down to see the animation. he then sees choso turn and lick your tongue, leaving a purple mark on yours before the screen reverts to the still image.

he immediately falls back again, “oh fuck you, choso.”

[kurosaaki]

PUSSYWHIPPED FRAT!JO

WARNINGS: NSFW — smut; p in v sex, creampie, subby gojo (whimpering gojo how i love u), pussywhipped!gojo, praise, gojo crying a little (pussy so good makes him cry lol), begging.

A/N: this is my take on frat!jo. i’m obsessed w him. very short drabble i did while on the bus lol enjoy. tag: @rainlina | check my recent fic! + nerdjo hc’s | artist: @/paanwny

it’s widely known that frat!jo is the life of the party. the charismatic one. the popular one.

loud as hell at every party, shirt always half-unbuttoned, sunglasses perched on his head even at 2 am, slinging arms around his friends while he loudly recounts last weekend’s hook-ups.

“swear to god bro, she was crying my name by the 3rd round” he brags, guys fist-bumping him like some kind of local legend, girls giggling.

he’s the king of the world (or so he feels like). never texts back. doesn’t care about anyone ghosting him. he doesn’t get ghosted — he’s the one ghosting. the one who doesn’t “repeat girls”.

then, the inevitable happens. he finds you at a party. basically eyecandy for him. you could be fun. laughed at his horrible jokes, flirted with him, hell, you were so his type.

and obviously, you end up in his room.

he crowds you against the door, barely locked when he makes cocky promises that would make any girl giggly. “m’gonna have you screaming so loud, gorgeous…”

he truly does believe his words. he’s done this too many times.

except the moment your fingers hook under his waistband and tug his sweats down, that bravado cracks like cheap glass.

you push him back onto his bed — still messy from god knows who was his last girl— and climb on top of him. the moment you sink down onto him, slow and deliberate, his entire body locks up.

“f-ffuuck,” he gasps, head thudding back against the pillows. his hands fly to your thighs, fingers digging in hard, but he’s not guiding you. he… he is just holding on. “wa—wait, baby, slow—s-shit, you’re—ngh—”

you roll your hips once and his eyes roll back, mouth falling open on a broken whine.

“huh? i… thought you were gonna ruin me?” you ask innocently, though smiling like never before. “thought you were gonna make me scream?”

he laughs. tries to. it comes shaky, more whimper than chuckle. “y-yeah, i am, i—fuck, just—gimme a sec, you feel too good, i can’t—” his hips jerk up once, twice, sloppy and desperate, like he can’t help it. “god, your pussy’s so —mmph— perfect, I’m losing my fucking mind…!”

you clench around him on purpose.

he chokes. full-body shuddering. “a-ah! don’t—don’t do that yet, please, i’ll—shit, i’ll cum too fast”

“already?” you whisper. “come on, let me enjoy this a little…” you pout, looking down at him, biting your lip. you move your hips back and forth, moaning softly, “you’re so big, gojo… stretching me so sweet”

he groans, long and wrecked, arms wrapping around your waist to yank you flush against his chest. Face buried in your neck like he’s hiding. “fuck, don’t say it like that —” his voice cracks on the last word, and then he’s mumbling against your skin, hot and frantic. “you’re so warm— so fucking wet… I can’t think straight when you’re on me like this… please don’t stop, baby, please”

you start moving again. slow grinds, little circles now and then. nothing otherworldy. but he’s already babbling.

“s’too fucking good— love how you squeeze me, love how you, ah, ride me, fuck, i’m yours, i’m so fucking yours—” his hands roam everywhere: up your back, down to grip your ass, then back up to cradle your face so he can kiss you. messy and needy. “don’t you dare leave after, ‘kay? i’ll— shit—i’ll do whatever, baby, please…”

you pick up the pace just a little and his whole body buzzes, thighs trembling under you.

“g’nna cum—baby, ‘m gonna—fuck, i can’t hold it—” he sounds panicked, like he’s actually fighting his own orgasm because he doesn’t want it to end.

you lean close — once you’re close to come as well — to whisper right against his ear: “then cum for me, gojo. make me feel good”

that does it for him.

his eyes snap wide— pupils blown, lashes wet, and he comes with a long, shaking moan that cracks into your name. hips stuttering, arms crushing you to his chest, spilling inside you like he’s never going to stop. “fuck—love you, love this pussy-“

when the aftershocks finally fade, he doesn’t push you off. doesn’t roll over and grab his phone like the rumors say he does.

instead he flips you gently so you’re tucked against him, still buried deep. long limbs cage you in. his face smushed between your tits. he’s breathing hard, like he just ran a whole marathon.

you card fingers through his damp hair. “that was something.”

he huffs a laugh, embarrassed. “don’t you ever say a word about this” he mutters, “i’d be dead if you do.”

is this the same guy who was bragging downstairs about never catching feelings and fucking left and right?

yes it is!

[kozusworld]

frat!gojo x shy fem! reader

For all his life, Gojo Satoru has only ever gone for the popular girls. The loud ones. The cheerleaders. That’s just how it’s always been.

This perfect mirror of life shattered the moment he saw you.

It was the first semester of Satoru’s second year at university. He’s settled in nicely, he has a group of friends, a frat, and a circle of women that constantly swoon his every move. What more could he ask for?

Unfortunately, as flashy as Satoru’s life is, his grades pale in comparison. He may be the most popular man on university campus but he currently has to retake Communications 101. That’s where he meets you.

You were quiet, almost invisible in the lecture hall. Satoru had no reason to pay any special attention to you.

Satoru is barely listening to the professor drone on about whatever the subject was about when suddenly she begins to call names. Luckily, Satoru’s name isn’t on his professor’s mind. He’s ready to zone out and scroll on his phone when his ear picks up a soft, shy voice.

Satoru looks up from his lap and he sees you, standing from your seat as you nervously explained the importance of the different modes of communication in society to the rest of the class. Now usually, Satoru would roll his eyes and turn the other way. He wasn’t interested in shy girls. Never was and never will. But there was something about you that had Satoru’s eyes locked onto you for the rest of the lecture.

The lecture ends and Satoru is quick to try and follow you as the students spill out of the lecture hall. Despite the mass of people his eyes never leave your frame and Satoru is truly so close to reaching you but you manage to slip away into the crowd of people and Satoru loses sight of you.

Satoru spends the rest of the week trying to find you on campus. It’s hard. He can’t find you anywhere and it has Satoru thinking that maybe the whole thing was a dream but he was so sure that you were real.

He finds you the next week in the same class. Satoru’s determined to talk to you this time so he takes the empty seat next to you. Usually girls would fluster and shy away from just this but you didn’t seem to care at all and something about that had Satoru’s heart thumping in his chest.

“Do you have an extra pen?” Satoru asked. He didn’t need it. He was just hoping to get your attention somehow.

You turn your head and raised your eyes meeting Satoru’s gaze.

You’re so much prettier up close. Satoru feels the air leave his lungs.

“Oh. Yeah, sure. Here you go.” You hand Satoru a pen from your pencil case. He reaches out to grab it, his fingers grazing yours slightly. There must be something terribly wrong with Satoru’s heart if this small interaction had his heart racing a mile a minute.

You don’t pay attention to Satoru for the rest of the class after that interaction and for the rest of the class Satoru desperately tries to get your attention back on him. He raises his hand, recites, makes jokes. It grabs the attention of everyone else except for you but their attention isn’t enough. Satoru wants yours specifically. He’s hungry for it.

The lecture ends. Satoru taps your shoulder and holds out your pen.

“Y’doing anything after this?” Satoru asked, flashing his usual charming smile.

You pluck the pen from Satoru’s fingers and place it back in your pencil case.

“No.” You replied, voice quiet still. Satoru wonders to himself if you’ve ever been loud in your life.

Satoru decides it’s time to go in for the kill. It’s now or never. Really, how hard could it be? “You wanna grab some matcha?”

“No thank you.” The response is immediate and Satoru’s smile drops instantly. Unironically he’s never been denied by a woman before and he doesn’t know how to react. Does he get on his knees and grovel or does he pretend like he didn’t ask at all?

“Uhm. Are you sure? I’ll pay.” Satoru attempts once more. He reaches into the pocket of his sweatpants and pulls out his wallet. It’s thick but you barely glance at it.

“No. I’m alright.” You offer Satoru a small, polite smile before you grab the straps of your bag and leave the lecture hall. Satoru is stunned. He can only watch your figure disappear out of the room as he rethinks every moment of his life.

For the first time in Gojo Satoru’s life he wants to chase after something. And it’s exciting.

[satorusdreamer]

A bitch in heat

MDNI/18+ only, nipple sucking Roommate!Gojo x fem!reader

The heat is getting to you—it has been getting to you, but just yesterday you had AC to survive this horrible, horrible weather. Now that fuckass thing is broken and you have to sit here in the heat, sweating your ass off.

You’ve already put your hair up and away from your neck, a cold bottle of water being currently pressed against your skin, helping you cool down slightly.

It doesn’t work, though. Sure, it’s a nice respite, for two second, before another wave of absolute heat makes you sweat even more. Groaning, you close your eyes.

Satoru walks into the living room, where he sees you sit. A bottle of water awkwardly held against your overheating skin, little droplets of water and sweat beading down your neck. Not just your neck, but your entire body is covered in a sheen of sweat, glistening in low light.

A droplet of sweat beads down from your chin all the way to the valley of your breast, disappearing where he can’t see.

Fuck. Of course you would wear minimal clothing with this heat—just a small tank top, which has your tits almost spill over, and the shortest shorts known to mankind—but it just overheats him more.

Pushing his white locks from his forehead, he walks over to where the AC isn’t blasting.

“Please tell me you can fix it,” you groan from the couch, opening an eye to see your roommate look at the AC with a frown on his face. Sweat is beading down his temple as he stretches, giving the thing a quick tap—as if that would do anything.

There’s a faint reply from him, but you aren’t even listening anymore. While he’s trying to work on the AC—arms outstretched, muscles flexing, more sweat dripping sinfully down his body—his shirt has ridden up just enough for you to see that V-line and a portion of his abs.

Licking your lips, you let your eyes linger for a second longer, giving him some hums in reply to what he’s saying.

Sure, you’ve seen Gojo walk around without a shirt many times, but that doesn’t mean you get tired of the sight. It’s not like you normally get to have a good look. If your eyes so much as wandered down his chest, he would give you a small smirk, subtly flexing his abs, before you turned around with a scoff.

He’s hot, so what? And now he also has it hot, sweat dampening his shirt, clinging to the outline of his body. Maybe he should just take it off. To battle the heat, of course, nothing else!

Your mouth is getting parched by now. And just in time, too, because Gojo turns around with a pout on his face, lower lip jutted out dramatically. “Can’t get it to work.”

“That’s because you can’t get anything to work,” you grumble before taking a sip of your cold water that has warmed up by your skin slightly. Still, the cool water slides down your throat, a little bit spilling from the corner of your mouth, trailing down your neck, leaving behind a wet trail of goosebumps.

Suddenly, Gojo leans into your personal space. The heat of his body is unbearable right now, but you can’t lean away any further, the couch behind you preventing it from happening.

Before you can even say anything, his tongue darts out of his mouth and onto your neck. He licks a broad stripe up your neck where the water trailed down—no doubt tasting all the salty sweat as well—and even onto your chin, before he leans back slightly with a small smile on his face.

“What the fuck, Gojo?! Why would you do that??” you grumble, swiping your hand over your neck which is all wet with saliva now. It’s honestly not a nice feeling, especially with this heat, and it makes you all the more cranky.

“What? I’m sweating too, and we can’t let any of the cool water go to waste!” he easily replies, still leaning in way too close. There’s a hint of amusement visible in his eyes as he looks at your bottle of water before his eyes trail down your neck again, licking his lips when they trail even lower, having a perfect view of your boobs now.

“Just because we’re in a heatwave doesn’t mean we don’t have any cool water. Wasting one drop of it wouldn’t mean we’d die. There’s plenty more in the fridge, so get your lanky ass up and get yourself some.” You end the sentence with bringing the bottle up to your lips again.

Wrong choice.

One of Gojo’s large hands wraps itself around yours, and squeezes. The water that was supposed to go into your mouth is now everywhere—your face, neck, chest, legs and onto the couch.

“Oops. Sorry, it just looked like you were feeling a bit hot, so I was trying to help you cool down—” his words trail off when he looks down. Your tank is now clinging to your body, nipples hard because of the cold liquid seeping into the fabric. And what a fucking sight it is. “But my mom always said I should clean up my own mess.”

His lips descend onto your chest, slurping some of the water that’s still on the hollow of your throat. Gasping out, one of your hands find the back of his head, fingers tangling in his white locks that are absolutely soaked with sweat.

He peppers some kisses onto your skin, tongue occasionally flicking against your skin as he looks up at you with those bright blue eyes of his.

Biting down onto your lower lip, you look down at your roommate now situated between your legs as he absolutely laps you up. You wouldn’t have guessed this actually happen in even your wildest dreams. Sure there have been some where he was in, but even your mind kept cock-blocking you.

Hovering just before your your nipple, he looks up for permission. Giving him a small nod, he surges forward, lips wrapping around the hardened peak through the fabric, absolutely sucking and biting on it.

Moaning, you arch your back for him, hand pushing him further into your chest. His tongue circles around the bud a few times before he sucks again, a wet slurp of which you have no doubt also makes his entire fill with water and sweat, that was seeped into your top.

Your other hand tightens around the bottle of water. The crinkling of it has you snap your eyes to it, and a small smirk immediately stretches your lips.

There’s still a bit of water left in the thing, and without thinking too much about it, you pour the remained down Gojo’s back. The liquid drenching his shirt, the white fabric becoming transparent, clinging to his back muscles.

He gasps as he jolts slightly. Detaching his lips from your chest, he looks at you with wide eyes. “Oops.” you do not sound sorry for even a little bit. “Maybe you should take that off.”

Huffing a laugh through his nose, he shakes his head a little, but easily complies. His hands find the hem of his shirt, and he slowly takes it off. Taking his time with it, you let your eyes wander once more—his abs now fully uncovered, strong biceps flexing as he pulls the shirt over his head, and of course his back rippling with the motion.

Tossing the shirt somewhere into the living room, he notes the way your eyes wander. Smirking he slowly leans forward again, lips trailing wet kisses all the way from your pretty tits all the way to your cheek.

Just as his lips hover centimeters from yours— BZZZTTT. The intercom rings through the apartment, making the two of you look over to the tiny box hanging near the door. “I’m here to fix the AC.”

Well, shit.

©Satorusdreamer do not copy, steal, plagiarize, or feed my works into AI. I will send Mahito after you if you do

A/N: This heatwave is making me an absolute bitch rn. I feel like I'm in that one Victorious episode (minus the sparse water supply)

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[hanakozaki]

your account is sooo aesthetically pleasing

thank you !! ❤︎

[stalgivc]

[jennievalentine]